20287	----	Transcribed from the eighth edition of James Nisbet & Co., Limited by David Price and Margaret Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org A NIGHT IN THE SNOW; OR, A Struggle for Life. BY THE REV. E. DONALD CARR. _EIGHTH EDITION_. LONDON: JAMES NISBET & CO., LIMITED, 21 BERNERS STREET, W. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY LORIMER AND CHALMERS, 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE. INTRODUCTION. In publishing the following account of "A Night in the Snow," which has already been given as a Lecture before the Society for the Promotion of Religious and Useful Knowledge at Bridgnorth, I feel that some apology is due. My preservation through the night of the 29th of January last was doubtless most wonderful, and my experience perhaps almost without precedent, in this country at least; for, though many people have at different times been lost in the snow, scarcely any one has passed through the ordeal of such a day and night as that undergone by myself, and lived to tell the tale. Still I should never have thought that the matter was of sufficient importance to justify me in printing an account of it, had I not discovered that my adventure has created a public interest, for which I was totally unprepared. I have been so repeatedly asked to write a detailed account of all the circumstances connected with my wanderings on the Long Mynd in the snow during that night and the following day, and to have it published, that I have at last (though, I must confess, somewhat reluctantly) consented to do so, and with that view have drawn up the following account. In writing my story, I have been obliged to go into many very small matters of detail, which may perhaps appear trivial; but it seemed to me that the interest of a story of this kind, if there be any interest attached to it, generally turns upon minor circumstances. I have also been obliged to speak of myself in a very personal manner, but I did not see how I could put the reader in possession of the geographical points of the case, without describing the duties I had to perform, and the country I had to traverse. E. DONALD CARR. WOLSTASTON RECTORY, _April_ 17, 1865. A NIGHT IN THE SNOW. The mountains of South-West Shropshire are less known to the lovers of fine scenery than their great beauty deserves, though they are familiar to most geologists as the typical region of the lowest fossil-bearing deposits. Of this group of hills the highest is the Long Mynd, a mountain district of very remarkable character, and many miles in extent. It is about ten miles long, and from three to four miles in breadth. Its summit is a wide expanse of table land, the highest part of which is nearly seventeen hundred feet above the level of the sea. The whole of this unenclosed moorland is covered with gorse and heather, making it extremely gay in the summer time; it is also tolerably abundant in grouse and black game, and so fruitful in bilberries, that from 400 to 500 pounds worth are said to have been gathered on it in the course of a single season. On first hearing it, this sounds an improbable statement; but any one who has been upon the mountain in a good "whinberry season" as it is called, will readily understand that this is no exaggeration. To the poor people for miles around, the "whinberry picking" is the great event of the year. The whole family betake themselves to the hill with the early morning, carrying with them their provisions for the day; and not unfrequently a kettle to prepare tea forms part of their load. I know no more picturesque sight than that presented by the summit of the Long Mynd towards four o'clock on an August afternoon, when numerous fires are lit among the heather, and as many kettles steaming away on the top of them, while noisy, chattering groups of women and children are clustered round, glad to rest after a hard day's work. A family will pick many quarts of bilberries in the day, and as these are sold at prices varying from 3d. to 5d. a quart, it will be readily understood that it is by no means impossible that the large sum of 400 or 500 pounds should thus be realised in a single season. The appearance of this Long Mynd mountain on the northern side, looking towards Shrewsbury, presents no feature of striking interest, and the ascent is a gradual one, leading chiefly through cultivated ground; but the aspect of the south-eastern or Stretton side is wild in the extreme, the whole face of the mountain being broken up into deep ravines, with precipitous sides, where purple rocks project boldly through the turf, and in many places even the active sheep and mountain ponies can scarcely find a footing. Down each of these ravines runs a small stream of exquisitely pure water, one of which, near the entrance of the valley, becomes considerable enough to turn a mill for carding wool. This stream falls over rocks at the head of the ravine, in a small cascade of a considerable height called the Light Spout. Many people have lost their lives among these hills at different times, and places here and there bear such suggestive names, as "Dead Man's Beach," "Dead Man's Hollow," &c. The last fair, too, which is held at Church Stretton before Christmas is locally known as "Dead Man's Fair," several men have perished whilst attempting to return home after it across the hill in the dark November night. No one, however, till this winter has been lost for many years. Two drovers were the last persons who perished here, and they lost their lives near a place called "The Thresholds," in a deep snow which fell in April thirty-seven years ago. The western slope of the Long Mynd is less strikingly picturesque and more desolate, but the view from the top in this direction is the finest of any. Almost unseen in a narrow valley at the foot of the mountain, stand the village and church of Ratlinghope, the centre of a parish numbering about three hundred souls only, but which stretches over miles of mountain country, embracing a portion of the wild mining district of the Stiper Stones. Beyond these hills the eye passes to the Welsh mountains, and rests at last on the grand peaks of Cader Idris in one direction, and Snowdon in the other, which may be seen in clear weather sharply defined against a sunset sky. Poor Ratlinghope was in sore need of some one to look after it when the living was offered to me in September 1856. It had at that time been left for many Sundays together without a service, the late incumbent residing in Shrewsbury, twelve miles distant, and being frequently prevented by ill health from coming over. There is no house in the parish where a clergyman could live, or even procure tolerable lodgings; and if there were, there is next to nothing, as one of the parishioners said to me the other day, "to find coals to warm it with." It is scarcely to be wondered at that under these circumstances, when the living became vacant in the summer of 1856, there was no suitable person to be found who was willing to accept so desirable a piece of preferment. The parish of Wolstaston, of which I have the charge, and in which I reside, is situated on high ground on the eastern slope of the Long Mynd, _i.e._ exactly on the opposite side of the mountain to Ratlinghope. Above Wolstaston the ground rises steadily for about a mile and a half till you come to the unenclosed moorland, which stretches away for many miles of open country, covered with heather and gorse. It was under the circumstances that I have already mentioned that the living of Ratlinghope was offered to me. I was aware that it would be impossible to attend to the parish as one would wish to do, with four miles of this wild hill country to cross between the two villages. Still, as no one else could be found to take it, and I thought that the Ratlinghope people might think that "half-a-loaf was better than no bread," I consented to accept the living, and do the best I could for it; so I altered my second service at Wolstaston from three o'clock in the afternoon to six, which enabled me to give an afternoon service at Ratlinghope every Sunday. I soon found, however, that the task I had undertaken was no very light one, as the only access from Wolstaston to Ratlinghope was by mountain tracks, over the highest part of the Long Mynd, unless indeed one drove round the base of the hill, a distance of at least twelve miles. The ride was pleasant enough in fine weather, but less enjoyable when fogs hung heavy over the hill, when the tracks were slippery with ice, or when falling snow concealed every landmark. It not unfrequently happened in winter, when the snow was very deep, or much drifted, that it was impossible to ride across the hill, and the expedition then had to be performed on foot; still I always managed to cross somehow, in spite of wind or weather, so that during the last eight years and a half the little mountain church has never been without one Sunday service. I find that during that time I have crossed the Long Mynd (in round numbers) nearly two thousand five hundred times; consequently my knowledge of the country became so intimate, that I felt equally at home upon the hill in all weathers, and at all hours of the day and night. On one occasion, I had to cross it late on a November night and in a dense fog, when returning home from Ratlinghope, and met with no accident; and I think that this and similar experiences made me somewhat over confident. I mention this to show how little the most perfect acquaintance with country will avail any one when overtaken by such a blinding snow storm as that of the 29th of January last. During the preceding week the snow fell heavily, and accumulated on the hills to a greater depth than had been known for fifty-one years. Public opinion was unanimous that there had been nothing like it since 1814. A strong wind, moreover, had so drifted it that the roads were impassable, and the communication between neighbouring villages, and even between houses in the same village, almost ceased. Letters wont to be received in the morning arrived late in the day, or not at all; and unhappy folk who were unprovided with a good store of food and coals had either to borrow of their neighbours or starve. The morning service at Wolstaston on Sunday the 29th was of necessity but thinly attended, and it seemed probable that I should not even be expected at Ratlinghope. As, however, the service there had never been omitted owing to bad weather, I was anxious to get to my little church if possible; in fact, I considered it my duty to make the attempt, though I felt very doubtful whether I should succeed. Accordingly, very soon after morning service at Wolstaston was over, I started on the expedition. I was in such a hurry to be off that I could not stay to take my usual luncheon, but swallowed a few mouthfuls of soup, and put a small flask containing about three ounces of brandy in my pocket. My taking anything of the kind with me was a most unprecedented circumstance. I only remember one other occasion in which I did so, and that was also in a very deep snow; but now foreseeing a walk of no common difficulty, I thought the precaution a wise one, and saw reason afterwards to be thankful that I had adopted it. I started on horseback, though I knew that I could only ride a short distance, but thought it advisable to save myself all unnecessary fatigue. I was of course accompanied by a servant to bring back the horses when they were of no further use. By leaving the lane and making our way across the fields over hedge and ditch, we contrived to ride about half a mile. The horses then became useless, as the drifts were so deep against the hedges and gates, that the poor animals became imbedded in them, and were unable to find any firm footing to leap from. The servant therefore had to return with them long before I reached the unenclosed mountain land, and I proceeded on my way alone. The journey proved more difficult even than I had expected. The snow was for the most part up to the knees and very soft, and the drifts were so deep that they could only be crossed by crawling on hands and knees, as any one will readily understand who has attempted to cross deep snow when in a soft state. When I reached the open moorland the day was bright and fine, and the snow stretched around me for miles in a dazzling expanse very painful to the eyes, and unbroken by track, landmark, or footprint of any living creature. The form of the country, however, was a sufficient guide to my destination, and after a severe struggle over and through the drifts, I reached my little church at a quarter-past three o'clock, just two hours and a quarter from the time I had left Wolstaston. A few people were assembled together, though no one had really expected me, and after a short service I started on my homeward journey, having refused the invitations of my kind people to stay the night amongst them, as I was anxious to get back to Wolstaston in time for my six o'clock evening service, and I did not anticipate that I should encounter any greater difficulties in my return home than I had done in coming to Ratlinghope. During the three quarters of an hour, however, that we had been in church, the aspect of the weather had completely changed. A furious gale had come on from E.S.E., which, as soon as I got on the open moorland, I found was driving clouds of snow and icy sleet before it. It was with considerable difficulty that I made my way up the western ascent of the hill, as I had to walk in the teeth of this gale. The force of the wind was most extraordinary. I have been in many furious gales, but never in anything to compare with that, as it took me off my legs, and blew me flat down upon the ground over and over again. The sleet too was most painful, stinging one's face, and causing such injury to the eyes, that it was impossible to lift up one's head. I contrived, however, to fight my way through it, and at length reached the crest of the hill. Though I could not see many yards in any direction, I knew at this time exactly where I was, as I passed the carcase of a mountain pony which I had previously noticed. The poor thing had no doubt been famished to death, and was fast wasting to a skeleton. Numbers of these hardy little animals have perished during the severe weather from hunger, having been previously reduced to the lowest condition through lack of pasturage during the dry season of 1864. One man, who owned fourteen of them, has lost every one. Leaving this solitary waymark, the half buried skeleton, by which I had rested for a few minutes and taken a little of my brandy, I started again, having first made a careful observation of the direction in which I should go. After a further struggle across the level summit of the hill, I reached my second landmark, a pool in a little hollow between the hills, which is well known to the inhabitants of the district, and interesting to naturalists, as the resort of curlews and other rare birds; here again I took a short rest, and then started upon what I fondly dreamed would be the last difficult stage of my journey. My way from the pool lay first up a steep ascent for rather less than half a mile to the top of the hill, and then across a level flat for some three or four hundred yards, when a fir plantation would be reached at the edge of the enclosed ground. Once within the friendly shelter of those firs, I knew that the remainder of my walk, though still tedious and fatiguing, would be comparatively easy. It pleased God, however, that I should never reach them that night. Doubtless I had been too confident in my own powers, and at the very time when I thought the difficulties and dangers of my task were well nigh accomplished, I was taught a lesson which I shall remember to the latest hour of my life. I ascended the hill to the flat already spoken of, though it was a very slow process, for owing to the depth of the drifts, which were now increasing rapidly, and the force of the wind, I was compelled to crawl a great part of the way. The storm now came on, if possible, with increased fury. It was quite impossible to look up or see for a yard around, and the snow came down so thick and fast that my servant, who had come some distance up the lane from Wolstaston in hopes of seeing something of me, describing it to me afterwards, said, "Sir, it was just as if they were throwing it on to us out of buckets." I fought on through it, however, expecting soon to come to the fir wood. On and on I went, but not a glimpse of its friendly shelter could I see, the real fact being that I had borne away a great deal too much to the right, almost at right angles to my proper course. Having been blown down over and over again, I had probably, in rising to my feet, altered my direction unconsciously. The wind too, by which I had been trying to steer, proved a treacherous compass; for, as I have been told, about this time it went more round into the south. It was, moreover, becoming very dark. After a while I became aware that the ground under my feet was of a wrong shape, sloping downwards when it should have been level, and I then knew that I had missed my way. This, however, gave me no great uneasiness, as I imagined that I had only gone a little too much to the south of the wood, and that I should soon reach an inhabited district at the bottom of it, known as Bullock's Moor, from which a somewhat circuitous route would bring me safely home. Under this impression I walked cheerfully on, but only for a few steps further. Suddenly my feet flew from under me, and I found myself shooting at a fearful pace down the side of one of the steep ravines which I had imagined lay far away to my right. I thought to check myself by putting my stick behind me, and bearing heavily upon it in the manner usual under such circumstances in Alpine travelling. Before, however, I could do so I came in contact with something which jerked it out of my hand and turned me round, so that I continued my tremendous glissade head downwards, lying on my back. The pace I was going in this headlong descent must have been very great, yet it seemed to me to occupy a marvellous space of time, long enough for the events of my whole previous life to pass in review before me, as I had often before heard that they did in moments of extreme peril. I never lost my consciousness, but had time to think much of those I should leave behind me, expecting every moment as I did to be dashed over the rocks at the bottom of the ravine; knew in fact that such must be my fate, unless I could stop myself by some means. Owing to the softness of the snow, I contrived to accomplish this by kicking my foot as deep into the snow as I could, and at the same time bending my knee with a smart muscular effort, so as to make a hook of my leg; this brought me to a stand still, but my position was anything but agreeable even then, hanging head downwards on a very steep part, and never knowing any moment but what I might start again. With much difficulty, however, I at length succeeded in getting myself the right way up, and then descended with great care to the bottom of the ravine, intending if possible to walk along the course of the stream in its hollow till it should lead me to the enclosed country. The ravine, however, was so choked up with snow, that to walk along the valley was utterly impossible. The drifts were many feet over my head, in several places they must have been at least twenty feet in depth; and having once got into them, I had the greatest difficulty, by scratching and struggling, to extricate myself from them again. It was now dark. I did not know into which of the ravines I had fallen, for at this part there is a complete network of them intersecting each other in every direction. The only way by which I had thought to escape was hopelessly blocked up, and I had to face the awful fact that I was lost among the hills, should have to spend the night there, and that, humanly speaking, it was almost impossible that I could survive it. The instinct of self-preservation, however, is strong, even when a fearful death seems close at hand, and there were others for whose sake, even more than my own, I desired that night that my life might be spared, if such were God's will. I knew that, under Providence, all depended on my own powers of endurance, and that the struggle for life must be a very severe one. The depth of the snow made walking a very exhausting effort. It was always up to my knees, more often up to my waist; but my only chance, as I was well aware, was to keep moving; and having extricated myself at last from the drifts in the ravine, I began to climb the opposite side of the hill, though I had not the least idea in which direction I ought to go. As I made my way upwards, I saw just in front of me what looked like a small shadow flitting about, for owing to the white ground it was never completely dark. I was much surprised at this, especially as when I came close to it, it disappeared into the snow, with the exception of one round dark spot, which remained motionless. I put my hand down upon this dark object to ascertain what it could possibly be, and found that I had got hold of a hare's head! I saw many of these little animals in the course of the night. They made holes in the snow for shelter, and sat in them well protected by their warm coats, happier far than their human fellow-sufferer, who knew that for him there must be no rest that night if he would see the light of another day. Having climbed the hill, I walked along its crest for some distance, till suddenly I again lost my footing, and shot down the hill, as far as I can judge, on the opposite side into another ravine. This was, if possible, a more fearful glissade than my previous one; it was a very precipitous place, and I was whirled round and round in my descent, sometimes head first, sometimes feet first, and again sideways, rolling over and over, till at last, by clutching at the gorse bushes, and digging my feet into the snow as before, I once more managed to check my wild career, and bring myself to a stand; but I had lost my hat and a pair of warm fur gloves, which I had on over a pair of old dogskins. The loss of these fur gloves proved very serious to me, as my hands soon began to get so numbed with the cold, that they were comparatively useless. At the bottom of the ravine into which I had now fallen, I found myself again involved in snow drifts, and had still more difficulty than before in getting out of them. I had tumbled into a very soft one far over my head, and had to fight, and scratch, and burrow for a long time before I could extricate myself, and became more exhausted than at any other time during the night. I only ventured to take my brandy very sparingly, wishing to husband it as much as possible, and there was but a very tiny drop left. My hands, as I have said, were so numbed with cold as to be nearly useless. I had the greatest difficulty in holding the flask, or in eating snow for refreshment, and could hardly get my hands to my mouth for the masses of ice which had formed upon my whiskers, and which were gradually developed into a long crystal beard, hanging half way to my waist. Icicles likewise had formed about my eyes and eyebrows, which I frequently had to break off, and my hair had frozen into a solid block of ice. After the loss of my hat, my hair must, I suppose, have become filled with snow, while I was overhead in the drifts. Probably this was partially melted by the warmth of my head, and subsequently converted into ice by the intense frost. Large balls of ice also formed upon my cuffs, and underneath my knees, which encumbered me very much in walking, and I had continually to break them off. I tried to supply the place of my hat by tying my handkerchief over my head, but found that by no possible effort could I make a knot, and that I could only keep it on my head by holding the corners between my teeth. It was equally impossible to refasten my overcoat, only a thin tweed (for I had dressed lightly, in expectation of hard exercise), which had become unbuttoned in my last fall. It may seem absurd to mention it, but the cravings of hunger grew so keen, stimulated as they were by the cold and the great exertion, that it actually occurred to me whether I could eat one of my old dogskin gloves. I was, however, deterred from making the attempt, partly by the prospect of its toughness, and partly by the fear of greater injury to my hands from frost bite, if they were deprived of their last covering. My exhaustion was so great that I fell down every two or three steps, and the temptation to give in and lie down in the snow became almost irresistible, and had to be struggled against with every power of mind and body. I endeavoured to keep constantly before me the certain fact, that if sleep once overcame me I should never wake again in this life. The night seemed interminably long. Again and again I tried to calculate the time, but always came to the same conclusion, that many hours must elapse before the return of daylight. The wind had gone down, and the stillness became so oppressive, that I often spoke aloud for the sake of hearing my own voice, and to ascertain that the cold, which was intense, had not deprived me of the power of speech. The hares still sported and burrowed on the hill sides, but excepting these there were no signs of life whatever. Never did shipwrecked mariner watch for the morning more anxiously than did I through that weary, endless night, for I knew that a glimpse of the distance in any one direction would enable me to steer my course homewards. Day dawned at last, but hope and patience were to be yet further tried, for a dense fog clung to the face of the hill, obscuring everything but the objects close at hand. Furthermore, I discovered that I was rapidly becoming snow blind. My eyes, which had been considerably injured already by the sharp sleet of the evening before, were further affected by the glare of the snow, and I was fast losing all distinctness of vision. I first learned the extent of this new calamity when endeavouring, with the earliest light, to look at my watch. It was a work of great difficulty to get it out of my pocket; and when this was done, I found that I could not tell the face from the back. The whole thing was hazy and indistinct, and I can only describe it as looking like an orange seen through a mist. Such sight as remained rapidly became all confusion as regarded the form, colour, and proportion of objects. Again and again I thought I saw before me trees and enclosures, but these, when I came up to them, invariably turned out to be only portions of gorse bushes projecting through the snow. My optical delusions as to _colour_ were perhaps the most remarkable; the protruding rocks invariably appeared of a strange orange yellow, with black lines along them, producing a short of tortoise-shell effect. I took these mysterious appearances at first for dead animals, ponies or sheep, and touched them to try to ascertain the fact. My hands, however, were so utterly devoid of sensation, that they were of no more use than my eyes in identifying objects. I was therefore quite in the dark as to their nature, till experience proved them to be rocks with tufts of heather on them. Owing to my failing eyesight, my falls became very frequent, and several of them were from heights so great that it would scarcely be believed were I to attempt to describe them. I may, however, say, that they were such as perfectly to appal those who, a few days afterwards, visited the spots where they occurred, and saw the deep impressions in the snow where I had plunged into it from the rocks above. One fall especially I well remember. I had just crossed the ridge of a hill, and saw, as I imagined, close below me a pool covered with ice, which seemed free from snow. I thought I would walk across this, and, accordingly, made a slight jump from the rock on which I stood in order to reach it. In a moment, however, I discovered that, instead of on to a pool, I had jumped into empty space. I must have fallen on this occasion a considerable distance, but I was caught in a deep snow-drift, so that, although considerably shaken and bewildered for the moment by what had happened, I was not seriously hurt. I have been enabled by various circumstances, and by the help of those who followed my tracks before the snow melted, to make out with tolerable accuracy the course of my wanderings. Those who tracked me say that, "If there was one part of the hill more difficult and dangerous than another, that is the line which Mr. Carr took." When the morning light first dawned, I could see that I was walking along the side of a ravine of great depth, and more than usually perpendicular sides; it was so steep that I could not climb to the top of the ridge and get out of it, and the snow was in such a very loose, soft state, that I expected every moment it would give way beneath me, and I should be precipitated into the depths below. I had to walk with the greatest care to prevent this; and I believe that this was a very good thing for me, as it gave my mind complete occupation, and kept me from flagging. I could only go straight on, as I could not ascend, and was afraid to descend. My method of progression was more crawling than walking, as I had to drive my hands deep into the snow, and clutch at tufts of grass or heather, or any thing I could find beneath it, to hold on by. I must have gone forward in this way for an hour or two, when I found the ravine becoming less steep, and I heard the sound of running water very distinctly. Accordingly I thought I would descend and try once more whether I could walk down the stream, as this by its sound seemed a larger one, and I thought it might have cut a way through the drifts. I reached the bottom of the valley safely. It appears to have been the valley immediately above the Light Spout waterfall, and, trying to walk by the stream, I tumbled over the first upper fall. Hearing a noise of falling water, and seeing dimly rocks all round me, I found it would not do to go forward in this direction, so, having unconsciously gone to the very edge of the lower cascade, where I must in all probability have been killed had I fallen over, I turned sharply up the hill again, going over the rocks above, and coming down again by a very steep place. Round and round this waterfall I seemed to have climbed in every possible direction. A man who had tracked me, and with whom I visited the place a few weeks ago, said, "You seem to have had a deal o' work to do here, Sir," pointing to a small rocky space at the bottom of the fall. I had imagined, while thus going round and round as if on a tread mill, that I was walking straight forward down the stream, and I suppose my efforts to keep near the sound of the water misled me. Though perfectly familiar with this part of the Long Mynd, I was so blind at this time, and everything looked so strange, that I did not in the least recognise my position. Finding I did not get on very well, I determined now to try whether I could walk or crawl down the actual stream itself where it had hollowed its way underneath the drifts which overhung it, making a sort of low-arched tunnel, which I thought worth trying. I soon found, however, that this was quite impracticable, and that if I went on I should either be suffocated or hopelessly imbedded in the snow, and that then my utmost efforts would fail to extricate me. It also occurred to me somewhat painfully, that if I lost my life, as I thought I inevitably must do now, my body would not be found for days, or it might be weeks, if it were buried deep in the mountain of snow at the bottom of that valley; and I was anxious that what remained of me might be found soon, and that the dreadful suspense, which is worse than the most fearful certainty, might thus be spared to all those who cared about my fate. I was not, however, quite beat yet; so, retracing my steps, I determined once more to leave the stream and make for the higher ground. But a new misfortune now befell me: I lost my boots. They were strong laced boots, without elastic sides, or any such weak points about them. I had observed before that one was getting loose, but was unable to do anything to it from the numbness of my hands; and after struggling out of a deep drift previous to reascending the hill, I found that I had left this boot behind. There was nothing for it but to go on without, and as my feet were perfectly numbed from the cold, and devoid of feeling, I did not experience any difficulty or pain on this account. That boot was afterwards found on a ledge of rock near the waterfall. I soon after lost the other one, or rather, I should say, it came off, and I could not get it on again, so I carried it in my hand some time, but lost it in one of my many severe falls. The fact of the loss of my boots has astonished all those who have heard of it, and I believe has excited more comment than any other part of my adventure. I have even heard of its being a matter of fierce dispute, on more than one occasion, whether laced boots _could_ come off in this way. They do not seem to have become unlaced, as the laces were firmly knotted, but had burst in the middle, and the whole front of the boot had been stretched out of shape from the strain put upon it whilst laboriously dragging my feet out of deep drifts for so many hours together, which I can only describe as acting upon the boots like a steam-power boot-jack. And so for hours I walked on in my stockings without inconvenience. Even when I trod upon gorse bushes, I did not feel it, as my feet had become as insensible as my hands. It had occurred to me now that I might be in the Carding Mill valley, and that I would steer my course on that supposition. It was fortunate that I did so, for I was beginning to think that I could not now hold out much longer, and was struggling in a part where the drifts were up nearly to my neck, when I heard what I had thought never to hear again--the blessed sound of human voices, children's voices, talking and laughing, and apparently sliding not very far off. I called to them with all my might, but judge of my dismay when sudden and total silence took the place of the merry voices I had so lately heard! I shouted again and again, and said that I was lost, but there was no reply. It was a bitter disappointment, something like that of the sailor shipwrecked on a desert island, who sees a sail approaching and thinks that he is saved, when as he gazes the vessel shifts her course and disappears on the horizon, dashing his hopes to the ground. It appeared, as I learned afterwards, that these children saw _me_, though I could not see them, and ran away terrified at my unearthly aspect. Doubtless the head of a man protruding from a deep snow drift, crowned and bearded with ice like a ghastly emblem of winter, was a sight to cause a panic among children, and one cannot wonder that they ran off to communicate the news that "there was the bogie in the snow." Happily, however, for the bogie, he had noticed the direction from which these voices came, and struggling forward again, I soon found myself sufficiently near to the Carding Mill to recognise the place, blind as I was. A little girl now ventured to approach me, as, true to the instincts of her nature, the idea dawned upon her that I was no goblin of the mountains, no disagreeable thing from a world beneath popped up through the snow, but a real fellow-creature in distress. I spoke to her and told her that I was the clergyman of Ratlinghope, and had been lost in the snow on the hill all night. As she did not answer at once, I suppose she was taking a careful observation of me, for after a few moments she said, "Why, you look like Mr. Carr of Wolstaston." "I am Mr. Carr," I replied; whereupon the boys, who had previously run away, and, as I imagine, taken refuge behind the girl, came forward and helped me on to the little hamlet, only a few yards distant, where some half dozen cottages are clustered together round the Carding Mill. I was saved, at any rate, from immediate peril, though I fully expected that serious illness must follow from my violent exertions and long exposure. I was saved at all events from the death of lonely horror against which I had wrestled so many hours in mortal conflict, and scarcely knew how to believe that I was once more among my fellow-men, under a kindly, hospitable roof. God's hand had led me thither. No wisdom or power of my own could have availed for my deliverance, when once my sight was so much gone. The Good Shepherd had literally, in very deed, led the blind by a way that he knew not to a refuge of safety and peace. The good kind people at the Carding Mill, you may be sure, soon gathered round me in sympathising wonder, and I was quickly supplied with such comforts as they could give. I told them that I had had scarcely anything to eat since breakfast the day before (as I had been too much hurried to eat my luncheon before starting to Ratlinghope), and so tea and bread and butter were at once provided. The former was very grateful, but I could hardly eat the latter, as all feeling of hunger had left me. The good people were much shocked to find that I could not pick up a piece of bread and butter for myself, as I could neither feel it nor see it; I believe they thought my sight was hopelessly gone. I was, however, under no uneasiness myself on this score, as I was perfectly familiar with snow blindness, having seen cases of it in Switzerland, and knew that in all probability my eyes would get quite right again in a week's time, as it turned out that they did. They also discovered that the middle finger of my right hand was terribly lacerated, and that the skin was completely stripped off the back of it. This I knew to be a much more serious affair, as the frost had evidently got fast hold of it, and I thought it very likely that I should lose it. This, however, seemed a very trifling matter to me then. Had it been my right arm I should have thought nothing of it, after so marvellous an escape. I was provided at the Carding Mill with a hat, boots, and dry stockings; and having rested about a quarter of an hour, set out again to Church Stretton, about a mile distant. A man from the cottage came with me, and gave me his arm, and with this assistance I accomplished the walk with comparative ease. I was so anxious to get home, that I almost felt as if I could have walked the whole way, though I do not suppose that I could really have done so, my home being rather more than five miles off. Arrived at the town, I sent my companion for medical assistance, and myself made my way to the Crown Inn. I could discern large objects sufficiently to find my way along the street, though all was blurred and indistinct, and the admission of light to my eyes was beginning to cause me extreme pain. I ordered a fly immediately to take me as far as possible on my road home. No vehicle of any description had been along the turnpike road that day, and it was very doubtful how far a fly could go, so it was arranged that we should be accompanied by a man on a saddle horse, that I might ride when the fly could go no further, as I knew that, under the most favourable circumstances, the last mile and a half of the road to Wolstaston would be inaccessible to wheels. Of course my adventure excited great interest at the Crown Hotel, when it was fully understood what had happened to me. It was just two o'clock in the afternoon when I reached that place, and as I had left Ratlinghope at four o'clock on the previous afternoon, I had been walking uninterruptedly for twenty-two hours, excepting the quarter of an hour I had rested at the Carding Mill. My good friends at the hotel discovered that my clothes were very wet, for they had been frozen before and were now thawed, so I was dressed up in the landlord's garments. The effect must have been very ludicrous, for he was a much stouter man than I was at any time, and now I had shrunk away to nothing. It will not therefore be wondered at that people when they saw me declared they should not have known who I was. The surgeon having come and dressed my finger, and warned me to keep away from the fire and hot water, and having prescribed some hot brandy and water, I started in my fly on my homeward journey. Very slow was our progress. We had taken spades with us, and many times the driver and the man who accompanied him had to dig a way for the fly to get through. Most trying was the long delay thus caused to a man who knew that in his own home he must probably be reckoned among the dead; but there was no help for it, and at last Leebotwood was reached, the place where the lane to Wolstaston turned off from the main road, and where I was to leave the fly, and, as I hoped, ride home. The Post Office is at Leebotwood, and having given orders there that any letters coming from my house should be stopped, I was helped on my horse, and, accompanied by the man, began to ascend the hill. I had not gone a hundred yards, when it became evident that it would be impossible to ride far, and that I should be obliged to walk again, so the horse was sent back to Leebotwood by a man whom we met, and I started again on my own feet. Just at this time we met another man coming down over the fields from Wolstaston. He had letters with him to post; those letters were from my home. They were to say that I had been lost in the snow storm, that every effort had been made to find me, that they had proved fruitless, and that there was no hope left. I sent this messenger back again pretty quickly, and told him to go home as fast as he could and say I was coming. This news reached the village about half an hour before I could get up there myself, and as may be supposed there was great rejoicing. So completely had all hope of my safety been given up, that to my people it seemed almost like a resurrection from the dead. They had made the greatest efforts to find me. Twice a party had gone up the hill on the Sunday night to the limit of the enclosed ground, and stayed there calling and shouting, till, as one of them said to me, they felt that if they had stayed there another ten minutes, they would have been frozen to death. The second time they went up that night, they actually got on to the open moorland some two or three hundred yards, but here they were in imminent danger of being lost themselves. One of them indeed declared that he could not return, and would have been lost had not his companions insisted on his struggling back with them. Human effort could do no more, and they made their toilsome way home prostrated with fatigue. It was a fearful moment, they tell me, when the Rectory house was closed up for the night, the shutters fastened, and curtains drawn, with the fate of its master unknown. The helpless watchers could only wait and count the weary hours, keeping food hot for the wanderer, who they feared would never return, and unable till the morning to plan any further efforts for his rescue. The awful wind raged on, sometimes assuming to the ears of the excited listeners the sound of rolling wheels and horses' feet, startling them into expectation, though they knew that the tramp of an army would have fallen noiseless on that depth of snow. Then again, it rose like shrieks and wild calls of distress, and every now and then would smite the house with a buffet, as though it would level it with the ground. The storm lulled at length, as the hours went slowly by. Morning came and the men prepared to resume their almost hopeless search once more. They started, about twenty strong, armed with spades and shovels, and determined first of all to cut their way to Ratlinghope, thinking that perhaps I had remained there all night. They worked with all their might, but the snow was deeper than ever, and their progress was laborious and very slow. Though they had started as soon as it was light in the morning, they did not reach Ratlinghope till noon, and then their last hope was dashed to the ground, for they heard that I _had_ started the previous afternoon, though pressed to remain in the village for the night. Great was the consternation of the Ratlinghope people when they heard the news. They knew the hill well, and said with one consent, "If Mr. Carr was on the Long Mynd last night, he is a dead man." This conviction too was strengthened by the sad fact, that that very morning the dead body of a man, whom we all knew well, had been found in the road frozen to death, not more than one hundred and fifty yards from a small hamlet in the parish of Ratlinghope, known as "The Bridges." Poor Easthope, for such was his name, was a journeyman shoemaker by trade. He owned a few ponies which were on the hill, and he had been looking after these on the Sunday. I suppose he was much exhausted by this, but he had safely reached his daughter's house in the evening, which he subsequently left to go to the place where he worked, no great distance off. He was found, as I have said, the next morning frozen to death on the turnpike road. It is conjectured that he either sat down to rest or fell down, and that he speedily became insensible. I think this fact in itself is sufficient to prove that, had I given way to the temptation to rest, I too should have lost my life. The searching party, reinforced by most of the able-bodied men in Ratlinghope, beat that part of the hill lying between Ratlinghope and Wolstaston thoroughly, thinking that I must be somewhere in the tract between the two places, never supposing that I could have wandered as far away as I actually had done. The fog was so thick that it was only by keeping near to each other and shouting constantly that this party was able to keep together. I need not say that they failed to discover any trace of me, and about three o'clock in the afternoon, worn out and exhausted, they returned to the Rectory with the worst tidings. "He must be dead," they said, "he must _be_ dead; it is not possible that any human creature could have lived through such a night." And it was upon the receipt of these tidings that the letters were sent off which I so fortunately succeeded in stopping. Half-an-hour after, the news came that I was returning, and in another half-hour I was at home. This was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, rather more than twenty- seven hours from the time I had left Wolstaston. My friends tell me that had they not known who it was, they would scarcely have recognised me. Dressed in another man's clothes, exceedingly thin, with eyes fearfully bloodshot, and fingers stiff and shrunken, the middle finger more resembling a dead stick, they say, with the gray and wrinkled bark on, than the living member of a human body, this is scarcely to be wondered at. I was glad to go to bed at once, and to have my feet and hands well rubbed with snow. This, it should be well known, is the only thing to be done in cases of frost bite. Had I put them in hot water, I should in all probability have lost my fingers and toes; they would have sloughed off. I know of several cases where this has happened; indeed, I heard of one quite lately, for the gardener of a friend of mine in Warwickshire had his hands frost-bitten while throwing the snow off the roof of a house during this last winter, and injudiciously putting them into hot water, the result has been that he has lost the ends of all his fingers, to the first joint. In my case, I am thankful to say I knew better than to do this, and by the use of cold water and continued friction have succeeded in restoring my hands in a great measure. They have still not nearly as much sensation in them as before, but this will return with time. During the last few weeks, gorse pricks have been working out of my hands and feet and legs by hundreds, though at first, from the numbness of the skin, I was quite unconscious of them. It is not to be wondered at that I should have picked these up in great numbers whilst walking through the gorse bushes without my boots, and clutching at them as I fell in hopes of saving myself. Such are the details of my "Night in the Snow," and my most wonderful preservation through it and the following day. I trust that no one who may chance to read these pages will ever be placed in a similar position; but should it so happen, I hope that the remembrance of my adventure will occur to them; for surely it teaches, as plainly as anything can, that even in the most adverse circumstances no one need ever despair; and shows how an individual of no unusual physical powers may, by God's help, resist the overwhelming temptation to sleep which is usually so fatal to those who are lost in the snow. LORIMER AND CHALMERS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. 
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12170	----	Proofreaders THE WOLF HUNTERS A Tale of Adventure in the Wilderness BY JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD 1908 To my comrades of the great northern wilderness, those faithful companions with whom I have shared the joys and hardships of the "long silent trail," and especially to Mukoki, my red guide and beloved friend, does the writer gratefully dedicate this volume CONTENTS Chapter I The Fight in the Forest II How Wabigoon Became a White Man III Roderick Sees the Footprint IV Roderick's First Taste of the Hunter's Life V Shots in the Wilderness VI Mukoki Disturbs the Ancient Skeletons VII Roderick Discovers the Buckskin Bag VIII How Wolf Became the Companion of Men IX Wolf Takes Vengeance Upon His People X Roderick Explores the Chasm XI Roderick's Dream XII The Secret of the Skeleton's Hand XIII Snowed In XIV The Rescue of Wabigoon XV Roderick Holds the Woongas at Bay XVI The Surprise at the Post Illustrations: With his rifle ready Rob approached the fissure (Frontispiece) Knife--fight--heem killed! The leader stopped in his snow-shoes THE WOLF HUNTERS CHAPTER I THE FIGHT IN THE FOREST Cold winter lay deep in the Canadian wilderness. Over it the moon was rising, like a red pulsating ball, lighting up the vast white silence of the night in a shimmering glow. Not a sound broke the stillness of the desolation. It was too late for the life of day, too early for the nocturnal roamings and voices of the creatures of the night. Like the basin of a great amphitheater the frozen lake lay revealed in the light of the moon and a billion stars. Beyond it rose the spruce forest, black and forbidding. Along its nearer edges stood hushed walls of tamarack, bowed in the smothering clutch of snow and ice, shut in by impenetrable gloom. A huge white owl flitted out of this rim of blackness, then back again, and its first quavering hoot came softly, as though the mystic hour of silence had not yet passed for the night-folk. The snow of the day had ceased, hardly a breath of air stirred the ice-coated twigs of the trees. Yet it was bitter cold--so cold that a man, remaining motionless, would have frozen to death within an hour. Suddenly there was a break in the silence, a weird, thrilling sound, like a great sigh, but not human--a sound to make one's blood run faster and fingers twitch on rifle-stock. It came from the gloom of the tamaracks. After it there fell a deeper silence than before, and the owl, like a noiseless snowflake, drifted out over the frozen lake. After a few moments it came again, more faintly than before. One versed in woodcraft would have slunk deeper into the rim of blackness, and listened, and wondered, and watched; for in the sound he would have recognized the wild, half-conquered note of a wounded beast's suffering and agony. Slowly, with all the caution born of that day's experience, a huge bull moose walked out into the glow of the moon. His magnificent head, drooping under the weight of massive antlers, was turned inquisitively across the lake to the north. His nostrils were distended, his eyes glaring, and he left behind a trail of blood. Half a mile away he caught the edge of the spruce forest. There something told him he would find safety. A hunter would have known that he was wounded unto death as he dragged himself out into the foot-deep snow of the lake. A dozen rods out from the tamaracks he stopped, head thrown high, long ears pitched forward, and nostrils held half to the sky. It is in this attitude that a moose listens when he hears a trout splash three-quarters of a mile away. Now there was only the vast, unending silence, broken only by the mournful hoot of the snow owl on the other side of the lake. Still the great beast stood immovable, a little pool of blood growing upon the snow under his forward legs. What was the mystery that lurked in the blackness of yonder forest? Was it danger? The keenest of human hearing would have detected nothing. Yet to those long slender ears of the bull moose, slanting beyond the heavy plates of his horns, there came a sound. The animal lifted his head still higher to the sky, sniffed to the east, to the west, and back to the shadows of the tamaracks. But it was the north that held him. From beyond that barrier of spruce there soon came a sound that man might have heard--neither the beginning nor the end of a wail, but something like it. Minute by minute it came more clearly, now growing in volume, now almost dying away, but every instant approaching--the distant hunting call of the wolf-pack! What the hangman's noose is to the murderer, what the leveled rifles are to the condemned spy, that hunt-cry of the wolves is to the wounded animal of the forests. Instinct taught this to the old bull. His head dropped, his huge antlers leveled themselves with his shoulders, and he set off at a slow trot toward the east. He was taking chances in thus crossing the open, but to him the spruce forest was home, and there he might find refuge. In his brute brain he reasoned that he could get there before the wolves broke cover. And then-- Again he stopped, so suddenly that his forward legs doubled under him and he pitched into the snow. This time, from the direction of the wolf-pack, there came the ringing report of a rifle! It might have been a mile or two miles away, but distance did not lessen the fear it brought to the dying king of the North. That day he had heard the same sound, and it had brought mysterious and weakening pain in his vitals. With a supreme effort he brought himself to his feet, once more sniffed into the north, the east, and the west, then turned and buried himself in the black and frozen wilderness of tamarack. Stillness fell again with the sound of the rifle-shot. It might have lasted five minutes or ten, when a long, solitary howl floated from across the lake. It ended in the sharp, quick yelp of a wolf on the trail, and an instant later was taken up by others, until the pack was once more in full cry. Almost simultaneously a figure darted out upon the ice from the edge of the forest. A dozen paces and it paused and turned back toward the black wall of spruce. "Are you coming, Wabi?" A voice answered from the woods. "Yes. Hurry up--run!" Thus urged, the other turned his face once more across the lake. He was a youth of not more than eighteen. In his right hand he carried a club. His left arm, as if badly injured, was done up in a sling improvised from a lumberman's heavy scarf. His face was scratched and bleeding, and his whole appearance showed that he was nearing complete exhaustion. For a few moments he ran through the snow, then halted to a staggering walk. His breath came in painful gasps. The club slipped from his nerveless fingers, and conscious of the deathly weakness that was overcoming him he did not attempt to regain it. Foot by foot he struggled on, until suddenly his knees gave way under him and he sank down into the snow. From the edge of the spruce forest a young Indian now ran out upon the surface of the lake. His breath was coming quickly, but with excitement rather than fatigue. Behind him, less than half a mile away, he could hear the rapidly approaching cry of the hunt-pack, and for an instant he bent his lithe form close to the snow, measuring with the acuteness of his race the distance of the pursuers. Then he looked for his white companion, and failed to see the motionless blot that marked where the other had fallen. A look of alarm shot into his eyes, and resting his rifle between his knees he placed his hands, trumpet fashion, to his mouth and gave a signal call which, on a still night like this, carried for a mile. "Wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o! Wa-hoo-o-o-o-o-o!" At that cry the exhausted boy in the snow staggered to his feet, and with an answering shout which came but faintly to the ears of the Indian, resumed his flight across the lake. Two or three minutes later Wabi came up beside him. "Can you make it, Rod?" he cried. The other made an effort to answer, but his reply was hardly more than a gasp. Before Wabi could reach out to support him he had lost his little remaining strength and fallen for a second time into the snow. "I'm afraid--I--can't do it--Wabi," he whispered. "I'm--bushed--" The young Indian dropped his rifle and knelt beside the wounded boy, supporting his head against his own heaving shoulders. "It's only a little farther, Rod," he urged. "We can make it, and take to a tree. We ought to have taken to a tree back there, but I didn't know that you were so far gone; and there was a good chance to make camp, with three cartridges left for the open lake." "Only three!" "That's all, but I ought to make two of them count in this light. Here, take hold of my shoulders! Quick!" He doubled himself like a jack-knife in front of his half-prostrate companion. From behind them there came a sudden chorus of the wolves, louder and clearer than before. "They've hit the open and we'll have them on the lake inside of two minutes," he cried. "Give me your arms, Rod! There! Can you hold the gun?" He straightened himself, staggering under the other's weight, and set off on a half-trot for the distant tamaracks. Every muscle in his powerful young body was strained to its utmost tension. Even more fully than his helpless burden did he realize the peril at their backs. Three minutes, four minutes more, and then-- A terrible picture burned in Wabi's brain, a picture he had carried from boyhood of another child, torn and mangled before his very eyes by these outlaws of the North, and he shuddered. Unless he sped those three remaining bullets true, unless that rim of tamaracks was reached in time, he knew what their fate would be. There flashed into his mind one last resource. He might drop his wounded companion and find safety for himself. But it was a thought that made Wabi smile grimly. This was not the first time that these two had risked their lives together, and that very day Roderick had fought valiantly for the other, and had been the one to suffer. If they died, it would be in company. Wabi made up his mind to that and clutched the other's arms in a firmer grip. He was pretty certain that death faced them both. They might escape the wolves, but the refuge of a tree, with the voracious pack on guard below, meant only a more painless end by cold. Still, while there was life there was hope, and he hurried on through the snow, listening for the wolves behind him and with each moment feeling more keenly that his own powers of endurance were rapidly reaching an end. For some reason that Wabi could not explain the hunt-pack had ceased to give tongue. Not only the allotted two minutes, but five of them, passed without the appearance of the animals on the lake. Was it possible that they! had lost the trail? Then it occurred to the Indian that perhaps he had wounded one of the pursuers, and that the others, discovering his injury, had set upon him and were now participating in one of the cannibalistic feasts that had saved them thus far. Hardly had he thought of this possibility when he was thrilled by a series of long howls, and looking back he discerned a dozen or more dark objects moving swiftly over their trail. Not an eighth of a mile ahead was the tamarack forest. Surely Rod could travel that distance! "Run for it, Rod!" he cried. "You're rested now. I'll stay here and stop 'em!" He loosened the other's arms, and as he did so his rifle fell from the white boy's nerveless grip and buried itself in the snow. As he relieved himself of his burden he saw for the first time the deathly pallor and partly closed eyes of his companion. With a new terror filling his own faithful heart he knelt beside the form which lay so limp and lifeless, his blazing eyes traveling from the ghastly face to the oncoming wolves, his rifle ready in his hands. He could now discern the wolves trailing out from the spruce forest like ants. A dozen of them were almost within rifle-shot. Wabi knew that it was with this vanguard of the pack that he must deal if he succeeded in stopping the scores behind. Nearer and nearer he allowed them to come, until the first were scarce two hundred feet away. Then, with a sudden shout, the Indian leaped to his feet and dashed fearlessly toward them. This unexpected move, as he had intended, stopped the foremost wolves in a huddled group for an instant, and in this opportune moment Wabi leveled his gun and fired. A long howl of pain testified to the effect of the shot. Hardly had it begun when Wabi fired again, this time with such deadly precision that one of the wolves, springing high into the air, tumbled back lifeless among the pack without so much as making a sound. Running to the prostrate Roderick, Wabi drew him quickly upon his back, clutched his rifle in the grip of his arm, and started again for the tamaracks. Only once did he look back, and then he saw the wolves gathering in a snarling, fighting crowd about their slaughtered comrades. Not until he had reached the shelter of the tamaracks did the Indian youth lay down his burden, and then in his own exhaustion he fell prone upon the snow, his black eyes fixed cautiously upon the feasting pack. A few minutes later he discerned dark spots appearing here and there upon the whiteness of the snow, and at these signs of the termination of the feast he climbed up into the low branches of a spruce and drew Roderick after him. Not until then did the wounded boy show visible signs of life. Slowly he recovered from the faintness which had overpowered him, and after a little, with some assistance from Wabi, was able to place himself safely on a higher limb. "That's the second time, Wabi," he said, reaching a hand down affectionately to the other's shoulder. "Once from drowning, once from the wolves. I've got a lot to even up with you!" "Not after what happened to-day!" The Indian's dusky face was raised until the two were looking into each other's eyes, with a gaze of love, and trust. Only a moment thus, and instinctively their glance turned toward the lake. The wolf-pack was in plain view. It was the biggest pack that Wabi, in all his life in the wilderness, had ever seen, and he mentally figured that there were at least half a hundred animals in it. Like ravenous dogs after having a few scraps of meat flung among them, the wolves were running about, nosing here and there, as if hoping to find a morsel that might have escaped discovery. Then one of them stopped on the trail and, throwing himself half on his haunches, with his head turned to the sky like a baying hound, started the hunt-cry. "There's two packs. I thought it was too big for one," exclaimed the Indian. "See! Part of them are taking up the trail and the others are lagging behind gnawing the bones of the dead wolf. Now if we only had our ammunition and the other gun those murderers got away from us, we'd make a fortune. What--" Wabi stopped with a suddenness that spoke volumes, and the supporting arm that he had thrown around Rod's waist tightened until it caused the wounded youth to flinch. Both boys stared in rigid silence. The wolves were crowding around a spot in the snow half-way between the tamarack refuge and the scene of the recent feast. The starved animals betrayed unusual excitement. They had struck the pool of blood and red trail made by the dying moose! "What is it, Wabi?" whispered Rod. The Indian did not answer. His black eyes gleamed with a new fire, his lips were parted in anxious anticipation, and he seemed hardly to breathe in his tense interest. The wounded boy repeated his question, and as if in reply the pack swerved to the west and in a black silent mass swept in a direction that would bring them into the tamaracks a hundred yards from the young hunters. "A new trail!" breathed Wabi. "A new trail, and a hot one! Listen! They make no sound. It is always that way when they are close to a kill!" As they looked the last of the wolves disappeared in the forest. For a few moments there was silence, then a chorus of howls came from deep in the woods behind them. "Now is our chance," cried the Indian. "They've broken again, and their game--" He had partly slipped from his limb, withdrawing his supporting arm from Rod's waist, and was about to descend to the ground when the pack again turned in their direction. A heavy crashing in the underbrush not a dozen rods away sent Wabi in a hurried scramble for his perch. "Quick--higher up!" he warned excitedly. "They're coming out here--right under us! If we can get up so that they can't see us, or smell us--" The words were scarcely out of his mouth when a huge shadowy bulk rushed past them not more than fifty feet from the spruce in which they had sought refuge. Both of the boys recognized it as a bull moose, though it did not occur to either of them that it was the same animal at which Wabi had taken a long shot that same day a couple of miles back. In close pursuit came the ravenous pack. Their heads hung close to the bloody trail, hungry, snarling cries coming from between their gaping jaws, they swept across the little opening almost at the young hunters' feet. It was a sight which Rod had never expected to see, and one which held even the more experienced Wabi fascinated. Not a sound fell from either of the youths' lips as they stared down upon the fierce, hungry outlaws of the wilderness. To Wabi this near view of the pack told a fateful story; to Rod it meant nothing more than the tragedy about to be enacted before his eyes. The Indian's keen vision saw in the white moonlight long, thin bodies, starved almost to skin and bone; to his companion the onrushing pack seemed filled only with agile, powerful beasts, maddened to almost fiendish exertions by the nearness of their prey. In a flash they were gone, but in that moment of their passing there was painted a picture to endure a lifetime in the memory of Roderick Drew. And it was to be followed by one even more tragic, even more thrilling. To the dazed, half-fainting young hunter it seemed but another instant before the pack overhauled the old bull. He saw the doomed monster turn, in the stillness heard the snapping of jaws, the snarling of hunger-crazed animals, and a sound that might have been a great, heaving moan or a dying bellow. In Wabi's veins the blood danced with the excitement that stirred his forefathers to battle. Not a line of the tragedy that was being enacted before his eyes escaped this native son of the wilderness. It was a magnificent fight! He knew that the old bull would die by inches in the one-sided duel, and that when it was over there would be more than one carcass for the survivors to gorge themselves upon. Quietly he reached up and touched his companion. "Now is our time," he said. "Come on--still--and on this side of the tree!" He slipped down, foot by foot, assisting Rod as he did so, and when both had reached the ground he bent over as before, that the other might get upon his back. "I can make it alone, Wabi," whispered the wounded boy. "Give me a lift on the arm, will you?" With the Indian's arm about his waist, the two set off into the tamaracks. Fifteen minutes later they came to the bank of a small frozen river. On the opposite side of this, a hundred yards down, was a sight which both, as if by a common impulse, welcomed with a glad cry. Close to the shore, sheltered by a dense growth of spruce, was a bright camp-fire. In response to Wabi's far-reaching whoop a shadowy figure appeared in the glow and returned the shout. "Mukoki!" cried the Indian. "Mukoki!" laughed Rod, happy that the end was near. Even as he spoke he swayed dizzily, and Wabi dropped his gun that he might keep his companion from falling into the snow. CHAPTER II HOW WABIGOON BECAME A WHITE MAN Had the young hunters the power of looking into the future, their camp-fire that night on the frozen Ombabika might have been one of their last, and a few days later would have seen them back on the edges of civilization. Possibly, could they have foreseen the happy culmination of the adventures that lay before them, they would still have gone on, for the love of excitement is strong in the heart of robust youth. But this power of discernment was denied them, and only in after years, with the loved ones of their own firesides close about them, was the whole picture revealed. And in those days, when they would gather with their families about the roaring logs of winter and live over again their early youth, they knew that all the gold in the world would not induce them to part with their memories of the life that had gone before. A little less than thirty years previous to the time of which we write, a young man named John Newsome left the great city of London for the New World. Fate had played a hard game with young Newsome--had first robbed him of both parents, and then in a single fitful turn of her wheel deprived him of what little property he had inherited. A little later he came to Montreal, and being a youth of good education and considerable ambition, he easily secured a position and worked himself into the confidence of his employers, obtaining an appointment as factor at Wabinosh House, a Post deep in the wilderness of Lake Nipigon. In the second year of his reign at Wabinosh--a factor is virtually king in his domain--there came to the Post an Indian chief named Wabigoon, and with him his daughter, Minnetaki, in honor of whose beauty and virtue a town was named in after years. Minnetaki was just budding into the early womanhood of her race, and possessed a beauty seldom seen among Indian maidens. If there is such a thing as love at first sight, it sprang into existence the moment John Newsome's eyes fell upon this lovely princess. Thereafter his visits to Wabigoon's village, thirty miles deeper in the wilderness, were of frequent occurrence. From the beginning Minnetaki returned the young factor's affections, but a most potent reason prevented their marriage. For a long time Minnetaki had been ardently wooed by a powerful young chief named Woonga, whom she cordially detested, but upon whose favor and friendship depended the existence of her father's sway over his hunting-grounds. With the advent of the young factor the bitterest rivalry sprang up between the two suitors, which resulted in two attempts upon Newsome's life, and an ultimatum sent by Woonga to Minnetaki's father. Minnetaki herself replied to this ultimatum. It was a reply that stirred the fires of hatred and revenge to fever heat in Woonga's breast. One dark night, at the head of a score of his tribe, he fell upon Wabigoon's camp, his object being the abduction of the princess. While the attack was successful in a way, its main purpose failed. Wabigoon and a dozen of his tribesmen were slain, but in the end Woonga was driven off. A swift messenger brought news of the attack and of the old chief's death to Wabinosh House, and with a dozen men Newsome hastened to the assistance of his betrothed and her people. A counter attack was made upon Woonga and he was driven deep into the wilderness with great loss. Three days later Minnetaki became Newsome's wife at the Hudson Bay Post. From that hour dated one of the most sanguinary feuds in the history of the great trading company; a feud which, as we shall see, was destined to live even unto the second generation. Woonga and his tribe now became no better than outlaws, and preyed so effectively upon the remnants of the dead Wabigoon's people that the latter were almost exterminated. Those who were left moved to the vicinity of the Post. Hunters from Wabinosh House were ambushed and slain. Indians who came to the Post to trade were regarded as enemies, and the passing of years seemed to make but little difference. The feud still existed. The outlaws came to be spoken of as "Woongas," and a Woonga was regarded as a fair target for any man's rifle. Meanwhile two children came to bless the happy union of Newsome and his lovely Indian wife. One of these, the eldest, was a boy, and in honor of the old chief he was named Wabigoon, and called Wabi for short. The other was a girl, three years younger, and Newsome insisted that she be called Minnetaki. Curiously enough, the blood of Wabi ran almost pure to his Indian forefathers, while Minnetaki, as she became older, developed less of the wild beauty of her mother and more of the softer loveliness of the white race, her wealth of soft, jet black hair and her great dark eyes contrasting with the lighter skin of her father's blood. Wabi, on the other hand, was an Indian in appearance from his moccasins to the crown of his head, swarthy, sinewy, as agile as a lynx, and with every instinct in him crying for the life of the wild. Yet born in him was a Caucasian shrewdness and intelligence that reached beyond the factor himself. One of Newsome's chief pleasures in life had been the educating of his woodland bride, and it was the ambition of both that the little Minnetaki and her brother be reared in the ways of white children. Consequently both mother and father began their education at the Post; they were sent to the factor's school and two winters were passed in Port Arthur that they might have the advantage of thoroughly equipped schools. The children proved themselves unusually bright pupils, and by the time Wabi was sixteen and Minnetaki twelve one would not have known from their manner of speech that Indian blood ran in their veins. Yet both, by the common desire of their parents, were familiar with the life of the Indian and could talk fluently the tongue of their mother's people. It was at about this time in their lives that the Woongas became especially daring in their depredations. These outlaws no longer pretended to earn their livelihood by honest means, but preyed upon trappers and other Indians without discrimination, robbing and killing whenever safe opportunities offered themselves. The hatred for the people of Wabinosh House became hereditary, and the Woonga children grew up with it in their hearts. The real cause of the feud had been forgotten by many, though not by Woonga himself. At last so daring did he become that the provincial government placed a price upon his head and upon those of a number of his most notorious followers. For a time the outlaws were driven from the country, but the bloodthirsty chief himself could not be captured. When Wabi was seventeen years of age it was decided that he should be sent to some big school in the States for a year. Against this plan the young Indian--nearly all people regarded him as an Indian, and Wabi was proud of the fact--fought with all of the arguments at his command. He loved the wilds with the passion of his mother's race. His nature revolted at the thoughts of a great city with its crowded streets, its noise, and bustle, and dirt. It was then that Minnetaki pleaded with him, begged him to go for just one year, and to come back and tell her of all he had seen and teach her what he had learned. Wabi loved his beautiful little sister beyond anything else on earth, and it was she more than his parents who finally induced him to go. For three months Wabi devoted himself faithfully to his studies in Detroit. But each week added to his loneliness and his longings for Minnetaki and his forests. The passing of each day became a painful task to him. To Minnetaki he wrote three times each week, and three times each week the little maiden at Wabinosh House wrote long, cheering letters to her brother--though they came to Wabi only about twice a month, because only so often did the mail-carrier go out from the Post. It was at this time in his lonely school life that Wabigoon became acquainted with Roderick Drew. Roderick, even as Wabi fancied himself to be just at this time, was a child of misfortune. His father had died before he could remember, and the property he had left had dwindled slowly away during the passing of years. Rod was spending his last week in school when he met Wabigoon. Necessity had become his grim master, and the following week he was going to work. As the boy described the situation to his Indian friend, his mother "had fought to the last ditch to keep him in school, but now his time was up." Wabi seized upon the white youth as an oasis in a vast desert. After a little the two became almost inseparable, and their friendship culminated in Wabi's going to live in the Drew home. Mrs. Drew was a woman of education and refinement, and her interest in Wabigoon was almost that of a mother. In this environment the ragged edges were smoothed away from the Indian boy's deportment, and his letters to Minnetaki were more and more filled with enthusiastic descriptions of his new friends. After a little Mrs. Drew received a grateful letter of thanks from the princess mother at Wabinosh House, and thus a pleasant correspondence sprang up between the two. There were now few lonely hours for the two boys. During the long winter evenings, when Roderick was through with his day's work and Wabi had completed his studies, they would sit before the fire and the Indian youth would describe the glorious life of the vast northern wilderness; and day by day, and week by week, there steadily developed within Rod's breast a desire to see and live that life. A thousand plans were made, a thousand adventures pictured, and the mother would smile and laugh and plan with them. But in time the end of it all came, and Wabi went back to the princess mother, to Minnetaki, and to his forests. There were tears in the boys' eyes when they parted, and the mother cried for the Indian boy who was returning to his people. Many of the days that followed were painful to Roderick Drew. Eight months had bred a new nature in him, and when Wabi left it was as if a part of his own life had gone with him. Spring came and passed, and then summer. Every mail from Wabinosh House brought letters for the Drews, and never did an Indian courier drop a pack at the Post that did not carry a bundle of letters for Wabigoon. Then in the early autumn, when September frosts were turning the leaves of the North to red and gold, there came the long letter from Wabi which brought joy, excitement and misgiving into the little home of the mother and her son. It was accompanied by one from the factor himself, another from the princess mother, and by a tiny note from Minnetaki, who pleaded with the others that Roderick and Mrs. Drew might spend the winter with them at Wabinosh House. "You need not fear about losing your position." wrote Wabigoon. "We shall make more money up here this winter than you could earn in Detroit in three years. We will hunt wolves. The country is alive with them, and the government gives a bounty of fifteen dollars for every scalp taken. Two winters ago I killed forty and I did not make a business of it at that. I have a tame wolf which we use as a decoy. Don't bother about a gun or anything like that. We have everything here." For several days Mrs. Drew and her son deliberated upon the situation before a reply was sent to the Newsomes. Roderick pleaded, pictured the glorious times they would have, the health that it would give them, and marshaled in a dozen different ways his arguments in favor of accepting the invitation. On the other hand, his mother was filled with doubt. Their finances were alarmingly low, and Rod would be giving up a sure though small income, which was now supporting them comfortably. His future was bright, and that winter would see him promoted to ten dollars a week in the mercantile house where he was employed. In the end they came to an understanding. Mrs. Drew would not go to Wabinosh House, but she would allow Roderick to spend the winter there--and word to this effect was sent off into the wilderness. Three weeks later came Wabigoon's reply. On the tenth of October he would meet Rod at Sprucewood, on the Black Sturgeon River. Thence they would travel by canoe up the Sturgeon River to Sturgeon Lake, take portage to Lake Nipigon, and arrive at Wabinosh House before the ice of early winter shut them in. There was little time to lose in making preparations, and the fourth day following the receipt of Wabi's letter found Rod and his mother waiting for the train which was to whirl the boy into his new life. Not until the eleventh did he arrive at Sprucewood. Wabi was there to meet him, accompanied by an Indian from the Post; and that same afternoon the journey up Black Sturgeon River was begun. CHAPTER III RODERICK SEES THE FOOTPRINT Rod was now plunged for the first time in his life into the heart of the Wilderness. Seated in the bow of the birch-bark canoe which was carrying them up the Sturgeon, with Wabi close behind him, he drank in the wild beauties of the forests and swamps through which they slipped almost as noiselessly as shadows, his heart thumping in joyous excitement, his eyes constantly on the alert for signs of the big game which Wabi told him was on all sides of them. Across his knees, ready for instant use, was Wabi's repeating rifle. The air was keen with the freshness left by night frosts. At times deep masses of gold and crimson forests shut them in, at others, black forests of spruce came down to the river's edge; again they would pass silently through great swamps of tamaracks. In this vast desolation there was a mysterious quiet, except for the occasional sounds of wild life. Partridges drummed back in the woods, flocks of ducks got up with a great rush of wings at almost every turn, and once, late in the morning of the first day out, Rod was thrilled by a crashing in the undergrowth scarcely a stone's throw from the canoe. He could see saplings twisting and bending, and heard Wabi whisper behind him: "A moose!" They were words to set his hands trembling and his whole body quivering with anticipation. There was in him now none of the old hunter's coolness, none of the almost stoical indifference with which the men of the big North hear these sounds of the wild things about them. Rod had yet to see his first big game. That moment came in the afternoon. The canoe had skimmed lightly around a bend in the river. Beyond this bend a mass of dead driftwood had wedged against the shore, and this driftwood, as the late sun sank behind the forests, was bathed in a warm yellow glow. And basking in this glow, as he loves to do at the approach of winter nights, was an animal, the sight of which drew a sharp, excited cry from between Rod's lips. In an instant he had recognized it as a bear. The animal was taken completely by surprise and was less than half a dozen rods away. Quick as a flash, and hardly realizing what he was doing, the boy drew his rifle to his shoulder, took quick aim and fired. The bear was already clambering up the driftwood, but stopped suddenly at the report, slipped as if about to fall back--then continued his retreat. "You hit 'im!" shouted Wabi. "Quick-try 'im again!" Rod's second shot seemed to have no effect In his excitement he jumped to his feet, forgetting that he was in a frail canoe, and took a last shot at the big black beast that was just about to disappear over the edge of the driftwood. Both Wabi and his Indian companion flung themselves on the shore side of their birch and dug their paddles deep into the water, but their efforts were unavailing to save their reckless comrade. Unbalanced by the concussion of his gun, Rod plunged backward into the river, but before he had time to sink, Wabi reached over and grabbed him by the arm. "Don't make a move--and hang on to the gun!" he warned. "If we try to get you in here we'll all go over!" He made a sign to the Indian, who swung the canoe slowly inshore. Then he grinned down into Rod's dripping, unhappy face. "By George, that last shot was a dandy for a tenderfoot! You got your bear!" Despite his uncomfortable position, Rod gave a whoop of joy, and no sooner did his feet touch solid bottom than he loosened himself from Wabi's grip and plunged toward the driftwood. On its very top he found the bear, as dead as a bullet through its side and another through its head could make it. Standing there beside his first big game, dripping and shivering, he looked down upon the two who were pulling their canoe ashore and gave, a series of triumphant whoops that could have been heard half a mile away. "It's camp and a fire for you," laughed Wabi, hurrying up to him. "This is better luck than I thought you'd have, Rod. We'll have a glorious feast to-night, and a fire of this driftwood that will show you what makes life worth the living up here in the North. Ho, Muky," he called to the old Indian, "cut this fellow up, will you? I'll make camp." "Can we keep the skin?" asked Rod. "It's my first, you know, and--" "Of course we can. Give us a hand with the fire, Rod; it will keep you from catching cold." In the excitement of making their first camp, Rod almost forgot that he was soaked to the skin, and that night was falling about them. The first step was the building of a fire, and soon a great, crackling, almost smokeless blaze was throwing its light and heat for thirty feet around. Wabi now brought blankets from the canoe, stripped off a part of his own clothes, made Rod undress, and soon had that youth swathed in dry togs, while his wet ones were hung close up to the fire. For the first time Rod saw the making of a wilderness shelter. Whistling cheerily, Wabi got an ax from the canoe, went into the edge of the cedars and cut armful after armful of saplings and boughs. Tying his blankets about himself, Rod helped to carry these, a laughable and grotesque figure as he stumbled about clumsily in his efforts. Within half an hour the cedar shelter was taking form. Two crotched saplings were driven into the ground eight feet apart, and from one to the other, resting in the crotches, was placed another sapling, which formed the ridge-pole; and from this pole there ran slantwise to the earth half a dozen others, making a framework upon which the cedar boughs were piled. By the time the old Indian had finished his bear the home was completed, and with its beds of sweet-smelling boughs, the great camp-fire in front and the dense wilderness about them growing black with the approach of night, Rod thought that nothing in picture-book or story could quite equal the reality of that moment. And when, a few moments later, great bear-steaks were broiling over a mass of coals, and the odor of coffee mingled with that of meal-cakes sizzling on a heated stone, he knew that his dearest dreams had come true. That night in the glow of the camp-fire Rod listened to the thrilling stories of Wabi and the old Indian, and lay awake until nearly dawn, listening to the occasional howl of a wolf, mysterious splashings in the river and the shrill notes of the night birds. There were varied experiences in the following three days: one frosty morning before the others were awake he stole out from the camp with Wabi's rifle and shot twice at a red deer--which he missed both times; there was an exciting but fruitless race with a swimming caribou in Sturgeon Lake, at which Wabi himself took three long-range shots without effect. It was on a glorious autumn afternoon that Wabi's keen eyes first descried the log buildings of the Post snuggled in the edge of the seemingly unending forest. As they approached he joyfully pointed out the different buildings to Rod--the Company store, the little cluster of employees' homes and the factor's house, where Rod was to meet his welcome. At least Roderick himself had thought it would be there. But as they came nearer a single canoe shot out suddenly from the shore and the young hunters could see a white handkerchief waving them greeting. Wabi replied with a whoop of pleasure and fired his gun into the air. "It's Minnetaki!" he cried. "She said she would watch for us and come out to meet us!" Minnetaki! A little nervous thrill shot through Rod. Wabi had described her to him a thousand times in those winter evenings at home; with a brother's love and pride he had always brought her into their talks and plans, and somehow, little by little, Rod had grown to like her very much without ever having seen her. The two canoes swiftly approached each other, and in a few minutes more were alongside. With a glad laughing cry Minnetaki leaned over and kissed her brother, while at the same time her dark eyes shot a curious glance at the youth of whom she had read and heard so much. At this time Minnetaki was fifteen. Like her mother's race she was slender, of almost woman's height, and unconsciously as graceful as a fawn in her movements. A slightly waving wealth of raven hair framed what Rod thought to be one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen, and entwined in the heavy silken braid that fell over her shoulder were a number of red autumn leaves. As she straightened herself in her canoe she looked at Rod and smiled, and he in making a polite effort to lift his cap in civilized style, lost that article of apparel in a sudden gust of wind. In an instant there was a general laugh of merriment in which even the old Indian joined. The little incident did more toward making comradeship than anything else that might have happened, and laughing again into Rod's face Minnetaki urged her canoe toward the floating cap. "You shouldn't wear such things until it gets cold," she said, after retrieving the cap and handing it to him. "Wabi does--but I don't!" "Then I won't," replied Rod gallantly, and at Wabi's burst of laughter both blushed. That first night at the Post Rod found that Wabi had already made all plans for the winter's hunting, and the white youth's complete equipment was awaiting him in the room assigned to him in the factor's house--a deadly looking five-shot Remington, similar to Wabi's, a long-barreled, heavy-caliber revolver, snow-shoes, and a dozen other articles necessary to one about to set out upon a long expedition in the wilderness. Wabi had also mapped out their hunting-grounds. Wolves in the immediate neighborhood of the Post, where they were being constantly sought by the Indians and the factor's men, had become exceedingly cautious and were not numerous, but in the almost untraveled wilderness a hundred miles to the north and east they were literally overrunning the country, killing moose, caribou and deer in great numbers. In this region Wabi planned to make their winter quarters. And no time was to be lost in taking up the trail, for the log house in which they would pass the bitterly cold months should be built before the heavy snows set in. It was therefore decided that the young hunters should start within a week, accompanied by Mukoki, the old Indian, a cousin of the slain Wabigoon, whom Wabi had given the nickname of Muky and who had been a faithful comrade to him from his earliest childhood. Rod made the most of the six days which were allotted to him at the Post, and while Wabi helped to handle the affairs of the Company's store during a short absence of his father at Port Arthur, the lovely little Minnetaki gave our hero his first lessons in woodcraft. In canoe, with the rifle, and in reading the signs of forest life Wabi's sister awakened constantly increasing admiration in Rod. To see her bending over some freshly made trail, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her rich hair filled with the warmth of the sun, was a picture to arouse enthusiasm even in the heart of a youngster of eighteen, and a hundred times the boy mentally vowed that "she was a brick" from the tips of her pretty moccasined feet to the top of her prettier head. Half a dozen times at least he voiced this sentiment to Wabi, and Wabi agreed with great enthusiasm. In fact, by the time the week was almost gone Minnetaki and Rod had become great chums, and it was not without some feeling of regret that the young wolf hunter greeted the dawn of the day that was to see them begin their journey deeper into the wilds. Minnetaki was one of the earliest risers at the Post. Rod was seldom behind her. But on this particular morning he was late and heard the girl whistling outside half an hour before he was dressed--for Minnetaki could whistle in a manner that often filled him with envy. By the time he came down she had disappeared in the edge of the forest, and Wabi, who was also ahead of him, was busy with Mukoki tying up their equipment in packs. It was a glorious morning, clear and frosty, and Rod noticed that a thin shell of ice had formed on the lake during the night. Once or twice Wabi turned toward the forest and gave his signal whoop, but received no reply. "I don't see why Minnetaki doesn't come back," he remarked carelessly, as he fastened a shoulder-strap about a bundle. "Breakfast will be ready in a jiffy. Hunt her up, will you, Rod?" Nothing loath, Rod started out on a brisk run along the path which he knew to be a favorite with Minnetaki and shortly it brought him down to a pebbly stretch of the beach where she frequently left her canoe. That she had been here a few minutes before he could tell by the fact that the ice about the birch-bark was broken, as though the girl had tested its thickness by shoving the light craft out into it for a few feet. Her footsteps led plainly up the shelving shore and into the forest. "O Minnetaki--Minnetaki!" Rod called loudly and listened. There was no response. As if impelled by some presentiment which he himself could not explain, the boy hurried deeper into the forest along the narrow path which Minnetaki must have taken. Five minutes--ten minutes--and he called again. Still there was no answer. Possibly the girl had not gone so far, or she might have left the path for the thick woods. A little farther on there was a soft spot in the path where a great tree-trunk had rotted half a century before, leaving a rich black soil. Clearly traced in this were the imprints of Minnetaki's moccasins. For a full minute Rod stopped and listened, making not a sound. Why he maintained silence he could not have explained. But he knew that he was half a mile from the Post, and that Wabi's sister should not be here at breakfast time. In this minute's quiet he unconsciously studied the tracks in the ground. How small the pretty Indian maiden's feet were! And he noticed, too, that her moccasins, unlike most moccasins, had a slight heel. But in a moment more his inspection was cut short. Was that a cry he heard far ahead? His heart seemed to stop beating, his blood thrilled--and in another instant he was running down the path like a deer. Twenty rods beyond this point the path entered an opening in the forest made by a great fire, and half-way across this opening the youth saw a sight which chilled him to the marrow. There was Minnetaki, her long hair tumbling loosely down her back, a cloth tied around her head--and on either side an Indian dragging her swiftly toward the opposite forest! For as long as he might have drawn three breaths Rod stood transfixed with horror. Then his senses returned to him, and every muscle in his body seemed to bound with action. For days he had been practising with his revolver and it was now in the holster at his side. Should he use it? Or might he hit Minnetaki? At his feet he saw a club and snatching this up he sped across the opening, the soft earth holding the sound of his steps. When he was a dozen feet behind the Indians Minnetaki stumbled in a sudden effort to free herself, and as one of her captors half turned to drag her to her feet he saw the enraged youth, club uplifted, bearing down upon them like a demon. A terrific yell from Rod, a warning cry from the Indian, and the fray began. With crushing force, the boy's club fell upon the shoulder of the second Indian, and before he could recover from the delivery of this blow the youth was caught in a choking, deadly grip by the other from behind. Freed by the sudden attack, Minnetaki tore away the cloth that bound her eyes and mouth. As quick as a flash she took in the situation. At her feet the wounded Indian was half rising, and upon the ground near him, struggling in close embrace, were Rod and the other. She saw the Indian's fatal grip upon her preserver's throat, the whitening face and wide-open eyes, and with a great, sobbing cry she caught up the fallen club and brought it down with all her strength upon the redskin's head. Twice, three times the club rose and fell, and the grip on Rod's throat relaxed. A fourth time it rose, but this time was caught from behind, and a huge hand clutched the brave girl's throat so that the cry on her lips died in a gasp. But the relief gave Rod his opportunity. With a tremendous effort he reached his pistol holster, drew out the gun, and pressed it close up against his assailant's body. There was a muffled report and with a shriek of agony the Indian pitched backward. Hearing the shot and seeing the effect upon his comrade, the second Indian released his hold on Minnetaki and ran for the forest. Rod, seeing Minnetaki fall in a sobbing, frightened heap, forgot all else but to run to her, smooth back her hair and comfort her with all of the assurances at his boyish command. It was here that Wabi and the old Indian guide found them five minutes later. Hearing Rod's first piercing yell of attack, they had raced into the forest, afterward guided by the two or three shrill screams which Minnetaki had unconsciously emitted during the struggle. Close behind them, smelling trouble, followed two of the Post employees. The attempted abduction of Wabi's sister, Rod's heroic rescue and the death of one of the captors, who was recognized as one of Woonga's men, caused a seven-day sensation at the Post. There was now no thought of leaving on the part of the young wolf hunters. It was evident that Woonga was again in the neighborhood, and Wabi and Rod, together with a score of Indians and hunters, spent days in scouring the forests and swamps. But the Woongas disappeared as suddenly as they came. Not until Wabi had secured a promise from Minnetaki that she would no longer go into the forests unaccompanied did the Indian youth again allow himself to take up their interrupted plans. Minnetaki had been within easy calling distance of help when the Woongas, without warning, sprang upon her, smothered her attempted cries and dragged her away, compelling her to walk alone over the soft earth where Rod had seen her footsteps, so that any person who followed might suppose she was alone and safe. This fact stirred the dozen white families at the Post into aggressive action, and four of the most skillful Indian track-hunters in the service were detailed to devote themselves exclusively to hunting down the outlaws, their operations not to include a territory extending more than twenty miles from Wabinosh House in any direction. With these precautions it was believed that no harm could come to Minnetaki or other young girls of the Post. It was, therefore, on a Monday, the fourth day of November, that Rod, Wabi and Mukoki turned their faces at last to the adventures that awaited them in the great North. CHAPTER IV RODERICK'S FIRST TASTE OF THE HUNTER'S LIFE By this time it was bitter cold. The lakes and rivers were frozen deep and a light snow covered the ground. Already two weeks behind their plans, the young wolf hunters and the old Indian made forced marches around the northern extremity of Lake Nipigon and on the sixth day found themselves on the Ombabika River, where they were compelled to stop on account of a dense snow-storm. A temporary camp was made, and it was while constructing this camp that Mukoki discovered signs of wolves. It was therefore decided to remain for a day or two and investigate the hunting-grounds. On the morning of the second day Wabi shot at and wounded the old bull moose which met such a tragic end a few hours later, and that same morning the two boys made a long tour to the north in the hope of finding that they were in a good game country, which would mean also that there were plenty of wolves. This left Mukoki alone in camp. Thus far, in their desire to cover as much ground as possible before the heavy snows came, Wabi and his companions had not stopped to hunt for game and for six days their only meat had been bacon and jerked venison. Mukoki, whose prodigious appetite was second only to the shrewdness with which he stalked game to satisfy it, determined to add to their larder if possible during the others' absence, and with this object in view he left camp late in the afternoon to be gone, as he anticipated, not longer than an hour or so. With him he carried two powerful wolf-traps slung over his shoulders. Stealing cautiously along the edge of the river, his eyes and ears alert for game, Mukoki suddenly came upon the frozen and half-eaten carcass of a red deer. It was evident that the animal had been killed by wolves either the day or night before, and from the tracks in the snow the Indian concluded that not more than four wolves had participated in the slaughter and feast. That these wolves would return to continue their banquet, probably that night, Mukoki's many experiences as a wolf hunter assured him; and he paused long enough to set his traps, afterward covering them over with three or four inches of snow. Continuing his hunt, the old Indian soon struck the fresh spoor of a deer. Believing that the animal would not travel for any great distance in the deep snow, he swiftly took up the trail. Half a mile farther on he stopped abruptly with a grunt of unbounded surprise. Another hunter had taken up the trail! With increased caution Mukoki now advanced. Two hundred feet more and a second pair of moccasined feet joined in the pursuit, and a little later still a third! Led on by curiosity more than by the hope of securing a partnership share in the quarry, the Indian slipped silently and swiftly through the forest. As he emerged from a dense growth of spruce through which the tracks led him Mukoki was treated to another surprise by almost stumbling over the carcass of the deer he had been following. A brief examination satisfied him that the doe had been shot at least two hours before. The three hunters had cut out her heart, liver and tongue and had also taken the hind quarters, leaving the remainder of the carcass and the skin! Why had they neglected this most valuable part of their spoils? With a new gleam of interest in his eyes Mukoki carefully scrutinized the moccasin trails. He soon discovered that the Indians ahead of him were in great haste, and that after cutting the choicest meat from the doe they had started off to make up for lost time by running! With another grunt of astonishment the old Indian returned to the carcass, quickly stripped off the skin, wrapped in it the fore quarters and ribs of the doe, and thus loaded, took up the home trail. It was dark when he reached camp. Wabi and Rod had not yet returned. Building a huge fire and hanging the ribs of the doe on a spit before it, he anxiously awaited their appearance. Half an hour later he heard the shout which brought him quickly to where Wabi was holding the partly unconscious form of Rod in his arms. It took but a few moments to carry the injured youth to camp, and not until Rod was resting upon a pile of blankets in their shack, with the warmth of the fire reviving him, did Wabi vouchsafe an explanation to the old Indian. "I guess he's got a broken arm, Muky," he said. "Have you any hot water?" "Shot?" asked the old hunter, paying no attention to the question. He dropped upon his knees beside Rod, his long brown fingers reaching out anxiously. "Shot?" "No--hit with a club. We met three Indian hunters who were in camp and who invited us to eat with them. While we were eating they jumped upon our backs. Rod got that--and lost his rifle!" Mukoki quickly stripped the wounded boy of his garments, baring his left arm and side. The arm was swollen and almost black and there was a great bruise on Rod's body a little above the waist. Mukoki was a surgeon by necessity, a physician such as one finds only in the vast unblazed wildernesses, where Nature is the teacher. Crudely he made his examination, pinching and twisting the flesh and bones until Rod cried out in pain, but in the end there was a glad triumph in his voice as he said: "No bone broke--hurt most here!" and he touched the bruise. "Near broke rib--not quite. Took wind out and made great deal sick. Want good supper, hot coffee--rub in bear's grease, then be better!" Rod, who had opened his eyes, smiled faintly and Wabi gave a half-shout of delight. "Not so bad as we thought, eh, Rod?" he cried. "You can't fool Muky! If he says your arm isn't broken--why, it _isn't_, and that's all there is to it. Let me bolster you up in these blankets and we'll soon have a supper that will sizzle the aches out of you. I smell meat--fresh meat!" With a chuckle of pleasure Mukoki jumped to his feet and ran out to where the ribs of the doe were slowly broiling over the fire. They were already done to a rich brown and their dripping juice filled the nostrils with an appetizing odor. By the time Wabi had applied Mukoki's prescription to his comrade's wounds, and had done them up in bandages, the tempting feast was spread before them. As a liberal section of the ribs was placed before him, together with corn-meal cakes and a cup of steaming coffee, Rod could not suppress a happy though somewhat embarrassed laugh. "I'm ashamed of myself, Wabi," he said. "Here I've been causing so much bother, like some helpless kid; and now I find I haven't even the excuse of a broken arm, and that I'm as hungry as a bear! Looks pretty yellow, doesn't it? Just as though I was scared to death! So help me, I almost wish my arm _was_ broken!" Mukoki had buried his teeth in a huge chunk of fat rib, but he lowered it with a great chuckling grunt, half of his face smeared with the first results of his feast. "Whole lot sick," he explained. "Be sick some more--mighty sick! Maybe vomit lots!" "Waugh!" shrieked Wabi. "How is that for cheerful news, Rod?" His merriment echoed far out into the night. Suddenly he caught himself and peered suspiciously into the gloom beyond the circle of firelight. "Do you suppose they would follow?" he asked. A more cautious silence followed, and the Indian youth quickly related the adventures of the day to Mukoki--how, in the heart of the forest several miles beyond the lake, they had come upon the Indian hunters, had accepted of their seemingly honest hospitality, and in the midst of their meal had suffered an attack from them. So sudden and unexpected had been the assault that one of the Indians got away with Rod's rifle, ammunition belt and revolver before any effort could be made to stop him. Wabi was under the other two Indians when Rod came to his assistance, with the result that the latter was struck two heavy blows, either with a club or a gun-stock. So tenaciously had the Indian boy clung to his own weapon that his assailants, after a brief struggle, darted into the dense underbrush, evidently satisfied with the white boy's equipment. "They were of Woonga's people, without a doubt," finished Wabi. "It puzzles me why they didn't kill us. They had half a dozen chances to shoot us, but didn't seem to want to do us any great injury. Either the measures taken at the Post are making them reform, or--" He paused, a troubled look in his eyes. Immediately Mukoki told of his own experience and of the mysterious haste of the three Indians who had slain the doe. "It is certainly curious," rejoined the young Indian. "They couldn't have been the ones we met, but I'll wager they belong to the same gang. I wouldn't be surprised if we had hit upon one of Woonga's retreats. We've always thought he was in the Thunder Bay regions to the west, and that is where father is watching for him now. We've hit the hornets' nest, Muky, and the only thing for us to do is to get out of this country as fast as we can!" "We'd make a nice pot-shot just at this moment," volunteered Rod, looking across to the dense blackness on the opposite side of the river, where the moonlight seemed to make even more impenetrable the wall of gloom. As he spoke there came a slight sound from behind him, the commotion of a body moving softly beyond the wall of spruce boughs, then a curious, suspicious sniffing, and after that a low whine. "Listen!" Wabi's command came in a tense whisper. He leaned close against the boughs, stealthily parted them, and slowly thrust his head through the aperture. "Hello, Wolf!" he whispered. "What's up?" An arm's length away, tied before a smaller shelter of spruce, a gaunt, dog-like animal stood in a rigid listening attitude. An instant's glance, however, would have assured one that it was not a dog, but a full-grown wolf. From the days of its puppyhood Wabi had taught it in the ways of dogdom, yet had the animal perversely clung to its wild instincts. A weakness in that thong, a slip of the collar, and Wolf would have bounded joyously into the forests to seek for ever the packs of his fathers. Now the babeesh rope was taut, Wolf's muzzle was turned half to the sky, his ears were alert, half-sounding notes rattled in his throat. "There is something near our camp!" announced the Indian boy, drawing himself back quickly. "Muky--" He was interrupted by a long mournful howl from the captive wolf. Mukoki had jumped to his feet with the alertness of a cat, and now with his gun in his hand slunk around the edge of the shelter and buried himself in the gloom. Roderick lay quiet while Wabi, seizing the remaining rifle, followed him. "Lie over there in the dark, Rod, where the firelight doesn't show you up," he cautioned in a low voice. "Probably it is only some animal that has stumbled on to our camp, but we want to make sure." Ten minutes later the young hunter returned alone. "False alarm!" he laughed cheerfully. "There's a part of a carcass of a red deer up the creek a bit. It has been killed by wolves, and Wolf smells some of his own blood coming in to the feast. Muky has set traps there and we may have our first scalp in the morning." "Where is Mukoki?" "On watch. He is going to keep guard until a little after midnight, and then I'll turn out. We can't be too careful, with the Woongas in the neighborhood." Rod shifted himself uneasily. "What shall we do--to-morrow?" he asked. "Get out!" replied Wabi with emphasis. "That is, if you are able to travel. From what Mukoki tells me, and from what you and I already know, Woonga's people must be in the forests beyond the lake. We'll cut a trail up the Ombabika for two or three days before we strike camp. You and Muky can start out as soon as it is light enough." "And you--" began Rod. "Oh, I'm going to take a run back over our old wolf-trail and collect the scalps we shot to-day. There's a month's salary back there for you, Rod! Now, let's turn in. Good night--sleep tight--and be sure to wake up early in the morning." The boys, exhausted by the adventures of the day, were soon in profound slumber. And though midnight came, and hour after hour passed between then and dawn, the faithful Mukoki did not awaken them. Never for a moment neglecting his caution the old Indian watched tirelessly over the camp. With the first appearance of day he urged the fire into a roaring blaze, raked out a great mass of glowing coals, and proceeded to get breakfast. Wabi discovered him at this task when he awoke from his slumber. "I didn't think you would play this trick on me, Muky," he said, a flush of embarrassment gathering in his brown face. "It's awfully good of you, and all that, but I wish you wouldn't treat me as if I were a child any longer, old friend!" He placed his hand affectionately upon the kneeling Mukoki's shoulder, and the old hunter looked up at him with a happy, satisfied grin on his weather-beaten visage, wrinkled and of the texture of leather by nearly fifty years of life in the wilderness. It was Mukoki who had first carried the baby Wabi about the woods upon his shoulders; it was he who had played with him, cared for him, and taught him in the ways of the wild in early childhood, and it was he who had missed him most, with little Minnetaki, when he went away to school. All the love in the grim old redskin's heart was for the Indian youth and his sister, and to them Mukoki was a second father, a silent, watchful guardian and comrade. This one loving touch of Wabi's hand was ample reward for the long night's duty, and his pleasure expressed itself in two or three low chuckling grunts. "Had heap bad day," he replied. "Very much tired. Me feel good--better than sleep!" He rose to his feet and handed Wabi the long fork with which he manipulated the meat on the spits. "You can tend to that," he added. "I go see traps." Rod, who had awakened and overheard these last remarks, called out from the shack: "Wait a minute, Mukoki. I'm going with you. If you've got a wolf, I want to see him." "Got one sure 'nuff," grinned the old Indian. In a few minutes Rod came out, fully dressed and with a much healthier color in his face than when he went to bed the preceding night. He stood before the fire, stretched one arm then the other, gave a slight grimace of pain, and informed his anxious comrades that he seemed to be as well as ever, except that his arm and side were very sore. Walking slowly, that Rod might "find himself," as Wabi expressed it, the two went up the river. It was a dull gray morning and occasionally large flakes of snow fell, giving evidence that before the day was far advanced another storm would set in. Mukoki's traps were not more than an eighth of a mile from camp, and as the two rounded a certain bend in the river the old hunter suddenly stopped with a huge grant of satisfaction. Following the direction in which he pointed Rod saw a dark object lying in the snow a short distance away. "That's heem!" exclaimed the Indian. As they approached, the object became animate, pulling and tearing in the snow as though in the agonies of death. A few moments more and they were close up to the captive. "She wolf!" explained Mukoki. He gripped the ax he had brought with him and approached within a few feet of the crouching animal. Rod could see that one of the big steel traps had caught the wolf on the forward leg and that the other had buried its teeth in one of the hind legs. Thus held the doomed animal could make little effort to protect itself and crouched in sullen quiet, its white fangs gleaming in a noiseless, defiant snarl, its eyes shining with pain and anger, and with only its thin starved body, which jerked and trembled as the Indian came nearer, betraying signs of fear. To Rod it might have been a pitiful sight had not there come to him a thought of the preceding night and of his own and Wabi's narrow escape from the pack. Two or three quick blows of the ax and the wolf was dead. With a skill which can only be found among those of his own race, Mukoki drew his knife, cut deftly around the wolf's head just below the ears, and with one downward, one upward, and two sidewise jerks tore off the scalp. Suddenly, without giving a thought to his speech, there shot from Rod, "Is that the way you scalp people?" Mukoki looked up, his jaw fell--and then he gave the nearest thing to a real laugh that Rod ever heard come from between his lips. When Mukoki laughed it was usually in a half-chuckle, a half-gurgle--something that neither Rod nor Wabi could have imitated if they had tried steadily for a month. "Never scalped white people," the old Indian shot back. "Father did when--young man. Did great scalp business!" Mukoki had not done chuckling to himself even when they reached camp. Scarcely ten minutes were taken in eating breakfast. Snow was already beginning to fall, and if the hunters took up their trail at once their tracks would undoubtedly be entirely obliterated by midday, which was the best possible thing that could happen for them in the Woonga country. On the other hand, Wabi was anxious to follow back over the wolf-trail before the snow shut it in. There was no danger of their becoming separated and lost, for it was agreed that Rod and Mukoki should travel straight up the frozen river. Wabi would overtake them before nightfall. Arming himself with his rifle, revolver, knife, and a keen-edged belt-ax, the Indian boy lost no time in leaving camp. A quarter of an hour later Wabi came out cautiously on the end of the lake where had occurred the unequal duel between the old bull moose and the wolves. A single glance told him what the outcome of that duel had been. Twenty rods out upon the snow he saw parts of a great skeleton, and a huge pair of antlers. As he stood on the arena of the mighty battle, Wabi would have given a great deal if Rod could have been with him. There lay the heroic old moose, now nothing more than a skeleton. But the magnificent head and horns still remained--the largest head that the Indian youth, in all his wilderness life, had ever seen--and it occurred to him that if this head could be preserved and taken back to civilization it would be worth a hundred dollars or more. That the old bull had put up a magnificent fight was easily discernible. Fifty feet away were the bones of a wolf, and almost under the skeleton of the moose were those of another. The heads of both still remained, and Wabi, after taking their scalps, hurried on over the trail. Half-way across the lake, where he had taken his last two shots, were the skeletons of two more wolves, and in the edge of the spruce forest he found another. This animal had evidently been wounded farther back and had later been set upon by some of the pack and killed. Half a mile deeper in the forest he came upon a spot where he had emptied five shells into the pack and here he found the bones of two more wolves. He had seven scalps in his possession when he turned back over the home trail. Beside the remains of the old bull Wabi paused again. He knew that the Indians frequently preserved moose and caribou heads through the winter by keeping them frozen, and the head at his feet was a prize worth some thought. But how could he keep it preserved until their return, months later? He could not suspend it from the limb of a tree, as was the custom when in camp, for it would either be stolen by some passing hunter or spoiled by the first warm days of spring. Suddenly an idea came to him. Why could it not be preserved in what white hunters called an "Indian ice-box"? In an instant he was acting upon this inspiration. It was not a small task to drag the huge head to the shelter of the tamaracks, where, safely hidden from view, he made a closer examination. The head was gnawed considerably by the wolves, but Wabi had seen worse ones skillfully repaired by the Indians at the Post. Under a dense growth of spruce, where the rays of the sun seldom penetrated, the Indian boy set to work with his belt-ax. For an hour and a half he worked steadily, and at the end of that time had dug a hole in the frozen earth three feet deep and four feet square. This hole he now lined with about two inches of snow, packed as tight as he could jam it with the butt of his gun. Then placing in the head he packed snow closely about it and afterward filled in the earth, stamping upon the hard chunks with his feet. When all was done he concealed the signs of his work under a covering of snow, blazed two trees with his ax, and resumed his journey. "There is thirty dollars for each of us if there's a cent," he mused softly, as he hurried toward the Ombabika. "That ground won't thaw out until June. A moose-head and eight scalps at fifteen dollars each isn't bad for one day's work, Rod, old boy!" He had been absent for three hours. It had been snowing steadily and by the time he reached their old camp the trail left by Rod and Mukoki was already partly obliterated, showing that they had secured an early start up the river. Bowing his head in the white clouds falling silently about him, Wabi started in swift pursuit. He could not see ten rods ahead of him, so dense was the storm, and at times one side or the other of the river was lost to view. Conditions could not have been better for their flight out of the Woonga country, thought the young hunter. By nightfall they would be many miles up the river, and no sign would be left behind to reveal their former presence or to show in which direction they had gone. For two hours he followed tirelessly over the trail, which became more and more distinct as he proceeded, showing that he was rapidly gaining on his comrades. But even now, though the trail was fresher and deeper, so disguised had it become by falling snow that a passing hunter might have thought a moose or caribou had passed that way. At the end of the third hour, by which time he figured that he had made at least ten miles, Wabi sat down to rest, and to refresh himself with the lunch which he had taken from the camp that morning. He was surprised at Rod's endurance. That Mukoki and the white boy were still three or four miles ahead of him he did not doubt, unless they, too, had stopped for dinner. This, on further thought, he believed was highly probable. The wilderness about him was intensely still. Not even the twitter of a snow-bird marred its silence. For a long time Wabi sat as immovable as the log upon which he had seated himself, resting and listening. Such a day as this held a peculiar and unusual fascination for him. It was as if the whole world was shut out, and that even the wild things of the forest dared not go abroad in this supreme moment of Nature's handiwork, when with lavish hand she spread the white mantle that was to stretch from the border to Hudson Bay. As he listened there came to him suddenly a sound that forced from between his lips a half-articulate cry. It was the clear, ringing report of a rifle! And following it there came another, and another, until in quick succession he had counted five! What did it mean? He sprang to his feet, his heart thumping, every nerve in him prepared for action. He would have sworn it was Mukoki's rifle--yet Mukoki would not have fired at game! They had agreed upon that. Had Rod and the old Indian been attacked? In another instant Wabi was bounding over the trail with the speed of a deer. CHAPTER V MYSTERIOUS SHOTS IN THE WILDERNESS As the Indian youth sped over the trail in the direction of the rifle-shots he flung his usual caution to the winds. His blood thrilled with the knowledge that there was not a moment to lose--that even now, in all probability, he would be too late to assist his friends. This fear was emphasized by the absolute silence which followed the five shots. Eagerly, almost prayerfully, he listened as he ran for other sounds of battle--for the report of Mukoki's revolver, or the whoops of the victors. If there had been an ambush it was all over now. Each moment added to his conviction, and as he thrust the muzzle of his gun ahead of him, his finger hovering near the trigger and his snow-blinded eyes staring ahead into the storm, something like a sob escaped his lips. Ahead of him the stream narrowed until it almost buried itself under a mass of towering cedars. The closeness of the forest walls now added to the general gloom, intensified by the first gray pallor of the Northern dusk, which begins to fall in these regions early in the afternoon of November days. For a moment, just before plunging into the gloomy trail between the cedars, Wabi stopped and listened. He heard nothing but the beating of his own heart, which worked like a trip-hammer within his breast. The stillness was oppressive. And the longer he listened the more some invisible power seemed to hold him back. It was not fear, it was not lack of courage, but-- What was there just beyond those cedars, lurking cautiously in the snow gloom? With instinct that was almost animal in its unreasonableness Wabi sank upon his knees. He had seen nothing, he had heard nothing; but he crouched close, until he was no larger than a waiting wolf, and there was a deadly earnestness in the manner in which he turned his rifle into the deeper gloom of those close-knit walls of forest. Something was approaching, cautiously, stealthily, and with extreme slowness. The Indian boy felt that this was so, and yet if his life had depended upon it he could not have told why. He huddled himself lower in the snow. His eyes gleamed with excitement. Minute after minute passed, and still there came no sound. Then, from far up that dusky avenue of cedars, there came the sudden startled chatter of a moose-bird. It was a warning which years of experience had taught Wabi always to respect. Perhaps a roving fox had frightened it, perhaps the bird had taken to noisy flight at the near tread of a moose, a caribou, or a deer. But-- To Wabi the soft, quick notes of the moose-bird spelled man! In an instant he was upon his feet, darting quickly into the sheltering cedars of the shore. Through these he now made his way with extreme caution, keeping close to the bank of the frozen stream. After a little he paused again and concealed himself behind the end of a fallen log. Ahead of him he could look into the snow gloom between the cedars, and whatever was coming through that gloom would have to pass within a dozen yards of him. Each moment added to his excitement. He heard the chatter of a red squirrel, much nearer than the moose-bird. Once he fancied that he heard the striking of two objects, as though a rifle barrel had accidentally come into contact with the dead limb of a tree. Suddenly the Indian youth imagined that he saw something--an indistinct shadow that came in the snow gloom, then disappeared, and came again. He brushed the water and snow from his eyes with one of his mittened hands and stared hard and steadily. Once more the shadow disappeared, then came again, larger and more distinct than before. There was no doubt now. Whatever had startled the moose-bird was coming slowly, noiselessly. Wabi brought his rifle to his shoulder. Life and death hovered with his anxious, naked finger over the gun trigger. But he was too well trained in the ways of the wilderness to fire just yet. Yard by yard the shadow approached, and divided itself into two shadows. Wabi could now see that they were men. They were advancing in a cautious, crouching attitude, as though they expected to meet enemies somewhere ahead of them. Wabi's heart thumped with joy. There could be no surer sign that Mukoki and Rod were still among the living, for why should the Woongas employ this caution if they had already successfully ambushed the hunters? With the chill of a cold hand at his throat the answer flashed into Wabigoon's brain. His friends had been ambushed, and these two Woongas were stealing back over the trail to slay him! Very slowly, very gently, the young Indian's finger pressed against the trigger of his rifle. A dozen feet more, and then-- The shadows had stopped, and now drew together as if in consultation. They were not more than twenty yards away, and for a moment Wabi lowered his rifle and listened hard. He could hear the low unintelligible mutterings of their conversation. Then there came to him a single incautious reply from one of the shadows. "All right!" Surely that was not the English of a Woonga! It sounded like-- In a flash Wabi had called softly. "Ho, Muky--Muky--Rod!" In another moment the three wolf hunters were together, silently wringing one another's hands, the death-like pallor of Rod's face and the tense lines in the bronzed countenances of Mukoki and Wabigoon plainly showing the tremendous strain they had been under. "You shoot?" whispered Mukoki. "No!" replied Wabi, his eyes widening in surprise. "Didn't _you_ shoot?" "No!" Only the one word fell from the old Indian, but it was filled with a new warning. Who had fired the five shots? The hunters gazed blankly at one another, mute questioning in their eyes. Without speaking, Mukoki pointed suggestively to the clearer channel of the river beyond the cedars. Evidently he thought the shots had come from there. Wabi shook his head. "There was no trail," he whispered. "Nobody has crossed the river." "I thought they were there!" breathed Rod. He pointed into the forest. "But Mukoki said no." For a long time the three stood and listened. Half a mile back in the forest they heard the howl of a single wolf, and Wabi flashed a curious glance into the eyes of the old Indian. "That's a man's cry," he whispered. "The wolf has struck a human trail. It isn't mine!" "Nor ours," replied Rod. This one long howl of the wolf was the only sound that broke the stillness of approaching night. Mukoki turned, and the others followed in his trail. A quarter of a mile farther on the stream became still narrower and plunged between great masses of rock which rose into wild and precipitous hills that were almost mountains a little way back. No longer could the hunters now follow the channel of the rushing torrent. Through a break in a gigantic wall of rock and huge boulders led the trail of Rod and Mukoki. Ten minutes more and the three had clambered to the top of the ridge where, in the lee of a great rock, the remains of a fire were still burning. Here the old Indian and his companion had struck camp and were waiting for Wabigoon when they heard the shots which they, too, believed were those of an ambush. A comfortable shelter of balsam had already been erected against the rock, and close beside the fire, where Mukoki had dropped it at the sound of the shots, was a large piece of spitted venison. The situation was ideal for a camp and after the hard day's tramp through the snow the young wolf hunters regarded it with expressions of pleasure, in spite of the enemies whom they knew might be lurking near them. Both Wabi and Rod had accepted the place as their night's home, and were stirring up the fire, when their attention was drawn to the singular attitude of Mukoki. The old warrior stood leaning on his rifle, speechless and motionless, his eyes regarding the process of rekindling the fire with mute disapprobation. Wabi, poised on one knee, looked at him questioningly. "No make more fire," said the old Indian, shaking his head. "No dare stay here. Go on--beyond mountain!" Mukoki straightened himself and stretched a long arm toward the north. "River go like much devil 'long edge of mountain," he continued. "Make heap noise through rock, then make swamp thick for cow moose--then run through mountain and make wide, smooth river once more. We go over mountain. Snow all night. Morning come--no trail for Woonga. We stay here--make big trail in morning. Woonga follow like devil, ver' plain to see!" Wabi rose to his feet, his face showing the keenness of his disappointment. Since early morning he had been traveling, even running at times, and he was tired enough to risk willingly a few dangers for the sake of sleep and supper. Rod was in even worse condition, though his trail had been much shorter. For a few moments the two boys looked at each other in silence, neither attempting to conceal the lack of favor with which Mukoki's suggestion was received. But Wabi was too wise openly to oppose the old pathfinder. If Mukoki said that it was dangerous for them to remain where they were during the night--well, it was dangerous, and it would be foolish of him to dispute it. He knew Mukoki to be the greatest hunter of his tribe, a human bloodhound on the trail, and what he said was law. So with a cheerful grin at Rod, who needed all the encouragement that could be given to him, Wabi began the readjustment of the pack which he had flung from his shoulders a few minutes before. "Mountain not ver' far. Two--t'ree mile, then camp," encouraged Mukoki. "Walk slow--have big supper." Only a few articles had been taken from the toboggan-sled on which the hunters were dragging the greater part of their equipment into the wilderness, and Mukoki soon had these packed again. The three adventurers now took up the new trail along the top of one of those wild and picturesque ridges which both the Indians and white hunters of this great Northland call mountains. Wabigoon led, weighted under his pack, selecting the clearest road for the toboggan and clipping down obstructing saplings with his keen-edged belt-ax. A dozen feet behind him followed Mukoki, dragging the sled; and behind the sled, securely tied with a thong of babeesh, or moose-skin rope, slunk the wolf. Rod, less experienced in making a trail and burdened with a lighter pack, formed the rear of the little cavalcade. Darkness was now falling rapidly. Though Wabigoon was not more than a dozen yards ahead, Rod could only now and then catch a fleeting vision of him through the gloom. Mukoki, doubled over in his harness, was hardly more than a blotch in the early night. Only the wolf was near enough to offer companionship to the tired and down-spirited youth. Rod's enthusiasm was not easily cooled, but just now he mentally wished that, for this one night at least, he was back at the Post, with the lovely little Minnetaki relating to him some legend of bird or beast they had encountered that day. How much pleasanter that would be! The vision of the bewitching little maiden was suddenly knocked out of his head in a most unexpected and startling way. Mukoki had paused for a moment and Rod, unconscious of the fact, continued on his journey until he tumbled in a sprawling heap over the sled, knocking Mukoki's legs completely from under him in his fall. When Wabi ran back he found Rod flattened out, face downward, and Mukoki entangled in his site harness on top of him. In a way this accident was fortunate. Wabi, who possessed a Caucasian sense of humor, shook with merriment as he gave his assistance, and Rod, after he had dug the snow from his eyes and ears and had emptied a handful of it from his neck, joined with him. The ridge now became narrower as the trio advanced. On one side, far down, could be heard the thunderous rush of the river, and from the direction of the sound Rod knew they were near a precipice. Great beds of boulders and broken rock, thrown there by some tumultuous upheaval of past ages, now impeded their progress, and every step was taken with extreme caution. The noise of the torrent became louder and louder as they advanced and on one side of him Rod now thought that he could distinguish a dim massive shadow towering above them, like the precipitous side of a mountain. A few steps farther and Mukoki exchanged places with Wabigoon. "Muky has been here before," cried Wabi close up to Rod's ear. His voice was almost drowned by the tumult below. "That's where the river rushes through the mountain!" Rod forgot his fatigue in the new excitement. Never in his wildest dreams of adventure had he foreseen an hour like this. Each step seemed to bring them nearer the edge of the vast chasm through which the river plunged, and yet not a sign of it could he see. He strained his eyes and ears, each moment expecting to hear the warning voice of the old warrior. With a suddenness that chilled him he saw the great shadow close in upon them from the opposite side, and for the first time he realized their position. On their left was the precipice--on their right the sheer wall of the mountain! How wide was the ledge along which they were traveling? His foot struck a stick under the snow. Catching it up he flung it out into space. For a single instant he paused to listen, but there came no sound of the falling object. The precipice was very near--a little chill ran up his spine. It was a sensation he had never experienced in walking the streets of a city! Though he could not see, he knew that the ledge was now leading them up. He could hear Wabigoon straining ahead of the toboggan and he began to assist by pushing on the rear of the loaded sled. For half an hour this upward climb continued, until the sound of the river had entirely died away. No longer was the mountain on the right. Five minutes later Mukoki called a halt. "On top mountain," he said briefly. "Camp here!" Rod could not repress an exclamation of joy, and Wabigoon, as he threw off his harness, gave a suppressed whoop. Mukoki, who seemed tireless, began an immediate search for a site for their camp and after a short breathing-spell Rod and Wabi joined him. The spot chosen was in the shelter of a huge rock, and while Mukoki cleaned away the snow the young hunters set to work with their axes in a near growth of balsam, cutting armful after armful of the soft odorous boughs. Inside of an hour a comfortable camp was completed, with an exhilarating fire throwing its crackling flames high up into the night before it. For the first time since leaving the abandoned camp at the other end of the ridge the hunters fully realized how famished they were, and Mukoki was at once delegated to prepare supper while Wabi and Rod searched in the darkness for their night's supply of wood. Fortunately quite near at hand they discovered several dead poplars, the best fuel in the world for a camp-fire, and by the time the venison and coffee were ready they had collected a huge pile of this, together with several good-sized backlogs. Mukoki had spread the feast in the opening of the shelter where the heat of the fire, reflected from the face of the rock, fell upon them in genial warmth, suffusing their faces with a most comfortable glow. The heat, together with the feast, were almost overpowering in their effects, and hardly was his supper completed when Rod felt creeping over him a drowsiness which he attempted in vain to fight off a little longer. Dragging himself back in the shelter he wrapped himself in his blanket, burrowed into the mass of balsam boughs, and passed quickly into oblivion. His last intelligible vision was Mukoki piling logs upon the fire, while the flames shot up a dozen feet into the air, illumining to his drowsy eyes for an instant a wild chaos of rock, beyond which lay the mysterious and impenetrable blackness of the wilderness. CHAPTER VI MUKOKI DISTURBS THE ANCIENT SKELETONS Completely exhausted, every muscle in his aching body still seeming to strain with exertion, the night was one of restless and uncomfortable dreams for Roderick Drew. While Wabi and the old Indian, veterans in wilderness hardship, slept in peace and tranquillity, the city boy found himself in the most unusual and thrilling situations from which he would extricate himself with a grunt or sharp cry, several times sitting bolt upright in his bed of balsam until he realized where he was, and that his adventures were only those of dreamland. From one of these dreams Rod had aroused himself into drowsy wakefulness. He fancied that he had heard steps. For the tenth time he raised himself upon an elbow, stretched, rubbed his eyes, glanced at the dark, inanimate forms of his sleeping companions, and snuggled down into his balsam boughs again. A few moments later he sat bolt upright. He could have sworn that he heard real steps this time--a soft cautious crunching in the snow very near his head. Breathlessly he listened. Not a sound broke the silence except the snapping of a dying ember in the fire. Another dream! Once more he settled back, drawing his blanket closely about him. Then, for a full breath, the very beating of his heart seemed to cease. What was that! He was awake now, wide awake, with every faculty in him striving to arrange itself. He had heard--a step! Slowly, very cautiously this time, he raised himself. There came distinctly to his ears a light crunching in the snow. It seemed back of the shelter--then was moving away, then stopped. The flickering light of the dying fire still played on the face of the great rock. Suddenly, at the very end of that rock, something moved. Some object was creeping cautiously upon the sleeping camp! For a moment his thrilling discovery froze the young hunter into inaction. But in a moment the whole situation flashed upon him. The Woongas had followed them! They were about to fall upon the helpless camp! Unexpectedly one of his hands came in contact with the barrel of Wabi's rifle. The touch of the cold steel aroused him. There was no time to awaken his companions. Even as he drew the gun to him he saw the object grow larger and larger at the end of the rock, until it stood crouching, as if about to spring. One bated breath--a thunderous report--a snarling scream of pain, and the camp was awake! "We're attacked!" cried Rod. "Quick--Wabi--Mukoki!" The white boy was on his knees now, the smoking rifle still leveled toward the rocks. Out there, in the thick shadows beyond the fire, a body was groveling and kicking in death agonies. In another instant the gaunt form of the old warrior was beside Rod, his rifle at his shoulder, and over their heads reached Wabigoon's arm, the barrel of his heavy revolver glinting in the firelight. For a full minute they crouched there, breathless, waiting. "They've gone!" broke Wabi in a tense whisper. "I got one of them!" replied Rod, his voice trembling with excitement. Mukoki slipped back and burrowed a hole through the side of the shelter. He could see nothing. Slowly he slipped out, his rifle ready. The others could hear him as he went. Foot by foot the old warrior slunk along in the deep gloom toward the end of the rock. Now he was almost there, now-- The young hunters saw him suddenly straighten. There came to them a low chuckling grunt. He bent over, seized an object, and flung it in the light of the fire. "Heap big Woonga! Kill nice fat lynx!" With a wail, half feigned, half real, Rod flung himself back upon the balsam while Wabi set up a roar that made the night echo. Mukoki's face was creased in a broad grin. "Heap big Woonga--heem!" he repeated, chuckling. "Nice fat lynx shot well in face. No look like bad man Woonga to Mukoki!" When Rod finally emerged from his den to join the others his face was flushed and wore what Wabi described as a "sheepish grin." "It's all right for you fellows to make fun of me," he declared. "But what if they had been Woongas? By George, if we're ever attacked again I won't do a thing. I'll let you fellows fight 'em off!" In spite of the general merriment at his expense, Rod was immensely proud of his first lynx. It was an enormous creature of its kind, drawn by hunger to the scraps of the camp-fire feast; and it was this animal, as it cautiously inspected the camp, that the young hunter had heard crunching in the snow. Wolf, whose instinct had told him what a mix-up would mean, had slunk into his shelter without betraying his whereabouts to this arch-enemy of his tribe. With the craft of his race, Mukoki was skinning the animal while it was still warm. "You go back bed," he said to his companions. "I build big fire again--then sleep." The excitement of his adventure at least freed Rod from the unpleasantness of further dreams, and it was late the following morning before he awoke again. He was astonished to find that a beautiful sun was shining. Wabi and the old Indian were already outside preparing breakfast, and the cheerful whistling of the former assured Rod that there was now little to be feared from the Woongas. Without lingering to take a beauty nap he joined them. Everywhere about them lay white winter. The rocks, the trees, and the mountain behind them were covered with two feet of snow and upon it the sun shone with dazzling brilliancy. But it was not until Rod looked into the north that he saw the wilderness in all of its grandeur. The camp had been made at the extreme point of the ridge, and stretching away under his eyes, mile after mile, was the vast white desolation that reached to Hudson Bay. In speechless wonder he gazed down upon the unblazed forests, saw plains and hills unfold themselves as his vision gained distance, followed a river until it was lost in the bewildering picture, and let his eyes rest here and there upon the glistening, snow-smothered bosoms of lakes, rimmed in by walls of black forest. This was not the wilderness as he had expected it to be, nor as he had often read of it in books. It was beautiful! It was magnificent! His heart throbbed with pleasure as he gazed down on it, the blood rose to his face in an excited flush, and he seemed hardly to breathe in his tense interest. Mukoki had come up beside him softly, and spoke in his low guttural voice. "Twent' t'ousand moose down there--twent' t'ousand caribou-oo! No man--no house--more twent' t'ousand miles!" Roderick, even trembling in his new emotion, looked into the old warrior's face. In Mukoki's eyes there was a curious, thrilling gleam. He stared straight out into the unending distance as though his keen vision would penetrate far beyond the last of that visible desolation--on and on, even to the grim and uttermost fastnesses of Hudson Bay. Wabi came up and placed his hand on Rod's shoulder. "Muky was born off there," he said. "Away beyond where we can see. Those were his hunting-grounds when a boy. See that mountain yonder? You might take it for a cloud. It's thirty miles from here! And that lake down there--you might think a rifle-shot would reach it--is five miles away! If a moose or a caribou or a wolf should cross it how you could see him." For a few moments longer the three stood silent, then Wabi and the old Indian returned to the fire to finish the preparation of breakfast, leaving Rod alone in his enchantment. What unsolved mysteries, what unwritten tragedies, what romance, what treasure of gold that vast North must hold! For a thousand, perhaps a million centuries, it had lain thus undisturbed in the embrace of nature; few white men had broken its solitudes, and the wild things still lived there as they had lived in the winters of ages and ages ago. The call to breakfast came almost as an unpleasant interruption to Rod. But it did not shock his appetite as it had his romantic fancies, and he performed his part at the morning meal with considerable credit. Wabi and Mukoki had already decided that they would not take up the trail again that day but would remain in their present camp until the following morning. There were several reasons for this delay. "We can't travel without snow-shoes now," explained Wabi to Rod, "and we've got to take a day off to teach you how to use them. Then, all the wild things are lying low. Moose, deer, caribou, and especially wolves and fur animals, won't begin traveling much until this afternoon and to-night, and if we took up the trail now we would have no way of telling what kind of a game country we were in. And that is the important thing just now. If we strike a first-rate game country during the next couple days we'll stop and build our winter camp." "Then you believe we are far enough away from the Woongas?" asked Rod. Mukoki grunted. "No believe Woongas come over mountain. Heap good game country back there. They stay." During the meal the white boy asked a hundred questions about the vast wilderness which lay stretched out before them in a great panorama, and in which they were soon to bury themselves, and every answer added to his enthusiasm. Immediately after they had finished eating Rod expressed a desire to begin his study in snow-shoeing, and for an hour after that Wabi and Mukoki piloted him back and forth along the ridge, instructing him in this and in that, applauding when he made an especially good dash and enjoying themselves immensely when he took one of his frequent tumbles into the snow. By noon Rod secretly believed that he was becoming quite an adept. Although the day in camp was an exceedingly pleasant one for Rod, he could not but observe that at times something seemed to be troubling Wabi. Twice he discovered the Indian youth alone within the shelter sitting in silent and morose dejection, and finally he insisted upon an explanation. "I want you to tell me what the trouble is, Wabi," he demanded. "What has gone wrong?" Wabi jumped to his feet with a little laugh. "Did you ever have a dream that bothered you, Rod?" he asked. "Well, I had one last night, and since then--somehow--I can't keep from worrying about the people back at the Post, and especially about Minnetaki. It's all--what do you call it--bosh? Listen! Wasn't that Mukoki's whistle?" As he paused Mukoki came running around the end of the rock. "See fun!" he cried softly. "Quick--see heem quick!" He turned and darted toward the precipitous edge of the ridge, closely followed by the two boys. "Cari-boo-oo!" he whispered excitedly as they came up beside him. "Cari-boo-oo--making big play!" He pointed down into the snowy wilderness. Three-quarters of a mile away, though to Rod apparently not more than a third of that distance from where they stood, half a dozen animals were disporting themselves in a singular fashion in a meadow-like opening between the mountain and a range of forest. It was Rod's first real glimpse of that wonderful animal of the North of which he had read so much, the caribou--commonly known beyond the Sixtieth Degree as the reindeer; and at this moment those below him were indulging in the queer play known in the Hudson Bay regions as the "caribou dance." "What's the matter with them?" he asked, his voice quivering with excitement. "What--" "Making big fun!" chuckled Mukoki, drawing the boy closer to the rock that concealed them. Wabi had thrust a finger in his mouth and now held it above his head, the Indian's truest guide for discovering the direction of the wind. The lee side of his finger remained cold and damp, while that side upon which the breeze fell was quickly dried. "The wind is toward us, Muky," he announced. "There's a fine chance for a shot. You go! Rod and I will stay here and watch you." Roderick heard--knew that Mukoki was creeping back to the camp for his rifle, but not for an instant did his spellbound eyes leave the spectacle below him. Two other animals had joined those in the open. He could see the sun glistening on their long antlers as they tossed their heads in their amazing antics. Now three or four of them would dash away with the speed of the wind, as though the deadliest of enemies were close behind them. Two or three hundred yards away they would stop with equal suddenness, whirl about in a circle, as though flight were interrupted on all sides of them, then tear back with lightning speed to rejoin the herd. In twos and threes and fours they performed these evolutions again and again. But there was another antic that held Rod's eyes, and if it had not been so new and wonderful to him he would have laughed, as Wabi was doing--silently--behind him. From out of the herd would suddenly dash one of the agile creatures, whirl about, jump and kick, and finally bounce up and down on all four feet, as though performing a comedy sketch in pantomime for the amusement of its companions; and when this was done it would start out in another mad flight, with others of the herd at its heels. "They are the funniest, swiftest, and shrewdest animals in the North," said Wabi. "They can smell you over a mountain if the wind is right, and hear you for half a mile. Look!" He pointed downward over Rod's shoulder. Mukoki had already reached the base of the ridge and was stealing straight out in the direction of the caribou. Rod gave a surprised gasp. "Great Scott! They'll see him, won't they?" he cried. "Not if Mukoki knows himself," smiled the Indian youth. "Remember that we are looking down on things. Everything seems clear and open to us, while in reality it's quite thick down there. I'll bet Muky can't see one hundred yards ahead of him. He has got his bearings and will go as straight as though he was on a blazed trail; but he won't see the caribou until he conies to the edge of the open." Each minute now added to Rod's excitement. Each of those minutes brought the old warrior nearer his game. Seldom, thought Rod, had such a scene been unfolded to the eyes of a white boy. The complete picture--the playful rompings of the dumb children of the wilderness; the stealthy approach of the old Indian; every rock, every tree that was to play its part--all were revealed to their eyes. Not a phase in this drama in wild life escaped them. Five minutes, ten, fifteen passed. They could see Mukoki as he stopped and lifted a hand to test the wind. Then he crouched, advancing foot by foot, yard by yard, so slowly that he seemed to be on his hands and knees. "He can hear them, but he can't see them!" breathed Wabigoon. "See! He places his ear to the ground! Now he has got his bearings again--as straight as a die! Good old Muky!" The old Indian crept on. In his excitement Rod clenched his hands and he seemed to live without breathing. Would Mukoki never shoot? Would he _never_ shoot? He seemed now to be within a stone's throw of the herd. "How far, Wabi?" "Four hundred yards, perhaps five," replied the Indian. "It's a long shot! He can't see them yet." Rod gripped his companion's arm. Mukoki had stopped. Down and down he slunk, until he became only a blot in the snow. "Now!" There came a moment of startled silence. In the midst of their play the animals in the open stood for a single instant paralyzed by a knowledge of impending danger, and in that instant there came to the young hunters the report of Mukoki's rifle. "No good!" cried Wabi. In his excitement he leaped to his feet. The caribou had turned and the whole eight of them were racing across the open. Another shot, and another--three in quick succession, and one of the fleeing animals fell, scrambled to its knees--and plunged on again! A fifth shot--the last in Mukoki's rifle! Again the wounded animal fell, struggled to its knees--to its forefeet--and fell again. "Good work! Five hundred yards if it was a foot!" exclaimed Wabigoon with a relieved laugh. "Fresh steak for supper, Rod!" Mukoki came out into the open, reloading his rifle. Quickly he moved across the wilderness playground, now crimson with blood, unsheathed his knife, and dropped upon his knees close to the throat of the slain animal. "I'll go down and give him a little help, Rod," said Wabi. "Your legs are pretty sore, and it's a hard climb down there; so if you will keep up the fire, Mukoki and I will bring back the meat." During the next hour Rod busied himself with collecting firewood for the night and in practising with his snow-shoes. He was astonished to find how swiftly and easily he could travel in them, and was satisfied that he could make twenty miles a day even as a tenderfoot. Left to his own thoughts he found his mind recurring once more to the Woongas and Minnetaki. Why was Wabi worried? Inwardly he did not believe that it was a dream alone that was troubling him. There was still some cause for fear. Of that he was certain. And why would not the Woongas penetrate beyond this mountain? He had asked himself this question a score of times during the last twenty-four hours, in spite of the fact that both Mukoki and Wabigoon were quite satisfied that they were well out of the Woonga territory. It was growing dusk when Wabi and the old Indian returned with the meat of the caribou. No time was lost in preparing supper, for the hunters had decided that the next day's trail would begin with dawn and probably end with darkness, which meant that they would require all the rest they could get before then. They were all eager to begin the winter's hunt. That day Mukoki's eyes had glistened at each fresh track he encountered. Wabi and Rod were filled with enthusiasm. Even Wolf, now and then stretching his gaunt self, would nose the air with eager suspicion, as if longing for the excitement of the tragedies in which he was to play such an important part. "If you can stand it," said Wabi, nodding at Rod over his caribou steak, "we won't lose a minute from now on. Over that country we ought to make twenty-five or thirty miles to-morrow. We may strike our hunting-ground by noon, or it may take us two or three days; but in either event we haven't any time to waste. Hurrah for the big camp, I say--and our fun begins!" It seemed to Rod as though he had hardly fallen asleep that night when somebody began tumbling him about in his bed of balsam. Opening his eyes he beheld Wabi's laughing face, illuminated in the glow of a roaring fire. "Time's up!" he called cheerily. "Hustle out, Rod. Breakfast is sizzling hot, everything is packed, and here you are still dreaming of--what?" "Minnetaki!" shot back Rod with unblushing honesty. In another minute he was outside, straightening his disheveled garments and smoothing his tousled hair. It was still very dark, but Rod assured himself by his watch that it was nearly four o'clock. Mukoki had already placed their breakfast on a flat rock beside the fire and, according to Wabigoon's previous scheme, no time was lost in disposing of it. Dawn was just breaking when the little cavalcade of adventurers set out from the camp. More keenly than ever Rod now felt the loss of his rifle. They were about to enter upon a hunter's paradise--and he had no gun! His disappointment was acute and he could not repress a confession of his feelings to Wabi. The Indian youth at once suggested a happy remedy. They would take turns in using his gun, Rod to have it one day and he the next; and Wabi's heavy revolver would also change hands, so that the one who did not possess the rifle would be armed with the smaller weapon. This solution of the difficulty lifted a dampening burden from Rod's heart, and when the little party began its descent into the wilderness regions under the mountain the city lad carried the rifle, for Wabi insisted that he have the first "turn." Once free of the rock-strewn ridge the two boys joined forces in pulling the toboggan while Mukoki struck out a trail ahead of them. As it became lighter Rod found his eyes glued with keen interest to Mukoki's snow-shoes, and for the first time in his life he realized what it really meant to "make a trail." The old Indian was the most famous trailmaker as well as the keenest trailer of his tribe, and in the comparatively open bottoms through which they were now traveling he was in his element. His strides were enormous, and with each stride he threw up showers of snow, leaving a broad level path behind him in which the snow was packed by his own weight, so that when Wabi and Rod came to follow him they were not impeded by sinking into a soft surface. Half a mile from the mountain Mukoki stopped and waited for the others to come up to him. "Moose!" he called, pointing at a curious track in the snow. Rod leaned eagerly over the track. "The snow is still crumbling and falling where he stepped," said Wabi. "Watch that little chunk, Rod. See--it's slipping--down--down--there! It was an old bull--a big fellow--and he passed here less than an hour ago." Signs of the night carnival of the wild things now became more and more frequent as the hunters advanced. They crossed and recrossed the trail of a fox; and farther on they discovered where this little pirate of darkness had slaughtered a big white rabbit. The snow was covered with blood and hair and part of the carcass remained uneaten. Again Wabi forgot his determination to waste no time and paused to investigate. "Now, if we only knew what kind of a fox he was!" he exclaimed to Rod. "But we don't. All we know is that he's a fox. And all fox tracks are alike, no matter what kind of a fox makes them. If there was only some difference our fortunes would be made!" "How?" asked Rod. Mukoki chuckled as if the mere thought of such a possibility filled him with glee. "Well, that fellow may be an ordinary red fox," explained the Indian youth. "If so, he is only worth from ten to twenty dollars; or he may be a black fox, worth fifty or sixty; or what we call a 'cross'--a mixture of silver and black--worth from seventy-five to a hundred. Or--" "Heap big silver!" interrupted Mukoki with another chuckle. "Yes, or a silver," finished Wabi. "A poor silver is worth two hundred dollars, and a good one from five hundred to a thousand! Now do you see why we would like to have a difference in the tracks? If that was a silver, a black or a 'cross,' we'd follow him; but in all probability he is red." Every hour added to Rod's knowledge of the wilderness and its people. For the first time in his life he saw the big dog-like tracks made by wolves, the dainty hoof-prints of the red deer and the spreading imprints of a traveling lynx; he pictured the hugeness of the moose that made a track as big as his head, discovered how to tell the difference between the hoof-print of a small moose and a big caribou, and in almost every mile learned something new. Half a dozen times during the morning the hunters stopped to rest. By noon Wabi figured that they had traveled twenty miles, and, although very tired, Rod declared that he was still "game for another ten." After dinner the aspect of the country changed. The river which they had been following became narrower and was so swift in places that it rushed tumultuously between its frozen edges. Forest-clad hills, huge boulders and masses of rock now began to mingle again with the bottoms, which in this country are known as plains. Every mile added to the roughness and picturesque grandeur of the country. A few miles to the east rose another range of wild and rugged hills; small lakes became more and more numerous, and everywhere the hunters crossed and recrossed frozen creeks. And each step they took now added to the enthusiasm of Wabi and his companions. Evidences of game and fur animals were plenty. A thousand ideal locations for a winter camp were about them, and their progress became slow and studied. A gently sloping hill of considerable height now lay in their path and Mukoki led the ascent. At the top the three paused in joyful astonishment. At their feet lay a "dip," or hollow, a dozen acres in extent, and in the center of this dip was a tiny lake partly surrounded by a mixed forest of cedar, balsam and birch that swept back over the hill, and partly inclosed by a meadow-like opening. One might have traveled through the country a thousand times without discovering this bit of wilderness paradise hidden in a hilltop. Without speaking Mukoki threw off his heavy pack. Wabi unbuckled his harness and relieved his shoulders of their burden. Rod, following their example, dropped his small pack beside that of the old Indian, and Wolf, straining at his babeesh thong, gazed with eager eyes into the hollow as though he, too, knew that it was to be their winter home. Wabi broke the silence. "How is that, Muky?" he asked. Mukoki chuckled with unbounded satisfaction. "Ver' fine. No get bad wind--never see smoke--plenty wood--plenty water." Relieved of their burdens, and leaving Wolf tied to the toboggan, the hunters made their way down to the lake. Hardly had they reached its edge when Wabi halted with a startled exclamation and pointed into the forest on the opposite side. "Look at that!" A hundred yards away, almost concealed among the trees, was a cabin. Even from where they stood they could see that it was deserted. Snow was drifted high about it. No chimney surmounted its roof. Nowhere was there a sign of life. Slowly the hunters approached. It was evident that the cabin was very old. The logs of which it was built were beginning to decay. A mass of saplings had taken root upon its roof, and everything about it gave evidence that it had been erected many years before. The door, made of split timber and opening toward the lake, was closed; the one window, also opening upon the lake, was tightly barred with lengths of sapling. Mukoki tried the door, but it resisted his efforts. Evidently it was strongly barred from within. Curiosity now gave place to astonishment. How could the door be locked within, and the window barred from within, without there being somebody inside? For a few moments the three stood speechless, listening. "Looks queer, doesn't it?" spoke Wabi softly. Mukoki had dropped on his knees beside the door. He could hear no sound. Then he kicked off his snow-shoes, gripped his belt-ax and stepped to the window. A dozen blows and one of the bars fell. The old Indian sniffed suspiciously, his ear close to the opening. Damp, stifling air greeted his nostrils, but still there was no sound. One after another he knocked off the remaining bars and thrust his head and shoulders inside. Gradually his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and he pulled himself in. Half-way--and he stopped. "Go on, Muky," urged Wabi, who was pressing close behind. There came no answer from the old Indian. For a full minute he remained poised there, as motionless as a stone, as silent as death. Then, very slowly--inch by inch, as though afraid of awakening a sleeping person, he lowered himself to the ground. When he turned toward the young hunters it was with an expression that Rod had never seen upon Mukoki's face before. "What is it, Mukoki?" The old Indian gasped, as if for fresh air. "Cabin--she filled with twent' t'ousand dead men!" he replied. [Illustration: "Knife--fight--heem killed!"] CHAPTER VII RODERICK DISCOVERS THE BUCKSKIN BAG For one long breath Rod and Wabi stared at their companion, only half believing, yet startled by the strange look in the old warrior's face. "Twent' t'ousand dead men!" he repeated. As he raised his hand, partly to give emphasis and partly to brush the cobwebs from his face, the boys saw it trembling in a way that even Wabi had never witnessed before. "Ugh!" In another instant Wabi was at the window, head and shoulders in, as Mukoki had been before him. After a little he pulled himself back and as he glanced at Rod he laughed in an odd thrilling way, as though he had been startled, but not so much so as Mukoki, who had prepared him for the sight which had struck his own vision with the unexpectedness of a shot in the back. "Take a look, Rod!" With his breath coming in little uneasy jerks Rod approached the black aperture. A queer sensation seized upon him--a palpitation, not of fear, but of something; a very unpleasant feeling that seemed to choke his breath, and made him wish that he had not been asked to peer into that mysterious darkness. Slowly he thrust his head through the hole. It was as black as night inside. But gradually the darkness seemed to be dispelled. He saw, in a little while, the opposite wall of the cabin. A table outlined itself in deep shadows, and near the table there was a pile of something that he could not name; and tumbled over that was a chair, with an object that might have been an old rag half covering it. His eyes traveled nearer. Outside Wabi and Mukoki heard a startled, partly suppressed cry. The boy's hands gripped the sides of the window. Fascinated, he stared down upon an object almost within arm's reach of him. There, leaning against the cabin wall, was what half a century or more ago had been a living man! Now it was a mere skeleton, a grotesque, terrible-looking object, its empty eye-sockets gleaming dully with the light from the window, its grinning mouth, distorted into ghostly life by the pallid mixture of light and gloom, turned full up at him! Rod fell back, trembling and white. "I only saw one," he gasped, remembering Mukoki's excited estimate. Wabi, who had regained his composure, laughed as he struck him two or three playful blows on the back. Mukoki only grunted. "You didn't look long enough, Rod!" he cried banteringly. "He got on your nerves too quick. I don't blame you, though. By George, I'll bet the shivers went up Muky's back when he first saw 'em! I'm going in to open the door." Without trepidation the young Indian crawled through the window. Rod, whose nervousness was quickly dispelled, made haste to follow him, while Mukoki again threw his weight against the door. A few blows of Wabi's belt-ax and the door shot inward so suddenly that the old Indian went sprawling after it upon all fours. A flood of light filled the interior of the cabin. Instinctively Rod's eyes sought the skeleton against the wall. It was leaning as if, many years before, a man had died there in a posture of sleep. Quite near this ghastly tenant of the cabin, stretched at full length upon the log floor, was a second skeleton, and near the overturned chair was a small cluttered heap of bones which were evidently those of some animal. Rod and Wabi drew nearer the skeleton against the wall and were bent upon making a closer examination when an exclamation from Mukoki attracted their attention to the old pathfinder. He was upon his knees beside the second skeleton, and as the boys approached he lifted eyes to them that were filled with unbounded amazement, at the same time pointing a long forefinger to come object among the bones. "Knife--fight--heem killed!" Plunged to the hilt in what had once been the breast of a living being, the boys saw a long, heavy-bladed knife, its handle rotting with age, its edges eaten by rust--but still erect, held there by the murderous road its owner had cleft for it through the flesh and bone of his victim. Rod, who had fallen upon his knees, gazed up blankly; his jaw dropped, and he asked the first question that popped into his head. "Who--did it?" Mukoki chuckled, almost gleefully, and nodded toward the gruesome thing reclining against the wall. "Heem!" Moved by a common instinct the three drew near the other skeleton. One of its long arms was resting across what had once been a pail, but which, long since, had sunk into total collapse between its hoops. The finger-bones of this arm were still tightly shut, clutching between them a roll of something that looked like birch-bark. The remaining arm had fallen close to the skeleton's side, and it was on this side that Mukoki's critical eyes searched most carefully, his curiosity being almost immediately satisfied by the discovery of a short, slant-wise cut in one of the ribs. "This un die here!" he explained. "Git um stuck knife in ribs. Bad way die! Much hurt--no die quick, sometime. Ver' bad way git stuck!" "Ugh!" shuddered Rod. "This cabin hasn't had any fresh air in it for a century, I'll bet. Let's get out!" Mukoki, in passing, picked up a skull from the heap of bones near the chair. "Dog!" he grunted. "Door lock'--window shut--men fight--both kill. Dog starve!" As the three retraced their steps to the spot where Wolf was guarding the toboggan, Rod's imaginative mind quickly painted a picture of the terrible tragedy that had occurred long ago in the old cabin. To Mukoki and Wabigoon the discovery of the skeletons was simply an incident in a long life of wilderness adventure--something of passing interest, but of small importance. To Rod it was the most tragic event that had ever come into his city-bound existence, with the exception of the thrilling conflict at Wabinosh House. He reconstructed that deadly hour in the cabin; saw the men in fierce altercation, saw them struggling, and almost heard the fatal blows as they were struck--the blows that slew one with the suddenness of a lightning bolt and sent the other, triumphant but dying, to breathe his last moments with his back propped against the wall. And the dog! What part had he taken? And after that--long days of maddening loneliness, days of starvation and of thirst, until he, too, doubled himself up on the floor and died. It was a terrible, a thrilling picture that burned in Roderick's brain. But why had they quarreled? What cause had there been for that sanguinary night duel? Instinctively Rod accepted it as having occurred at night, for the door had been locked, the window barred. Just then he would have given a good deal to have had the mystery solved. At the top of the hill Rod awoke to present realities. Wabi, who had harnessed himself to the toboggan, was in high spirits. "That cabin is a dandy!" he exclaimed as Rod joined him. "It would have taken us at least two weeks to build as good a one. Isn't it luck?" "We're going to live in it?" inquired his companion. "Live in it! I should say we were. It is three times as big as the shack we had planned to build. I can't understand why two men like those fellows should have put up such a large cabin. What do you think, Mukoki?" Mukoki shook his head. Evidently the mystery of the whole thing, beyond the fact that the tenants of the cabin had killed themselves in battle, was beyond his comprehension. The winter outfit was soon in a heap beside the cabin door. "Now for cleaning up," announced Wabi cheerfully. "Muky, you lend me a hand with the bones, will you? Rod can nose around and fetch out anything he likes." This assignment just suited Rod's curiosity. He was now worked up to a feverish pitch of expectancy. Might he not discover some clue that would lead to a solution of the mystery? One question alone seemed to ring incessantly in his head. Why had they fought? _Why had they fought?_ He even found himself repeating this under his breath as he began rummaging about. He kicked over the old chair, which was made of saplings nailed together, scrutinized a heap of rubbish that crumbled to dust under his touch, and gave a little cry of exultation when he found two guns leaning in a corner of the cabin. Their stocks were decaying; their locks were encased with rust, their barrels, too, were thick with the accumulated rust of years. Carefully, almost tenderly, he took one of these relics of a past age in his hands. It was of ancient pattern, almost as long as he was tall. "Hudson Bay gun--the kind they had before my father was born!" said Wabi. With bated breath and eagerly beating heart Rod pursued his search. On one of the walls he found the remains of what had once been garments--part of a hat, that fell in a thousand pieces when he touched it; the dust-rags of a coat and other things that he could not name. On the table there were rusty pans, a tin pail, an iron kettle, and the remains of old knives, forks and spoons. On one end of this table there was an unusual-looking object, and he touched it. Unlike the other rags it did not crumble, and when he lifted it he found that it was a small bag, made of buckskin, tied at the end--and heavy! With trembling fingers he tore away the rotted string and out upon the table there rattled a handful of greenish-black, pebbly looking objects. Rod gave a sharp quick cry for the others. Wabi and Mukoki had just come through the door after bearing out one of their gruesome loads, and the young Indian hurried to his side. He weighed one of the pieces in the palm of his hand. "It's lead, or--" "Gold!" breathed Rod. He could hear his own heart thumping as Wabi jumped back to the light of the door, his sheath-knife in his hand. For an instant the keen blade sank into the age-discolored object, and before Rod could see into the crease that it made Wabi's voice rose in an excited cry. "It's a gold nugget!" "And _that's_ why they fought!" exclaimed Rod exultantly. He had hoped--and he had discovered the reason. For a few moments this was of more importance to him than the fact that he had found gold. Wabi and Mukoki were now in a panic of excitement. The buckskin bag was turned inside out; the table was cleared of every other object; every nook and cranny was searched with new enthusiasm. The searchers hardly spoke. Each was intent upon finding--finding--finding. Thus does gold--virgin gold--stir up the sparks of that latent, feverish fire which is in every man's soul. Again Rod joined in the search. Every rag, every pile of dust, every bit of unrecognizable debris was torn, sifted and scattered. At the end of an hour the three paused, hopelessly baffled, even keenly disappointed for the time. "I guess that's all there is," said Wabi. It was the longest sentence that he had spoken for half an hour. "There is only one thing to do, boys. We'll clean out everything there is in the cabin, and to-morrow we'll tear up the floor. You can't tell what there might be under it, and we've got to have a new floor anyway. It is getting dusk, and if we have this place fit to sleep in to-night we have got to hustle." No time was lost in getting the debris of the cabin outside, and by the time darkness had fallen a mass of balsam boughs had been spread upon the log floor just inside the door, blankets were out, packs and supplies stowed away in one corner, and everything "comfortable and shipshape," as Rod expressed it. A huge fire was built a few feet away from the open door and the light and heat from this made the interior of the cabin quite light and warm, and, with the assistance of a couple of candles, more home-like than any camp they had slept in thus far. Mukoki's supper was a veritable feast--broiled caribou, cold beans that the old Indian had cooked at their last camp, meal cakes and hot coffee. The three happy hunters ate of it as though they had not tasted food for a week. The day, though a hard one, had been fraught with too much excitement for them to retire to their blankets immediately after this meal, as they had usually done in other camps. They realized, too, that they had reached the end of their journey and that their hardest work was over. There was no long jaunt ahead of them to-morrow. Their new life--the happiest life in the world to them--had already begun. Their camp was established, they were ready for their winter's sport, and from this moment on they felt that their evenings were their own to do with as they pleased. So for many hours that night Rod, Mukoki and Wabigoon sat up and talked and kept the fire roaring before the door. Twenty times they went over the tragedy of the old cabin; twenty times they weighed the half-pound of precious little lumps in the palms of their hands, and bit by bit they built up that life romance of the days of long ago, when all this wilderness was still an unopened book to the white man. And that story seemed very clear to them now. These men had been prospectors. They had discovered gold. Afterward they had quarreled, probably over some division of it--perhaps over the ownership of the very nuggets they had found; and then, in the heat of their anger, had followed the knife battle. But where had they discovered the gold? That was the question of supreme interest to the hunters, and they debated it until midnight. There were no mining tools in the camp; no pick, shovel or pan. Then it occurred to them that the builders of the cabin had been hunters, had discovered gold by accident and had collected that in the buckskin bag without the use of a pan. There was little sleep in the camp that night, and with the first light of day the three were at work again. Immediately after breakfast the task of tearing up the old and decayed floor began. One by one the split saplings were pried up and carried out for firewood, until the earth floor lay bare. Every foot of it was now eagerly turned over with a shovel which had been brought in the equipment; the base-logs were undermined, and filled in again; the moss that had been packed in the chinks between the cabin timbers was dug out, and by noon there was not a square inch of the interior of the camp that had not been searched. There was no more gold. In a way this fact brought relief with it. Both Wabi and Rod gradually recovered from their nervous excitement. The thought of gold gradually faded from their minds; the joy and exhilaration of the "hunt life" filled them more and more. Mukoki set to work cutting fresh cedars for the floor; the two boys scoured every log with water from the lake and afterward gathered several bushels of moss for refilling the chinks. That evening supper was cooked on the sheet-iron "section stove" which they had brought on the toboggan, and which was set up where the ancient stove of flat stones had tumbled into ruin. By candle-light the work of "rechinking" with moss progressed rapidly. Wabi was constantly bursting into snatches of wild Indian song, Rod whistled until his throat was sore and Mukoki chuckled and grunted and talked with constantly increasing volubility. A score of times they congratulated one another upon their good luck. Eight wolf-scalps, a fine lynx and nearly two hundred dollars in gold--all within their first week! It was enough to fill them with enthusiasm and they made little effort to repress their joy. During this evening Mukoki boiled up a large pot of caribou fat and bones, and when Rod asked what kind of soup he was making he responded by picking up a handful of steel traps and dropping them into the mixture. "Make traps smell good for fox--wolf--fisher, an' marten, too; heem come--all come--like smell," he explained. "If you don't dip the traps," added Wabi, "nine fur animals out of ten, and wolves most of all, will fight shy of the bait. They can smell the human odor you leave on the steel when you handle it. But the grease 'draws' them." When the hunters wrapped themselves in their blankets that night their wilderness home was complete. All that remained to be done was the building of three bunks against the ends of the cabin, and this work it was agreed could be accomplished at odd hours by any one who happened to be in camp. In the morning, laden with traps, they would strike out their first hunting-trails, keeping their eyes especially open for signs of wolves; for Mukoki was the greatest wolf hunter in all the Hudson Bay region. CHAPTER VIII HOW WOLF BECAME THE COMPANION OF MEN Twice that night Rod was awakened by Mukoki opening the cabin door. The second time he raised himself upon his elbows and quietly watched the old warrior. It was a brilliantly clear night and a flood of moonlight was pouring into the camp. He could hear Mukoki chuckling and grunting, as though communicating with himself, and at last, his curiosity getting the better of him, he wrapped his blanket about him and joined the Indian at the door. Mukoki was peering up into space. Rod followed his gaze. The moon was directly above the cabin. The sky was clear of clouds and so bright was the light that objects on the farther side of the lake were plainly visible. Besides, it was bitter cold--so cold that his face began to tingle as he stood there. These things he noticed, but he could see nothing to hold Mukoki's vision in the sky above unless it was the glorious beauty of the night. "What is it, Mukoki?" he asked. The old Indian looked silently at him for a moment, some mysterious, all-absorbing joy revealed in every lineament of his face. "Wolf night!" he whispered. He looked back to where Wabi was sleeping. "Wolf night!" he repeated, and slipped like a shadow to the side of the unconscious young hunter. Rod regarded his actions with growing wonder. He saw him bend over Wabi, shake him by the shoulders, and heard him repeat again, "Wolf night! Wolf night!" Wabi awoke and sat up in his blankets, and Mukoki came back to the door. He had dressed himself before this, and now, with his rifle, slipped out into the night. The young Indian had joined Rod at the open door and together they watched Mukoki's gaunt figure as it sped swiftly across the lake, up the hill and over into the wilderness desolation beyond. When Rod looked at Wabi he saw that the Indian boy's eyes were wide and staring, with an expression in them that was something between fright and horror. Without speaking he went to the table and lighted the candles and then dressed. When he was done his face still bore traces of suppressed excitement. He ran back to the door and whistled loudly. From his shelter beside the cabin the captive wolf responded with a snarling whine. Again he whistled, a dozen times, twenty, but there came no reply. More swiftly than Mukoki the Indian youth sped across the lake and to the summit of the hill. Mukoki had completely disappeared in the white, brilliant vastness of the wilderness that stretched away at his feet. When Wabi returned to the cabin Rod had a fire roaring in the stove. He seated himself beside it, holding out a pair of hands blue with cold. "Ugh! It's an awful night!" he shivered. He laughed across at Rod, a little uneasily, but with the old light back in his eyes. Suddenly he asked: "Did Minnetaki ever tell you--anything--queer--about Mukoki, Rod?" "Nothing more than you have told me yourself." "Well, once in a great while Mukoki has--not exactly a fit, but a little mad spell! I have never determined to my own satisfaction whether he is really out of his head or not. Sometimes I think he is and sometimes I think he is not. But the Indians at the Post believe that at certain times he goes crazy over wolves." "Wolves!" exclaimed Rod. "Yes, wolves. And he has good reason. A good many years ago, just about when you and I were born, Mukoki had a wife and child. My mother and others at the Post say that he was especially gone over the kid. He wouldn't hunt like other Indians, but would spend whole days at his shack playing with it and teaching it to do things; and when he did go hunting he would often tote it on his back, even when it wasn't much more than a squalling papoose. He was the happiest Indian at the Post, and one of the poorest. One day Mukoki came to the Post with a little bundle of fur, and most of the things he got in exchange for it, mother says, were for the kid. He reached the store at night and expected to leave for home the next noon, which would bring him to his camp before dark. But something delayed him and he didn't get started until the morning after. Meanwhile, late in the afternoon of the day when he was to have been home, his wife bundled up the kid and they set out to meet him. Well--" A weird howl from the captive wolf interrupted Wabi for a moment. "Well, they went on and on, and of course did not meet him. And then, the people at the Post say, the mother must have slipped and hurt herself. Anyway, when Mukoki came over the trail the next day he found them half eaten by wolves. From that day on Mukoki was a different Indian. He became the greatest wolf hunter in all these regions. Soon after the tragedy he came to the Post to live and since then he has not left Minnetaki and me. Once in a great while when the night is just right, when the moon is shining and it is bitter cold, Mukoki seems to go a little mad. He calls this a 'wolf night.' No one can stop him from going out; no one can get him to talk; he will allow no one to accompany him when in such a mood. He will walk miles and miles to-night. But he will come back. And when he returns he will be as sane as you and I, and if you ask him where he has been he will say that he went out to see if he could get a shot at something." Rod had listened in rapt attention. To him, as Wabi proceeded with his story of the tragedy in Mukoki's life, the old Indian was transformed into another being. No longer was he a mere savage reclaimed a little from the wilderness. There had sprung up in Rod's breast a great, human, throbbing sympathy for him, and in the dim candle-glow his eyes glistened with a dampness which he made no attempt to conceal. "What does Mukoki mean by 'wolf night'?" he asked. "Muky is a wizard when it comes to hunting wolves," Wabi went on. "He has studied them and thought of them every day of his life for nearly twenty years. He knows more about wolves than all the rest of the hunters in this country together. He can catch them in every trap he sets, which no other trapper in the world can do; he can tell you a hundred different things about a certain wolf simply by its track, and because of his wonderful knowledge he can tell, by some instinct that is almost supernatural, when a 'wolf night' comes. Something in the air to-night, something in the sky--in the moon--in the very way the wilderness looks, tells him that stray wolves in the plains and hills are 'packing' or banding together to-night, and that in the morning the sun will be shining, and they will be on the sunny sides of the mountains. See if I am not right. To-morrow night, if Mukoki comes back by then, we shall have some exciting sport with the wolves, and then you will see how Wolf out there does his work!" There followed several minutes of silence. The fire roared up the chimney, the stove glowed red hot and the boys sat and looked and listened. Rod took out his watch. It lacked only ten minutes of midnight. Yet neither seemed possessed with a desire to return to their interrupted sleep. "Wolf is a curious beast," mused Wabi softly. "You might think he was a sneaking, traitorous cur of a wolf to turn against his own breed and lure them to death. But he isn't. Wolf, as well as Mukoki, has good cause for what he does. You might call it animal vengeance. Did you ever notice that a half of one of his ears is gone? And if you thrust back his head you will find a terrible sear in his throat, and from his left side just back of the fore leg a chunk of flesh half as big as my hand has been torn away. We caught Wolf in a lynx trap, Mukoki and I. He wasn't much more than a whelp then--about six months old, Mukoki said. And while he was in the trap, helpless and unable to defend himself, three or four of his lovely tribe jumped upon him and tried to kill him for breakfast. We hove in sight just in time to drive the cannibals off. We kept Wolf, sewed up his side and throat, tamed him--and to-morrow night you will see how Mukoki has taught him to get even with his people." It was two hours later when Rod and Wabigoon extinguished the candles and returned to their blankets. And for another hour after that the former found it impossible to sleep. He wondered where Mukoki was--wondered what he was doing, and how in his strange madness he found his way in the trackless wilderness. When he finally fell asleep it was to dream of the Indian mother and her child; only after a little there was no child, and the woman changed into Minnetaki, and the ravenous wolves into men. From this unpleasant picture he was aroused by a series of prods in his side, and opening his eyes he beheld Wabi in his blankets a yard away, pointing over and beyond him and nodding his head. Rod looked, and caught his breath. There was Mukoki--peeling potatoes! "Hello, Muky!" he shouted. The old Indian looked up with a grin. His face bore no signs of his mad night on the trail. He nodded cheerfully and proceeded with the preparation of breakfast as though he had just risen from his blankets after a long night's rest. "Better get up," he advised. "Big day's hunt. Much fine sunshine to-day. Find wolves on mountain--plenty wolves!" The boys tumbled from their blankets and began dressing. "What time did you get in?" asked Wabi. "Now," replied Mukoki, pointing to the hot stove and the peeled potatoes. "Just make fire good." Wabi gave Rod a suggestive look as the old Indian bent over the stove. "What were you doing last night?" he questioned. "Big moon--might get shot," grunted Mukoki. "See lynx on hill. See wolf-tracks on red deer trail. No shot." This was as much of the history of Mukoki's night on the trail as the boys could secure, but during their breakfast Wabi shot another glance at Rod, and as Mukoki left the table for a moment to close the damper in the stove he found an opportunity to whisper: "See if I'm not right. He will choose the mountain trail." When their companion returned, he said: "We had better split up this morning, hadn't we, Muky? It looks to me as though there are two mighty good lines for traps--one over the hill, where that creek leads off through the range of ridges to the east, and the other along the creek which runs through the hilly plains to the north. What do you think of it?" "Good" agreed the old hunter. "You two go north--I take ridges." "No, you and I will take the ridges and Wabi will go north alone," amended Rod quickly. "I'm going with you, Mukoki!" Mukoki, who was somewhat flattered by this preference of the white youth, grinned and chuckled and began to talk more volubly about the plans which were in his head. It was agreed that they all would return to the cabin at an early hour in the afternoon, for the old Indian seemed positive that they would have their first wolf hunt that night. Rod noticed that the captive wolf received no breakfast that morning, and he easily guessed the reason. The traps were now divided. Three different sizes had been brought from the Post--fifty small ones for mink, marten and other small fur animals; fifteen fox traps, and as many larger ones for lynx and wolves. Wabi equipped himself with twenty of the small traps and four each of fox and lynx traps, while Rod and Mukoki took about forty in all. The remainder of the caribou meat was then cut into chunks and divided equally among them for bait. The sun was just beginning to show itself above the wilderness when the hunters left camp. As Mukoki had predicted, it was a glorious day, one of those bitterly cold, cloudless days when, as the Indians believe, the great Creator robs the rest of the world of the sun that it may shine in all its glory upon their own savage land. From the top of the hill that sheltered their home Rod looked out over the glistening forests and lakes in rapt and speechless admiration; but only for a few moments did the three pause, then took up their different trails. At the foot of this hill Mukoki and his companion struck the creek. They had not progressed more than fifty rods when the old Indian stopped and pointed at a fallen log which spanned the stream. The snow on this log was beaten by tiny footprints. Mukoki gazed a moment, cast an observant eye along the trail, and at once threw off his pack. "Mink!" he explained. He crossed the frozen creek, taking care not to touch the log. On the opposite side the tracks spread out over a windfall of trees. "Whole family mink live here," continued Mukoki. "T'ree--mebby four--mebby five. Build trap-house right here!" Never before had Rod seen a trap set as the old Indian now set his. Very near the end of the log over which the mink made their trail he quickly built a shelter of sticks which when completed was in the form of a tiny wigwam. At the back of this was placed a chunk of the caribou meat, and in front of this bait, so that an animal would have to spring it in passing, was set a trap, carefully covered with snow and a few leaves. Within twenty minutes Mukoki had built two of these shelters and had set two traps. "Why do you build those little houses?" asked Rod, as they again took up their trail. "Much snow come in winter," elucidated the Indian. "Build house to keep snow off traps. No do that, be digging out traps all winter. When mink--heem smell meat--go in house he got to go over trap. Make house for all small animal like heem. No good for lynx. He see house--walk roun' 'n' roun' 'n' roun'--and then go 'way. Smart fellow--lynx. Wolf and fox, too." "Is a mink worth much?" "Fi' dollar--no less that. Seven--eight dollar for good one." During the next mile six other mink traps were set. The creek now ran along the edge of a high rocky ridge and Mukoki's eyes began to shine with a new interest. No longer did he seem entirely absorbed in the discovery of signs of fur animals. His eyes were constantly scanning the sun-bathed side of the ridge ahead and his progress was slow and cautious. He spoke in whispers, and Rod followed his example. Frequently the two would stop and scan the openings for signs of life. Twice they set fox traps where there were evident signs of runways; in a wild ravine, strewn with tumbled trees and masses of rock, they struck a lynx track and set a trap for him at each end of the ravine; but even during these operations Mukoki's interest was divided. The hunters now walked abreast, about fifty yards apart, Rod never forging a foot ahead of the cautious Mukoki. Suddenly the youth heard a low call and he saw his companion beckoning to him with frantic enthusiasm. "Wolf!" whispered Mukoki as Rod joined him. In the snow were a number of tracks that reminded Rod of those made by a dog. "T'ree wolf!" continued the Indian jubilantly. "Travel early this morning. Somewhere in warm sun on mountain!" They followed now in the wolf trail. A little way on Rod found part of the carcass of a rabbit with fox tracks about it. Here Mukoki set another trap. A little farther still they came across a fisher trail and another trap was laid. Caribou and deer tracks crossed and recrossed the creek, but the Indian paid little attention to them. A fourth wolf joined the pack, and a fifth, and half an hour later the trail of three other wolves cut at right angles across the one they were following and disappeared in the direction of the thickly timbered plains. Mukoki's face was crinkled with joy. "Many wolf near," he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there 'n' off there 'n' off there. Good place for night hunt." Soon the creek swung out from the ridge and cut a circuitous channel through a small swamp. Here there were signs of wild life which set Rod's heart thumping and his blood tingling with excitement. In places the snow was literally packed with deer tracks. Trails ran in every direction, the bark had been rubbed from scores of saplings, and every step gave fresh evidence of the near presence of game. The stealth with which Mukoki now advanced was almost painful. Every twig was pressed behind him noiselessly, and once when Rod struck his snow-shoe against the butt of a small tree the old Indian held up his hands in mock horror. Ten minutes, fifteen--twenty of them passed in this cautious, breathless trailing of the swamp. Suddenly Mukoki stopped, and a hand was held out behind him warningly. He turned his face back, and Rod knew that he saw game. Inch by inch he crouched upon his snow-shoes, and beckoned for Rod to approach, slowly, quietly. When the boy had come near enough he passed back his rifle, and his lips formed the almost noiseless word, "Shoot!" Tremblingly Rod seized the gun and looked into the swamp ahead, Mukoki doubling down in front of him. What he saw sent him for a moment into the first nervous tremor of buck fever. Not more than a hundred yards away stood a magnificent buck browsing the tips of a clump of hazel, and just beyond him were two does. With a powerful effort Rod steadied himself. The buck was standing broadside, his head and neck stretched up, offering a beautiful shot at the vital spot behind his fore leg. At this the young hunter aimed and fired. With one spasmodic bound the animal dropped dead. Hardly had Rod seen the effect of his shot before Mukoki was traveling swiftly toward the fallen game, unstrapping his pack as he ran. By the time the youth reached his quarry the old Indian had produced a large whisky flask holding about a quart. Without explanation he now proceeded to thrust his knife into the quivering animal's throat and fill this flask with blood. When he had finished his task he held it up with an air of unbounded satisfaction. "Blood for wolf. Heem like blood. Smell um--come make big shoot to-night. No blood, no bait--no wolf shoot!" Mukoki no longer maintained his usual quiet, and it was evident to Rod that the Indian considered his mission for that day practically accomplished. After taking the heart, liver and one of the hind quarters of the buck Mukoki drew a long rope of babeesh from his pack, tied one end of it around the animal's neck, flung the other end over a near limb, and with his companion's assistance hoisted the carcass until it was clear of the ground. "If somethin' happen we no come back to-night heem safe from wolf," he explained. The two now continued through the swamp. At its farther edge the ground rose gently from the creek toward the hills, and this sloping plain was covered with huge boulders and a thin growth of large spruce and birch. Just beyond the creek was a gigantic rock which immediately caught Mukoki's attention. All sides except one were too precipitous for ascent, and even this one could not be climbed without the assistance of a sapling or two. They could see, however, that the top of the, rock was flat, and Mukoki called attention to this fact with an exultant chuckle. "Fine place for wolf hunt!" he exclaimed. "Many wolf off there in swamp an' in hill. We call heem here. Shoot from there!" He pointed to a clump of spruce a dozen rods away. By Rod's watch it was now nearly noon and the two sat down to eat the sandwiches they had brought with them. Only a few minutes were lost in taking up the home trail. Beyond the swamp Mukoki cut at right angles to their trap-line until he had ascended to the top of the ridge that had been on their right and which would take them very near their camp. From this ridge Rod could look about him upon a wild and rugged scene. On one side it sloped down to the plains, but on the other it fell in almost sheer walls, forming at its base five hundred feet below a narrow and gloomy chasm, through which a small stream found its way. Several times Mukoki stopped and leaned perilously close to the dizzy edge of the mountain, peering down with critical eyes, and once when he pulled himself back cautiously by means of a small sapling he explained his interest by saying: "Plenty bear there in spring!" But Rod was not thinking of bears. Once more his head was filled with the thought of gold. Perhaps that very chasm held the priceless secret that had died with its owners half a century ago. The dark and gloomy silence that hung between those two walls of rock, the death-like desolation, the stealthy windings of the creek--everything in that dim and mysterious world between the two mountains, unshattered by sound and impenetrable to the winter sun, seemed in his mind to link itself with the tragedy of long ago. Did that chasm hold the secret of the dead men? Again and again Rod found himself asking this question as he followed Mukoki, and the oftener he asked it the nearer he seemed to an answer, until at last, with a curious, thrilling certainty that set his blood tingling he caught Mukoki by the arm and pointing back, said: "Mukoki--the gold was found between those mountains!" CHAPTER IX WOLF TAKES VENGEANCE UPON HIS PEOPLE From that hour was born in Roderick Drew's breast a strange, imperishable desire. Willingly at this moment would he have given up the winter trapping to have pursued that golden _ignis fatuus_ of all ages--the lure of gold. To him the story of the old cabin, the skeletons and the treasure of the buckskin bag was complete. Those skeletons had once been men. They had found a mine--a place where they had picked up nuggets with their fingers. And that treasure ground was somewhere near. No longer was he puzzled by the fact that they had discovered no more gold in the old log cabin. In a flash he had solved that mystery. The men had just begun to gather their treasure when they had fought. What was more logical than that? One day, two, three--and they had quarreled over division, over rights. That was the time when they were most likely to quarrel. Perhaps one had discovered the gold and had therefore claimed a larger share. Anyway, the contents of the buckskin bag represented but a few days' labor. Rod was sure of that. Mukoki had grinned and shrugged his shoulders with an air of stupendous doubt when Rod had told him that the gold lay between the mountains, so now the youth kept his thoughts to himself. It was a silent trail home. Rod's mind was too active in its new channel, and he was too deeply absorbed in impressing upon his memory certain landmarks which they passed to ask questions; and Mukoki, with the natural taciturnity of his race, seldom found occasion to break into conversation unless spoken to first. Although his eyes were constantly on the alert, Rod could see no way in which a descent could be made into the chasm from the ridge they were on. This was a little disappointing, for he had made up his mind to explore the gloomy, sunless gulch at his first opportunity. He had no doubt that Wabi would join in the adventure. Or he might take his own time, and explore it alone. He was reasonably sure that from somewhere on the opposite ridge a descent could be made into it. Wabi was in camp when they arrived. He had set eighteen traps and had shot two spruce partridges. The birds were already cleaned for their early supper, and a thick slice of venison steak was added to the menu. During the preparation of the meal Rod described their discovery of the chasm and revealed some of his thoughts concerning it, but Wabi betrayed only passing flashes of interest. At times he seemed strangely preoccupied and would stand in an idle, contemplative mood, his hands buried deep in his pockets, while Rod or Mukoki proceeded with the little duties about the table or the stove. Finally, after arousing himself from one of these momentary spells, he pulled a brass shell from his pocket and held it out to the old Indian. "See here," he said. "I don't want to stir up any false fears, or anything of that sort--but I found that on the trail to-day!" Mukoki clutched at the shell as though it had been another newly found nugget of gold. The shell was empty. The lettering on the rim was still very distinct. He read ".35 Rem." "Why, that's--" "A shell from Rod's gun!" For a few moments Rod and Mukoki stared at the young Indian in blank amazement. "It's a .35 caliber Remington," continued Wabi, "and it's an auto-loading shell. There are only three guns like that in this country. I've got one, Mukoki has another--and you lost the third in your fight with the Woongas!" The venison had begun to burn, and Mukoki quickly transferred it to the table. Without a word the three sat down to their meal. "That means the Woongas are on our trail," declared Rod presently. "That is what I have been trying to reason out all the afternoon," replied Wabi. "It certainly is proof that they are, or have been quite recently, on this side of the mountain. But I don't believe they know we are here. The trail I struck was about five miles from camp. It was at least two days old. Three Indians on snow-shoes were traveling north. I followed back on their trail and found after a time that the Indians had come from the north, which leads me to believe that they were simply on a hunting expedition, cut a circle southward, and then returned to their camp. I don't believe they will come farther south. But we must keep our eyes open." Wabi's description of the manner in which the strange trail turned gave great satisfaction to Mukoki, who nodded affirmatively when the young hunter expressed it as his belief that the Woongas would not come so far as their camp. But the discovery of their presence chilled the buoyant spirits of the hunters. There was, however, a new spice of adventure lurking in this possible peril that was not altogether displeasing, and by the time the meal was at an end something like a plan of campaign had been formed. The hunters would not wait to be attacked and then act in self-defense, possibly at a disadvantage. They would be constantly on the lookout for the Woongas, and if a fresh trail or a camp was found they would begin the man-hunt themselves. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the distant hills in the southwest when the hunters again left camp. Wolf had received nothing to eat since the previous night, and with increasing hunger the fiery impatience lurking in his eyes and the restlessness of his movements became more noticeable. Mukoki called attention to these symptoms with a gloating satisfaction. The gloom of early evening was enveloping the wilderness by the time the three wolf hunters reached the swamp in which Rod had slain the buck. While he carried the guns and packs, Mukoki and Wabigoon dragged the buck between them to the huge flat-top rock. Now for the first time the city youth began to understand the old pathfinder's scheme. Several saplings were cut, and by means of a long rope of babeesh the deer was dragged up the side of the rock until it rested securely upon the flat space. From the dead buck's neck the babeesh rope was now stretched across the intervening space between the rock and the clump of cedars in which the hunters were to conceal themselves. In two of these cedars, at a distance of a dozen feet from the ground, were quickly made three platforms of saplings, upon which the ambushed watchers could comfortably seat themselves. By the time complete darkness had fallen the "trap" was finished, with the exception of a detail which Rod followed with great interest. From inside his clothes, where it had been kept warm by his body, Mukoki produced the flask of blood. A third of this blood he scattered upon the face of the rock and upon the snow at its base. The remainder he distributed, drop by drop, in trails running toward the swamp and plains. There still remained three hours before the moon would be up, and the hunters now joined Wolf, who had been fastened half-way up the ridge. In the shelter of a big rock a small fire was built, and during their long wait the hunters passed the time away by broiling and eating chunks of venison and in going over again the events of the day. It was nine o'clock before the moon rose above the edge of the wilderness. This great orb of the Northern night seemed to hold a never-ending fascination for Rod. It crept above the forests, a glowing, throbbing ball of red, quivering and palpitating in an effulgence that neither cloud nor mist dimmed in this desolation beyond the sphere of man; and as it rose, almost with visible movement to the eyes, the blood in it faded, until at last it seemed a great blaze of soft light between silver and gold. It was then that the whole world was lighted up under it. It was then that Mukoki, speaking softly, beckoned the others to follow him, and with Wolf at his side went down the ridge. Making a circuit around the back of the rock, Mukoki paused near a small sapling twenty yards from the dead buck and secured Wolf by his babeesh thong. Hardly had he done so when the animal began to exhibit signs of excitement. He trotted about nervously, sniffing the air, gathering the wind from every direction, and his jaws dropped with a snarling whine. Then he struck one of the clots of blood in the snow. "Come," whispered Wabi, pulling at Rod's sleeve, "come--quietly." They slipped back among the shadows of the spruce and watched Wolf in unbroken silence. The animal now stood rigidly over the blood clot. His head was level with his quivering back, his ears half aslant, his nostrils pointing to a strange thrilling scent that came to him from somewhere out there in the moonlight. Once more the instinct of his breed was flooding the soul of the captive wolf. There was the odor of blood in his widening nostrils. It was not the blood of the camp, of the slaughtered game dragged in by human hands before his eyes. It was the blood of the chase! A flashing memory of his captors turned the animal's head for an instant in backward inspection. They were gone. He could neither hear nor see them. He sniffed the sign of human presence, but that sign was always with him, and was not disturbing. The blood held him--and the strange scent, the game scent--that was coming to him more clearly every instant. He crunched about cautiously in the snow. He found other spots of blood, and to the watchers there came a low long whine that seemed about to end in the wolf song. The blood trails were leading him away toward the game scent, and he tugged viciously at the babeesh that held him captive, gnawing at it vainly, like an angry dog, forgetting what experience had taught him many times before. Each moment added to his excitement He ran about the sapling, gulped mouthfuls of the bloody snow, and each time he paused for a moment with his open dripping jaws held toward the dead buck on the rock. The game was very near. Brute sense told him that. Oh, the longing that was in him, the twitching, quivering longing to kill--kill--kill! He made another effort, tore up the snow in his frantic endeavors to free himself, to break loose, to follow in the wild glad cry of freed savagery in the calling of his people. He failed again, panting, whining in piteous helplessness. Then he settled upon his haunches at the end of his babeesh thong. For a moment his head turned to the moonlit sky, his long nose poised at right angles to the bristling hollows between his shoulders. There came then a low, whining wail, like the beginning of the "death-song" of a husky dog--a wail that grew in length and in strength and in volume until it rose weirdly among the mountains and swept far out over the plains--the hunt call of the wolf on the trail, which calls to him the famished, gray-gaunt outlaws of the wilderness, as the bugler's notes call his fellows on the field of battle. Three times that blood-thrilling cry went up from the captive wolf's throat, and before those cries had died away the three hunters were perched upon their platforms among the spruce. There followed now the ominous, waiting silence of an awakened wilderness. Rod could hear his heart throbbing within him. He forgot the intense cold. His nerves tingled. He looked out over the endless plains, white and mysteriously beautiful as they lay bathed in the glow of the moon. And Wabi knew more than he what was happening. All over that wild desolation the call of the wolf had carried its meaning. Down there, where a lake lay silent in its winter sleep, a doe started in trembling and fear; beyond the mountain a huge bull moose lifted his antlered head with battle-glaring eyes; half a mile away a fox paused for an instant in its sleuth-like stalking of a rabbit; and here and there in that world of wild things the gaunt hungry people of Wolf's blood stopped in their trails and turned their heads toward the signal that was coming in wailing echoes to their ears. And then the silence was broken. From afar--it might have been a mile away--there came an answering cry; and at that cry the wolf at the end of his babeesh thong settled upon his haunches again and sent back the call that comes only when there is blood upon the trail or when near the killing time. There was not the rustle of a bough, not a word spoken, by the silent watchers in the spruce. Mukoki had slipped back and half lay across his support in shooting attitude. Wabi had braced a foot, and his rifle was half to his shoulder, leveled over a knee. It was Rod's turn with the big revolver, and he had practised aiming through a crotch that gave a rest to his arm. In a few moments there came again the howl of the distant wolf on the plains, and this time it was joined by another away to the westward. And after that there came two from the plains instead of one, and then a far cry to the north and east. For the first time Rod and Wabi heard the gloating chuckle of Mukoki in his spruce a dozen feet away. At the increasing responses of his brethren Wolf became more frantic in his efforts. The scent of fresh blood and of wounded game was becoming maddening to the captive. But his frenzy no longer betrayed itself in futile efforts to escape from the babeesh thong. Wolf knew that his cries were assembling the hunt-pack. Nearer and nearer came the responses of the leaders, and there were now only momentary rests between the deep-throated exhortations which he sent in all directions into the night. Suddenly, almost from the swamp itself, there came a quick, excited, yelping reply, and Wabi gripped Rod by the arm. "He has struck the place where you killed the buck," he whispered. "There'll be quick work now!" Hardly had he spoken when a series of excited howls broke forth from the swamp, coming nearer and nearer as the hunger-crazed outlaw of the plains followed over the rich-scented trail made by the two Indians as they carried the slaughtered deer. Soon he nosed one of the trails of blood, and a moment later the watchers saw a gaunt shadow form running swiftly over the snow toward Wolf. For an instant, as the two beasts of prey met, there fell a silence; then both animals joined in the wailing hunt-pack cry, and the wolf that was free came to the edge of the great rock and stood with his fore feet on its side, and his cry changed from that of the chase to the still more thrilling signal that told the gathering pack of game at bay. Swiftly the wolves closed in. From over the edge of the mountain one came and joined the wolf at the rock without the hunters seeing his approach. From out of the swamp there came a pack of three, and now about the rock there grew a maddened, yelping horde, clambering and scrambling and fighting in their efforts to climb up to the game that was so near and yet beyond their reach. And sixty feet away Wolf crouched, watching the gathering of his clan, helpless, panting from his choking efforts to free himself, and quieting, gradually quieting, until in sullen silence he looked upon the scene, as though he knew the moment was very near when that thrilling spectacle would be changed into a scene of direst tragedy. And it was Mukoki who had first said that this was the vengeance of Wolf upon his people. From Mukoki there now came a faint hissing warning, and Wabi threw his rifle to his shoulder. There were at least a score of wolves at the base of the rock. Gradually the old Indian pulled upon the babeesh rope that led to the dead buck--pulled until he was putting a half of his strength into the effort, and could feel the animal slowly slipping from the flat ledge. A moment more and the buck tumbled down in the midst of the waiting pack. As flies gather upon a lump of sugar the famished animals now crowded and crushed and fought over the deer's body, and as they came thus together there sounded the quick sharp signal to fire from Mukoki. For five seconds the edge of the spruce was a blaze of death-dealing flashes, and the deafening reports of the two rifles and the big Colt drowned the cries and struggles of the animals. When those five seconds were over fifteen shots had been fired, and five seconds later the vast, beautiful silence of the wilderness night had fallen again. About the rock was the silence of death, broken only faintly by the last gasping throes of the animals that lay dying in the snow. In the trees there sounded the metallic clink of loading shells. Wabi spoke first. "I believe we did a good job, Mukoki!" Mukoki's reply was to slip down his tree. The others followed, and hastened across to the rock. Five bodies lay motionless in the snow. A sixth was dragging himself around the side of the rock, and Mukoki attacked it with his belt-ax. Still a seventh had run for a dozen rods, leaving a crimson trail behind, and when Wabi and Rod came up to it the animal was convulsed in its last dying struggles. "Seven!" exclaimed the Indian youth. "That is one of the best shoots we ever had. A hundred and five dollars in a night isn't bad, is it?" The two came back to the rock, dragging the wolf with them. Mukoki was standing as rigid as a statue in the moonlight, his face turned into the north. He pointed one arm far out over the plains, and said, without turning his head, "See!" Far out in that silent desolation the hunters saw a lurid flash of flame. It climbed up and up, until it filled the night above it with a dull glow--a single unbroken stream of fire that rose far above the swamps and forests of the plains. "That's a burning jackpine!" said Wabigoon. "Burning jackpine!" agreed the old warrior. Then he added, "Woonga signal fire!" CHAPTER X RODERICK EXPLORES THE CHASM To Rod the blazing pine seemed to be but a short distance away--a mile, perhaps a little more. In the silence of the two Indians as they contemplated the strange fire he read an ominous meaning. In Mukoki's eyes was a dull sullen glare, not unlike that which fills the orbs of a wild beast in a moment of deadly anger. Wabi's face was filled with an eager flush, and three times, Rod observed, he turned eyes strangely burning with some unnatural passion upon Mukoki. Slowly, even as the instincts of his race had aroused the latent, brutish love of slaughter and the chase in the tamed wolf, the long smothered instincts of these human children of the forest began to betray themselves in their bronzed countenances. Rod watched, and he was thrilled to the soul. Back at the old cabin they had declared war upon the Woongas. Both Mukoki and Wabigoon had slipped the leashes that had long restrained them from meting first vengeance upon their enemies. Now the opportunity had come. For five minutes the great pine blazed, and then died away until it was only a smoldering tower of light. Still Mukoki gazed, speechless and grim, out into the distance of the night. At last Wabi broke the silence. "How far away is it, Muky?" "T'ree mile," answered the old warrior without hesitation. "We could make it in forty minutes." "Yes." Wabi turned to Rod. "You can find your way back to camp alone, can't you?" he asked. "Not if you're going over there!" declared the white boy. "I'm going with you." Mukoki broke in upon them with a harsh disappointed laugh. "No go. No go over there." He spoke with emphasis, and shook his head. "We lose pine in five minutes. No find Woonga camp--make big trail for Woongas to see in morning. Better wait. Follow um trail in day, then shoot!" Rod found immense relief in the old Indian's decision. He did not fear a fight; in fact, he was a little too anxious to meet the outlaws who had stolen his gun, now that they had determined upon opening fire on sight. But in this instance he was possessed of the cooler judgment of his race. He believed that as yet the Woongas were not aware of their presence in this region, and that there was still a large possibility of the renegades traveling northward beyond their trapping sphere. He hoped that this would be the case, in spite of his desire to recapture his gun. A scrimmage with the Woongas just now would spoil the plans he had made for discovering gold. The "Skeleton Mine," as he had come to call it, now absorbed his thoughts beyond everything else. He felt confident that he would discover the lost treasure ground if given time, and he was just as confident that if war was once begun between themselves and the Woongas it would mean disaster or quick flight from the country. Even Wabi, worked up more in battle enthusiasm than by gold fever, conceded that if half of the Woongas were in this country they were much too powerful for them to cope with successfully, especially as one of them was without a rifle. It was therefore with inward exultation that Rod saw the project of attack dropped and Mukoki and Wabigoon proceed with their short task of scalping the seven wolves. During this operation Wolf was allowed to feast upon the carcass of the buck. That night there was but little sleep in the old cabin. It was two o'clock when the hunters arrived in camp and from that hour until nearly four they sat about the hot stove making plans for the day that was nearly at hand. Rod could but contrast the excitement that had now taken possession of them with the tranquil joy with which they had first taken up their abode in this dip in the hilltop. And how different were their plans from those of two or three days ago! Not one of them now but realized their peril. They were in an ideal hunting range, but it was evidently very near, if not actually in, the Woonga country. At any moment they might be forced to fight for their lives or abandon their camp, and perhaps they would be compelled to do both. So the gathering about the stove was in reality a small council of war. It was decided that the old cabin should immediately be put into a condition of defense, with a loophole on each side, strong new bars at the door, and with a thick barricade near at hand that could be quickly fitted against the window in case of attack. Until the war-clouds cleared away, if they cleared at all, the camp would be continually guarded by one of the hunters, and with this garrison would be left both of the heavy revolvers. At dawn or a little later Mukoki would set out upon Wabi's trap-line, both to become acquainted with it and to extend the line of traps, while later in the day the Indian youth would follow Mukoki's line, visiting the houses already built and setting other traps. This scheme left to Rod the first day's watch in camp. Mukoki aroused himself from his short sleep with the first approach of dawn but did not awaken his tired companions until breakfast was ready. When the meal was finished he seized his gun and signified his intention of visiting the mink traps just beyond the hill before leaving on his long day's trail. Rod at once joined him, leaving Wabi to wash the dishes. They were shortly within view of the trap-houses near the creek. Instinctively the eyes of both rested upon these houses and neither gave very close attention to the country ahead or about them. As a result both were exceedingly startled when they heard a huge snort and a great crunching in the deep snow close beside them. From out of a small growth of alders had dashed a big bull moose, who was now tearing with the speed of a horse up the hillside toward the hidden camp, evidently seeking the quick shelter of the dip. "Wait heem git top of hill!" shouted Mukoki, swinging his rifle to his shoulder. "Wait!" It was a beautiful shot and Rod was tempted to ignore the old Indian's advice. But he knew that there was some good reason for it, so he held his trembling finger. Hardly had the animal's huge antlered head risen to the sky-line when Mukoki shouted again, and the young hunter pressed the trigger of his automatic gun three times in rapid succession. It was a short shot, not more than two hundred yards, and Mukoki fired but once just as the bull mounted the hilltop. The next instant the moose was gone and Rod was just about to dash in pursuit when his companion caught him by the arm. "We got um!" he grinned. "He run downhill, then fall--ver' close to camp. Ver' good scheme--wait heem git on top hill. No have to carry meat far!" As coolly as though nothing had occurred the Indian turned again in the direction of the traps. Rod stood as though he had been nailed to the spot, his mouth half open in astonishment. "We go see traps," urged Mukoki. "Find moose dead when we go back." But Roderick Drew, who had hunted nothing larger than house rats in his own city, was not the young man to see the logic of this reasoning, and before Mukoki could open his mouth again he was hurrying up the hill. On its summit he saw a huge torn-up blotch in the snow, spattered with blood, where the moose had fallen first after the shots; and at the foot of the hill, as the Indian had predicted, the great animal lay dead. Wabi was hastening across the lake, attracted by the shots, and both reached the slain bull at about the same time. Rod quickly perceived that three shots had taken effect; one, which was undoubtedly Mukoki's carefully directed ball, in a vital spot behind the fore leg, and two through the body. The fact that two of his own shots had taken good effect filled the white youth with enthusiasm, and he was still gesticulating excitedly in describing the bull's flight to Wabi when the old Indian came over the hill, grinning broadly, and holding up for their inspection a magnificent mink. The day could not have begun more auspiciously for the hunters, and by the time Mukoki was ready to leave upon his long trail the adventurers were in buoyant spirits, the distressing fears of the preceding night being somewhat dispelled by their present good fortune and the glorious day which now broke in full splendor upon the wilderness. Until their early dinner Wabi remained in camp, securing certain parts of the moose and assisting Rod in putting the cabin into a state of defense according to their previous plans. It was not yet noon when he started over Mukoki's trap-line. Left to his own uninterrupted thoughts, Rod's mind was once more absorbed in his scheme of exploring the mysterious chasm. He had noticed during his inspection from the top of the ridge that the winter snows had as yet fallen but little in the gloomy gulch between the mountains, and he was eager to attempt his adventure before other snows came or the fierce blizzards of December filled the chasm with drifts. Later in the afternoon he brought forth the buckskin bag from a niche in the log wall where it had been concealed, and one after another carefully examined the golden nuggets. He found, as he had expected, that they were worn to exceeding smoothness, and that every edge had been dulled and rounded. Rod's favorite study in school had been a minor branch of geology and mineralogy, and he knew that only running water could work this smoothness. He was therefore confident that the nuggets had been discovered in or on the edge of a running stream. And that stream, he was sure, was the one in the chasm. But Rod's plans for an early investigation were doomed to disappointment. Late that day both Mukoki and Wabi returned, the latter with a red fox and another mink, the former with a fisher, which reminded Rod of a dog just growing out of puppyhood, and another story of strange trails that renewed their former apprehensions. The old Indian had discovered the remnants of the burned jackpine, and about it were the snow-shoe tracks of three Indians. One of these trails came from the north and two from the west, which led him to believe that the pine had been fired as a signal to call the two. At the very end of their trap-line, which extended about four miles from camp, a single snow-shoe trail had cut across at right angles, also swinging into the north. These discoveries necessitated a new arrangement of the plans that had been made the preceding night. Hereafter, it was agreed, only one trap-line would be visited each day, and by two of the hunters in company, both armed with rifles. Rod saw that this meant the abandonment of his scheme for exploring the chasm, at least for the present. Day after day now passed without evidences of new trails, and each day added to the hopes of the adventurers that they were at last to be left alone in the country. Never had Mukoki or Wabigoon been in a better trapping ground, and every visit to their lines added to their hoard of furs. If left unmolested it was plainly evident that they would take a small fortune back to Wabinosh House with them early in the spring. Besides many mink, several fisher, two red foxes and a lynx, they added two fine "cross" foxes and three wolf scalps to their treasure during the next three weeks. Rod began to think occasionally of the joy their success would bring to the little home hundreds of miles away, where he knew that the mother was waiting and praying for him every day of her life; and there were times, too, when he found himself counting the days that must still elapse before he returned to Minnetaki and the Post. But at no time did he give up his determination to explore the chasm. From the first Mukoki and Wabigoon had regarded this project with little favor, declaring the impossibility of discovering gold under snow, even though gold was there; so Rod waited and watched for an opportunity to make the search alone, saying nothing about his plans. On a beautiful day late in December, when the sun rose with dazzling brightness, his opportunity came. Wabi was to remain in camp, and Mukoki, who was again of the belief that they were safe from the Woongas, was to follow one of the trap-lines alone. Supplying himself well with food, taking Wabi's rifle, a double allowance of cartridges, a knife, belt-ax, and a heavy blanket in his pack, Rod set out for the chasm. Wabi laughed as he stood in the doorway to see him off. "Good luck to you, Rod; hope you find gold," he cried gaily, waving a final good-by with his hand. "If I don't return to-night don't you fellows worry about me," called back the youth. "If things look promising I may camp in the chasm and take up the hunt again in the morning." He now passed quickly to the second ridge, knowing from previous experience that it would be impossible to make a descent into the gulch from the first mountain. This range, a mile south of the camp, had not been explored by the hunters, but Rod was sure that there was no danger of losing himself as long as he followed along the edge of the chasm which was in itself a constant and infallible guide. Much to his disappointment he found that the southern walls of this mysterious break between the mountains were as precipitous as those on the opposite side, and for two hours he looked in vain for a place where he might climb down. The country was now becoming densely wooded and he was constantly encountering signs of big game. But he paid little attention to these. Finally he came to a point where the forest swept over and down the steep side of the mountain, and to his great joy he saw that by strapping his snow-shoes to his back and making good use of his hands it was possible for him to make a descent. Fifteen minutes later, breathless but triumphant, he stood at the bottom of the chasm. On his right rose the strip of cedar forest; on his left he was shut in by towering walls of black and shattered rock. At his feet was the little stream which had played such an important part in his golden dreams, frozen in places, and in others kept clear of ice by the swiftness of its current. A little ahead of him was that gloomy, sunless part of the chasm into which he had peered so often from the top of the ridge on the north. As he advanced step by step into its mysterious silence, his eyes alert, his nerves stretched to a tension of the keenest expectancy, there crept over him a feeling that he was invading that enchanted territory which, even at this moment, might be guarded by the spirits of the two mortals who had died because of the treasure it held. Narrower and narrower became the walls high over his head. Not a ray of sunlight penetrated into the soundless gloom. Not a leaf shivered in the still air. The creek gurgled and spattered among its rocks, without the note of a bird or the chirp of a squirrel to interrupt its monotony. Everything was dead. Now and then Rod could hear the wind whispering over the top of the chasm. But not a breath of it came down to him. Under his feet was only sufficient snow to deaden his own footsteps, and he still carried his snow-shoes upon his back. Suddenly, from the thick gloom that hung under one of the cragged walls, there came a thundering, unearthly sound that made him stop, his rifle swung half to shoulder. He saw that he had disturbed a great owl, and passed on. Now and then he paused beside the creek and took up handful after handful of its pebbles, his heart beating high with hope at every new gleam he caught among them, and never sinking to disappointment though he found no gold. The gold was here--somewhere. He was as certain of that as he was of the fact that he was living, and searching for it. Everything assured him of that; the towering masses of cleft rock, whole walls seeming about to crumble into ruin, the broad margins of pebbles along the creek--everything, to the very stillness and mystery in the air, spoke this as the abode of the skeletons' secret. It was this inexplicable _something_--this unseen, mysterious element hovering in the air that caused the white youth to advance step by step, silently, cautiously, as though the slightest sound under his feet might awaken the deadliest of enemies. And it was because of this stealth in his progress that he came very close upon something that was living, and without startling it. Less than fifty yards ahead of him he saw an object moving slowly among the rocks. It was a fox. Even before the animal had detected his presence he had aimed and fired. Thunderous echoes rose up about him. They rolled down the chasm, volume upon volume, until in the ghostly gloom between the mountain walls he stood and listened, a nervous shiver catching him once or twice. Not until the last echo had died away did he approach where the fox lay upon the snow. It was not red. It was not black. It was not-- His heart gave a big excited thump. The bleeding creature at his feet was the most beautiful animal he had ever seen--and the tip of its thick black fur was silver gray. Then, in that lonely chasm, there went up a great human whoop of joy. "A silver fox!" Rod spoke the words aloud. For five minutes he stood and looked upon his prize. He held it up and stroked it, and from what Wabi and Mukoki had told him he knew that the silken pelt of this creature was worth more to them than all the furs at the camp together. He made no effort to skin it, but put the animal in his pack and resumed his slow, noiseless exploration of the gulch. He had now passed beyond those points in the range from which he had looked down into this narrow, shut-in world. Ever more wild and gloomy became the chasm. At times the two walls of rock seemed almost to meet far above his head; under gigantic, overhanging crags there lurked the shadows of night. Fascinated by the grandeur and loneliness of the scenes through which he was passing Rod forgot the travel of time. Mile after mile he continued his tireless trail. He had no inclination to eat. He stopped only once at the creek to drink. And when he looked at his watch he was astonished to find that it was three o'clock in the afternoon. It was now too late to think of returning to camp. Within an hour the day gloom of the chasm would be thickening into that of night. So Rod stopped at the first good camp site, threw off his pack, and proceeded with the building of a cedar shelter. Not until this was completed and a sufficient supply of wood for the night's fire was at hand did he begin getting supper. He had brought a pail with him and soon the appetizing odors of boiling coffee and broiling moose sirloin filled the air. Night had fallen between the mountain walls by the time Rod sat down to his meal. CHAPTER XI RODERICK'S DREAM A chilling loneliness now crept over the young adventurer. Even as he ate he tried to peer out into the mysterious darkness. A sound from up the chasm, made by some wild prowler of the night, sent a nervous tremor through him. He was not afraid; he would not have confessed to that. But still, the absolute, almost gruesome silence between the two mountains, the mere knowledge that he was alone in a place where the foot of man had not trod for more than half a century, was not altogether quieting to his nerves. What mysteries might not these grim walls hold? What might not happen here, where everything was so strange, so weird, and so different from the wilderness world just over the range? Rod tried to laugh away his nervousness, but the very sound of his own voice was distressing. It rose in unnatural shivering echoes--a low, hollow mockery of a laugh beating itself against the walls; a ghost of a laugh, Rod thought, and that very thought made him hunch closer to the fire. The young hunter was not superstitious, or at least he was not unnaturally so; but what man or boy is there in this whole wide world of ours who does not, at some time, inwardly cringe from something in the air--something that does not exist and never did exist, but which holds a peculiar and nameless fear for the soul of a human being? And Rod, as he piled his fire high with wood and shrank in the warmth of his cedar shelter, felt that nameless dread; and there came to him no thought of sleep, no feeling of fatigue, but only that he was alone, absolutely alone, in the mystery and almost unending silence of the chasm. Try as he would he could not keep from his mind the vision of the skeletons as he had first seen them in the old cabin. Many, many years ago, even before his own mother was born, those skeletons had trod this very chasm. They had drunk from the same creek as he, they had clambered over the same rocks, they had camped perhaps where he was camping now! They, too, in flesh and life, had strained their ears in the grim silence, they had watched the flickering light of their camp-fire on the walls of rock--and they had found gold! Just now, if Rod could have moved himself by magic, he would have been safely back in camp. He listened. From far back over the trail he had followed there came a lonely, plaintive, almost pleading cry. "'Ello--'ello--'ello!" It sounded like a distant human greeting, but Rod knew that it was the awakening night cry of what Wabi called the "man owl." It was weirdly human-like; and the echoes came softly, and more softly, until ghostly voices seemed to be whispering in the blackness about him. "'Ello--'ello--'ello!" The boy shivered and laid his rifle across his knees. There was tremendous comfort in the rifle. Rod fondled it with his fingers, and two or three times he felt as though he would almost like to talk to it. Only those who have gone far into the silence and desolation of the unblazed wilderness know just how human a good rifle becomes to its owner. It is a friend every hour of the night and day, faithful to its master's desires, keeping starvation at bay and holding death for his enemies; a guaranty of safety at his bedside by night, a sharp-fanged watch-dog by day, never treacherous and never found wanting by the one who bestows upon it the care of a comrade and friend. Thus had Rod come to look upon his rifle. He rubbed the barrel now with his mittens; he polished the stock as he sat in his loneliness, and long afterward, though he had determined to remain awake during the night, he fell asleep with it clasped tightly in his hands. It was an uneasy, troubled slumber in which the young adventurer's visions and fears took a more realistic form. He half sat, half lay, upon his cedar boughs; his head fell forward upon his breast, his feet were stretched out to the fire. Now and then unintelligible sounds fell from his lips, and he would start suddenly as if about to awaken, but each time would sink back into his restless sleep, still clutching the gun. The visions in his head began to take a more definite form. Once more he was on the trail, and had come to the old cabin. But this time he was alone. The window of the cabin was wide open, but the door was tightly closed, just as the hunters had found it when they first came down into the dip. He approached cautiously. When very near the window he heard sounds--strange sounds--like the clicking of bones! Step by step in his dream he approached the window and looked in. And there he beheld a sight that froze him to the marrow. Two huge skeletons were struggling in deadly embrace. He could hear no sound but the click-click-click of their bones. He saw the gleam of knives held between fleshless fingers, and he saw now that both were struggling for the possession of something that was upon the table. Now one almost reached it, now the other, but neither gained possession. The clicking of the bones became louder, the struggle fiercer, the knives of the skeleton combatants rose and fell. Then one staggered back and sank in a heap on the floor. For a moment the victor swayed, tottered to the table, and gripped the mysterious object in its bony fingers. As it stumbled weakly against the cabin wall the gruesome creature held the object up, and Rod saw that it was a roll of birch-bark! An ember in the dying fire snapped with a sound like the report of a small pistol and Rod sat bolt upright, awake, staring, trembling. What a horrible dream! He drew in his cramped legs and approached the fire on his knees, holding his rifle in one hand while he piled on wood with the other. What a horrible dream! He shuddered and ran his eyes around the impenetrable wall of blackness that shut him in, the thought constantly flashing through his mind, what a horrible dream--what a horrible dream! He sat down again and watched the flames of his fire as they climbed higher and higher. The light and the heat cheered him, and after a little he allowed his mind to dwell upon the adventure of his slumber. It had made him sweat. He took off his cap and found that the hair about his forehead was damp. All the different phases of a dream return to one singly when awake, and it was with the suddenness of a shot that there came to Rod a remembrance of the skeleton hand held aloft, clutching between its gleaming fleshless fingers the roll of birch-bark. And with that memory of his dream there came another--the skeleton in the cabin was clutching a piece of birch-bark when they had buried it! Could that crumpled bit of bark hold the secret of the lost mine? Was it for the possession of that bark instead of the buckskin bag that the men had fought and died? As the minutes passed Rod forgot his loneliness, forgot his nervousness and only thought of the possibilities of the new clue that had come to him in a dream. Wabi and Mukoki had seen the bark clutched in the skeleton fingers, but they as well as he had given it no special significance, believing that it had been caught up in some terrible part of the struggle when both combatants were upon the floor, or perhaps in the dying agonies of the wounded man against the wall. Rod remembered now that they had found no more birch-bark upon the floor, which they would have done if a supply had been kept there for kindling fires. Step by step he went over the search they had made in the old cabin, and more and more satisfied did he become that the skeleton hand held something of importance for them. He replenished his fire and waited impatiently for dawn. At four o'clock, before day had begun to dispel the gloom of night, he cooked his breakfast and prepared his pack for the homeward journey. Soon afterward a narrow rim of light broke through the rift in the chasm. Slowly it crept downward, until the young hunter could make out objects near him and the walls of the mountains. Thick shadows still defied his vision when he began retracing his steps over the trail he had made the day before. He returned with the same caution that he had used in his advance. Even more carefully, if possible, did he scrutinize the rocks and the creek ahead. He had already found life in the chasm, and he might find more. The full light of day came quickly now, and with it the youth's progress became more rapid. He figured that if he lost no time in further investigation of the creek he would arrive at camp by noon, and they would dig up the skeleton without delay. There was little snow in the chasm, in spite of the lateness of the season, and if the roll of bark held the secret of the lost gold it would be possible for them to locate the treasure before other snows came to baffle them. At the spot where he had killed the silver fox Rod paused for a moment. He wondered if foxes ever traveled in pairs, and regretted that he had not asked Wabi or Mukoki that question. He could see where the fox had come straight from the black wall of the mountain. Curiosity led him over the trail. He had not followed it more than two hundred yards when he stopped in sudden astonishment. Plainly marked in the snow before him was the trail of a pair of snow-shoes! Whoever had been there had passed since he shot the fox, for the imprints of the animal's feet were buried under those of the snow-shoes. Who was the other person in the chasm? Was it Wabi? Had Mukoki or he come to join him? Or-- He looked again at the snow-shoe trail. It was a peculiar trail, unlike the one made by his own shoes. The imprints were a foot longer than his own, and narrower. Neither Wabi nor Mukoki wore shoes that would make that trail! At this point the strange trail had turned and disappeared among the rocks along the wall of the mountain, and it occurred to Rod that perhaps the stranger had not discovered his presence in the chasm. There was some consolation in this thought, but it was doomed to quick disappointment. Very cautiously the youth advanced, his rifle held in readiness and his eyes searching every place of concealment ahead of him. A hundred yards farther on the stranger had stopped, and from the way in which the snow was packed Rod knew that he had stood in a listening and watchful attitude for some time. From this point the trail took another turn and came down until, from behind a huge rock, the stranger had cautiously peered out upon the path made by the white youth. It was evident that he was extremely anxious to prevent the discovery of his own trail, for now the mysterious spy threaded his way behind rocks until he had again come to the shelter of the mountain wall. Rod was perplexed. He realized the peril of his dilemma, and yet he knew not what course to take to evade it. He had little doubt that the trail was made by one of the treacherous Woongas, and that the Indian not only knew of his presence, but was somewhere in the rocks ahead of him, perhaps even now waiting behind some ambuscade to shoot him. Should he follow the trail, or would it be safer to steal along among the rocks of the opposite wall of the chasm? He had decided upon the latter course when his eyes caught a narrow horizontal slit cleaving the face of the mountain on his left, toward which the snow-shoe tracks seemed to lead. With his rifle ready for instant use the youth slowly approached the fissure, and was surprised to find that it was a complete break in the wall of rock, not more than four feet wide, and continuing on a steady incline to the summit of the ridge. At the mouth of this fissure his mysterious watcher had taken off his snow-shoes and Rod could see where he had climbed up the narrow exit from the chasm. With a profound sense of relief the young hunter hurried along the base of the mountain, keeping well within its shelter so that eyes that might be spying from above could not see his movements. He now felt no fear of danger. The stranger's flight up the cleft in the chasm wall and his careful attempts to conceal his trail among the rocks assured Rod that he had no designs upon his life. His chief purpose had seemed to be to keep secret his own presence in the gorge, and this fact in itself added to the mystification of the white youth. For a long time he had been secretly puzzled, and had evolved certain ideas of his own because of the movements of the Woongas. Contrary to the opinions of Mukoki and Wabigoon, he believed that the red outlaws were perfectly conscious of their presence in the dip. From the first their actions had been unaccountable, but not once had one of their snow-shoe trails crossed their trap-lines. Was this fact in itself not significant? Rod was of a contemplative theoretical turn of mind, one of those wide-awake, interesting young fellows who find food for conjecture in almost every incident that occurs, and his suspicions were now aroused to an unusual pitch. A chief fault, however, was that he kept most of his suspicions to himself, for he believed that Mukoki and Wabigoon, born and taught in the life of the wilderness, were infallible in their knowledge of the ways and the laws and the perils of the world they were in. CHAPTER XII THE SECRET OF THE SKELETON'S HAND A little before noon Rod arrived at the top of the hill from which he could look down on their camp. He was filled with pleasurable anticipation, and with an unbounded swelling satisfaction that caused him to smile as he proceeded into the dip. He had found a fortune in the mysterious chasm. The burden of the silver fox upon his shoulders was a most pleasing reminder of that, and he pictured the moment when the good-natured raillery of Mukoki and Wabigoon would be suddenly turned into astonishment and joy. As he approached the cabin the young hunter tried to appear disgusted and half sick, and his effort was not bad in spite of his decided inclination to laugh. Wabi met him in the doorway, grinning broadly, and Mukoki greeted him with a throatful of his inimitable chuckles. "Aha, here's Rod with a packful of gold!" cried the young Indian, striking an expectant attitude. "Will you let us see the treasure?" In spite of his banter there was gladness in his face at Rod's arrival. The youth threw off his pack with a spiritless effort and flopped into a chair as though in the last stage of exhaustion. "You'll have to undo the pack," he replied. "I'm too tired and hungry." Wabi's manner changed at once to one of real sympathy. "I'll bet you're tired, Rod, and half starved. We'll have dinner in a hurry. Ho, Muky, put on the steak, will you?" There followed a rattle of kettles and tin pans and the Indian youth gave Rod a glad slap on the back as he hurried to the table. He was evidently in high spirits, and burst into a snatch of song as he cut up a loaf of bread. "I'm tickled to see you back," he admitted, "for I was getting a little bit nervous. We had splendid luck on our lines yesterday. Brought in another 'cross' and three mink. Did you see anything?" "Aren't you going to look in the pack?" Wabi turned and gazed at his companion with a half-curious hesitating smile. "Anything in it?" he asked suspiciously. "See here, boys," cried Rod, forgetting himself in his suppressed enthusiasm. "I said there was a treasure in that chasm, and there was. I found it. You are welcome to look into that pack if you wish!" Wabi dropped the knife with which he was cutting the bread and went to the pack. He touched it with the toe of his boot, lifted it in his hands, and glanced at Rod again. "It isn't a joke?" he asked. "No." Rod turned his back upon the scene and began to take off his coat as coolly as though it were the commonest thing in the world for him to bring silver foxes into camp. Only when Wabi gave a suppressed yell did he turn about, and then he found the Indian standing erect and holding out the silver to the astonished gaze of Mukoki. "Is it a good one?" he asked. "A beauty!" gasped Wabi. Mukoki had taken the animal and was examining it with the critical eyes of a connoisseur. "Ver' fine!" he said. "At Post heem worth fi' hundred dollars--at Montreal t'ree hundred more!" Wabi strode across the cabin and thrust out his hand. "Shake, Rod!" As the two gripped hands he turned to Mukoki. "Bear witness, Mukoki, that this young gentleman is no longer a tenderfoot. He has shot a silver fox. He has done a whole winter's work in one day. I take off my hat to you, Mr. Drew!" Roderick's face reddened with a flush of pleasure. "And that isn't all, Wabi," he said. His eyes were filled with a sudden intense earnestness, and in the strangeness of the change Wabi forgot to loosen the grip of his fingers about his companion's hand. "You don't mean that you found--" "No, I didn't find gold," anticipated Rod. "But the gold is there! I know it. And I think I have found a clue. You remember that when you and I examined the skeleton against the wall we saw that it clutched something that looked like birch-bark in its hand? Well, I believe that birch-bark holds the key to the lost mine!" Mukoki had come beside them and stood listening to Rod, his face alive with keen interest. In Wabi's eyes there was a look half of doubt, half of belief. "It might," he said slowly. "It wouldn't do any harm to see." He stepped to the stove and took off the partly cooked steak. Rod slipped on his coat and hat and Mukoki seized his belt-ax and the shovel. No words were spoken, but there was a mutual understanding that the investigation was to precede dinner. Wabi was silent and thoughtful and Rod could see that his suggestion had at least made a deep impression upon him. Mukoki's eyes began to gleam again with the old fire with which he had searched the cabin for gold. The skeletons were buried only a few inches deep in the frozen earth in the edge of the cedar forest, and Mukoki soon exposed them to view. Almost the first object that met their eyes was the skeleton hand clutching its roll of birch-bark. It was Rod who dropped upon his knees to the gruesome task. With a shudder at the touch of the cold bones he broke the fingers back. One of them snapped with a sharp sound, and as he rose with the bark in his hand his face was bloodlessly white. The bones were covered again and the three returned to the cabin. Still silent, they gathered about the table. With age the bark of the birch hardens and rolls itself tightly, and the piece Rod held was almost like thin steel. Inch by inch it was spread out, cracking and snapping in brittle protest. The hunters could see that the bark was in a single unbroken strip about ten inches long by six in width. Two inches, three, four were unrolled--and still the smooth surface was blank. Another half-inch, and the bark refused to unroll farther. "Careful!" whispered Wabi. With the point of his knife he loosened the cohesion. "I guess--there's--nothing--" began Rod. Even as he spoke he caught his breath. A mark had appeared on the bark, a black, meaningless mark with a line running down from it into the scroll. Another fraction of an inch and the line was joined by a second, and then with an unexpectedness that was startling the remainder of the roll released itself like a spring--and to the eyes of the three wolf hunters was revealed the secret of the skeleton hand. Spread out before them was a map, or at least what they at once accepted as a map, though in reality it was more of a crude diagram of straight and crooked lines, with here and there a partly obliterated word to give it meaning. In several places there were mere evidences of words, now entirely illegible. But what first held the attention of Rod and his companions were several lines in writing under the rough sketch on the bark, still quite plain, which formed the names of three men. Roderick read them aloud. "John Ball, Henri Langlois, Peter Plante." Through the name of John Ball had been drawn a broad black line which had almost destroyed the letters, and at the end of this line, in brackets, was printed a word in French which Wabi quickly translated. "Dead!" he breathed. "The Frenchmen killed him!" The words shot from him in hot excitement. Rod did not reply. Slowly he drew a trembling finger over the map. The first word he encountered was unintelligible. Of the next he could only make out one letter, which gave him no clue. Evidently the map had been made with a different and less durable substance than that with which the names had been written. He followed down the first straight black line, and where this formed a junction with a wider crooked line were two words quite distinct: "Second waterfall." Half an inch below this Rod could make out the letters T, D and L, widely scattered. "That's the third waterfall," he exclaimed eagerly. At this point the crude lines of the diagram stopped, and immediately below, between the map and the three names, it was evident that there had been considerable writing. But not a word of it could the young hunters make out. That writing, without doubt, had given the key to the lost gold. Rod looked up, his face betraying the keenness of his disappointment. He knew that under his hand he held all that was left of the secret of a great treasure. But he was more baffled than ever. Somewhere in this vast desolation there were three waterfalls, and somewhere near the third waterfall the Englishman and the two Frenchmen had found their gold. That was all he knew. He had not found a waterfall in the chasm; they had not discovered one in all their trapping and hunting excursions. Wabi was looking down into his face in silent thought. Suddenly he reached out and seized the sheet of bark and examined it closely. As he looked there came a deeper flush in his face, his eyes brightened and he gave a cry of excitement. "By George, I believe we can peel this!" he cried. "See here, Muky!" He thrust the birch under the old Indian's eyes. Even Mukoki's hands were trembling. "Birch-bark is made up of a good many layers, each as thin as the thinnest paper," he explained to Rod as Mukoki continued his examination. "If we can peel off that first layer, and then hold it up to the light, we shall be able to see the impression of every word that was ever made on it--even though they were written a hundred years ago!" Mukoki had gone to the door, and now he turned, grinning exultantly. "She peel!" He showed them where he had stripped back a corner of the film-like layer. Then he sat down in the light, his head bent over, and for many minutes he worked at his tedious task while Wabi and Rod hung back in soundless suspense. Half an hour later Mukoki straightened himself, rose to his feet and held out the precious film to Rod. As tenderly as though his own life depended upon its care, Rod held the piece of birch, now a silken, almost transparent sheet, between himself and the light. A cry welled up into his throat. It was repeated by Wabi. And then there was silence--a silence broken only by their bated breaths and the excited thumpings of their hearts. As though they had been written but yesterday, the mysterious words on the map were disclosed to their eyes. Where Rod had made out only three letters there were now plainly discernible the two words "third waterfall," and very near to these was the word "cabin." Below them were several lines, clearly impressed in the birch film. Slowly, his voice trembling, Rod read them to his companions. "We, John Ball, Henri Langlois, and Peter Plante, having discovered gold at this fall, do hereby agree to joint partnership in the same, and do pledge ourselves to forget our past differences and work in mutual good will and honesty, so help us God. Signed, "JOHN BALL, HENRI LANGLOIS, PETER PLANTE." At the very top of the map the impression of several other words caught Rod's eyes. They were more indistinct than any of the others, but one by one he made them out. A hot blurring film seemed to fall over his eyes and he felt as though his heart had suddenly come up into his throat. Wabi's breath was burning against his cheek, and it was Wabi who spoke the words aloud. "Cabin and head of chasm." Rod went back to the table and sat down, the precious bit of birch-bark under his hand. Mukoki, standing mute, had listened and heard, and was as if stunned by their discovery. But now his mind returned to the moose steak, and he placed it on the stove. Wabi stood with his hands in his pockets, and after a little he laughed a trembling, happy laugh. "Well, Rod, you've found your mine. You are as good as rich!" "You mean that we have found our mine," corrected the white youth. "We are three, and we just naturally fill the places of John Ball, Henri Langlois and Peter Plante. They are all dead. The gold is ours!" Wabi had taken up the map. "I can't see the slightest possibility of our not finding it," he said. "The directions are as plain as day. We follow the chasm, and somewhere in that chasm we come to a waterfall. A little beyond this the creek that runs through the gorge empties into a larger stream, and we follow this second creek or river until we come to the third fall. The cabin is there, and the gold can not be far away." He had carried the map to the door again, and Rod joined him. "There is nothing that gives us an idea of distance on the map," he continued. "How far did you travel down the chasm?" "Ten miles, at least," replied Rod. "And you discovered no fall?" "No." With a splinter picked up from the floor Wabi measured the distances between the different points on the diagram. "There is no doubt but what this map was drawn by John Ball," he said after a few moments of silent contemplation. "Everything points to that fact. Notice that all of the writing is in one hand, except the signatures of Langlois and Plante, and you could hardly decipher the letters in those signatures if you did not already know their names from this writing below. Ball wrote a good hand, and from the construction of the agreement over the signatures he was a man of pretty fair education. Don't you think so? Well, he must have drawn this map with some idea of distance in his mind. The second fall is only half as far from the first fall as the third fall is from the second, which seems to me conclusive evidence of this. If he had not had distance in mind he would not have separated the falls in this way on the map." "Then if we can find the first fall we can figure pretty nearly how far the last fall is from the head of the chasm," said Rod. "Yes. I believe the distance from here to the first fall will give us a key to the whole thing." Rod had produced a pencil from one of his pockets and was figuring on the smooth side of a chip. "The gold is a long way from here at the best, Wabi. I explored the chasm for ten miles. Say that we find the first fall within fifteen miles. Then, according to the map, the second fall would be about twenty miles from the first, and the third forty miles from the second. If the first fall is within fifteen miles of this cabin the third fall is at least seventy-five miles away." Wabi nodded. "But we may not find the first fall within that distance," he said. "By George--" He stopped and looked at Rod with an odd look of doubt in his face. "If the gold is seventy-five or a hundred miles away, why were those men here, and with only a handful of nuggets in their possession? Is it possible that the gold played out--that they found only what was in the buckskin bag?" "If that were so, why should they have fought to the death for the possession of the map?" argued Rod. Mukoki was turning the steak. He had not spoken, but now he said: "Mebby going to Post for supplies." "That's exactly what they were doing!" shouted the Indian youth. "Muky, you have solved the whole problem. They were going for supplies. And they didn't fight for the map--not for the map alone!" His face flushed with new excitement. "Perhaps I am wrong, but it all seems clear to me now," he continued. "Ball and the two Frenchmen worked their find until they ran out of supplies. Wabinosh House is over a hundred years old, and fifty years ago that was the nearest point where they could get more. In some way it fell to the Frenchmen to go. They had probably accumulated a hoard of gold, and before they left they murdered Ball. They brought with them only enough gold to pay for their supplies, for it was their purpose not to arouse the suspicion of any adventurers who happened to be at the Post. They could easily have explained their possession of those few nuggets. In this cabin either Langlois or Plante tried to kill his companion, and thus become the sole possessor of the treasure, and the fight, fatal to both, ensued. I may be wrong, but--by George, I believe that is what happened!" "And that they buried the bulk of their gold somewhere back near the third fall?" "Yes; or else they brought the gold here and buried it somewhere near this very cabin!" They were interrupted by Mukoki. "Dinner ready!" he called. CHAPTER XIII SNOWED IN Until the present moment Rod had forgotten to speak of the mysterious man-trail he had encountered in the chasm. The excitement of the past hour had made him oblivious to all other things, but now as they ate their dinner he described the strange maneuvers of the spying Woonga. He did not, however, voice those fears which had come to him in the gorge, preferring to allow Mukoki and Wabigoon to draw their own conclusions. By this time the two Indians were satisfied that the Woongas were not contemplating attack, but that for some unaccountable reason they were as anxious to evade the hunters as the hunters were to evade them. Everything that had passed seemed to give evidence of this. The outlaw in the chasm, for instance, could easily have waylaid Rod; a dozen times the almost defenseless camp could have been attacked, and there were innumerable places where ambushes might have been laid for them along the trap-lines. So Rod's experience with the Woonga trail between the mountains occasioned little uneasiness, and instead of forming a scheme for the further investigation of this trail on the south, plans were made for locating the first fall. Mukoki was the swiftest and most tireless traveler on snow-shoes, and it was he who volunteered to make the first search. He would leave the following morning, taking with him a supply of food, and during his absence Rod and Wabigoon would attend to the traps. "We must have the location of the first fall before we return to the Post," declared Wabi. "If from that we find that the third fall is not within a hundred miles of our present camp it will be impossible for us to go in search of our gold during this trip. In that event we shall have to go back to Wabinosh House and form a new expedition, with fresh supplies and the proper kind of tools. We can not do anything until the spring freshets are over, anyway." "I have been thinking of that," replied Rod, his eyes softening. "You know mother is alone, and--her--" "I understand," interrupted the Indian boy, laying a hand fondly across his companion's arm. "--her funds are small, you know," Rod finished. "If she has been sick--or--anything like that--" "Yes, we've got to get back with our furs," helped Wabi, a tremor of tenderness in his own voice. "And if you don't mind, Rod, I might take a little run down to Detroit with you. Do you suppose she would care?" "Care!" shouted Rod, bringing his free hand down upon Wabi's arm with a force that hurt. "Care! Why, she thinks as much of you as she does of me, Wabi! She'd be tickled to death! Do you mean it?" Wabi's bronzed face flushed a deeper red at his friend's enthusiasm. "I won't promise--for sure," he said. "But I'd like to see her--almost as much as you, I guess. If I can, I'll go." Rod's face was suffused with a joyful glow. "And I'll come back with you early in the summer and we'll start out for the gold," he cried. He jumped to his feet and slapped Mukoki on the back in the happy turn his mind had taken. "Will you come, too, Mukoki? I'll give you the biggest 'city time' you ever had in your life!" The old Indian grinned and chuckled and grunted, but did not reply in words. Wabi laughed, and answered for him. "He is too anxious to become Minnetaki's slave again, Rod. No, Muky won't go, I'll wager that. He will stay at the Post to see that she doesn't get lost, or hurt, or stolen by the Woongas. Eh, Mukoki?" Mukoki nodded, grinning good-humoredly. He went to the door, opened it and looked out. "Devil--she snow!" he cried. "She snow like twent' t'ousand--like devil!" This was the strongest English in the old warrior's vocabulary, and it meant something more than usual. Wabi and Rod quickly joined him. Never in his life had the city youth seen a snow-storm like that which he now gazed out into. The great north storm had arrived--a storm which comes just once each year in the endless Arctic desolation. For days and weeks the Indians had expected it and wondered at its lateness. It fell softly, silently, without a breath of air to stir it; a smothering, voiceless sea of white, impenetrable to human vision, so thick that it seemed as though it might stifle one's breath. Rod held out the palm of his hand and in an instant it was covered with a film of white. He walked out into it, and a dozen yards away he became a ghostly, almost invisible shadow. When he came back a minute later he brought a load of snow into the cabin with him. All that afternoon the snow fell like this, and all that night the storm continued. When he awoke in the morning Rod heard the wind whistling and howling through the trees and around the ends of the cabin. He rose and built the fire while the others were still sleeping. He attempted to open the door, but it was blocked. He lowered the barricade at the window, and a barrel of snow tumbled in about his feet. He could see no sign of day, and when he turned he saw Wabi sitting up in his blankets, laughing silently at his wonder and consternation. "What in the world--" he gasped. "We're snowed in," grinned Wabi. "Does the stove smoke?" "No," replied Rod, throwing a bewildered glance at the roaring fire. "You don't mean to say--" "Then we are not completely, buried," interrupted the other. "At least the top of the chimney is sticking out!" Mukoki sat up and stretched himself. "She blow," he said, as a tremendous howl of wind swept over the cabin. "Bime-by she blow some more!" Rod shoveled the snow into a corner and replaced the barricade while his companions dressed. "This means a week's work digging out traps," declared Wabi. "And only Mukoki's Great Spirit, who sends all blessings to this country, knows when the blizzard is going to stop. It may last a week. There is no chance of finding our waterfall in this." "We can play dominoes," suggested Rod cheerfully. "You remember we haven't finished that series we began at the Post. But you don't expect me to believe that it snowed enough yesterday afternoon and last night to cover this cabin, do you?" "It didn't exactly _snow_ enough to cover it," explained his comrade. "But we're covered for all of that. The cabin is on the edge of an open, and of course the snow just naturally drifts around us, blown there by the wind. If this blizzard keeps up we shall be under a small mountain by night." "Won't it--smother us?" faltered Rod. Wabi gave a joyous whoop of merriment at the city-bred youth's half-expressed fear and a volley of Mukoki's chuckles came from where he was slicing moose-steak on the table. "Snow mighty nice thing live under," he asserted with emphasis. "If you were under a mountain of snow you could live, if you weren't crushed to death," said Wabi. "Snow is filled with air. Mukoki was caught under a snow-slide once and was buried under thirty feet for ten hours. He had made a nest about as big as a barrel and was nice and comfortable when we dug him out. We won't have to burn much wood to keep warm now." After breakfast the boys again lowered the barricade at the window and Wabi began to bring small avalanches of snow down into the cabin with his shovel. At the third or fourth upward thrust a huge mass plunged through the window, burying them to the waist, and when they looked out they could see the light of day and the whirling blizzard above their heads. "It's up to the roof," gasped Rod. "Great Scott, what a snow-storm!" "Now for some fun!" cried the Indian youth. "Come on, Rod, if you want to be in it." He crawled through the window into the cavity he had made in the drift, and Rod followed. Wabi waited, a mischievous smile on his face, and no sooner had his companion joined him than he plunged his shovel deep into the base of the drift. Half a dozen quick thrusts and there tumbled down upon their heads a mass of light snow that for a few moments completely buried them. The suddenness of it knocked Rod to his knees, where he floundered, gasped and made a vain effort to yell. Struggling like a fish he first kicked his feet free, and Wabi, who had thrust out his head and shoulders, shrieked with laughter as he saw only Rod's boots sticking out of the snow. "You're going the wrong way, Rod!" he shouted. "Wow--wow!" He seized his companion's legs and helped to drag him out, and then stood shaking, the tears streaming down his face, and continued to laugh until he leaned back in the drift, half exhausted. Rod was a curious and ludicrous-looking object. His eyes were wide and blinking; the snow was in his ears, his mouth, and in his floundering he had packed his coat collar full of it. Slowly he recovered from his astonishment, saw Wabi and Mukoki quivering with laughter, grinned--and then joined them in their merriment. It was not difficult now for the boys to force their way through the drift and they were soon standing waist-deep in the snow twenty yards from the cabin. "The snow is only about four feet deep in the open," said Wabi. "But look at that!" He turned and gazed at the cabin, or rather at the small part of it which still rose triumphant above the huge drift which had almost completely buried it. Only a little of the roof, with the smoking chimney rising out of it, was to be seen. Rod now turned in all directions to survey the wild scene about him. There had come a brief lull in the blizzard, and his vision extended beyond the lake and to the hilltop. There was not a spot of black to meet his eyes; every rock was hidden; the trees hung silent and lifeless under their heavy mantles and even their trunks were beaten white with the clinging volleys of the storm. There came to him then a thought of the wild things in this seemingly uninhabitable desolation. How could they live in this endless desert of snow? What could they find to eat? Where could they find water to drink? He asked Wabi these questions after they had returned to the cabin. "Just now, if you traveled from here to the end of this storm zone you wouldn't find a living four-legged creature," said Wabigoon. "Every moose in this country, every deer and caribou, every fox and wolf, is buried in the snow. And as the snow falls deeper about them the warmer and more comfortable do they become, so that even as the blizzard increases in fury the kind Creator makes it easier for them to bear. When the storm ceases the wilderness will awaken into life again. The moose and deer and caribou will rise from their snow-beds and begin to eat the boughs of trees and saplings; a crust will have formed on the snow, and all the smaller animals, like foxes, lynx and wolves, will begin to travel again, and to prey upon others for food. Until they find running water again snow and ice take the place of liquid drink; warm caverns dug in the snow give refuge in place of thick swamp moss and brush and leaves. All the big animals, like moose, deer and caribou, will soon make 'yards' for themselves by trampling down large areas of snow, and in these yards they will gather in big herds, eating their way through the forests, fighting the wolves and waiting for spring. Oh, life isn't altogether bad for the animals in a deep winter like this!" Until noon the hunters were busy cleaning away the snow from the cabin door. As the day advanced the blizzard increased in its fury, until, with the approach of night, it became impossible for the hunters to expose themselves to it. For three days the storm continued with only intermittent lulls, but with the dawn of the fourth day the sky was again cloudless, and the sun rose with a blinding effulgence. Rod now found himself suffering from that sure affliction of every tenderfoot in the far North--snow-blindness. For only a few minutes at a time could he stand the dazzling reflections of the snow-waste where nothing but white, flashing, scintillating white, seemingly a vast sea of burning electric points in the sunlight, met his aching eyes. On the second day after the storm, while Wabi was still inuring Rod to the changed world and teaching him how to accustom his eyes to it gradually, Mukoki left the cabin to follow the chasm in his search for the first waterfall. That same day Wabi began his work of digging out and resetting the traps, but it was not until the day following that Rod's eyes would allow him to assist. The task was a most difficult one; rocks and other landmarks were completely hidden, and the lost traps averaged one out of four. It was not until the end of the second day after Mukoki's departure that the young hunters finished the mountain trap-line, and when they turned their faces toward camp just at the beginning of dusk it was with the expectant hope that they would find the old Indian awaiting them. But Mukoki had not returned. The next day came and passed, and a fourth dawned without his arrival. Hope now gave way to fear. In three days Mukoki could travel nearly a hundred miles. Was it possible that something had happened to him? Many times there recurred to Rod a thought of the Woonga in the chasm. Had the mysterious spy, or some of his people, waylaid and killed him? Neither of the hunters had a desire to leave camp during the fourth day. Trapping was exceptionally good now on account of the scarcity of animal food and since the big storm they had captured a wolf, two lynx, a red fox and eight mink. But as Mukoki's absence lengthened their enthusiasm grew less. In the afternoon, as they were watching, they saw a figure climb wearily to the summit of the hill. It was Mukoki. With shouts of greeting both youths hurried through the snow toward him, not taking time to strap on their snow-shoes. The old Indian was at their side a couple of minutes later. He smiled in a tired good-natured way, and answered the eagerness in their eyes with a nod of his head. "Found fall. Fift' mile down mountain." Once in the cabin he dropped into a chair, exhausted, and both Rod and Wabigoon joined in relieving him of his boots and outer garments. It was evident that Mukoki had been traveling hard, for only once or twice before in his life had Wabi seen him so completely fatigued. Quickly the young Indian had a huge steak broiling over the fire, and Rod put an extra handful of coffee in the pot. "Fifty miles!" ejaculated Wabi for the twentieth time. "It was an awful jaunt, wasn't it, Muky?" "Rough--rough like devil th'ough mountains," replied Mukoki. "Not like that!" He swung an arm in the direction of the chasm. Rod stood silent, open-eyed with wonder. Was it possible that the old warrior had discovered a wilder country than that through which he had passed in the chasm? "She little fall," went on Mukoki, brightening as the odor of coffee and meat filled his nostrils. "No bigger than--that!" He pointed to the roof of the cabin. Rod was figuring on the table. Soon he looked up. "According to Mukoki and the map we are at least two hundred and fifty miles from the third fall," he said. Mukoki shrugged his shoulders and his face was crinkled in a suggestive grimace. "Hudson Bay," he grunted. Wabi turned from his steak in sudden astonishment. "Doesn't the chasm continue east?" he almost shouted. "No. She turn--straight north." Rod could not understand the change that came over Wabi's face. "Boys," he said finally, "if that is the case I can tell you where the gold is. If the stream in the chasm turns northward it is bound for just one place--the Albany River, and the Albany River empties into James Bay! The third waterfall, where our treasure in gold is waiting for us, is in the very heart of the wildest and most savage wilderness in North America. It is safe. No other man has ever found it. But to get it means one of the longest and most adventurous expeditions we ever planned in all our lives!" "Hurrah!" shouted Rod. "Hurrah--" He had leaped to his feet, forgetful of everything but that their gold was safe, and that their search for it would lead them even to the last fastnesses of the snow-bound and romantic North. "Next spring, Wabi!" He held out his hand and the two boys joined their pledge in a hearty grip. "Next spring!" reiterated Wabi. "And we go in canoe," joined Mukoki. "Creek grow bigger. We make birch-bark canoe at first fall." "That is better still," added Wabi. "It will be a glorious trip! We'll take a little vacation at the third fall and run up to James Bay." "James Bay is practically the same as Hudson Bay, isn't it?" asked Rod. "Yes. I could never see a good reason for calling it James Bay. It is in reality the lower end, or tail, of Hudson Bay." There was no thought of visiting any of the traps that day, and the next morning Mukoki insisted upon going with Rod, in spite of his four days of hard travel. If he remained in camp his joints would get stiff, he said, and Wabigoon thought he was right. This left the young Indian to care for the trap-line leading into the north. Two weeks of ideal trapping weather now followed. It had been more than two months since the hunters had left Wabinosh House, and Rod now began to count the days before they would turn back over the homeward trail. Wabi had estimated that they had sixteen hundred dollars' worth of furs and scalps and two hundred dollars in gold, and the white youth was satisfied to return to his mother with his share of six hundred dollars, which was as much as he would have earned in a year at his old position in the city. Neither did he attempt to conceal from Wabi his desire to see Minnetaki; and his Indian friend, thoroughly pleased at Rod's liking for his sister, took much pleasure in frequent good-natured banter on the subject. In fact, Rod possessed a secret hope that he might induce the princess mother to allow her daughter to accompany himself and Wabi to Detroit, where he knew that his own mother would immediately fall in love with the beautiful little maiden from the North. In the third week after the great storm Rod and Mukoki had gone over the mountain trap-line, leaving Wabi in camp. They had decided that the following week would see them headed for Wabinosh House, where they would arrive about the first of February, and Roderick was in high spirits. On this day they had started toward camp early in the afternoon, and soon after they had passed through the swamp Rod expressed his intention of ascending the ridge, hoping to get a shot at game somewhere along the mountain trail home. Mukoki, however, decided not to accompany him, but to take the nearer and easier route. On the top of the mountain Rod paused to take a survey of the country about him. He could see Mukoki, now hardly more than a moving speck on the edge of the plain; northward the same fascinating, never-ending wilderness rolled away under his eyes; eastward, two miles away, he saw a moving object which he knew was a moose or a caribou; and westward-- Instinctively his eyes sought the location of their camp. Instantly the expectant light went out of his face. He gave an involuntary cry of horror, and there followed it a single, unheard shriek for Mukoki. Over the spot where he knew their camp to be now rose a huge volume of smoke. The sky was black with it, and in the terrible moment that followed his piercing cry for Mukoki he fancied that he heard the sound of rifle-shots. "Mukoki! Mukoki!" he shouted. The old Indian was beyond hearing. Quickly it occurred to Rod that early in their trip they had arranged rifle signals for calling help--two quick shots, and then, after a moment's interval, three others in rapid succession. He threw his rifle to his shoulder and fired into the air; once, twice--and then three times as fast as he could press the trigger. As he watched Mukoki he reloaded. He saw the Indian pause, turn about and look back toward the mountain. Again the thrilling signals for help went echoing over the plains. In a few seconds the sounds had reached Mukoki's ears and the old warrior came swinging back at running speed. Rod darted along the ridge to meet him, firing a single shot now and then to let him know where he was, and in fifteen minutes Mukoki came panting up the mountain. "The Woongas!" shouted Rod. "They've attacked the camp! See!" He pointed to the cloud of smoke. "I heard shots--I heard shots--" For an instant the grim pathfinder gazed in the direction of the burning camp, and then without a word he started at terrific speed down the mountain. The half-hour race that followed was one of the most exciting experiences of Rod's life. How he kept up with Mukoki was more than he ever could explain afterward. But from the time they struck the old trail he was close at the Indian's heels. When they reached the hill that sheltered the dip his face was scratched and bleeding from contact with swinging bushes; his heart seemed ready to burst from its tremendous exertion; his breath came in an audible hissing, rattling sound, and he could not speak. But up the hill he plunged behind Mukoki, his rifle cocked and ready. At the top they paused. The camp was a smoldering mass of ruins. Not a sign of life was about it. But-- With a gasping, wordless cry Rod caught Mukoki's arm and pointed to an object lying in the snow a dozen yards from where the cabin had been. The warrior had seen it. He turned one look upon the white youth, and it was a look that Rod had never thought could come into the face of a human being. If that was Wabi down there--if Wabi had been killed--what would Mukoki's vengeance be! His companion was no longer Mukoki--as he had known him; he was the savage. There was no mercy, no human instinct, no suggestion of the human soul in that one terrible look. If it was Wabi-- They plunged down the hill, into the dip, across the lake, and Mukoki was on his knees beside the figure in the snow. He turned it over--and rose without a sound, his battle-glaring eyes peering into the smoking ruins. Rod looked, and shuddered. The figure in the snow was not Wabi. It was a strange, terrible-looking object--a giant Indian, distorted in death--and a half of his head was shot away! When he again looked at Mukoki the old Indian was in the midst of the hot ruins, kicking about with his booted feet and poking with the butt of his rifle. CHAPTER XIV THE RESCUE OF WABIGOON Rod had sunk into the snow close to the dead man. His endurance was gone and he was as weak as a child. He watched every movement Mukoki made; saw every start, every glance, and became almost sick with fear whenever the warrior bent down to examine some object. Was Wabi dead--and burned in those ruins? Foot by foot Mukoki searched. His feet became hot; the smell of burning leather filled his nostrils; glowing coals burned through to his feet. But the old Indian was beyond pain. Only two things filled his soul. One of these was love for Minnetaki; the other was love for Wabigoon. And there was only one other thing that could take the place of these, and that was merciless, undying, savage passion--passion at any wrong or injury that might be done to them. The Woongas had sneaked upon Wabi. He knew that. They had caught him unaware, like cowards; and perhaps he was dead--and in those ruins! He searched until his feet were scorched and burned in a score of places, and then he came out, smoke-blackened, but with some of the terrible look gone out of his face. "He no there!" he said, speaking for the first time. Again he crouched beside the dead man, and grimaced at Rod with a triumphant, gloating chuckle. "Much dead!" he grinned. In a moment the grimace had gone from his face, and while Rod still rested he continued his examination of the camp. Close around it the snow was beaten down with human tracks. Mukoki saw where the outlaws had stolen up behind the cabin from the forest and he saw where they had gone away after the attack. Five had come down from the cedars, only four had gone away! Where was Wabi? If he had been captured, and taken with the Indians, there would have been five trails. Rod understood this as well as Mukoki, and he also understood why his companion went back to make another investigation of the smoldering ruins. This second search, however, convinced the Indian that Wabi's body had not been thrown into the fire. There was only one conclusion to draw. The youth had made a desperate fight, had killed one of the outlaws, and after being wounded in the conflict had been carried off bodily. Wabi and his captors could not be more than two or three miles away. A quick pursuit would probably overtake them within an hour. Mukoki came to Rod's side. "Me follow--kill!" he said. "Me kill so many quick!" He pointed toward the four trails. "You stay--" Rod clambered to his feet. "You mean we'll kill 'em, Muky," he broke in. "I can follow you again. Set the pace!" There came the click of the safety on Mukoki's rifle, and Rod, following suit, cocked his own. "Much quiet," whispered the Indian when they had come to the farther side of the dip. "No noise--come up still--shoot!" The snow-shoe trail of the outlaws turned from the dip into the timbered bottoms to the north, and Mukoki, partly crouched, his rifle always to the front, followed swiftly. They had not progressed a hundred yards into the plain when the old hunter stopped, a puzzled look in his face. He pointed to one of the snow-shoe trails which was much deeper than the others. "Heem carry Wabi," he spoke softly. "But--" His eyes gleamed in sudden excitement. "They go slow! They no hurry! Walk very slow! Take much time!" Rod now observed for the first time that the individual tracks made by the outlaws were much shorter than their own, showing that instead of being in haste they were traveling quite slowly. This was a mystery which was not easy to explain. Did the Woongas not fear pursuit? Was it possible that they believed the hunters would not hasten to give them battle? Or were they relying upon the strength of their numbers, or, perhaps, planning some kind of ambush? Mukoki's advance now became slower and more cautious. His keen eyes took in every tree and clump of bushes ahead. Only when he could see the trail leading straight away for a considerable distance did he hasten the pursuit. Never for an instant did he turn his head to Rod. But suddenly he caught sight of something that brought from him a guttural sound of astonishment. A fifth track had joined the trail! Without questioning Rod knew what it meant. Wabi had been lowered from the back of his captor and was now walking. He was on snow-shoes and his strides were quite even and of equal length with the others. Evidently he was not badly wounded. Half a mile ahead of them was a high hill and between them and this hill was a dense growth of cedar, filled with tangled windfalls. It was an ideal place for an ambush, but the old warrior did not hesitate. The Woongas had followed a moose trail, with which they were apparently well acquainted, and in this traveling was easy. But Rod gave an involuntary shudder as he gazed ahead into the chaotic tangle through which it led. At any moment he expected to hear the sharp crack of a rifle and to see Mukoki tumble forward upon his face. Or there might be a fusillade of shots and he himself might feel the burning sting that comes with rifle death. At the distance from which they would shoot the outlaws could not miss. Did not Mukoki realize this? Maddened by the thought that his beloved Wabi was in the hands of merciless enemies, was the old pathfinder becoming reckless? But when he looked into his companion's face and saw the cool deadly resolution glittering in his eyes, the youth's confidence was restored. For some reason Mukoki knew that there would not be an ambush. Over the moose-run the two traveled more swiftly and soon they came to the foot of the high hill. Up this the Woongas had gone, their trail clearly defined and unswerving in its direction. Mukoki now paused with a warning gesture to Rod, and pointed down at one of the snow-shoe tracks. The snow was still crumbling and falling about the edges of this imprint. "Ver' close!" whispered the Indian. It was not the light of the game hunt in Mukoki's eyes now; there was a trembling, terrible tenseness in his whispered words. He crept up the hill with Rod so near that he could have touched him. At the summit of that hill he dragged himself up like an animal, and then, crouching, ran swiftly to the opposite side, his rifle within six inches of his shoulder. In the plain below them was unfolded to their eyes a scene which, despite his companion's warning, wrung an exclamation of dismay from Roderick's lips. [Illustration: The leader stopped in his snow-shoes] Plainly visible to them in the edge of the plain were the outlaw Woongas and their captive. They were in single file, with Wabi following the leader, and the hunters perceived that their comrade's arms were tied behind him. But it was another sight that caused Rod's dismay. From an opening beside a small lake half a mile beyond the Indians below there rose the smoke of two camp-fires, and Mukoki and he could make out at least a score of figures about these fires. Within rifle-shot of them, almost within shouting distance, there was not only the small war party that had attacked the camp, but a third of the fighting men of the Woonga tribe! Rod understood their terrible predicament. To attack the outlaws in an effort to rescue Wabi meant that an overwhelming force would be upon them within a few minutes; to allow Wabi to remain a captive meant--he shuddered at the thought of what it might mean, for he knew of the merciless vengeance of the Woongas upon the House of Wabinosh. And while he was thinking of these things the faithful old warrior beside him had already formed his plan of attack. He would die with Wabi, gladly--a fighting, terrible slave to devotion to the last; but he would not see Wabi die alone. A whispered word, a last look at his rifle, and Mukoki hurried down into the plains. At the foot of the hill he abandoned the outlaw trail and Rod realized that his plan was to sweep swiftly in a semicircle, surprising the Woongas from the front or side instead of approaching from the rear. Again he was taxed to his utmost to keep pace with the avenging Mukoki. Less than ten minutes later the Indian peered cautiously from behind a clump of hazel, and then looked back at Rod, a smile of satisfaction on his face. "They come," he breathed, just loud enough to hear. "They come!" Rod peered over his shoulder, and his heart smote mightily within him. Unconscious of their peril the Woongas were approaching two hundred yards away. Mukoki gazed into his companion's face and his eyes were almost pleading as he laid a bronzed crinkled hand upon the white boy's arm. "You take front man--ahead of Wabi," he whispered. "I take other t'ree. See that tree--heem birch, with bark off? Shoot heem there. You no tremble? You no miss?" "No," replied Rod. He gripped the red hand in his own. "I'll kill, Mukoki. I'll kill him dead--in one shot!" They could hear the voices of the outlaws now, and soon they saw that Wabi's face was disfigured with blood. Step by step, slowly and carelessly, the Woongas approached. They were fifty yards from the marked birch now--forty--thirty--now only ten. Roderick's rifle was at his shoulder. Already it held a deadly bead on the breast of the leader. Five yards more-- The outlaw passed behind the tree; he came out, and the young hunter pressed the trigger. The leader stopped in his snow-shoes. Even before he had crumpled down into a lifeless heap in the snow a furious volley of shots spat forth from Mukoki's gun, and when Rod swung his own rifle to join again in the fray he found that only one of the four was standing, and he with his hands to his breast as he tottered about to fall. But from some one of those who had fallen there had gone out a wild, terrible cry, and even as Rod and Makoki rushed out to free Wabigoon there came an answering yell from the direction of the Woonga camp. Mukoki's knife was in his hand by the time he reached Wabi, and with one or two slashes he had released his hands. "You hurt--bad?" he asked. "No--no!" replied Wabi. "I knew you'd come, boys--dear old friends!" As he spoke he turned to the fallen leader and Rod saw him take possession of the rifle and revolver which he had lost in their fight with the Woongas weeks before. Mukoki had already spied their precious pack of furs on one of the outlaw's backs, and he flung it over his own. "You saw the camp?" queried Wabi excitedly. "Yes." "They will be upon us in a minute! Which way, Mukoki?" "The chasm!" half shouted Rod. "The chasm! If we can reach the chasm--" "The chasm!" reiterated Wabigoon. Mukoki had fallen behind and motioned for Wabi and Rod to take the lead. Even now he was determined to take the brunt of danger by bringing up the rear. There was no time for argument and Wabigoon set off at a rapid pace. From behind there came the click of shells as the Indian loaded his rifle on the run. While the other two had been busy at the scene of the ambush Rod had replaced his empty shell, and now, as he led, Wabi examined the armament that had been stolen from them by the outlaws. "How many shells have you got, Rod?" he asked over his shoulder. "Forty-nine." "There's only four left in this belt besides five in the gun," called back the Indian youth. "Give me--some." Without halting Rod plucked a dozen cartridges from his belt and passed them on. Now they had reached the hill. At its summit they paused to recover their breath and take a look at the camp. The fires were deserted. A quarter of a mile out on the plain they saw half a dozen of their pursuers speeding toward the hill. The rest were already concealed in the nearer thickets of the bottom. "We must beat them to the chasm!" said the young Indian. As he spoke Wabi turned and led the way again. Rod's heart fell like a lump within him. We must beat them to the chasm! Those words of Wabi's brought him to the terrible realization that his own powers of endurance were rapidly ebbing. His race behind Mukoki to the burning cabin had seemed to rob the life from the muscles of his limbs, and each step now added to his weakness. And the chasm was a mile beyond the dip, and the entrance into that chasm still two miles farther. Three miles! Could he hold out? He heard Mukoki thumping along behind him; ahead of him Wabi was unconsciously widening the distance between them. He made a powerful effort to close the breach, but it was futile. Then from close in his rear there came a warning halloo from the old Indian, and Wabi turned. "He run t'ree mile to burning cabin," said Mukoki. "He no make chasm!" Rod was deathly white and breathing so hard that he could not speak. The quick-witted Wabi at once realized their situation. "There is just one thing for us to do, Muky. We must stop the Woongas at the dip. We'll fire down upon them from the top of the hill beyond the lake. We can drop three or four of them and they won't dare to come straight after us then. They will think we are going to fight them from there and will take time to sneak around us. Meanwhile we'll get a good lead in the direction of the chasm." He led off again, this time a little slower. Three minutes later they entered into the dip, crossed it safely, and were already at the foot of the hill, when from the opposite side of the hollow there came a triumphant blood-curdling yell. "Hurry!" shouted Wabi. "They see us!" Even as he spoke there came the crack of a rifle. Bzzzzzzz-inggggg! For the first time in his life Rod heard that terrible death-song of a bullet close to his head and saw the snow fly up a dozen feet beyond the young Indian. For an interval of twenty seconds there was silence; then there came another shot, and after that three others in quick succession. Wabi stumbled. "Not hit!" he called, scrambling to his feet. "Confound--that rock!" He rose to the hilltop with Rod close behind him, and from the opposite side of the lake there came a fusillade of half a dozen shots. Instinctively Rod dropped upon his face. And in that instant, as he lay in the snow, he heard the sickening thud of a bullet and a sharp sudden cry of pain from Mukoki. But the old warrior came up beside him and they passed into the shelter of the hilltop together. "Is it bad? Is it bad, Mukoki? Is it bad--" Wabi was almost sobbing as he turned and threw an arm around the old Indian. "Are you hit--bad?" Mukoki staggered, but caught himself. "In here," he said, putting a hand to his left shoulder. "She--no--bad." He smiled, courage gleaming with pain in his eyes, and swung off the light pack of furs. "We give 'em--devil--here!" Crouching, they peered over the edge of the hill. Half a dozen Woongas had already left the cedars and were following swiftly across the open. Others broke from the cover, and Wabi saw that a number of them were without snow-shoes. He exultantly drew Mukoki's attention to this fact, but the latter did not lift his eyes. In a few moments he spoke. "Now we give 'em--devil!" Eight pursuers on snow-shoes were in the open of the dip. Six of them had reached the lake. Rod held his fire. He knew that it was now more important for him to recover his wind than to fight, and he drew great drafts of air into his lungs while his two comrades leveled their rifles. He could fire after they were done if it was necessary. There was slow deadly deliberation in the way Mukoki and Wabigoon sighted along their rifle-barrels. Mukoki fired first; one shot, two--with a second's interval between--and an outlaw half-way across the lake pitched forward into the snow. As he fell, Wabi fired once, and there came to their ears shriek after shriek of agony as a second pursuer fell with a shattered leg. At the cries and shots of battle the hot blood rushed through Rod's veins, and with an excited shout of defiance he brought his rifle to his shoulder and in unison the three guns sent fire and death into the dip below. Only three of the eight Woongas remained and they had turned and were running toward the shelter of the cedars. "Hurrah!" shouted Rod. In his excitement he got upon his feet and sent his fifth and last shot after the fleeing outlaws. "Hurrah! Wow! Let's go after 'em!" "Get down!" commanded Wabi. "Load in a hurry!" Clink--clink--clink sounded the new shells as Mukoki and Wabigoon thrust them into their magazines. Five seconds more and they were sending a terrific fusillade of shots into the edge of the cedars--ten in all--and by the time he had reloaded his own gun Rod could see nothing to shoot at. "That will hold them for a while," spoke Wabi. "Most of them came in too big a hurry, and without their snow-shoes, Muky. We'll beat them to the chasm--easy!" He put an arm around the shoulders of the old Indian, who was still lying upon his face in the snow. "Let me see, Muky--let me see--" "Chasm first," replied Mukoki. "She no bad. No hit bone. No bleed--much." From behind Rod could see that Mukoki's coat was showing a growing blotch of red. "Are you sure--you can reach the chasm?" "Yes." In proof of his assertion the wounded Indian rose to his feet and approached the pack of furs. Wabi was ahead of him, and placed it upon his own shoulders. "You and Rod lead the way," he said. "You two know where to find the opening into the chasm. I've never been there." Mukoki started down the hill, and Rod, close behind, could hear him breathing heavily; there was no longer fear for himself in his soul, but for that grim faithful warrior ahead, who would die in his tracks without a murmur and with a smile of triumph and fearlessness on his lips. CHAPTER XV RODERICK HOLDS THE WOONGAS AT BAY They traveled more slowly now and Rod found his strength returning. When they reached the second ridge he took Mukoki by the arm and assisted him up, and the old Indian made no demur. This spoke more strongly of his hurt than words. There was still no sign of their enemies behind. From the top of the second ridge they could look back upon a quarter of a mile of the valley below, and it was here that Rod suggested that he remain on watch for a few minutes while Wabigoon went on with Mukoki. The young hunters could see that the Indian was becoming weaker at every step, and Mukoki could no longer conceal this weakness in spite of the tremendous efforts he made to appear natural. "I believe it is bad," whispered Wabi to Rod, his face strangely white. "I believe it is worse than we think. He is bleeding hard. Your idea is a good one. Watch here, and if the Woongas show up in the valley open fire on them. I'll leave you my gun, too, so they'll think we are going to give them another fight. That will keep them back for a time. I'm going to stop Muky up here a little way and dress his wound. He will bleed to death if I don't." "And then go on," added Rod. "Don't stop if you hear me fire, but hurry on to the chasm. I know the way and will join you. I'm as strong as I ever was now, and can catch up with you easily with Mukoki traveling as slowly as he does." During this brief conversation Mukoki had continued his way along the ridge and Wabi hurried to overtake him. Meanwhile Rod concealed himself behind a rock, from which vantage-point he could see the whole of that part of the valley across which they had come. He looked at his watch and in tense anxiety counted every minute after that. He allowed ten minutes for the dressing of Mukoki's wound. Every second gained from then on would be priceless. For a quarter of an hour he kept his eyes with ceaseless vigilance upon their back trail. Surely the Woongas had secured their snow-shoes by this time! Was it possible that they had given up the pursuit--that their terrible experience in the dip had made them afraid of further battle? Rod answered this question in the negative. He was sure that the Woongas knew that Wabi was the son of the factor of Wabinosh House. Therefore they would make every effort to recapture him, even though they had to follow far and a dozen lives were lost before that feat was accomplished. A movement in the snow across the valley caught Rod's eyes. He straightened himself, and his breath came quickly. Two figures had appeared in the open. Another followed close behind, and after that there came others, until the waiting youth had counted sixteen. They were all on snow-shoes, following swiftly over the trail of the fugitives. The young hunter looked at his watch again. Twenty-five minutes had passed. Mukoki and Wabigoon had secured a good start. If he could only hold the outlaws in the valley for a quarter of an hour more--just fifteen short minutes--they would almost have reached the entrance into the chasm. Alone, with his own life and those of his comrades depending upon him, the boy was cool. There was no tremble in his hands to destroy the accuracy of his rifle-fire, no blurring excitement or fear in his brain to trouble his judgment of distance and range. He made up his mind that he would not fire until they had come within four hundred yards. Between that distance and three hundred he was sure he could drop at least one or two of them. He measured his range by a jackpine stub, and when two of the Woongas had reached and passed that stub he fired. He saw the snow thrown up six feet in front of the leader. He fired again, and again, and one of the shots, a little high, struck the second outlaw. The leader had darted back to the shelter of the stub and Rod sent another bullet whizzing past his ears. His fifth he turned into the main body of the pursuers, and then, catching up Wabi's rifle, he poured a hail of five bullets among them in as many seconds. The effect was instantaneous. The outlaws scattered in retreat and Rod saw that a second figure was lying motionless in the snow. He began to reload his rifles and by the time he had finished the Woongas had separated and were running to the right and the left of him. For the last time he looked at his watch. Wabi and Mukoki had been gone thirty-five minutes. The boy crept back from his rock, straightened himself, and followed in their trail. He mentally calculated that it would be ten minutes before the Woongas, coming up from the sides and rear, would discover his flight, and by that time he would have nearly a mile the start of them. He saw, without stopping, where Wabi had dressed Mukoki's wound. There were spots of blood and a red rag upon the snow. Half a mile farther on the two had paused again, and this time he knew that Mukoki had stopped to rest. From now on they had rested every quarter of a mile or so, and soon Roderick saw them toiling slowly through the snow ahead of him. He ran up, panting, anxious. "How--" he began. Wabi looked at him grimly. "How much farther, Rod?" he asked. "Not more than half a mile." Wabi motioned for him to take Mukoki's other arm. "He has bled a good deal," he said. There was a hardness in his voice that made Rod shudder, and he caught his breath as Wabi shot him a meaning glance behind the old warrior's doubled shoulders. They went faster now, almost carrying their wounded comrade between them. Suddenly, Wabi paused, threw his rifle to his shoulder, and fired. A few yards ahead a huge white rabbit kicked in his death struggles in the snow. "If we do reach the chasm Mukoki must have something to eat," he said. "We'll reach it!" gasped Rod. "We'll reach it! There's the woods. We go down there!" They almost ran, with Mukoki's snow-shod feet dragging between them, and five minutes later they were carrying the half-unconscious Indian down the steep side of the mountain. At its foot Wabi turned, and his eyes flashed with vengeful hatred. "Now, you devils!" he shouted up defiantly. "Now!" Mukoki aroused himself for a few moments and Rod helped him back to the shelter of the chasm wall. He found a nook between great masses of rock, almost clear of snow, and left him there while he hurried back to Wabigoon. "You stand on guard here, Rod," said the latter. "We must cook that rabbit and get some life back into Mukoki. I think he has stopped bleeding, but I am going to look again. The wound isn't fatal, but it has weakened him. If we can get something hot into him I believe he will be able to walk again. Did you have anything left over from your dinner on the trail to-day?" Rod unstrapped the small pack in which the hunters carried their food while on the trail, and which had been upon his shoulders since noon. "There is a double handful of coffee, a cupful of tea, plenty of salt and a little bread," he said. "Good! Few enough supplies for three people in this kind of a wilderness--but they'll save Mukoki!" Wabi went back, while Rod, sheltered behind a rock, watched the narrow incline into the chasm. He almost hoped the Woongas would dare to attempt a descent, for he was sure that he and Wabi would have them at a terrible disadvantage and with their revolvers and three rifles could inflict a decisive blow upon them before they reached the bottom. But he saw no sign of their enemies. He heard no sound from above, yet he knew that the outlaws were very near--only waiting for the protecting darkness of night. He heard the crackling of Wabi's fire and the odor of coffee came to him; and Wabi, assured that their presence was known to the Woongas, began whistling cheerily. In a few minutes he rejoined Rod behind the rock. "They will attack us as soon as it gets good and dark," he said coolly. "That is, if they can find us. As soon as they are no longer able to see down into the chasm we will find some kind of a hiding-place. Mukoki will be able to travel then." A memory of the cleft in the chasm wall came to Rod and he quickly described it to his companion. It was an ideal hiding-place at night, and if Mukoki was strong enough they could steal up out of the chasm and secure a long start into the south before the Woongas discovered their flight in the morning. There was just one chance of failure. If the spy whose trail had revealed the break in the mountain to Rod was not among the outlaws' wounded or dead the cleft might be guarded, or the Woongas themselves might employ it in making a descent upon them. "It's worth the risk anyway," said Wabi. "The chances are even that your outlaw ran across the fissure by accident and that his companions are not aware of its existence. And they'll not follow our trail down the chasm to-night, I'll wager. In the cover of darkness they will steal down among the rocks and then wait for daylight. Meanwhile we can be traveling southward and when they catch up with us we will give them another fight if they want it." "We can start pretty soon?" "Within an hour." For some time the two stood in silent watchfulness. Suddenly Rod asked: "Where is Wolf?" Wabi laughed, softly, exultantly. "Gone back to his people, Rod. He will be crying in the wild hunt-pack to-night. Good old Wolf!" The laugh left his lips and there was a tremble of regret in his voice. "The Woongas came from the back of the cabin--took me by surprise--and we had it hot and heavy for a few minutes. We fell back where Wolf was tied and just as I knew they'd got me sure I cut his babeesh with the knife I had in my hand." "Didn't he show fight?" "For a minute. Then one of the Indians shot, at him and he hiked off into the woods." "Queer they didn't wait for Mukoki and me," mused Rod. "Why didn't they ambush us?" "Because they didn't want you, and they were sure they'd reach their camp before you took up the trail. I was their prize. With me in their power they figured on communicating with you and Mukoki and sending you back to the Post with their terms. They would have bled father to his last cent--and then killed me. Oh, they talked pretty plainly to me when they thought they had me!" There came a noise from above them and the young hunters held their rifles in readiness. Nearer and nearer came the crashing sound, until a small boulder shot past them into the chasm. "They're up there," grinned Wabi, lowering his gun. "That was an accident, but you'd better keep your eyes open. I'll bet the whole tribe feel like murdering the fellow who rolled over that stone!" He crept cautiously back to Mukoki, and Rod crouched with his face to the narrow trail leading down from the top of the mountain. Deep shadows were beginning to lurk among the trees and he was determined that any movement there would draw his fire. Fifteen minutes later Wabi returned, eating ravenously at a big hind quarter of broiled rabbit. "I've had my coffee," he greeted. "Go back and eat and drink, and build the fire up high. Don't mind me when I shoot. I am going to fire just to let the Woongas know we are on guard, and after that we'll hustle for that break in the mountain." Rod found Mukoki with a chunk of rabbit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. The wounded Indian smiled with something like the old light in his eyes and a mighty load was lifted from Rod's heart. "You're better?" he asked. "Fine!" replied Mukoki. "No much hurt. Good fight some more. Wabi say, 'No, you stay.'" His face became a map of grimaces to show his disapproval of Wabi's command. Rod helped himself to the meat and coffee. He was hungry, but after he was done there remained some of the rabbit and a biscuit and these he placed in his pack for further use. Soon after this there came two shots from the rock and before the echoes had died away down the chasm Wabi approached through the gathering gloom. It was easy for the hunters to steal along the concealment of the mountain wall, and even if there had been prying eyes on the opposite ridge they could not have penetrated the thickening darkness in the bottom of the gulch. For some time the flight was continued with extreme caution, no sound being made to arouse the suspicion of any outlaw who might be patrolling the edge of the precipice. At the end of half an hour Mukoki, who was in the lead that he might set a pace according to his strength, quickened his steps. Rod was close beside him now, his eyes ceaselessly searching the chasm wall for signs that would tell him when they were nearing the rift. Suddenly Wabi halted in his tracks and gave a low hiss that stopped them. "It's snowing!" he whispered. Mukoki lifted his face. Great solitary flakes of snow fell upon it. "She snow hard--soon. Mebby cover snow-shoe trails!" "And if it does--we're safe!" There was a vibrant joy in Wabi's voice. For a full minute Mukoki held his face to the sky. "Hear small wind over chasm," he said. "She come from south. She snow hard--now--up there!" They went on, stirred by new hope. Rod could feel that the flakes were coming thicker. The three now kept close to the chasm wall in their search for the rift. How changed all things were at night! Rod's heart throbbed now with hope, now with doubt, now with actual fear. Was it possible that he could not find it? Had they passed it among some of the black shadows behind? He saw no rock that he recognized, no overhanging crag, no sign to guide him. He stopped, and his voice betrayed his uneasiness as he asked: "How far do you think we have come?" Mukoki had gone a few steps ahead, and before Wabi answered he called softly to them from close up against the chasm wall. They hurried to him and found him standing beside the rift. "Here!" Wabi handed his rifle to Rod. "I'm going up first," he announced. "If the coast is clear I'll whistle down." For a few moments Mukoki and Rod could hear him as he crawled up the fissure. Then all was silent. A quarter of an hour passed, and a low whistle came to their ears. Another ten minutes and the three stood together at the top of the mountain, Rod and the wounded Mukoki breathing hard from their exertions. For a time the three sat down in the snow and waited, watched, listened; and from Rod's heart there went up something that was almost a prayer, for it was snowing--snowing hard, and it seemed to him that the storm was something which God had specially directed should fall in their path that it might shield them and bring them safely home. And when he rose to his feet Wabi was still silent, and the three gripped hands in mute thankfulness at their deliverance. Still speechless, they turned instinctively for a moment back to the dark desolation beyond the chasm--the great, white wilderness in which they had passed so many adventurous yet happy weeks; and as they gazed into the chaos beyond the second mountain there came to them the lonely, wailing howl of a wolf. "I wonder," said Wabi softly. "I wonder--if that--is Wolf?" And then, Indian file, they trailed into the south. CHAPTER XVI THE SURPRISE AT THE POST From the moment that the adventurers turned their backs upon the Woonga country Mukoki was in command. With the storm in their favor everything else now depended upon the craft of the old pathfinder. There was neither moon nor wind to guide them, and even Wabi felt that he was not competent to strike a straight trail in a strange country and a night storm. But Mukoki, still a savage in the ways of the wilderness, seemed possessed of that mysterious sixth sense which is known as the sense of orientation--that almost supernatural instinct which guides the carrier pigeon as straight as a die to its home-cote hundreds of miles away. Again and again during that thrilling night's flight Wabi or Rod would ask the Indian where Wabinosh House lay, and he would point out its direction to them without hesitation. And each time it seemed to the city youth that he pointed a different way, and it proved to him how easy it was to become hopelessly lost in the wilderness. Not until midnight did they pause to rest. They had traveled slowly but steadily and Wabi figured that they had covered fifteen miles. Five miles behind them their trail was completely obliterated by the falling snow. Morning would betray to the Woongas no sign of the direction taken by the fugitives. "They will believe that we have struck directly westward for the Post," said Wabi. "To-morrow night we'll be fifty miles apart." During this stop a small fire was built behind a fallen log and the hunters refreshed themselves with a pot of strong coffee and what little remained of the rabbit and biscuits. The march was then resumed. It seemed to Rod that they had climbed an interminable number of ridges and had picked their way through an interminable number of swampy bottoms between them, and he, even more than Mukoki, was relieved when they struck the easier traveling of open plains. In fact, Mukoki seemed scarcely to give a thought to his wound and Roderick was almost ready to drop in his tracks by the time a halt was called an hour before dawn. The old warrior was confident that they were now well out of danger and a rousing camp-fire was built in the shelter of a thick growth of spruce. "Spruce partridge in mornin'," affirmed Mukoki. "Plenty here for breakfast." "How do you know?" asked Rod, whose hunger was ravenous. "Fine thick spruce, all in shelter of dip," explained the Indian. "Birds winter here." Wabi had unpacked the furs, and the larger of these, including six lynx and three especially fine wolf skins, he divided into three piles. "They'll make mighty comfortable beds if you keep close enough to the fire," he explained. "Get a few spruce boughs, Rod, and cover them over with one of the wolf skins. The two lynx pelts will make the warmest blankets you ever had." Rod quickly availed himself of this idea, and within half an hour he was sleeping soundly. Mukoki and Wabigoon, more inured to the hardships of the wilderness, took only brief snatches of slumber, one or both awakening now and then to replenish the fire. As soon as it was light enough the two Indians went quietly out into the spruce with their guns, and their shots a little later awakened Rod. When they returned they brought three partridges with them. "There are dozens of them among the spruce," said Wabi, "but just now we do not want to shoot any oftener than is absolutely necessary. Have you noticed our last night's trail?" Rod rubbed his eyes, thus confessing that as yet he had not been out from between his furs. "Well, if you go out there in the open for a hundred yards you won't find it," finished his comrade. "The snow has covered it completely." Although they lacked everything but meat, this breakfast in the spruce thicket was one of the happiest of the entire trip, and when the three hunters were done each had eaten of his partridge until only the bones were left. There was now little cause for fear, for it was still snowing and their enemies were twenty-five miles to the north of them. This fact did not deter the adventurers from securing an early start, however, and they traveled southward through the storm until noon, when they built a camp of spruce and made preparations to rest until the following day. "We must be somewhere near the Kenogami trail," Wabi remarked to Mukoki. "We may have passed it." "No pass it," replied Mukoki. "She off there." He pointed to the south. "You see the Kenogami trail is a sled trail leading from the little town of Nipigon, on the railroad, to Kenogami House, which is a Hudson Bay Post at the upper end of Long Lake," explained Wabi to his white companion. "The factor of Kenogami is a great friend of ours and we have visited back and forth often, but I've been over the Kenogami trail only once. Mukoki has traveled it many times." Several rabbits were killed before dinner. No other hunting was done during the afternoon, most of which was passed in sleep by the exhausted adventurers. When Rod awoke he found that it had stopped snowing and was nearly dark. Mukoki's wound was beginning to trouble him again, and it was decided that at least a part of the next day should be passed in camp, and that both Rod and Wabigoon should make an effort to kill some animal that would furnish them with the proper kind of oil to dress it with, the fat of almost any species of animal except mink or rabbit being valuable for this purpose. With dawn the two started out, while Mukoki, much against his will, was induced to remain in camp. A short distance away the hunters separated, Rod striking to the eastward and Wabi into the south. For an hour Roderick continued without seeing game, though there were plenty of signs of deer and caribou about him. At last he determined to strike for a ridge a mile to the south, from the top of which he was more likely to get a shot than in the thick growth of the plains. He had not traversed more than a half of the distance when much to his surprise he came upon a well-beaten trail running slightly diagonally with his own, almost due north. Two dog-teams had passed since yesterday's storm, and on either side of the sleds were the snow-shoe trails of men. Rod saw that there were three of these, and at least a dozen dogs in the two teams. It at once occurred to him that this was the Kenogami trail, and impelled by nothing more than curiosity he began to follow it. Half a mile farther on he found where the party had stopped to cook a meal. The remains of their camp-fire lay beside a huge log, which was partly burned away, and about it were scattered bones and bits of bread. But what most attracted Rod's attention were other tracks which joined those of the three people on snow-shoes. He was sure that these tracks had been made by women, for the footprints made by one of them were unusually small. Close to the log he found a single impression in the snow that caused his heart to give a sudden unexpected thump within him. In this spot the snow had been packed by one of the snow-shoes, and in this comparatively hard surface the footprint was clearly defined. It had been made by a moccasin. Rod knew that. And the moccasin wore a slight heel! He remembered, now, that thrilling day in the forest near Wabinosh House when he had stopped to look at Minnetaki's footprints in the soft earth through which she had been driven by her Woonga abductors, and he remembered, too, that she was the only person at the Post who wore heels on her moccasins. It was a queer coincidence! Could Minnetaki have been here? Had she made that footprint in the snow? Impossible, declared the young hunter's better sense. And yet his blood ran a little faster as he touched the delicate impression with his bare fingers. It reminded him of Minnetaki, anyway; her foot would have made just such a trail, and he wondered if the girl who had stepped there was as pretty as she. He followed now a little faster than before, and ten minutes later he came to where a dozen snow-shoe trails had come in from the north and had joined the three. After meeting, the two parties had evidently joined forces and had departed over the trail made by those who had appeared from the direction of the Post. "Friends from Kenogami House came down to meet them," mused Rod, and as he turned back in the direction of the camp he formed a picture of that meeting in the heart of the wilderness, of the glad embraces of husband and wife, and the joy of the pretty girl with the tiny feet as she kissed her father, and perhaps her big brother; for no girl could possess feet just like Minnetaki's and not be pretty! He found that Wabi had preceded him when he returned. The young Indian had shot a small doe, and that noon witnessed a feast in camp. For his lack of luck Rod had his story to tell of the people on the trail. The passing of this party formed the chief topic of conversation during the rest of the day, for after weeks of isolation in the wilderness even this momentary nearness of living civilized men and women was a great event to them. But there was one fact which Rod dwelt but slightly upon. He did not emphasize the similarity of the pretty footprint and that made by Minnetaki's moccasin, for he knew that a betrayal of his knowledge and admiration of the Indian maiden's feet would furnish Wabi with fun-making ammunition for a week. He did say, however, that the footprint in the snow struck him as being just about the size that Minnetaki would make. All that day and night the hunters remained in camp, sleeping, eating and taking care of Mukoki's wound, but the next morning saw them ready for their homeward journey with the coming of dawn. They struck due westward now, satisfied that they were well beyond the range of the outlaw Woongas. As the boys talked over their adventure on the long journey back toward the Post, Wabi thought with regret of the moose head which he had left buried in the "Indian ice-box," and even wished, for a moment, to go home by the northern trail, despite the danger from the hostile Woongas, in order to recover the valuable antlers. But Mukoki shook his head. "Woonga make good fight. What for go again into wolf trap?" And so they reluctantly gave up the notion of carrying the big head of the bull moose back to the Post. A little before noon of the second day they saw Lake Nipigon from the top of a hill. Columbus when he first stepped upon the shore of his newly discovered land was not a whit happier than Roderick Drew when that joyous youth, running out upon the snow-covered ice, attempted to turn a somersault with his snow-shoes on! Just over there, thought Rod--just over there--a hundred miles or so, is Minnetaki and the Post! Happy visions filled his mind all that afternoon as they traveled across the foot of the lake. Three weeks more and he would see his mother--and home. And Wabi was going with him! He seemed tireless; his spirits were never exhausted; he laughed, whistled, even attempted to sing. He wondered if Minnetaki would be very glad to see him. He knew that she would be glad--but how glad? Two days more were spent in circling the lower end of the lake. Then their trail turned northward, and on the second evening after this, as the cold red sun was sinking in all that heatless glory of the great North's day-end, they came out upon a forest-clad ridge and looked down upon the House of Wabinosh. And as they looked--and as the burning disk of the sun, falling down and down behind forest, mountain and plain, bade its last adieu to the land of the wild, there came to them, strangely clear and beautiful, the notes of a bugle. And Wabi, listening, grew rigid with wonder. As the last notes died away the cheers that had been close to his lips gave way to the question, "What does that mean?" "A bugle!" said Rod. As he spoke there came to their ears the heavy, reverberating boom of a big gun. "If I'm not mistaken," he added, "that is a sunset salute. I didn't know you had--soldiers--at the Post!" "We haven't," replied the Indian youth. "By George, what do you suppose it means?" He hurried down the ridge, the others close behind him. Fifteen minutes later they trailed out into the open near the Post. A strange change had occurred since Rod and his companions had last seen Wabinosh House. In the open half a dozen rude log shelters had been erected, and about these were scores of soldiers in the uniform of his Majesty, the King of England. Shouts of greeting died on the hunters' lips. They hastened to the dwelling of the factor, and while Wabi rushed in to meet his mother and father Rod cut across to the Company's store. He had often found Minnetaki there. But his present hope was shattered, and after looking in he turned back to the house. By the time he had reached the steps a second time the princess mother, with Wabi close behind her, came out to welcome him. Wabi's face was flushed with excitement. His eyes sparkled. "Rod, what do you think!" he exclaimed, after his mother had gone back to see to the preparation of their supper. "The government has declared war on the Woongas and has sent up a company of regulars to wipe 'em out! They have been murdering and robbing as never before during the last two months. The regulars start after them to-morrow!" He was breathing hard and excitedly. "Can't you stay--and join in the campaign?" he pleaded. "I can't," replied Rod. "I can't, Wabi; I've got to go home. You know that. And you're going with me. The regulars can get along without you. Go back to Detroit with me--and get your mother to let Minnetaki go with us." "Not now, Rod," said the Indian youth, taking his friend's hand. "I won't be able to go--now. Nor Minnetaki either. They have been having such desperate times here that father has sent her away. He wanted mother to go, but she wouldn't." "Sent Minnetaki away?" gasped Rod. "Yes. She started for Kenogami House four days ago in company with an Indian woman and three guides. That was undoubtedly their trail you found." "And the footprint--" "Was hers," laughed Wabi, putting an arm affectionately around his chum's shoulders. "Won't you stay, Rod?" "It is impossible." He went to his old room, and until suppertime sat alone in silent dejection. Two great disappointments had fallen upon him. Wabi could not go home with him--and he had missed Minnetaki. The young girl had left a note in her mother's care for him, and he read it again and again. She had written it believing that she would return to Wabinosh House before the hunters, but at the end she had added a paragraph in which she said that if she did not do this Rod must make the Post a second visit very soon, and bring his mother with him. At supper the princess mother several times pressed Minnetaki's invitation upon the young hunter. She read to him parts of certain letters which she had received from Mrs. Drew during the winter, and Rod was overjoyed to find that his mother was not only in good health, but that she had given her promise to visit Wabinosh House the following summer. Wabi broke all table etiquette by giving vent to a warlike whoop of joy at this announcement, and once more Rod's spirits rose high above his temporary disappointments. That night the furs were appraised and purchased by the factor for his Company, and Rod's share, including his third of the gold, was nearly seven hundred dollars. The next morning the bi-monthly sled party, was leaving for civilization, and he prepared to go with it, after writing a long letter to Minnetaki, which was to be carried to her by the faithful Mukoki. Most of that night Wabi and his friend sat up and talked, and made plans. It was believed that the campaign against the Woongas would be a short and decisive one. By spring all trouble would be over. "And you'll come back as soon as you can?" pleaded Wabi for the hundredth time. "You'll come back by the time the ice breaks up?" "If I am alive!" pledged the city youth. "And you'll bring your mother?" "She has promised." "And then--for the gold!" "For the gold!" Wabi held out his hand and the two gripped heartily. "And Minnetaki will be here then--I swear it!" said the Indian youth, laughing. Rod blushed. And that night alone he slipped quietly out into the still, white night; and he looked, longingly, far into the southeast where he had found the footprint in the snow; and he turned to the north, and the east, and the west, and lastly to the south, and his eyes seemed to travel through the distance of a thousand miles to where a home and a mother lay sleeping in a great city. And as he turned back to the House of Wabinosh, where all the lights were out, he spoke softly to himself: "It's home--to-morrow!" And then he added: "But you bet I'll be back by the time the ice breaks up!" THE END 
28255	----	Shelters, Shacks, and Shanties [Illustration: Hunter's cabin showing how projecting logs may be utilized.] Shelters, Shacks, and Shanties By D. C. BEARD With Illustrations by the Author NEW YORK Charles Scribner's Sons 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Published September, 1914 DEDICATED TO DANIEL BARTLETT BEARD BECAUSE OF HIS LOVE OF THE BIG OUTDOORS FOREWORD As this book is written for boys of all ages, it has been divided under two general heads, "The Tomahawk Camps" and "The Axe Camps," that is, camps which may be built with no tool but a hatchet, and camps that will need the aid of an axe. The smallest boys can build some of the simple shelters and the older boys can build the more difficult ones. The reader may, if he likes, begin with the first of the book, build his way through it, and graduate by building the log houses; in doing this he will be closely following the history of the human race, because ever since our arboreal ancestors with prehensile toes scampered among the branches of the pre-glacial forests and built nestlike shelters in the trees, men have made themselves shacks for a temporary refuge. But as one of the members of the Camp-Fire Club of America, as one of the founders of the Boy Scouts of America, and as the founder of the Boy Pioneers of America, it would not be proper for the author to admit for one moment that there can be such a thing as a camp without a _camp-fire_, and for that reason the tree folks and the "missing link" whose remains were found in Java, and to whom the scientists gave the awe-inspiring name of Pithecanthropus erectus, cannot be counted as campers, because _they did not know how to build a camp-fire_; neither can we admit the ancient maker of stone implements, called eoliths, to be one of us, because he, too, knew not the joys of a camp-fire. But there was another fellow, called the Neanderthal man, who lived in the ice age in Europe and he _had_ to be a camp-fire man or freeze! As far as we know, he was the first man to build a camp-fire. The cold weather made him hustle, and hustling developed him. True, he did cook and eat his neighbors once in a while, and even split their bones for the marrow; but we will forget that part and just remember him as the first camper in Europe. Recently a pygmy skeleton was discovered near Los Angeles which is claimed to be about twenty thousand years old, but we do not know whether this man knew how to build a fire or not. We do know, however, that the American camper was here on this continent when our Bible was yet an unfinished manuscript and that he was building his fires, toasting his venison, and building "sheds" when the red-headed Eric settled in Greenland, when Thorwald fought with the "Skraelings," and Biarni's dragon ship made the trip down the coast of Vineland about the dawn of the Christian era. We also know that the American camper was here when Columbus with his comical toy ships was blundering around the West Indies. We also know that the American camper watched Henry Hudson steer the _Half Moon_ around Manhattan Island. It is this same American camper who has taught us to build many of the shacks to be found in the following pages. The shacks, sheds, shanties, and shelters described in the following pages are, all of them, similar to those used by the people on this continent or suggested by the ones in use and are typically American; and the designs are suited to the arctics, the tropics, and temperate climes; also to the plains, the mountains, the desert, the bog, and even the water. It seems to be natural and proper to follow the camp as it grows until it develops into a somewhat pretentious log house, but this book must not be considered as competing in any manner with professional architects. The buildings here suggested require a woodsman more than an architect; the work demands more the skill of the axeman than that of the carpenter and joiner. The log houses are supposed to be buildings which any real outdoor man should be able to erect by himself and for himself. Many of the buildings have already been built in many parts of the country by Boy Pioneers and Boy Scouts. This book is not intended as an encyclopedia or history of primitive architecture; the bureaus at Washington, and the Museum of Natural History, are better equipped for that purpose than the author. The boys will undoubtedly acquire a dexterity and skill in building the shacks and shanties here described, which will be of lasting benefit to them whether they acquire the skill by building camps "just for the fun of the thing" or in building them for the more practical purpose of furnishing shelter for overnight pleasure hikes, for the wilderness trail, or for permanent camps while living in the open. It has been the writer's experience that the readers depend more upon his diagrams than they do upon the written matter in his books, and so in this book he has again attempted to make the diagrams self-explanatory. The book was written in answer to requests by many people interested in the Boy Scout movement and others interested in the general activities of boys, and also in answer to the personal demands of hundreds of boys and many men. The drawings are all original and many of them invented by the author himself and published here for the first time, for the purpose of supplying all the boy readers, the Boy Scouts, and other older "boys," calling themselves Scoutmasters and sportsmen, with practical hints, drawings, and descriptions showing how to build suitable shelters for temporary or permanent camps. DANIEL CARTER BEARD. FLUSHING, LONG ISLAND, APRIL 1, 1914. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE FOREWORD v I. WHERE TO FIND MOUNTAIN GOOSE. HOW TO PICK AND USE ITS FEATHERS 1 II. THE HALF-CAVE SHELTER 7 III. HOW TO MAKE THE FALLEN-TREE SHELTER AND THE SCOUT-MASTER 11 IV. HOW TO MAKE THE ADIRONDACK, THE WICK-UP, THE BARK TEEPEE, THE PIONEER, AND THE SCOUT 15 V. HOW TO MAKE BEAVER-MAT HUTS, OR FAGOT SHACKS, WITHOUT INJURY TO THE TREES 18 VI. INDIAN SHACKS AND SHELTERS 22 VII. BIRCH BARK OR TAR PAPER SHACK 27 VIII. INDIAN COMMUNAL HOUSES 31 IX. BARK AND TAR PAPER 36 X. A SAWED-LUMBER SHANTY 39 XI. A SOD HOUSE FOR THE LAWN 47 XII. HOW TO BUILD ELEVATED SHACKS, SHANTIES, AND SHELTERS 52 XIII. THE BOG KEN 54 XIV. OVER-WATER CAMPS 62 XV. SIGNAL-TOWER, GAME LOOKOUT, AND RUSTIC OBSERVATORY 65 XVI. TREE-TOP HOUSES 72 XVII. CACHES 77 XVIII. HOW TO USE AN AXE 83 XIX. HOW TO SPLIT LOGS, MAKE SHAKES, SPLITS, OR CLAPBOARDS. HOW TO CHOP A LOG IN HALF. HOW TO FLATTEN A LOG. ALSO SOME DON'TS 87 XX. AXEMEN'S CAMPS 92 XXI. RAILROAD-TIE SHACKS, BARREL SHACKS, AND CHIMEHUEVIS 96 XXII. THE BARABARA 100 XXIII. THE NAVAJO HOGAN, HORNADAY DUGOUT, AND SOD HOUSE 104 XXIV. HOW TO BUILD AN AMERICAN BOY'S HOGAN 107 XXV. HOW TO CUT AND NOTCH LOGS 115 XXVI. NOTCHED LOG LADDERS 119 XXVII. A POLE HOUSE. HOW TO USE A CROSS-CUT SAW AND A FROE 122 XXVIII. LOG-ROLLING AND OTHER BUILDING STUNTS 126 XXIX. THE ADIRONDACK OPEN LOG CAMP AND A ONE-ROOM CABIN 129 XXX. THE NORTHLAND TILT AND INDIAN LOG TENT 132 XXXI. HOW TO BUILD THE RED JACKET, THE NEW BRUNSWICK, AND THE CHRISTOPHER GIST 135 XXXII. CABIN DOORS AND DOOR-LATCHES, THUMB-LATCHES AND FOOT LATCHES AND HOW TO MAKE THEM 139 XXXIII. SECRET LOCKS 145 XXXIV. HOW TO MAKE THE BOW-ARROW CABIN DOOR AND LATCH AND THE DEMING TWIN BOLTS, HALL, AND BILLY 151 XXXV. THE AURES LOCK LATCH 155 XXXVI. THE AMERICAN LOG CABIN 161 XXXVII. A HUNTER'S OR FISHERMAN'S CABIN 169 XXXVIII. HOW TO MAKE A WYOMING OLEBO, A HOKO RIVER OLEBO, A SHAKE CABIN, A CANADIAN MOSSBACK, AND A TWO-PEN OR SOUTHERN SADDLE-BAG HOUSE 171 XXXIX. NATIVE NAMES FOR THE PARTS OF A KANUCK LOG CABIN, AND HOW TO BUILD ONE 177 XL. HOW TO MAKE A POLE HOUSE AND HOW TO MAKE A UNIQUE BUT THOROUGHLY AMERICAN TOTEM LOG HOUSE 183 XLI. HOW TO BUILD A SUSITNA LOG CABIN AND HOW TO CUT TREES FOR THE END PLATES 191 XLII. HOW TO MAKE A FIREPLACE AND CHIMNEY FOR A SIMPLE LOG CABIN 195 XLIII. HEARTHSTONES AND FIREPLACES 200 XLIV. MORE HEARTHS AND FIREPLACES 203 XLV. FIREPLACES AND THE ART OF TENDING THE FIRE 206 XLVI. THE BUILDING OF THE LOG HOUSE 211 XLVII. HOW TO LAY A TAR PAPER, BIRCH BARK, OR PATENT ROOFING 218 XLVIII. HOW TO MAKE A CONCEALED LOG CABIN INSIDE OF A MODERN HOUSE 230 XLIX. HOW TO BUILD APPROPRIATE GATEWAYS FOR GROUNDS ENCLOSING LOG HOUSES, GAME PRESERVES, RANCHES, BIG COUNTRY ESTATES, AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST BOY SCOUTS' CAMP GROUNDS 237 Shelters, Shacks, and Shanties SHELTERS, SHACKS, AND SHANTIES I WHERE TO FIND MOUNTAIN GOOSE. HOW TO PICK AND USE ITS FEATHERS IT may be necessary for me to remind the boys that they must use the material at hand in building their shacks, shelters, sheds, and shanties, and that they are very fortunate if their camp is located in a country where the mountain goose is to be found. The Mountain Goose From Labrador down to the northwestern borders of New England and New York and from thence to southwestern Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee, the woodsman and camper may make their beds from the feathers of the "mountain goose." The mountain goose is also found inhabiting the frozen soil of Alaska and following the Pacific and the Rocky Mountains the Abies make their dwelling-place as far south as Guatemala. Consequently, the Abies, or mountain goose, should be a familiar friend of all the scouts who live in the mountainous country, north, south, east, and west. Sapin--Cho-kho-tung I forgot to say that the mountain goose (Figs. 1 and 2) is not a bird but a tree. It is humorously called a goose by the woodsmen because they all make their beds of its "feathers." It is the _sapin_ of the French-Canadians, the _cho-kho-tung_ of the New York Indians, the balsam of the tenderfoot, the Christmas-tree of the little folk, and that particular Coniferæ known by the dry-as-dust botanist as Abies. There is nothing in nature which has a wilder, more sylvan and charming perfume than the balsam, and the scout who has not slept in the woods on a balsam bed has a pleasure in store for him. Balsam The leaves of the balsam are blunt or rounded at the ends and some of them are even dented or notched in place of being sharp-pointed. Each spine or leaf is a scant one inch in length and very flat; the upper part is grooved and of a dark bluish-green color. The under-side is much lighter, often almost silvery white. The balsam blossoms in April or May, and the fruit or cones stand upright on the branches. These vary from two to four inches in length. The balsam-trees are seldom large, not many of them being over sixty feet high with trunks from one to less than three feet through. The bark on the trunks is gray in color and marked with horizontal rows of blisters. Each of these contains a small, sticky sap like glycerine. Fig. 1 shows the cone and leaves of one of the Southern balsams known as the she-balsam, and Fig. 2 shows the celebrated balsam-fir tree of the north country, cone and branch. Fig. 1. Fig. 2. Fig. 3. Fig. 4. Fig. 5. Fig. 6. Fig. 7. [Illustration: Showing the use of the mountain goose.] Balsam Beds The balsam bed is made of the small twigs of balsam-trees. In gathering these, collect twigs of different lengths, from eighteen inches long (to be used as the foundation of the bed) to ten or twelve inches long (for the top layer). If you want to rest well, do not economize on the amount you gather; many a time I have had my bones ache as a result of being too tired to make my bed properly and attempting to sleep on a thin layer of boughs. If you attempt to chop off the boughs of balsam they will resent your effort by springing back and slapping you in the face. You can cut them with your knife, but it is slow work and will blister your hands. Take twig by twig with the thumb and fingers (the thumb on top, pointing toward the tip of the bough, and the two forefingers underneath); press down with the thumb, and with a twist of the wrist you can snap the twigs like pipe-stems. Fig. 3 shows two views of the hands in a proper position to snap off twigs easily and clean. The one at the left shows the hand as it would appear looking down upon it; the one at the right shows the view as you look at it from the side. Packing Boughs After collecting a handful of boughs, string them on a stick which you have previously prepared (Fig. 4). This stick should be of strong, green hardwood, four or five feet long with a fork about six inches long left on it at the butt end to keep the boughs from sliding off, and sharpened at the upper end so that it can be easily poked through a handful of boughs. String the boughs on this stick as you would string fish, but do it one handful at a time, allowing the butts to point in different directions. It is astonishing to see the amount of boughs you can carry when strung on a stick in this manner and thrown over your shoulder as in Fig. 5. If you have a lash rope, place the boughs on a loop of the rope, as in Fig. 6, then bring the two ends of the rope up through the loop and sling the bundle on your back. Clean Your Hands When you have finished gathering the material for your bed your hands will be covered with a sticky sap, and, although they will be a sorry sight, a little lard or baking grease will soften the pitchy substance so that it may be washed off with soap and water. How to Make Beds To make your bed, spread a layer of the larger boughs on the ground; commence at the head and shingle them down to the foot so that the tips point toward the head of the bed, overlapping the butts (Fig. 7). Continue this until your mattress is thick enough to make a soft couch upon which you can sleep as comfortably as you do at home. Cover the couch with one blanket and use the bag containing your coat, extra clothes, and sweater for a pillow. Then if you do not sleep well, you must blame the cook. Other Bedding If you should happen to be camping in a country destitute of balsam, hemlock, or pine, you can make a good spring mattress by collecting small green branches of any sort of tree which is springy and elastic. Build the mattress as already described. On top of this put a thick layer of hay, straw, or dry leaves or even green material, provided you have a rubber blanket or poncho to cover the latter. In Kentucky I have made a mattress of this description and covered the branches with a thick layer of the purple blossoms of ironweed; over this I spread a rubber army blanket to keep out the moisture from the green stuff and on top of this made my bed with my other blankets. It was as comfortable a couch as I have ever slept on; in fact, it was literally a bed of flowers. II THE HALF-CAVE SHELTER THE first object of a roof of any kind is protection against the weather; no shelter is necessary in fair weather unless the sun in the day or the dampness or coolness of the night cause discomfort. In parts of the West there is so little rain that a tent is often an unnecessary burden, but in the East and the other parts of the country some sort of shelter is necessary for health and comfort. The original American was always quick to see the advantages offered by an overhanging cliff for a camp site (Figs. 9, 10). His simple camps all through the arid Southwest had gradually turned into carefully built houses long before we came here. The overhanging cliffs protected the buildings from the rain and weather, and the site was easily defended from enemies. But while these cliff-dwellings had reached the dignity of castles in the Southwest, in the Eastern States--Pennsylvania, for instance--the Iroquois Indians were making primitive camps and using every available overhanging cliff for that purpose. To-day any one may use a pointed stick on the floor of one of these half caves and unearth, as I have done, numerous potsherds, mussel shells, bone awls, flint arrow-heads, split bones of large game animals, and the burnt wood of centuries of camp-fires which tell the tale of the first lean-to shelter used by camping man in America. Half Caves The projecting ledges of bluestone that have horizontal seams form half caves from the falling apart of the lower layers of the cliff caused by rain and ice and often aided by the fine roots of the black birch, rock oak, and other plants, until nature has worked long enough as a quarry-man and produced half caves large enough to shelter a stooping man (Figs. 8, 9, and 10). Although not always necessary, it is sometimes best to make a shelter for the open face of such a cave, even if we only need it for a temporary camp (Fig. 10); this may be done by resting poles slanting against the face of the cliff and over these making a covering of balsam, pine, hemlock, palmetto, palm branches, or any available material for thatch to shed the rain and prevent it driving under the cliff to wet our bedding. Walls It is not always necessary to thatch the wall; a number of green boughs with leaves adhering may be rested against the cliffs and will answer for that purpose. Set the boughs upside down so that they will shed the rain and not hold it so as to drip into camp. Use your common sense and gumption, which will teach you that all the boughs should point downward and not upward as most of them naturally grow. I am careful to call your attention to this because I lately saw some men teaching Boy Scouts how to make camps and they were placing the boughs for the lads around the shelter with their branches pointing upward in such a manner that they could not shed the rain. These instructors were city men and apparently thought that the boughs were for no other purpose than to give privacy to the occupants of the shelter, forgetting that in the wilds the wilderness itself furnishes privacy. Fig. 8. Fig. 9. Fig. 10. [Illustration: The half-cave shelter.] The half cave was probably the first lean-to or shelter in this country, but overhanging cliffs are not always found where we wish to make our camp and we must resort to other forms of shelter and the use of other material in such localities. III HOW TO MAKE THE FALLEN-TREE SHELTER AND THE SCOUT-MASTER NOW that you know how to make a bed in a half cave, we will take up the most simple and primitive manufactured shelters. Fallen-Tree Shelter For a one-man one-night stand, select a thick-foliaged fir-tree and cut it partly through the trunk so that it will fall as shown in Fig. 11; then trim off the branches on the under-side so as to leave room to make your bed beneath the branches; next trim the branches off the top or roof of the trunk and with them thatch the roof. Do this by setting the branches with their butts up as shown in the right-hand shelter of Fig. 13, and then thatch with smaller browse as described in making the bed. This will make a cosey one-night shelter. The Scout-Master Or take three forked sticks (_A_, _B_, and _C_, Fig. 12), and interlock the forked ends so that they will stand as shown in Fig. 12. Over this framework rest branches with the butt ends up as shown in the right-hand shelter (Fig. 13), or lay a number of poles as shown in the left-hand figure (Fig. 12) and thatch this with browse as illustrated by the left-hand shelter in Fig. 13, or take elm, spruce, or birch bark and shingle as in Fig. 14. These shelters may be built for one boy or they may be made large enough for several men. They may be thatched with balsam, spruce, pine, or hemlock boughs, or with cat-tails, rushes (see Figs. 66 and 69) or any kind of long-stemmed weeds or palmetto leaves. To Peel Bark In the first place, I trust that the reader has enough common sense and sufficient love of the woods to prevent him from killing or marring and disfiguring trees where trees are not plenty, and this restriction includes all settled or partially settled parts of the country. But in the real forests and wilderness, miles and miles away from human habitation, there are few campers and consequently there will be fewer trees injured, and these few will not be missed. Selecting Bark To get the birch bark, select a tree with a smooth trunk devoid of branches and, placing skids for the trunk to fall upon (Fig. 38), fell the tree (see Figs. 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, and 118), and then cut a circle around the trunk at the two ends of the log and a slit from one circle clean up to the other circle (Fig. 38); next, with a sharp stick shaped like a blunt-edged chisel, pry off the bark carefully until you take the piece off in one whole section. If it is spruce bark or any other bark you seek, hunt through the woods for a comparatively smooth trunk and proceed in the same manner as with the birch. To take it off a standing tree, cut one circle down at the butt and another as high as you can reach (Fig. 118) and slit it along a perpendicular line connecting the two cuts as in Fig. 38. This will doubtless in time kill the tree, but far from human habitations the few trees killed in this manner may do the forest good by giving more room for others to grow. Near town or where the forests are small use the bark from the old dead trees. Fig. 11. Fig. 12. Fig. 13. Fig. 14. [Illustration: One-night shelter. The fallen tree and the scout-master.] Using Bark To shingle with bark, cut the bark in convenient sections, commence at the bottom, place one piece of bark set on edge flat against the wall of your shelter, place a piece of bark next to it in the same manner, allowing the one edge to overlap the first piece a few inches, and so on all the way around your shack; then place a layer of bark above this in the same manner as the first one, the end edges overlapping, the bottom edges also overlapping the first row three or four inches or even more. Hold these pieces of bark in place by stakes driven in the ground against them or poles laid over them, according to the shape or form of your shelter. Continue thus to the comb of the roof, then over the part where the bark of the sides meets on the top lay another layer of bark covering the crown, ridge, comb, or apex and protecting it from the rain. In the wigwam-shaped shelters, or rather I should say those of teepee form, the point of the cone or pyramid is left open to serve as chimney for smoke to escape. IV HOW TO MAKE THE ADIRONDACK, THE WICK-UP, THE BARK TEEPEE, THE PIONEER, AND THE SCOUT The Adirondack THE next shelter is what is generally known as the Adirondack shelter, which is a lean-to open in the front like a "Baker" or a "Dan Beard" tent. Although it is popularly called the Adirondack camp, it antedates the time when the Adirondacks were first used as a fashionable resort. Daniel Boone was wont to make such a camp in the forests of Kentucky. The lean-to or Adirondack camp is easily made and very popular. Sometimes two of them are built facing each other with an open space between for the camp-fire. But the usual manner is to set up two uprights as in Fig. 15, then lay a crosspiece through the crotches and rest poles against this crosspiece (Fig. 16). Over these poles other poles are laid horizontally and the roof thatched with browse by the method shown by Fig. 6, but here the tips of the browse must point down and be held in place by other poles (Fig. 10) on top of it. Sometimes a log is put at the bottom of the slanting poles and sometimes more logs are placed as shown in Figs. 15 and 16 and the space between them floored with balsam or browse. The Scout Where birch bark is obtainable it is shingled with slabs of this bark as already described, and as shown in Fig. 17, the bark being held in place on the roof by poles laid over it and on the side by stakes being driven in the ground outside of the bark to hold it in place as in Fig. 17. Fig. 15. Fig. 16. Fig. 17. Fig. 18. Fig. 19. Fig. 20. Fig. 21. [Illustration: The Adirondack. The scout, the pioneer, and the bark teepee.] The Pioneer Fig. 18 shows the Pioneer, a tent form of shack, and Fig. 19 shows how the bark is placed like shingles overlapping each other so as to shed the rain. The doorway of the tent shack is made by leaning poles against forked sticks, their butts forming a semicircle in front, or rather the arc of a circle, and by bracing them against the forked stick fore and aft they add stability to the structure. Bark Teepee Or you may, if you choose, lash three sticks together at the top ends, spread them in the form of a tripod, then lay other sticks against them, their butts forming a circle in the form of a teepee (Fig. 20). Commence at the bottom as you do in shingling a roof and place sections of birch bark around, others above them overlapping them, and hold them in place by resting poles against them. If your camp is to be occupied for a week or so, it may be convenient to build a wick-up shelter as a dining-room like the one shown in Fig. 21. This is made with six uprights, two to hold the ridge-pole and two to hold the eaves, and may be shingled over with browse or birch, elm, spruce, or other bark; shingle with the browse in the same manner as that described for the bark, beginning at the eaves and allowing each row of browse to overlap the butts of the one below it. V HOW TO MAKE BEAVER-MAT HUTS OR FAGOT SHACKS WITHOUT INJURY TO THE TREES Material IN building a shelter use every and any thing handy for the purpose; ofttimes an uprooted tree will furnish a well-made adobe wall, where the spreading roots have torn off the surface soil as the tree fell and what was the under-side is now an exposed wall of clay, against which you may rest the poles for the roof of a lean-to. Or the side of the cliff (Fig. 23) may offer you the same opportunity. Maybe two or three trees will be found willing to act as uprights (Fig. 24). Where you use a wall of any kind, rock, roots, or bank, it will, of course, be necessary to have your doorway at one side of the shack as in Fig. 23. The upright poles may be on stony ground where their butts cannot well be planted in the earth, and there it will be necessary to brace them with slanting poles (Fig. 25). Each camp will offer problems of its own, problems which add much to the interest and pleasure of camp making. Beaver Mat The beaver-mat camp is a new one and, under favorable conditions, a good one. Cut your poles the length required for the framework of the sides, lash them together with the green rootlets of the tamarack or strips of bark of the papaw, elm, cedar, or the inside bark of the chestnut (_A_, Fig. 22); then make a bed of browse of any kind handy, but make it in the manner described for making balsam beds (Fig. 7). You will, of course, thatch so that when the side is erected it is shingled like a house, the upper rows overlapping the lower ones. Then lash a duplicate frame over the browse-padded frame and the side is complete (_B_, Fig. 22). Make the other side or sides and the roof (_C_, Fig. 22) in the same manner, after which it is a simple matter to erect your shack (Fig. 22, and _E_, Fig. 22). Fig. 22. Fig. 23. Fig. 24. Fig. 25. Fig. 26. Fig. 27. Fig. 28. [Illustration: Shelters adapted to conditions. The beaver-mat and the fagot shack.] The great advantage of this sort of shelter is that it is much easier to do your thatching on the ground than on standing walls, and also, when done, it is so compact as to be practically water-proof. Fagot Shack The fagot shack is also a new style of camp and is intended for use in places where large timber cannot be cut, but where dwarf willows, bamboo cane, alders, or other small underbrush is more or less plentiful. From this gather a plentiful supply of twigs and with improvised twine bind the twigs into bundles of equal size. Use these bundles as you would stones in building the wall and lay them so as to break joints, that is, so that the joints are never in a continuous line. Hold the wall in place by stakes as shown in Fig. 26. Use the browse, small twigs with the leaves adhering to them, in place of mortar or cement so as to level your bundles and prevent their rocking on uneven surfaces. The doorways and window openings offer no problem that a rank outsider cannot solve. Fig. 27 shows the window opening, also shows you how the window-sill can be made firm by laying rods over the top of the fagots. Rods are also used across the top of the doorway upon which to place the bundles of fagots or twigs. Twigs is probably the best term to use here, as fagots might be thought to mean larger sticks, which may be stiff and obstinate and hard to handle. Roofs After the walls are erected, a beaver-mat roof may be placed upon them or a roof made on a frame such as shown in Fig. 28 and thatched with small sticks over which a thatch of straw, hay, rushes (Figs. 66 and 69), or browse may be used to shed the rain. One great advantage which recommends the beaver-mat and fagot camp to lovers of nature and students of forestry lies in the fact that it is unnecessary to cut down or destroy a single large or valuable young tree in order to procure the material necessary to make the camp. Both of these camps can be made in forest lands by using the lower branches of the trees, which, when properly cut close to the trunk (Fig. 121), do not injure the standing timber. The fagot hut may be made into a permanent camp by plastering the outside with soft mud or clay and treating the inside walls in the same manner, thus transforming it into an adobe shack. VI INDIAN SHACKS AND SHELTERS WHILE the ingenuity of the white man may make improvements upon the wick-ups, arbors, huts, and shelters of the native red man, we must not forget that these native shelters have been used with success by the Indians for centuries, also we must not forget that our principal objection to many of them lies in the fact that they are ill ventilated and dirty, both of which defects may be remedied without materially departing from the lines laid down by the savage architects. The making of windows will supply ventilation to Indian huts, but the form of the hut we must bear in mind is made to suit the locality in which we find it. Apache Hogan The White Mountain Apache builds a tent-shaped shack (Figs. 29 and 32) which is practically the same as that already described and shown in Figs. 18 and 19, the difference being that the Apache shack is not covered with birch bark, a material peculiar to the North, but the Apache uses a thatch of the rank grass to be found where his shacks are located. To-day, however, the White Mountain Apache has become so degenerate and so lost to the true sense of dignity as a savage that he stoops to use corn-stalks with which to thatch the long, sloping sides of his shed-like house but by so doing he really shows good horse sense, for corn-stalks and corn leaves make good material for the purpose. Fig. 29. Fig. 30. Fig. 31. Fig. 32. Fig. 33. Fig. 34. Fig. 34½. Fig. 35. [Illustration: Designs adapted from Indian models.] San Carlos Shack The San Carlos Apache Indians build a dome-shaped hut by making a framework of small saplings bent in arches as the boys did in Kentucky when the writer was himself a lad, and as shown in Fig. 30. The ends of the pole are sunk into the ground in the form of a circle, while their tips are bent over and bound together thus forming a series of loops which overlap each other and give stability and support to the principal loops which run from the ground to the top of the dome. The Indians thatch these huts with bear-grass arranged in overlapping rows and held in place with strings (see Fig. 69) made of yucca leaves (Fig. 31). Chippewa Shack Much farther north I have seen the Chippewa Indians build a framework in practically the same manner as the San Carlos Apache, but the Chippewas covered their frame with layers of birch bark held in place by ropes stretched over it as shown in Fig. 32. The door to their huts consisted of a blanket portière. In the same locality to-day it would be difficult if not impossible to procure such large strips of birch bark; but the dome-shaped frame is a good one to be used in many localities and, like all other frames, it can be covered with the material at hand. It may be shingled with smaller pieces of bark, covered with brush and thatched with browse or with hay, straw, palmetto leaves, palm leaves, or rushes, or it may be plastered over with mud and made an adobe hut. Pima Lodge The Pima Indians make a flat-roofed lodge with slanting walls (Fig. 33) which may be adapted for our use in almost any section of the country. It can be made warm and tight for the far North and cool and airy for the arid regions of the Southwest. The framework, as you may see by referring to the diagram, is similar to the wick-ups we men made when we were boys, and which are described in the "American Boy's Handy Book," consisting of four upright posts supporting in their crotches two crosspieces over which a flat roof is made by placing poles across. But the sides of this shack are not upright but made by resting leaning poles against the eaves. White Man's Walls The principal difference between a white man's architecture and the Indian's lies in the fact that the white man, with brick, stone, or frame house in his mind, is possessed of a desire to build perpendicular walls--walls which are hard to thatch and difficult to cover with turf, especially in the far North, where there is no true sod such as we understand in the middle country, where our grass grows thickly with interlacing roots. Boys will do well to remember this and imitate the Indian in making slanting walls for their shacks, shanties, and shelters in the woods. If they have boards or stone or brick or logs with which to build they may, with propriety, use a perpendicular wall. The Pima Indians, according to Pliny Earle Goddard, associate curator of anthropology of the American Museum of Natural History, thatch their houses with arrow brush and not infrequently bank the sides of the shack with dirt. Adobe Roof If you want to put a dirt roof on a shack of this description, cover the poles with small boughs or browse, green or dry leaves, straw, hay, grass, or rushes and put the sod over the top of this. If in place of making the roof flat, as shown in Fig. 33, you slant it so as to shed the rain, this sort of shack will do for almost any climate, but with a flat roof it is only fitted for the arid country or for a shelter from the sun when it is not expected to be used during the rain. Navajo The teepee-shaped hut used by the Navajo Indians _will_ shed the rain. To build this shack interlock three forked sticks as shown in the diagram, then lay other poles up against the forks of these sticks so that the butts of the poles will form a circle on the ground (Fig. 34). Thatch this with any material handy, after which you may cover it with dirt as the Navajos do, in which case you had better build a hallway for entrance, as shown in Fig. 35. This same teepee form is used by the California Indians and thatched with wild hay (Fig. 34½). VII BIRCH BARK OR TAR PAPER SHACK A DESCRIPTION of the Pontiac was first published in my "Field and Forest Handy Book," a book which contains several shelters similar to the ones here given, most of which were originally made for Caspar Whitney while he was editor of _Outing_. The Pontiac The Pontiac, as here given, is my own design and invention (Fig. 36). It is supposed to be shingled with birch bark, but, as is the case with all these camps, other bark may be substituted for the birch, and, if no bark is within reach and you are near enough to civilization, tar paper makes an excellent substitute. Fig. 37 shows the framework of a Pontiac with a ridge-pole, but the ridge-pole is not necessary and the shack may be built without it, as shown in Figs. 36 and 39, where the rafter poles rest upon the two side-plates over which they project to form the apex of the roof. In Fig. 39, although the side-plates are drawn, the rafter or roof poles are not because the diagram is supposed to be a sort of X-ray affair to show the internal construction. The opening for smoke need not be more than half as large as it is in Fig. 39 and it may be covered up in inclement weather with a piece of bark so as to keep out the rain. Cutting Bark Fig. 38 shows a tree felled in order to procure bark. You will note that the bark is cut round at the bottom and at the top and a slit is made connecting the two cuts as already described so that the bark may be peeled off by running a blunt instrument or a stick, whittled to the shape of a paper-cutter or dull chisel, under the edge of the bark and carefully peeling it back. If it is necessary to "tote" the bark any distance over the trail, Fig. 38 shows how to roll it up and how to bind the roll with cord or rope so that it may be slung on the back as the man is "toting" it in Fig. 36. Building the Pontiac To build a Pontiac, first erect the uprights _E_ and _E_, Fig. 37, then the other two similar uprights at the rear and lay the side-plates _G_ in the forks of the uprights; next erect the upright _H_ and one in the rear to correspond, and across this lay the ridge-pole. Next take a couple of logs and put them at the foot of the _E_ poles, or, if you want more room, further back toward where the roof poles _F_ will come. Place one of these logs on top of the other as shown in Figs. 36 and 39. Keep them in place by driving sticks on each side of them. Put two more logs upon the other side of the Pontiac and then lay your roof poles or rafters up against the side-plates and over the logs as shown in diagrams 36, 37, and 39. Fig. 36 shows the roof partially shingled and the sides partially covered, so that you may better understand how it is done. Shingling with Bark Commence at the bottom and lay the first row with the edges overlapping for walls; for the roof you may lay one row of shingles from the bottom up to the ridge and hold them in place by resting a pole on them; then lay the next row of shingles alongside by slipping the edges under the first. When you have the two sides covered, put bark over the ridge as shown in Fig. 36. This will make a beautiful and comfortable little camp. Fig. 36. Fig. 37. Fig. 38. Fig. 39. [Illustration: The Pontiac of birch bark.] To Keep Out Cold Built as here described, the cold wind might come through in the winter-time, but if you can gather a lot of Sphagnum moss from the nearest swamp and cover your roof with it and then shingle that over with another layer of birch bark, the cold wind will not come through your roof. If you treat your side walls in the same manner and heap dirt up around the edges of them, you will have a comfortable winter camp. In the winter-time you will find it very difficult to peel the birch bark or any other kind of bark, but when the sap is flowing it is not so difficult to secure bark slabs from many varieties of trees. VIII INDIAN COMMUNAL HOUSES WHEN the French Communists were raising Cain in Europe they doubtless thought their idea was practically new, but thousands of years before they bore the red banner through the streets of Paris the American Indians were living quiet and peaceful communal lives on this continent; when I use the words _quiet_ and _peaceful_, I, of course, mean as regards their own particular commune and not taking into account their attitude toward their neighbors. The Pueblo Indians built themselves adobe communal houses, the Nez Percés built themselves houses of sticks and dry grass one hundred and fifty feet long sometimes, containing forty-eight families, while the Nechecolles had houses two hundred and twenty-six feet in length! But this is not a book of history; all we want to know is how to build shacks for our own use; so we will borrow one from the communal home of the Iroquois. It is not necessary for us to make this one hundred feet long, as the Iroquois Indians did. We can make a diminutive one as a playhouse for our children, a moderate-sized one as a camp for our Boy Scouts, or a good-sized one for a party of full-grown campers. But first we must gather a number of long, flexible saplings and plant them in two rows with their butt ends in the ground, as shown in Fig. 40, after which we may bend their upper ends so that they will overlap each other and form equal-sized arches, when they are lashed together, with twine if we have it, or with wire if it is handy; but if we are real woodsmen, we will bind them with rope made of fibres of bark or the flexible roots which we find in the forests. Then we bind horizontal poles or rods to the arches, placing the poles about a foot or two apart according to the material with which we are to shingle it. We make a simple doorway with upright posts at one end and bind the horizontal posts on as we did at the sides. Next we shingle it with bark or with strips of tar paper and hold the shingles in place by binding poles upon the outside, as shown in Fig. 41. A hole or holes are left in the roof over the fireplaces for openings for the smoke to escape. In lieu of a chimney a wind-shield of bark is fastened at its lower edge by pieces of twine to the roof so as to shield the opening; this wind-shield should be movable so that it may be shifted according to the wind. The Iroquois is an easily constructed shelter, useful to man, and one which will delight the heart of the Boy Scouts or any other set of boys. The Pawnee Hogan The Pawnee hogan is usually covered with sod or dirt, but it may be covered with bark, with canvas, or thatched with straw or with browse, as the camper may choose. Fig. 42 shows the framework in the skeleton form. The rafter poles are placed wigwam fashion and should be very close together in the finished structure; so also should be the short sticks forming the side walls and the walls to the hallway or entrance. To build this hogan, first erect a circle of short forked sticks, setting their ends firmly in the ground. Inside of this erect four longer forked sticks, then place across these four horizontal side-plates, or maybe they might be more properly called "purlins," in which case the sticks laid on the forks of the circle of small uprights will properly correspond to the side-plates of a white man's dwelling. After the circle and square (Fig. 42) have been erected, make your doorway with two short-forked sticks and your hallway by sticks running from the door to side-plates. In thatching your roof or in covering it with any sort of material, leave an opening at the top (Fig. 43) to act as a chimney for your centre camp-fire. If the roof is to be covered with sod or adobe, cover it first with browse, hay, straw, or rushes, making a thick mattress over the entire structure. On top of this plaster your mud or sod (Fig. 43). If you intend to use this hogan as a more or less permanent camp you can put windows in the sides to admit light and air and use a hollow log or a barrel for a chimney as shown in Fig. 44. Fig. 40. Fig. 41. Fig. 42. Fig. 43. Fig. 44. Fig. 45. [Illustration: The Iroquois, the Pawnee hogan, the white man's hogan, and the kolshian.] The Kolshian The camps thus far described are supposed to be "tomahawk camps," that is, camps which may be built without the use of a lumberman's axe. The kolshian (Fig. 45) of Alaska, when built by the natives, is a large communal council-house, but I have placed it here among the "tomahawk camps" on the supposition that some one might want to build one in miniature as a novelty on their place or as a council-room for their young scouts. The Alaskans hew all the timber out by hand, but, of course, the reader may use sawed or milled lumber. The proper entrance to a kolshian or rancheree, as Elliot calls it, is through a doorway made in the huge totem-pole at the front of the building. The roof is covered with splits or shakes held in place by poles laid across them, the sides are made of hewn planks set upright, and the front has two heavy planks at the eaves which run down through holes in two upright planks at the corners (Fig. 45). These with the sill plank bind the upright wall planks in place. The kolshian is undoubtedly a very ancient form of building and may be related to the houses built by the ancient cavemen of Europe. The first human house-builders are said to belong to the Cro-Magnon race who lived in caves in the winter-time, and on the walls of one of the caverns (Dordogne cavern) some Cro-Magnon budding architect made a rough sketch of one of their houses (middle sketch, Fig. 45). When you compare the house with the kolshian the resemblance is very striking, and more so when we remember that the kolshian floor is underground, indicating that it is related to or suggested by a natural cavern. IX BARK AND TAR PAPER TO further illustrate the use of bark and tar paper, I have made the sketches shown by Figs. 46, 47, and 48. Fig. 47 is a log shack with an arched roof drawn from a photograph in my collection. To keep the interior warm not only the roof but the sides of the house as well have been shingled with bark, leaving only the ends of the logs protruding to tell of what material the house is really constructed. Fig. 47 shows a fisherman's hut made with a few sticks and bark. Fig. 48 shows a tar paper camp, that is, a camp where everything is covered with tar paper in place of bark. The house is made with a skeleton of poles on which the tar paper is tacked, the kitchen is an open shed with tar paper roof, and even the table is made by covering the cross sticks shown in the diagram with sheets of tar paper in place of the birch bark usually used for that purpose. Personally I do not like tar paper; it seems to rob the camp of a true flavor of the woods; it knocks the sentiment out of it, and, except to sailors, the odor of the tar is not nearly as delightful as that of the fragrant balsam boughs. Nevertheless, tar paper is now used in all the lumber camps and is spreading farther and farther into the woods as the birch bark becomes scarce and the "tote-roads" are improved. When one can enter the woods with an automobile, you must expect to find tar paper camps, because the paper is easily transported, easily handled, and easily applied for the purpose of the camper. Fig. 46. Fig. 47. Fig. 48. [Illustration: Showing use of bark and tar paper.] Practically any form of tent may be reproduced by tacking tar paper to sticks arranged in the proper manner, but if you make a wigwam of tar paper, do paint it red, green, or yellow, or whitewash it; do anything which will take off the civilized, funereal look of the affair. X A SAWED-LUMBER SHANTY BEFORE we proceed any further it may be best to give the plan of a workshop, a camp, an outhouse, or a shed to be made of sawed lumber, the framework of which is made of what is known as two-by-fours, that is, pieces of lumber two inches thick by four inches wide. The plans used here are from my book "The Jack of All Trades," but the dimensions may be altered to suit your convenience. The sills, which are four inches by four inches, are also supposed to be made by nailing two two-by-fours together. First stake out your foundation and see that the corners are square, that is, at right angles, and test this with a tape or ruler by measuring six feet one way and eight feet the other from a corner along the proposed sides of the house marking these points. If a ten-foot rod will reach exactly across from point to point, the corner is square and you may dig your post-holes. The Foundation You may use a foundation of stones or a series of stone piles, but if you use stones and expect your house to remain plumb where the winters are severe you must dig holes for them at least three feet deep in order to go below the frost-line. Fill these holes with broken stone, on top of which you can make your pile of stones to act as support for the sills; but the simplest method is to use posts of locust, cedar, or chestnut; or, if this is too much trouble, pack the dirt tightly, drain it well by making it slope away from the house in every direction, and lay your foundation sills on the level earth. In that case you had better use chestnut wood for the sills; spruce will rot very quickly in contact with the damp earth and pine will not last long under the same circumstances. All through certain sections of this country there are hundreds of humble dwellings built upon "mudsills," in other words, with no foundation or floor but the bare ground. We will suppose that you have secured some posts about two feet six inches long with good, flat ends. The better material you can obtain the trimmer and better will be the appearance of your house, but a house which will protect you and your tools may be made of the roughest lumber. The plans here drawn will answer for the rough or fine material, but we suppose that medium material is to be used. It will be taken for granted that the reader is able to procure enough two-by-four-inch timber to supply studs, ribs, purlins, rafters, beams, and posts for the frame shown in Fig. 49. Two pieces of four-by-four-inch timber each fifteen feet long should be made for sills by nailing two-by-fours together. Add to this some tongue-and-grooved boarding or even rough boards for sides and roof, some enthusiasm, and good American pluck and the shop is almost as good as built. First lay the foundation, eight by fifteen feet, and then you may proceed to dig your post-holes. The outside of the posts should be flush or even with the outside edges of the sills and end beams of the house as shown in the diagram. If there are four posts on each of the long sides they should be equal distances apart. Dig the holes three feet deep, allowing six inches of the posts to protrude above ground. If you drive two stakes a short distance beyond the foundation in line with your foundation lines and run a string from the top of one stake to the top of the other you can, without much trouble, get it upon a perfect level by testing it and adjusting until the string represents the level for your sill. When this is done, set your posts to correspond to the level of the string, then place your sill on top of the posts and test that with your level. If found to be correct, fill in the dirt around the posts and pack it firmly, then spike your sill to the posts and go through the same operation with opposite sets of posts and sill. Fig. 49. [Illustration: Frame of two-by-fours milled lumber, with names of parts.] The first difficult work is now done and, with the exception of the roof, the rest only needs ordinary care. It is supposed that you have already sawed off and prepared about nine two-by-four-inch beams each of which is exactly eight feet long. Set these on edge from sill to sill, equal distances apart, the edges of the end beams being exactly even with the ends of the sills as in Fig. 49. See that the beams all cross the sills at right angles and toe-nail them in place. You may now neatly floor the foundation with one-inch boards; these boards must be laid lengthwise with the building and crosswise with the beams. When this is finished you will have a beautiful platform on which to work, where you will be in no danger of losing your tools, and you may use the floor as a table on which to measure and plan the sides and roof. Ridge Plank and Rafters It is a good idea to make your ridge plank and rafters while the floor is clear of rubbish. Lay out and mark on the floor, with a carpenter's soft pencil, a straight line four feet long (_A_, _B_, Fig. 49). At right angles to this draw another line three feet six inches long (_A_, _D_, Fig. 49). Connect these points (_B_, _D_, Fig. 49) with a straight line, then complete the figure _A_, _B_, _C_, _D_ (Fig. 49). Allow two inches at the top for the ridge plank at _B_ and two by four for the end of the side-plate at _D_. You then have a pattern for each rafter with a "plumb edge" at _B_ and a "bird's mouth" at _D_. The plumb edge must be parallel with _B_, _C_ and the two jaws of the "bird's mouth" parallel with _D_, _C_ and _A_, _D_, respectively. Make six rafters of two-by-fours and one ridge plank. The purlins and collar can be made and fitted after the roof is raised. Set your roof timber carefully to one side and clear the floor for the studs, ribs, and plates. First prepare the end posts and make them of two-by-fours. Each post is of two pieces. There will be four outside pieces each five feet eight inches in length, which rest on the end beams, and four inside pieces each six feet in length; this allows two inches at the top for the ends of the end plates to rest upon. Examine the corner posts and you will see that the outside two-by-four rests upon the top side of the end beam and the side-plate rests directly upon said two-by-four. You will also observe that the inside two-by-four rests directly upon the sill, which would make the former four inches longer than the outside piece if it is extended to the side-plate; but you will also notice that there is a notch in the end plate for the outside corner piece to fit in and that the end of the end plate fits on top the inside piece of the corner posts, taking off two inches, which makes the inside piece just six feet long. This is a very simple arrangement, as may be seen by examining the diagram. Besides the corner posts, each of which we have seen is made of two pieces of two-by-fours, there are four studs for the front side, each six feet two inches long. The short studs shown in the diagram on the rear side are unnecessary and are only shown so that they may be put in as convenient attachments for shelves and tool racks. The first stud on the front is placed two feet from the corner post and the second one about six feet six inches from the first, to allow a space for a six-foot window; the next two studs form the door-jambs and must be far enough from the corner to allow the door to open and swing out of the way. If you make your door two and one half feet wide--a good size--you may set your last stud two feet from the corner post and leave a space of two feet six inches for the doorway. Now mark off on the floor the places where the studs will come, and cut out the flooring at these points to allow the ends of the studs to enter and rest on the sill. Next make four ribs--one long one to go beneath the window, one short one to fit between the corner post and the door stud not shown in diagram, another to fit between the door stud and window stud, and another to fit between the window stud and the first corner post (the nearest corner in the diagram). Next make your side-plate exactly fifteen feet long. Fit the frame together on the floor and nail the pieces together, toe-nailing the ribs in place. Get some help and raise the whole side frame and slip the ends of the studs into their respective slots. Make the end posts plumb and hold them in place temporarily by a board, one end of which is nailed to the top end of the post and the other to the end beam. Such a diagonal board at each end will hold the side in place until the opposite side is raised and similarly supported. It is now a simple thing to slip the end plates in place under the side-plates until their outside edges are even with the outside of the corner posts. A long wire nail driven through the top-plates and end plates down into the posts at each corner will hold them securely. Toe-nail a rib between the two nearest end posts and make two window studs and three ribs for the opposite end. The framing now only needs the roof timbers to complete the skeleton of your shop. Across from side-plate to side-plate lay some loose boards for a platform, and standing on these boards let your assistant lift one end of the ridge plank while with one nail to each rafter you fasten the two end rafters onto the ridge plank, fit the jaws of the "bird's mouth" over the ends of the side-plates, and hold them temporarily in place with a "stay lath"--that is, a piece of board temporarily nailed to rafter and end plate. The other end of the ridge is now resting on the platform at the other end of the house and this may be lifted up, for the single nails will allow movement. The rafters are nailed in place with one nail each and a stay lath fastened on to hold them in place. Test the ends with your plumb-level and when they are found to be correct nail all the rafters securely in place and stiffen the centre pair with a piece called a "collar." Add four purlins set at right angles to the rafters and take off your hat and give three cheers and do not forget to nail a green bough to your roof tree in accordance with the ancient and time-honored custom. The sides of the house may be covered with tent-cloth, oilcloth, tin, tar paper, or the cheapest sort of lumber, and the house may be roofed with the same material; but if you can secure good lumber, use thirteen by seven eighths by nine and one quarter inch, tongue-and-grooved, one side planed so that it may be painted; you can make two sideboards out of each piece six feet six inches in length. Nail the sides on, running the boards vertically, leaving openings for windows and doors at the proper places. If you have made a triangular edge to your ridge board, it will add to the finish and the roof may be neatly and tightly laid with the upper edge of one side protruding a couple of inches over the opposite side and thus protecting the joint from rain. Additional security is gained by nailing what are called picket strips (seven eighths by one and three quarter inches) over each place where the planks join, or the roof may be covered with sheathing boards and shingles. It is not necessary here to give the many details such as the manufacture of the door and the arrangements of the windows, as these small problems can be easily solved by examining doors and windows of similar structures. XI A SOD HOUSE FOR THE LAWN THE difference between this sod house and the ones used in the arid regions consists in the fact that the sod will be growing on the sod house, which is intended for and is an ornamental building for the lawn. Possibly one might say that the sod house is an effete product of civilization where utility is sacrificed to display; but it is pretty, and beauty is always worth while; besides which the same plans may be used in building A Real Adobe and practically are used in some of the desert ranches along the Colorado River. The principal difference in construction between the one shown in Figs. 50, 53, and 57 and the one in Fig. 55 is that in the sod house the sod is held in place by chicken-coop wire, while in the ranch-house (Fig. 55) the dirt or adobe is held in place by a number of sticks. Fig. 50. Fig. 51. Fig. 52. Fig. 53. Fig. 54. Fig. 55. Fig. 56. [Illustration: A house of green growing sod and the Colorado River adobe.] Fig. 50 shows how the double walls are made with a space of at least a foot between them; these walls are covered with wire netting or chicken-coop wire, as shown in Fig. 53, and the space between the walls filled in with mud or dirt of any kind. The framework may be made of milled lumber, as in Fig. 50, or it may be made of saplings cut on the river bank and squared at their ends, as shown by detailed drawings between Figs. 50 and 52. The roof may be made flat, like Figs. 54 and 56, and covered with poles, as in Fig. 54, in which case the sod will have to be held in place by pegging other poles along the eaves as shown in the left-hand corner of Fig. 54. This will keep the sod from sliding off the roof. Or you may build a roof after the manner illustrated by Fig. 49 and Fig. 51, that is, if you want to make a neat, workmanlike house; but any of the ways shown by Fig. 52 will answer for the framework of the roof. The steep roof, however, must necessarily be either shingled or thatched or the sod held in place by a covering of wire netting. If you are building this for your lawn, set green, growing sod up edgewise against the wire netting, after the latter has been tacked to your frame, so arranging the sod that the green grass will face the outside. If you wish to plaster the inside of your house with cement or concrete, fill in behind with mud, plaster the mud against the sod and put gravel and stones against the mud so that it will be next to the wire netting on the inside of the house over which you plaster the concrete. If you make the roof shown in Fig. 54, cover it first with hay and then dirt and sod and hold the sod down with wire netting neatly tacked over it, or cover it with gravel held in place by wire netting and spread concrete over the top as one does on a cellar floor. If the walls are kept sprinkled by the help of the garden hose, the grass will keep as green as that on your lawn, and if you have a dirt roof you may allow purple asters and goldenrod to grow upon it (Fig. 62) or plant it with garden flowers. Thatch If you are going to make a thatched roof, soak your thatch in water and straighten the bent straws; build the roof steep like the one shown in Fig. 57 and make a wooden needle a foot long and pointed at both ends as shown in Fig. 59; tie your thatching twine to the middle of the needle, then take your rye or wheat straw, hay, or bulrushes, gather it into bundles four inches thick and one foot wide, like those shown in Fig. 60, and lay them along next to the eaves of your house as in Fig. 58. Sew them in place by running the needle up through the wire netting to the man on the outside who in turn pushes it back to the man on the inside. Make a knot at each wisp of the thatch until one layer is finished, let the lower ends overhang the eaves, then proceed as illustrated by Fig. 66 and described under the heading of the bog ken. If in place of a simple ornament you want to make a real house of it and a pretty one at that, fill up the space between the walls with mud and plaster it on the outside with cement or concrete and you will have a cheap concrete house. The wire netting will hold the plaster or the concrete and consequently it is not necessary to make the covering of cement as thick as in ordinary buildings, for after the mud is dried upon the inside it will, with its crust of cement or plaster, be practically as good as a solid concrete wall. Fig. 57. Fig. 58. Fig. 59. Fig. 60. Fig. 61. Fig. 62. [Illustration: Ornamental sod house for the lawn.] XII HOW TO BUILD ELEVATED SHACKS, SHANTIES, AND SHELTERS FOR many reasons it is sometimes necessary or advisable to have one's camp on stilts, so to speak. Especially is this true in the more tropical countries where noxious serpents and insects abound. A simple form of stilted shack is shown by Fig. 63. To build this shack we must first erect an elevated platform (Fig. 64). This is made by setting four forked sticks of equal height in the ground and any height from the ground to suit the ideas of the camp builder. If, for some reason, the uprights are "wabbly" the frame may be stiffened by lashing diagonal cross sticks to the frame. After you have erected the four uprights, lay two poles through the crotches, as in Fig. 64, and make a platform by placing other poles across these, after which a shelter may be made in the form of an open Adirondack camp or any of the forms previously described. Fig. 65 shows the framework for the open camp of Adirondack style with the uprights lashed to the side bars; if you have nails, of course, you can nail these together, but these plans are made on the assumption that you have no nails for that purpose, which will probably be true if you have been long in the woods. Fig. 63. Fig. 64. Fig. 65. [Illustration: A simple stilt camp.] XIII THE BOG KEN KEN is a name now almost obsolete but the bog ken is a house built on stilts where the ground is marshy, damp, and unfit to sleep upon. As you will see by the diagram (Fig. 66), the house is built upon a platform similar to the one last described; in this instance, however, the shelter itself is formed by a series of arches similar to the Iroquois (Fig. 41). The uprights on the two sides have their ends bent over and lashed together, forming arches for the roof. Over the arches are lashed horizontal poles the same as those described in the construction of the Iroquois lodge. Fig. 67 shows one way to prevent "varmints" of any kind from scaling the supporting poles and creeping into your camp. The protection consists of a tin pan with a hole in the bottom slid over the supporting poles. Fig. 66 shows how to lash the thatching on to the poles and Fig. 68 shows how to spring the sticks in place for a railing around your front porch or balcony. The floor to this bog ken is a little more elaborate than that of the last described camp because the poles have all been halved before laying them for the floor. These are supposed to be afterwards covered with browse, hay, or rushes and the roof shingled with bark or thatched. Thatching Soak your straw or hay well in water and smooth it out flat and regular. The steeper the roofs the longer the thatch will last. In this bog ken our roof happens to be a rounded one, an arched roof; but it is sheltering a temporary house and the thatch will last as long as the shack. While the real pioneer uses whatever material he finds at hand, it does no harm for him to know that to make a really good thatch one should use only straw which is fully ripe and has been thrashed clean with an old-fashioned flail. The straw must be clear of all seed or grain and kept straight, not mussed up, crumpled, and broken. If any grain is left in the straw it will attract field-mice, birds, domestic mice and rats, domestic turkeys and chickens, and these creatures in burrowing and scratching for food will play havoc with the roof. Fig. 66. Fig. 67. Fig. 68. Fig. 69. [Illustration: Details of bog ken.] It is not necessary to have straight and even rafters, because the humps, bumps, and hollows caused by crooked sticks are concealed by the mattress of straw. Take a bundle of thatch in your hands, squeeze it together, and place it so that the butt ends project about three inches beyond the floor (_A_, Fig. 66); tie the thatch closely to the lower rafter and the one next above it, using for the purpose twine, marlin, raffia, or well-twisted white hickory bark. This first row should be thus tied near both ends to prevent the wind from getting under it and lifting it up. Next put on another row of wisps of thatch over the first and the butt ends come even with the first, but tie this one to the third row of rafters not shown in diagram. The butts of the third row of thatch (_B_, Fig. 66) should be about nine inches up on the front rows; put this on as before and proceed the same way with _C_, _D_, _E_, and _F_, Fig. 66, until the roof is completed. The thatch should be ten or twelve inches thick for a permanent hut but need not be so for a temporary shed. As there is no comb to this roof the top must be protected where the thatches from each side join, and to do this fasten a thatch over the top and bind it on both sides but not in the middle, so that it covers the meeting of the thatches on both sides of the shack; this top piece should be stitched or bound on with wire if you have it, or fastened with willow withe or even wisps of straw if you are an expert. A house, twenty by thirty feet, made of material found on the place and thatched with straw costs the builder only fifty cents for nails and four days' work for two persons. A good thatched roof will last as long as a modern shingle roof, for in olden days when shingles were good and split out of blocks, not sawed, and were well seasoned before using, they were not expected to last much over fifteen years; a well-made thatched roof will last fifteen or twenty years. Fig. 70. [Illustration: Snow-shoe foundation for bog ken.] But a real bog ken is one that is built over boggy or marshy places too soft to support an ordinary structure. To overcome this difficulty required considerable study and experiment, but at length the author hit upon a simple plan which has proved effective. If you wish to build a duck hunter's camp on the soft meadows, or for any other reason you desire a camp on treacherous, boggy ground, you may build one by first making a thick mattress of twigs and sticks as shown by Fig. 70. This mattress acts on the principle of a snow-shoe and prevents your house from sinking by distributing the weight equally over a wide surface. The mattress should be carefully made of sticks having their branches trimmed off sufficiently to allow them to lie in regular courses as in the diagram. The first course should be laid one way and the next course at right angles to the first, and so on, until the mattress is sufficiently thick for the purpose. Standing on the mattress, it will be an easy matter with your hands to force the sharpened ends of your upright posts _A_, _B_, _C_, and _D_ down into the yielding mud, but be careful not to push them too far because in some of these marshes the mud is practically bottomless. It is only necessary for the supports to sink in the mud far enough to make them stand upright. Fig. 71. [Illustration: Framework of simple bog ken.] The next step is to lay, at right angles to the top layer of brush, a series of rods or poles between your uprights as shown in Fig. 70; then take two more poles, place them at right angles to the last ones, and press them down until they fit snugly on top of the other poles, and there nail them fast to the uprights as shown in Fig. 70, after which to further bind them you may nail a diagonal from _A_ to _D_ and _B_ to _C_, but this may not be necessary. When you have proceeded thus far you may erect a framework like that shown in Fig. 71, and build a platform by flooring the crosspieces or horizontal bars with halves of small logs, Fig. 71. It is now a simple matter to erect a shack which may be roofed with bark as in Fig. 72 or thatched as in Fig. 74. Fig. 72 shows the unfinished shack in order that its construction may be easily seen; this one is being roofed with birch bark. A fireplace may be made by enclosing a bed of mud (Fig. 73) between or inside of the square formed by four logs. On this clay or mud you can build your camp-fire or cooking fire or mosquito smudge with little or no danger of setting fire to your house. The mosquito smudge will not be found necessary if there is any breeze blowing at all, because these insects cling to the salt hay or bog-grass and do not rise above it except in close, muggy weather where no breeze disturbs them. I have slept a few feet over bog meadows without being disturbed by mosquitoes when every blade of grass on the meadows was black with these insects, but there was a breeze blowing which kept the mosquitoes at home. Fig. 72. Fig. 73. Fig. 74. [Illustration: Adaptation of a bark shack to the bog ken foundation.] XIV OVER-WATER CAMPS NOW that we know how to camp on solid ground and on the quaking bog we cannot finish up the subject of stilt camps without including one over-water camp. If the water has a muddy bottom it is a simple matter to force your supporting posts into the mud; this may be done by driving them in with a wooden mallet made of a section of log or it may be done by fastening poles on each side of the post and having a crowd of men jump up and down on the poles until the posts are forced into the bottom. If you are building a pretentious structure the piles may be driven with the ordinary pile-driver. But if your camp on the water is over a hard bottom of rock or sand through which you cannot force your supports you may take a lot of old barrels (Fig. 75), knock the tops and bottoms out of them, nail some cross planks on the ends of your spiles, slide the barrels over the spiles, then set them in place in the water and hold them there by filling the barrels with rocks, stones, or coarse gravel. Fig. 77 shows a foundation made in this manner; this method is also useful in building piers (Fig. 78). But if you are in the woods, out of reach of barrels or other civilized lumber, you can make yourself cribs by driving a square or a circle of sticks in the ground a short distance and then twining roots or pliable branches inside and outside the stakes, basket fashion, as shown in Fig. 76. When the crib is complete it may be carefully removed from the ground and used as the barrels were used by filling them with stones to support the uprights. Fig. 79 shows an ordinary portable house such as are advertised in all the sportsmen's papers, which has been erected upon a platform over the water. Fig. 75. Fig. 76. Fig. 77. Fig. 78. Fig. 79. [Illustration: Showing how to make foundations for over-water camps.] My experience with this sort of work leads me to advise the use of piles upon which to build in place of piers of stones. Where I have used such piers upon small inland lakes the tremendous push of the freezing ice has upset them, whereas the ice seems to slide around the piles without pushing them over. The real danger with piles lies in the fact that if the water rises after the ice has frozen around the uprights the water will lift the ice up and the ice will sometimes pull the piles out of the bottom like a dentist pulls teeth. Nevertheless, piles are much better for a foundation for a camp or pier than any crib of rocks, and that is the reason I have shown the cribs in Figs. 75 and 77, made so as to rest upon the bottom supposedly below the level of the winter ice. XV SIGNAL-TOWER, GAME LOOKOUT, AND RUSTIC OBSERVATORY IF my present reader happens to be a Boy Scout or a scout-master who wants the scouts to build a tower for exhibition purposes, he can do so by following the directions here given, but if there is real necessity for haste in the erection of this tower, of course we cannot build one as tall as we might where we have more time. With a small tower all the joints may be quickly lashed together with strong, heavy twine, rope, or even wire; and in the wilderness it will probably be necessary to bind the joints with pliable roots, or cordage made of bark or withes; but as this is not a book on woodcraft we will suppose that the reader has secured the proper material for fastening the joints of the frame of this signal-tower and he must now shoulder his axe and go to the woods in order to secure the necessary timber. First let him cut eight straight poles--that is, as straight as he can find them. These poles should be about four and one half inches in diameter at their base and sixteen and one half feet long. After all the branches are trimmed off the poles, cut four more sticks each nine feet long and two and a half or three inches in diameter at the base; when these are trimmed into shape one will need twenty six or seven more stout sticks each four and one half feet long for braces and for flooring for the platform. Kite Frame It being supposed that your timber is now all in readiness at the spot where you are to erect the tower, begin by laying out on the ground what we call the "kite frame." First take three of the four-and-one-half-foot sticks, _A_, _B_, _C_ (Fig. 82), and two of the nine-foot sticks _D_ and _E_ (Fig. 82), and, placing them on a level stretch of ground, arrange them in the form of a parallelogram. Put _A_ for the top rail at the top of the parallelogram and _C_ for the bottom of the parallelogram and let them rest upon the sides _D_ and _E_, but put _B_ under the sides _D_ and _E_. In order to bind these together securely, the ends of all the sticks must be allowed to project a few inches. _B_ should be far enough below _A_ to give the proper height for a railing around the platform. The platform itself rests upon _B_. _A_ forms the top railing to the fence around it. Now take two of your sixteen-and-one-half-foot poles and place them diagonally from corner to corner of the parallelogram with the small ends of the poles lying over the ends of _A_ and the butt ends of the poles extending beyond _C_, as in Fig. 82. Lash these poles securely in place. Where the poles cross each other in the _X_, or centre, it is best to flatten them some by scoring and hewing with a hatchet, but care must be taken not to weaken them by scoring too deep. Next take your lash rope, double it, run the loop down under the cross sticks, bring it up on the other side, as in Fig. 83, then pull the two loose ends through the loop. When they are drawn taut (Fig. 84), bend them round in opposite directions--that is, bend the right-hand end of the rope to the right, down and under the cross sticks, pull it out to the left, as in Fig. 84, then bend the left-hand piece of rope to the left, down and under, pulling it out to the right, as in Fig. 84. Next bring those two pieces up over and tie them together in a square knot, as shown in Figs. 85 and 86. Fig. 80. Fig. 81. Fig. 82. Fig. 83. Fig. 84. Fig. 85. Fig. 86. Fig. 87. [Illustration: Parts of tower for a wireless, a game lookout, an elevated camp or cache.] Make a duplicate "kite" frame for the other side exactly as you made the first one, and then arrange these two pieces on the ground with the cross sticks _F_ and _F_ on the under-side and with their butt ends opposite the butts of the similar poles on the other frame and about five feet apart. Fasten a long line to the point where the two _F_ pieces cross each other and detail a couple of scouts to hold each of the butt ends from slipping by placing one of their feet against the butt, as in Fig. 82, while two gangs of men or boys pull on the ropes and raise the kite frames to the positions shown in Figs. 81 and 88. Be careful, when raising the frames, not to pull them too far so that they may fall on some unwary workman. When the frames are once erected it is an easy matter to hold them in place by guy-ropes fastened to stones, stakes, or trees or held by men or boys, while some of the shorter braces are fastened to hold the two kite frames together, as in Fig. 90, wherein you may see these short braces at the top and bottom. Next, the two other long sticks, legs, or braces (_G_, _G_, Figs. 89 and 90) should be held temporarily in position and the place marked where they cross each other in the centre of the parallelogram which should be the same as it is on the legs of the two kite frames. The _G_ sticks should now be lashed together at the crossing point, as already described and shown by Figs. 83, 84, 85, and 86, when they may be put up against the sides, as in Fig. 89, in which diagram the _G_ poles are made very dark and the kite frames indicated very lightly so as to better show their relative positions. Lash the _G_ poles at the top and at the other points where they cross the other braces and secure the framework by adding short braces, as indicated in Fig. 90. Fig. 88. Fig. 89. Fig. 90. Fig. 90A. [Illustration: Details of scout signal-tower or game lookout.] If all the parts are bound together with wire it will hold them more securely than nails, with no danger of the poles splitting. A permanent tower of this kind may be erected on which a camp may be built, as shown in Fig. 87. It may be well to note that in the last diagram the tower is only indicated by a few lines of the frame in order to simplify it and prevent confusion caused by the multiplicity of poles. Boy-Scout Tower If you desire to make a tower taller than the one described it would be best, perhaps, to take the regular Boy-Scout dimensions as given by Scout-master A. G. Clarke: "Eight pieces 22 feet long, about 5 or 6 inches thick at the base; 4 pieces 6 feet long, about 3 or 4 inches thick at the base; 12 pieces 6 feet long, about 2½ or 3 inches thick at base; 12 or 15 pieces for braces and platform about 6 feet long." When putting together this frame it may be nailed or spiked, but care must be used not to split the timber where it is nailed. With most wood this may be avoided by driving the spikes or nails several inches back of the ends of the sticks. To erect a flagpole or a wireless pole, cut the bottom of the pole wedge-shaped, fit in the space between the cross poles, as in Fig. 90 _A_, then lash it fast to the _B_ and _A_ pole, and, to further secure it, two other sticks may be nailed to the _F_ poles, one on each side, between which the bottom of the flagpole is thrust, as shown by Fig. 90 _A_. The flooring of the platform must be securely nailed or lashed in place, otherwise there may be some serious accident caused by the boys or men falling through, a fall of about twenty and one half feet according to the last measurements given for the frame. An observatory of this kind will add greatly to the interest of a mountain home or seaside home; it is a practical tower for military men to be used in flag signalling and for improvised wireless; it is also a practical tower for a lookout in the game fields and a delight to the Boy Scouts. XVI TREE-TOP HOUSES BY the natural process of evolution we have now arrived at the tree-top house. It is interesting to the writer to see the popularity of this style of an outdoor building, for, while he cannot lay claim to originating it, he was the first to publish the working drawings of a tree-house. These plans first appeared in _Harper's Round Table_; afterward he made others for the _Ladies' Home Journal_ and later published them in "The Jack of All Trades." Having occasion to travel across the continent shortly after the first plans were published, he was amused to see all along the route, here and there in back-yard fruit-trees, shade-trees, and in forest-trees, queer little shanties built by the boys, high up among the boughs. In order to build a house one must make one's plans _to fit the tree_. If it is to be a one-tree house, spike on the trunk two quartered pieces of small log one on each side of the trunk (Figs. 91 and 92). Across these lay a couple of poles and nail them to the trunk of the tree (Fig. 91); then at right angles to these lay another pair of poles, as shown in the right-hand diagram (Fig. 91). Nail these securely in place and support the ends of the four poles by braces nailed to the trunk of the tree below. The four cross-sills will then (Fig. 95) serve as a foundation upon which to begin your work. Other joists can now be laid across these first and supported by braces running diagonally down to the trunk of the tree, as shown in Fig. 95. After the floor is laid over the joist any form of shack, from a rude, open shed to a picturesque thatch-roofed cottage, may be erected upon it. It is well to support the two middle rafters of your roof by quartered pieces of logs, as the middle rafters are supported in Fig. 95; by quartered logs shown in Fig. 92. Fig. 91. Fig. 92. Fig. 93. Fig. 94. Fig. 95. Fig. 96. Fig. 97. [Illustration: Details of tree-top houses.] If the house is a two-tree house, run your cross-sill sticks from trunk to trunk, as in Fig. 94; then make two T-braces, like the one in Fig. 94 _A_, of two-inch planks with braces secured by iron straps, or use heavier timber, and bolt the parts together securely (Fig. 93), or use logs and poles (Fig. 94), after which hang these T's over the ends of your two cross sticks, as in Fig. 94, and spike the uprights of the T's securely to the tree trunks. On top of the T you can rest a two-by-four and support the end by diagonals nailed to the tree trunk (Fig. 94) after the manner of the diagonals in Fig. 95. You will note in Fig. 95 that cleats or blocks are spiked to the tree below the end of the diagonals in order to further secure them. It is sometimes necessary in a two-tree house to allow for the movement of the tree trunks. In Florida a gentleman did this by building his tree-house on the _B_ sills (Fig. 94) and making them movable to allow for the play of the tree trunks. Fig. 96 shows a two-tree house and Fig. 97 shows a thatch-roofed cottage built among the top branches of a single tree. It goes without saying that in a high wind one does not want to stay long in a tree-top house; in fact, during some winds that I have experienced I would have felt much safer had I been in a cyclone cellar; but if the braces of a tree-house are securely made and the trees selected have good, heavy trunks, your tree-top house will stand all the ordinary summer blows and winter storms. One must remember that even one's own home is not secure enough to stand some of those extraordinary gales, tornadoes, and hurricanes which occasionally visit parts of our country. Since I published the first plans of a tree-top house many people have adopted the idea and built quite expensive structures in the boughs of the trees. Probably all these buildings are intact at the present writing. The boys at Lynn, Mass., built a very substantial house in the trees, and the truant officer claimed that the lads hid away there so that they could play "hookey" from school; but if this is true, and there seems to be some doubt about it, it must be remembered that the fault was probably with _the schools_ and not the boys, for boys who have ingenuity and grit enough to build a substantial house in a tree cannot be bad boys; industry, skill, and laborious work are not the attributes of the bad boy. Some New York City boys built a house in the trees at One Hundred and Sixty-ninth Street, but here the police interfered, claiming that it was against a city ordinance to build houses in shade-trees, and maybe it is; but, fortunately for the boys, there are other trees which may be used for this purpose. There is now, or was recently, an interesting tree-house on Flatbush Avenue, Brooklyn; a house so commodious that it was capable of accommodating as many as fifteen people; but it was not as pretty and attractive a tree-house as the one located at the foot of Mount Tamalpais, in Mill Valley, San Francisco, which is built after the plan shown by Fig. 95. This California house is attached to the trunk of a big redwood tree and is reached by a picturesque bridge spanning a rocky canyon. Tree-houses are also used as health resorts, and recently there was a gentleman of Plainfield, Mass., living in a tree-house because he found the pure air among the leaves beneficial; while down in Ecuador another man, who feared malarial mosquitoes and objected to wild beasts and snakes, built himself a house on top of an ibo-tree, seventy feet from the ground. This is quite a pretentious structure and completely hides and covers the top of the tree. It is located on the banks of the Escondido River; and in this tropical country, while it may be a safe retreat from the pests enumerated, it might not be so safe from lightning in one of those violent tropical storms. But it is probably as safe as any house in that country, for one must take chances no matter what kind of a house one dwells in. Primitive and savage men all over the world for thousands of years have built dwellings in tree tops. In the Philippines many natives live in tree-top houses. The Kinnikars, hill-tribesmen of Travancore, India, are said to live in houses built in the trees, but in New Guinea it seems that such houses are only provided for the girls, and every night the dusky lassies are sent to bed in shacks perched in the tree tops; then, to make safety doubly safe, the watchful parents take away the ladders and their daughters cannot reach the ground until the ladders are replaced in the morning. The most important thing about all this is that a tree-house is always a source of delight to the boys and young people, and, furthermore, the boys have over and over again proved to the satisfaction of the author that they themselves are perfectly competent to build these shacks, and not only to build them but to avoid accidents and serious falls while engaged in the work. XVII CACHES THE difference between tomahawk shacks and axe houses reminds me of the difference between the ileum and the jejunum, of which my classmate once said: "There is no way of telling the beginning of one or the ending of t'other 'cept by the pale-pinkish hue of the latter." It must be confessed that some of the shacks described in the preceding pages are rather stout and massive to be classed as tomahawk shelters, but, as indicated by my reference to physiology, this is not the writer's fault. The trouble is owing to the fact that nature abhors the arbitrary division line which man loves to make for his own convenience. The tomahawk shacks gradually evolve into axe camps and houses and "there is no telling the beginning of one and the end of t'other." Hence, when I say that all the previous shacks, sheds, shelters, and shanties are fashioned with a hatchet, the statement must be accepted as true only so far as _it is_ possible to build them without an axe; but in looking over the diagram it is evident at a glance that the logs are growing so thick that the necessity of the woodman's axe is more and more apparent; nevertheless, the accompanying caches have been classed with the tomahawk group and we will allow them to remain there. Wherever man travels in the wilderness he finds it necessary to cache--that is, hide or secure some of his goods or provisions. The security of these caches (Figs. 98-111) is considered sacred in the wilds and they are not disturbed by savages or whites; but bears, foxes, husky dogs, porcupines, and wolverenes are devoid of any conscientious scruples and unless the cache is absolutely secure they will raid it. Fig. 98. Fig. 99. Fig. 100. Fig. 101. Fig. 102. Fig. 103. Fig. 104. Fig. 105. [Illustration: Simple forms of caches.] The first cache (Fig. 98) is called the "prospector's cache" and consists simply of a stick lashed to two trees and another long pole laid across this to which the goods are hung, swinging beneath like a hammock. This cache is hung high enough to be out of reach of a standing bear. The tripod cache (Fig. 100) consists of three poles lashed at the top with the goods hung underneath. Another form of the prospector's cache is shown by Fig. 102, where two poles are used in place of one and an open platform of sticks laid across the poles; the goods are placed upon the platform. The tenderfoot's cache (Fig. 105) is one used only for temporary purposes as it is too easily knocked over and would be of no use where animals as large as bears might wreck it. It consists of two sticks lashed together at their small ends and with their butt ends buried in the earth; their tops are secured by a rope to a near-by tree while the duffel is suspended from the top of the longest pole. The "Montainais" cache is an elevated platform upon which the goods are placed and covered with skins or tarpaulin or tent-cloth (Fig. 99). The "Andrew Stone" cache is a miniature log cabin placed on the ground and the top covered with halved logs usually weighted down with stones (Fig. 101). The "Belmore Browne" cache consists of a pole or a half of a log placed in the fork of the two trees on top of which the goods are held in place by a rope and the whole covered with a piece of canvas lashed together with eyelets, like a shoe (Fig. 103). The "Herschel Parker" cache is used where the articles to be cached are in a box. For this cache two poles are lashed to two trees, one on each side of the trees (Fig. 104), and across the two poles the box is placed. We now come to more pretentious caches, the first of which is the "Susitna," which is a little log cabin built on a table with four long legs. The poles or logs composing the legs of the table are cut in a peculiar fashion, as shown in the diagram to the left of Fig. 107; this is intended to prevent animals from climbing to the top; also, as a further protection, pieces of tin are sometimes tacked around the poles so as to give no foothold to the claws of the little animals. Fig. 106 shows two other methods sometimes adopted to protect small caches and Fig. 108 is still another method of using logs which have the roots still attached to them for supports. Such logs can be used where the ground is too stony to dig holes for posts. Fig. 109 shows another form of the Susitna cache wherein the goods are packed in a box-like structure and covered with tent-cloth tightly lashed down. The "Dillon Wallace" cache (Fig. 110) is simply a tent erected over the goods and perched on an elevated platform. The "Fred Vreeland" cache is a good, solid, practical storehouse. It is built of small logs on a platform, as shown by Fig. 111, and the bottom of the building is smaller than it is at the eaves. It is covered with a high thatched roof and is ornamental as well as useful. Fig. 106. Fig. 107. Fig. 108. Fig. 109. Fig. 110. Fig. 111. [Illustration: Cabin caches.] These caches might really belong to a book of woodcraft, but it is another case of the "ileum and jejunum," and we will rule that they technically come under the head of shacks, sheds, shelters, and shanties and so are included in this volume; but there is another and a very good reason for publishing them in this book, and that is because some of them, like Figs. 107 and 111, suggest novel forms of ornamental houses on country estates, houses which may be used for corn-cribs or other storage or, like the tree-top houses, used for pleasure and amusement. XVIII HOW TO USE AN AXE THE old backwoodsmen were as expert with their axes as they were with their rifles and they were just as careful in the selection of these tools as they were in the selection of their arms. Many a time I have seen them pick up a "store" axe, sight along the handle, and then cast it contemptuously aside; they demanded of their axes that the cutting edge should be exactly in line with the point in the centre of the butt end of the handle. They also kept their axes so sharp that they could whittle with them like one can with a good jack-knife; furthermore, they allowed _no one_ but themselves to use their own particular axe. In my log house in the mountains of Pike County, Pa., I have a table fashioned entirely with an axe; even the ends of the boards which form the top of the table were cut off by Siley Rosencranz with his trusty axe because he had no saw. Both General Grant and Abraham Lincoln were expert axemen, and probably a number of other Presidents were also skilful in the use of this tool; but it is not expected that the modern vacation pioneer shall be an expert, consequently a few simple rules and suggestions will be here given to guide the amateur and he must depend upon his own judgment and common sense to work out the minor problems which will beset him in the use of this tool. Dangers All edged tools are dangerous when in the hands of "chumps," dangerous to themselves and to any one else who is near them. For instance, only a chump will use an axe when its head is loose and is in danger of flying off the handle; only a chump will use his _best_ axe to cut roots or sticks lying flat on the ground where he is liable to strike stones and other objects and take the edge off the blade. Only a chump will leave an axe lying around on the ground for people to stumble over; if there is a stump handy at your camp and you are through using the axe, strike the blade into the top of the stump and leave the axe sticking there, where it will be safe from injury. Remember, before chopping down a tree or before using the axe at all, to see that there is enough space above and around you to enable you to swing the axe clear (Fig. 112) without the danger of striking bushes or overhanging branches which may deflect the blade and cause accidents more or less serious. Do not stand behind a tree as it falls (Fig. 115), for the boughs may strike those of a standing tree, causing the butt to shoot back or "kick," and many a woodsman has lost his life from the kick of a falling tree. Before chopping a tree down, select the place where it is to fall, a place where it will not be liable to lodge in another tree on its way down. Do not try to fell a tree against the wind. Cut a notch on the side of the tree facing the direction you wish it to fall (Fig. 113) and cut it half-way through the trunk. Make the notch, or kerf, large enough to avoid pinching your axe in it. If you discover that the notch is going to be too small, cut a new notch, _X_ (Fig. 116), some inches above your first one, then split off the piece _X_, _Y_ between the two notches, and again make the notch _X_, _Z_, and split off the piece _Z_, _W_, _Y_ (Fig. 116), until you make room for the axe to continue your chopping. When the first kerf is finished begin another one on the opposite side of the tree a little higher than the first one (Fig. 114). When the wood between the two notches becomes too small to support the weight of the tree, the top of the tree will begin to tremble and waver and give you plenty of time to step to one side before it falls. Fig. 112. Fig. 113. Fig. 114. Fig. 115. Fig. 116. Fig. 117. Fig. 118. [Illustration: How to "fall" a tree and how to take off the bark.] If the tree (Fig. 117) is inclined in the opposite direction from which you wish it to fall, it is sometimes possible (Fig. 117) to block up the kerf on the inclined side and then by driving the wedge over the block force the tree to fall in the direction desired; but if the tree inclines too far this cannot be done. There was a chestnut-tree standing close to my log house and leaning toward the building. Under ordinary circumstances felling this tree would cause it to strike the house with all the weight of its trunk and branches. When I told Siley Rosencranz I wanted that tree cut down he sighted up the tree, took a chew of tobacco, and walked away. For several days he went through the same performance, until at last one day he brought out his trusty axe and made the chips fly. Soon the chestnut was lying prone on the ground _pointing away_ from the house. What this old backwoodsman did was to wait until a strong wind had sprung up, blowing in the direction that he wanted the tree to fall, and his skilful chopping with the aid of the wind placed the tree exactly where he wished it. Fig. 118 shows how to make the cuts on a standing tree in order to remove the bark, which is done in the same manner as that described for removing the birch bark (Fig. 38). XIX HOW TO SPLIT LOGS, MAKE SHAKES, SPLITS, OR CLAPBOARDS. HOW TO CHOP A LOG IN HALF. HOW TO FLATTEN A LOG. ALSO SOME DON'TS LOGS are usually split by the use of wedges, but it is possible to split them by the use of two axes. Fig. 119 shows both methods. To split with the axe, strike it smartly into the wood at the small end so as to start a crack, then sink the axe in the crack, _A_. Next take the second axe and strike it in line with the first one at _B_. If this is done properly it should open the crack wide enough to release the first axe without trouble, which may then be struck in the log at _C_. In this manner it is possible to split a straight-grained piece of timber without the use of wedges. The first axe should be struck in at the smaller or top end of the log. To split a log with wedges, take your axe in your left hand and a club in your right hand and, by hammering the head of your axe with the club, drive the blade into the small end of the log far enough to make a crack deep enough to hold the thin edge of your wedges. Make this crack all the way across the end of the log, as in Fig. 119. Put two wedges in the end of the log, as in the diagram, and drive them until the wood begins to split and crack along the sides of the log; then follow up this crack with other wedges, as shown at _D_ and _E_, until the log is split in half. While ordinary wood splits easily enough with the grain, it is very difficult to drive an axe through the wood at right angles to the grain, as shown by diagram to the left (Fig. 120); hence, if the amateur be chopping wood, if he will strike a slanting blow, like the one to the right in Fig. 120, he will discover that the blade of his axe will enter the wood; whereas, in the first position, where he strikes the grain at right angles, it will only make a dent in the wood and bounce the axe back; but in striking a diagonal blow he must use care not to slant his axe too far or the blade of the axe may only scoop out a shallow chip and swing around, seriously injuring the axeman or some one else. If it is desired to cut off the limb of a tree, do not disfigure the tree by tearing the bark down; trees are becoming too scarce for us to injure them unnecessarily; if you cut part way through the limb on the under-side (see the right-hand diagram, Fig. 121) and then cut partly through from the top side, the limb will fall off without tearing the bark down the trunk; but if you cut only from the top (see left-hand diagram, Fig. 121), sooner or later the weight of the limb will tear it off and make an ugly wound down the front of the tree, which in time decays, makes a hollow, and ultimately destroys the tree. A neatly cut branch, on the other hand, when the stub has been sheared off close to the bark, will heal up, leaving only an eye-mark on the bark to tell where the limb once grew. If it is desired to chop a log up into shorter pieces, remember to stand on the log to do your chopping, as in Fig. 122. This will do away with the necessity of rolling the log over when you want to chop on the other side. Do not forget to make the kerf, or notch, _C_, _D_ the same as _A_, _B_; in other words, the distance across the notch should equal the diameter of the log. If you start with too narrow a kerf, or notch, before you finish you will be compelled to widen it. Fig. 119. Fig. 120. Fig. 121. Fig. 122. Fig. 123. Fig. 124. Fig. 125. Fig. 126. Fig. 127. Fig. 128. Fig. 129. Fig. 130. Fig. 131. Fig. 131A. Fig. 131B. [Illustration: How to split a log, chop a log, flatten a log, and trim a tree.] To flatten a log you must _score and hew_ it. Scoring consists in making a number of notches, _C_, _D_, _E_, _F_, _G_, _H_, _J_, etc., to the depth of the line _A_, _B_ (Figs. 123 and 124); hewing it is the act of chopping off or splitting off the pieces _A_, _C_ and _C_, _D_ and _D_, _E_, etc., leaving the surface flat, as shown by Fig. 125, which was known among the pioneers as a puncheon and with which they floored their cabins before the advent of the saw-mill and milled lumber. Perhaps it will be advisable for the amateur to take a chalk-line and snap it from _A_ to _B_ (Fig. 123), so that he may be certain to have the flat surface level. The expert axeman will do this by what he calls "sensiation." It might be well to say here that if you select for puncheons wood with a straight grain and wood that will split easily you will simplify your task, but even mean, stubborn wood may be flattened by scoring and hewing. Quoting from Horace Kephart's excellent book on woodcraft, an experienced man can tell a straight-grained log "by merely scanning the bark"; if the ridges and furrows of the bark run straight up and down the wood will have a corresponding straight grain, but if they are spiral the wood will split "waney" or not at all. "Waney" is a good word, almost as good as "sensiation"; so when you try to quarter a log with which to chink your cabin or log house don't select a "waney" log. To quarter a log split it as shown in Fig. 119 and split it along the dotted lines shown in the end view of Fig. 126. In the Maine woods the woodsmen are adepts in making shakes, splits, clapboards, or shingles by the use of only an axe and splitting them out of the billets of wood from four to six feet long. The core of the log (Fig. 130) is first cut out and then the pieces are split out, having wedge-shaped edges, as shown by the lines marked on Fig. 127. They also split out boards after the manner shown by Fig. 128. In making either the boards or the shakes, if it is found that the wood splinters down into the body of the log too far or into the board or shake too far, you must commence at the other end of the billet or log and split it up to meet the first split, or take hold of the split or board with your hands and deftly tear it from the log, an art which only experience can teach. I have seen two-story houses composed of nothing but a framework with sides and roof shingled over with these splits. In the West they call these "shake" cabins. It may be wise before we close this axeman's talk to caution the reader against chopping firewood by resting one end of the stick to be cut on a log and the other end on the ground, as shown in Fig. 131, and then striking this stick a sharp blow with the axe in the middle. The effect of this often is to send the broken piece or fragment gyrating through the air, as is shown by the dotted lines, and many a woodchopper has lost an eye from a blow inflicted by one of these flying pieces; indeed, I have had some of my friends meet with this serious and painful accident from the same cause, and I have seen men in the lumber fields who have been blinded in a similar manner. There are two sorts of axes in general use among the lumbermen; but the double-bitted axe (131 _A_) appears to be the most popular among lumberjacks. My readers, however, are not lumberjacks but campers, and a double-bitted axe is a nuisance around camps. It is always dangerous and even when one blade is sunk into the tree the other blade is sticking out, a menace to everybody and everything that comes near it. But the real old-fashioned reliable axe (131 _B_) is the one that is exceedingly useful in a camp, around a country place, or a farm. I even have one now in my studio closet here in the city of New York, but I keep it more for sentiment's sake than for any real use it may be to me here. XX AXEMEN'S CAMPS The Stefansson Sod Shack NOW that we know how to wield the axe we can begin on more ambitious structures than those preceding. We may now build camps in which we use logs instead of poles. Most of these camps are intended to be covered with sod or earth and are nearly related to the old prairie dugout. The sod house is used in the arctic regions because it is warm inside, and it is used in the arid regions because it is cool inside. You will note that the principle on which the Stefansson is constructed (Fig. 135) is practically the same as that of the Pontiac (Fig. 36); the Stefansson frame, however, is made of larger timbers than the Pontiac because it not only must support a roof and side of logs and sod but must also be able to sustain any quantity of snow. First erect two forked upright sticks (Fig. 132), and then steady them by two braces. Next lay four more logs or sticks for the side-plates with their butt ends on the ridge-pole and their small ends on the ground as in Fig. 133. Support these logs by a number of small uprights--as many as may be necessary for the purpose. The uprights may have forks at the top or have the top ends cut wedge-shaped to fit in notches made for that purpose in the side-plates as shown by Fig. 133 _A_. The shortest uprights at the end of the roof should be forked so that the projecting fork will tend to keep the roof logs from sliding down. The roof is made by a number of straight rafters placed one with the butt in front, next with the butt in the rear alternately, so that they will fit snugly together until the whole roof is covered. The sides are made by setting a number of sticks in a trench and slanting them against the roof; both sides, front, and rear of the building should project six inches above the roof in order to hold the sod and dirt and keep it from sliding off. Fig. 132. Fig. 133. Fig. 133A Fig. 134. Fig. 135. [Illustration: Details of the Stefansson sod shack.] Up in the north country one must not expect to find green, closely cropped lawns or even green fields of wild sod in all places. Although in some parts the grass grows taller than a man's head, in other places the sod is only called so by courtesy; it really consists of scraggy grass thinly distributed on gravelly and sandy, loose soil, and consequently we must secure the sod by having the walls project a little above the rafters all around the building. Of course, in summer weather this roof will leak, but then one may live in a tent; but when cold weather comes and the sod is frozen hard and banked up with snow the Stefansson makes a good, warm dwelling. The same style of a camp can be made in the temperate zone of smaller trees and shingled with browse, or in the South of cane or bamboo and shingled with palmetto leaves, or in the Southwest of cottonwood where it may be covered with adobe or mud. Fig. 134 shows a Stefansson shack roofed with sod. The front is left uncovered to show its construction and also to show how the doorway is made by simply leaving an opening like that in a tent. In winter this may have a hallway built like the one described in the Navajo earth lodge (Fig. 35) or in the Pawnee hogan (Figs. 42 and 43), and in milder weather the doorway may be protected with a skin. An opening is left in the roof over the fireplace, which answers the purpose of a chimney. The author aims to take hints from all the primitive dwellings which may be of service to outdoor people; the last one described was arbitrarily named the Stefansson because that explorer built himself such shelters in the far North, but he did not invent them. He borrowed the general plan from the natives of the northern country and adapted it to his use, thereby placing the official stamp on this shack as a useful building for outdoor people and, consequently, as deserving a place in this book. XXI RAILROAD-TIE SHACKS, BARREL SHACKS, AND CHIMEHUEVIS NO observing person has travelled far upon the American railroads without noticing, alongside the tracks, the queer little houses built of railroad ties by Italian laborers. These shacks are known by the name of dagoes (Fig. 136) and are made in different forms, according to the ingenuity of the builder. The simplest form is the tent-shaped shown in Fig. 136, with the ends of the ties rested together in the form of a tent and with no other support but their own weight (see the diagram to the right, Fig. 136). I would not advise boys to build this style, because it might make a trap to fall in upon them with serious results, but if they use a ridge-pole like the one shown in Fig. 139 and against it rest the ties they will do away with the danger of being caught in a deadfall trap. Of course, it is understood that the ridge-pole itself must first be secure. Railroad ties being flat (Fig. 137), they may be built up into solid walls (Fig. 137) and make neat sides for a little house; or they may be set up on edge (Fig. 138) and secured in place by stakes driven upon each side of them; or they may be made into the form of an open Adirondack camp (Figs. 139 and 140) by resting the ties on a ridge-pole supported by a pair of "shears" at each end; the shears, as you will observe, consist of two sticks bound together near the top and then spread apart to receive the ridge-pole in the crotch. Fig. 136. Fig. 137. Fig. 138. Fig. 139. Fig. 140. Fig. 141. Fig. 142. Fig. 143. [Illustration: Railroad-tie shacks, barrel shack, and a Chimehuevis.] All of these structures are usually covered with dirt and sod, and they make very comfortable little camps. In the Southwest a simple shelter, the "Chimehuevis," is made by enclosing a room in upright poles (Fig. 141) and then surrounding it with a circle of poles supporting a log or pole roof covered with sod, making a good camp for hot weather. Fig. 142 shows a barrel dugout. It is made by digging a place for it in the bank and, after the floor is levelled off, setting rows of barrels around the foundation, filling these barrels with sand, gravel, or dirt, then placing another row on top of the first, leaving spaces for a window and a door, after which the walls are roofed with logs and covered with sod, in the same manner as the ones previously described. The dirt is next filled around the sides, except at the window opening, as shown by Fig. 142. A barrel also does duty as a chimney. Shacks like this are used by homesteaders, miners, trappers, and hunters; in fact, these people use any sort of material they have at hand. When a mining-camp is near by the freight wagons are constantly bringing in supplies, and these supplies are done up in packages of some kind. Boards are frequently worth more a yard than silk, or were in the olden days, and so the home builders used other material. They built themselves houses of discarded beer bottles, of kerosene cans, of packing-boxes, of any and every thing. Usually these houses were dugouts, as is the barrel one shown in Fig. 142. In the big-tree country they not infrequently made a house of a hollow stump of a large redwood, and one stone-mason hollowed out a huge bowlder for his dwelling; but such shacks belong among the freak shelters. The barrel one, however, being the more practical and one that can be used almost anywhere where timber is scarce but where goods are transported in barrels, deserves a place here among our shacks, shelters, and shanties. XXII THE BARABARA THE houses along the coast of the Bering Sea are called barabaras, but the ones that we are going to build now are in form almost identical with the Pawnee hogan (Figs. 42 and 43), the real difference being in the peculiar log work of the barabara in place of the teepee-like rafters of the said hogan. To build a barabara you will need eight short posts for the outside wall and six or eight longer posts for the inside supports (Fig. 145). The outside posts should stand about three feet above the ground after they have been planted in the holes dug for the purpose. The top of the posts should be cut wedge-shaped, as shown by Fig. 144, in order to fit in the notch _B_ (Fig. 144). The cross logs, where they cross each other, should be notched like those of a log cabin (Figs. 162 and 165) or flattened at the points of contact. Plant your first four posts for the front of your barabara in a line, two posts for the corners _B_ and _E_ (Fig. 145 _A_), and two at the middle of the line _C_ and _D_ for door-jambs (plan, Fig. 145 _A_). The tops of these posts should be level with each other so that if a straight log is placed over them the log will lie level. Next plant the two side-posts _F_ and _G_ (Fig. 145 _A_) at equal distances from the two front posts and make them a few feet farther apart than are the front posts. The sketch of the framework is drawn in very steep perspective, that is, it is made as if the spectator was on a hill looking down upon it. It is drawn in this manner so as to better show the construction, but the location of the posts may be seen in the small plan. Next set the two back posts, _H_ and _K_, and place them much closer together, so that the bottom frame when the rails are on the post will be very near the shape of a boy's hexagonal kite. Fig. 144. Fig. 145. Fig. 145A. Fig. 146. Fig. 147. Fig. 148. [Illustration: The details of a Barabara.] Inside erect another set of posts, setting each one opposite the outside ones and about a foot and a half or two feet farther in, or maybe less distance, according to the material one is using. Next set some posts for the hallway or entrance, which will be the door-jambs, and you are ready to build up the log roof. Do this by first setting the rail securely on the two side-posts on the right and left of the building; then secure the back plate on the two back posts at the rear of the building, next resting a long log over the side rails at the front of the building. The door-posts, of course, must be enough taller than the two end posts to allow for the thickness of the log, so that the front log will rest upon their top. Next put your two corner logs on, and your outside rail is complete. Build the inside rail in the same manner; then continue to build up with the logs as shown in the diagram until you have a frame like that in Fig. 145. Fig. 147 shows the inside of the house and the low doorway, and Fig. 148 shows the slanting walls. This frame is supposed to be covered with splits or shakes (Figs. 147 and 148), but, as in all pioneer structures, if shakes, splits, and clapboards are unobtainable, use the material at hand--birch bark, spruce bark, tar paper, old tin roofing, tent-cloth, or sticks, brush, ferns, weeds, or round sticks, to cover it as you did with the Pawnee hogan (Figs. 42 and 43). Then cover it with browse, or thatch it with hay or straw and hold the thatch in place with poles or sticks, as shown in Fig. 146. The barabara may also be covered with earth, sod, or mud. This sort of a house, if built with planks or boards nailed securely to the rafters and covered with earth and sod, will make a splendid cave house for boys and a playhouse for children on the lawn, and it may be covered with green growing sod so as to have the appearance of an ornamental mound. The instinct of the cave-dweller is deeply implanted in the hearts of boys, and every year we have a list of fatal accidents caused by the little fellows digging caves in sand-banks or banks of gravel which frequently fall in and bury the little troglodytes, but they will be safe in a barabara. The shack is ventilated by a chimney hole in the roof as shown by Fig. 146. This hole should be protected in a playhouse. The framework is a good one to use in all parts of the country for more or less permanent camps, but the long entrance and low doorway are unnecessary except in a cold climate or to add to the mystery of the cave house for children. It is a good form for a dugout for a root house or cyclone cellar. XXIII THE NAVAJO HOGAN, HORNADAY DUGOUT, AND SOD HOUSE IF the reader has ever built little log-cabin traps he knows just how to build a Navajo hogan or at least the particular Navajo hogan shown by Figs. 148 and 150. This one is six-sided and may be improved by notching the logs (Figs. 162, 164, 165) and building them up one on top of the other, dome-shaped, to the required height. After laying some rafters for the roof and leaving a hole for the chimney the frame is complete. In hot countries no chimney hole is left in the roof, because the people there do not build fires inside the house; they go indoors to keep cool and not to get warm; but the Navajo hogan also makes a good cold-country house in places where people really need a fire. Make the doorway by leaving an opening (Fig. 150) and chinking the logs along the opening to hold them in place until the door-jamb is nailed or pegged to them, and then build a shed entranceway (Fig. 153), which is necessary because the slanting sides of the house with an unroofed doorway have no protection against the free entrance of dust and rain or snow, and every section of this country is subject to visits from one of these elements. The house is covered with brush, browse, or sod. Log Dugout Fig. 152 shows how to make a log dugout by building the walls of the log cabin in a level place dug for it in the bank. Among the log cabins proper (Figs. 162 and 166) we tell how to notch the logs for this purpose. Fig. 149. Fig. 150. Fig. 151. Fig. 152. Fig. 153. Fig. 154. [Illustration: Forms of dugouts and mound shacks.] Fig. 151 shows one of these log dugouts which I have named the Hornaday from the fact that Doctor William Hornaday happens to be sitting in front of the one represented in the sketch. Fig. 154 shows a dugout with walls made of sod which is piled up like stones in a stone wall. The roofs of all these are very flat and made of logs (Figs. 54, 55, and 56), often with a log pegged to the rafters above the eaves to hold the sod. All such houses are good in dry countries, cold countries, and countries frequented by tornadoes or by winds severe enough to blow down ordinary camps. The Navajo hogan is an easy sort of a house for boys to build because the lads may use small poles in place of logs with which to build the camp and thus make the labor light enough to suit their undeveloped muscles, but the next illustration shows how to build an American boy's hogan of milled lumber such as one can procure in thickly settled parts of the country. XXIV HOW TO BUILD AN AMERICAN BOY'S HOGAN THE first time any working plans of an underground house for boys were published was when an article by the present writer on the subject appeared in the _Ladies' Home Journal_. Afterward it was published with a lot of similar material in "The Jack of All Trades." Since then other writers have not hesitated to use the author's sketches with very little alteration; imitation is the sincerest compliment, although it is not always fair, but it does, however, show the popularity of the underground-house idea. The American boy's hogan may be built like the preceding shacks of the material found in the woods or it may be constructed of old boards and waste material to be found in village back yards or on the farm, or, if the boys have the price or if they can interest their fathers or uncles in their scheme, it may be built of milled lumber procured at the lumber-yard. Frame Procure some good, sound planks and some pieces of two by four with which to build your frame. The hogan should be large enough to allow room for a table made of a packing-case, some benches, stools, or chairs, and the ceilings should be high enough for the tallest boy to stand erect without bumping his head. Furniture One funny thing about this house is that it must be furnished before it is built, because the doorway and passageway will be too small to admit any furniture larger than a stool. Select or make your furniture and have it ready, then decide upon the location of your hogan, which should be, like the Western dugouts, on the edge of some bank (Fig. 158). In this diagram the dotted line shows how the bank originally sloped. Foundation The real hard work connected with this is the digging of the foundation; one Y. M. C. A. man started to build one of these hogans, but he "weakened" before he had the foundation dug. He wrote the author a long letter complaining of the hard work; at the same time the author was receiving letters from _boys_ telling how much fun they had in building and finishing their underground houses. Caves Ever since "Robinson Crusoe" and "Swiss Family Robinson" were written cave houses have been particularly attractive to boys; no doubt they were just as attractive before these books were written, and that may be the reason the books themselves are so popular; at any rate, when the author was a small boy he was always searching for natural caves, or trying to dig them for himself, and so were all of his companions. One of the most charming features of the "Tom Sawyer" and "Huckleberry Finn" stories is that part connected with the cave. Fig. 155. Fig. 156. Fig. 157. Fig. 157.A. Fig. 157.B. Fig. 157.C. Fig. 158. Fig. 159. Fig. 160. Fig. 161. [Illustration: The original American boy's hogan or underground house.] Dangerous Caves The trouble is that with caves which the boys dig for themselves there is always serious danger of the roof falling in and smothering the young troglodytes, but a properly built underground hogan is perfectly safe from such accidents. Framing After you have levelled off the foundation erect the rear posts of two-by-fours _A_, _B_ and _C_, _D_ (Fig. 156). These posts should be of the same height and tall enough to allow the roof to slant toward the front as in Fig. 155. The front posts _E_, _F_ and _G_, _H_, although shorter than the back posts, should be tall enough to allow headroom. One, two, or three more posts may be erected between the post _A_, _B_ and the post _C_, _D_ if additional strength is required. The same is true of the sides, and in place of having only one post in the middle of each side (_M_, _N_ and _O_, _P_, Fig. 156), there may be two or three posts, all according to the size of the house you are building; the main point is to make _a compact and strong box_ of your framework so that in the wet weather the banks surrounding it will not be tempted to push in the sides and spoil your house. Decaying Wood Locust, chestnut, and cedar will last longer than other varieties of wood when exposed to contact with damp earth, but common wood, which rots easily, may be protected by preservatives, one of which is boiled linseed-oil with pulverized charcoal stirred into it until a black paint is produced. Some people say that a coat of charcoal paint will preserve even a basswood fence post for a lifetime, and if that is true a hogan protected by a coating upon the outside of paint made by stirring fine charcoal into boiled linseed-oil until it is as thick as paint will last longer than any of my readers will have occasion to use the hogan for a playhouse. Erect the frame (Fig. 156) by having some boys hold the uprights in place until they can be secured with temporary braces like those shown running diagonally across from _B_ to _E_ and _A_ to _F_. You may then proceed to board up the sides from the outside of the frame by slipping the planks between the frame and the bank and then nailing from the inside wherever you lack room upon the outside to swing your hammer. The door-jambs _I_, _J_ and _K_, _L_ will help support the roof. The Roof The roof may be made of lumber, as shown by Fig. 160, or it may be made of poles like those shown on the Wyoming Olebo (Fig. 236), or it may be made of planks and covered with tar paper (Figs. 296, 297, 298, and 299), or it may be shingled, using barrel staves for shingles, or covered with bits of old tin roofing tacked over the planking--or anything, in fact, which will keep out the water. As for looks, that will not count because the roof is to be afterward covered with sod. Cliff-House Roof If you wish to make the roof as the cliff-dwellers made theirs, put your biggest logs crosswise from _A_, _M_, _E_ to _C_, _O_, _G_ of your house for rafters, and across the larger logs lay a lot of small poles as close together as may be, running from the back to the front of the house. Fill in the cracks between with moss or calk them with dry grass; on them place a layer of brush, browse, or small sticks and over this a thick coating of clay, hard-pan, or ordinary mud and pack it down hard by tramping it with your feet until it becomes a smooth and tightly packed crust; over this you can put your sod and weeds to conceal your secret. Passageway To make the frame for the underground hall or passageway (Fig. 156), first nail _Q_, _S_ across the door-jambs to form the top to the doorway, after which put in the supports _Q_, _R_ and _S_, _T_. Next build the frame _U_, _V_, _X_, _W_ and join it to _Q_, _S_ by the two pieces _Q_, _U_ and _S_, _V_ and put in the middle frame support marked _ZZZZ_. The passageway should be about six feet long and the front doorway (_U_, _V_, _X_, _W_, Figs. 156 and 157) of sufficient size to enable you to creep through with comfort. The bottom piece _W_, _X_ can be nailed to a couple of sticks driven in the ground for that purpose. The next thing in order is the floor, and to make this firm you must lay a number of two-by-fours parallel to _B_, _D_ and _F_, _H_ and see that they are level. You will need a number of shorter pieces of the same material to run parallel to _F_, _H_ and _W_, _X_ for the hall floor, as may be seen in Fig. 157. Across these nail your floor securely as shown in Fig. 155. There are no windows shown in the diagram, but if the builders wish one it can be placed immediately over the entrance or hallway in the frame marked _I_, _K_, _Q_, _S_ (Fig. 156), in which case the top covering of dirt must be shovelled away from it to admit the light in the same manner that it is in the dugout shown in Fig. 142 and also in the small sketch (Fig. 154). The ventilator shown in Fig. 155 may be replaced, if thought desirable, by a chimney for an open fire. On account of the need of ventilation a stove would not be the proper thing for an underground house, but an open fire would help the ventilation. In the diagram the ventilator is set over a square hole in the roof; it may be made of a barrel or barrels, with the heads knocked out, placed over the hole in the roof, or kegs, according to the size of the roof. When your house is complete fill in the dirt around the edges, pack it down good and hard by the use of a piece of scantling two by four or four by four as a rammer, then cover the roof with small sticks and fine brush and sod it with growing weeds or grass. The Door You should have a good, stout front door (Fig. 157) and a padlock with which to secure it from trespassers. Aures Hinge A rustic hinge may be made by splitting a forked branch (Fig. 157 _C_) and using the two pieces nailed to the sides of the door-jambs (Fig. 157 _A_) to hold the round ends of the rod (Fig. 157 _B_) run through them. The middle of the _B_ stick is flattened to fit on the surface of the door to which it is nailed. This hinge was invented by Scout Victor Aures of stockade 41144 of Boy Pioneers of America and a description with neat diagrams sent by the inventor to his chief. When all is completed you can conceal the ventilator with dry brush or by planting weeds or shrubs around it, which will not interfere with the ventilation but will conceal the suspicious-looking pipe protruding from the ground. The top of the ventilator should be protected by slats, as in Fig. 161, or by wire netting with about one-quarter-inch mesh in order to keep small animals from jumping or hopping down into your club-house. Of course, a few toads and frogs, field-mice and chipmunks, or even some lizards and harmless snakes would not frighten any real boy, but at the same time they do not want any such creatures living in the same house with them. Trap-Door In place of a ventilator or chimney a trap-door may be placed in the roof and used as a secret entrance, access to inside being had by a ladder. A description of an appropriate ladder follows (Figs. 169 and 170). Fig. 159 shows a rude way to make a chandelier, and as long as your candles burn brightly you may know that the air in your little hogan is pure and fresh. When such a chandelier is used pieces of tin should be nailed above the candles to prevent the heat from burning holes through the roof. XXV HOW TO CUT AND NOTCH LOGS BOYS you have now passed through the _grammar school_ of shack making, you are older than you were when you began, you have acquired more skill and more muscle, and it is time to begin to handle the woodsman's axe, to handle it skilfully and to use it as a tool with which to fashion anything from a table to a two-story house. None of you is too young to learn to use the axe. General Grant, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Billy Sunday--all of them could wield an axe by the time they were eight or nine years old and do it without chopping off their toes or splitting any one else's head open. Remember that every time you hurt yourself with an axe I have a yellow ribbon for you to wear as a "chump mark"; but, joking aside, we must now get down to serious work of preparing the logs in order to build us a little cabin of our own, a log club-house for our gang, or a log camp for our troop of scouts. Notching Logs To make the logs hold together at the corners of our cabins it is necessary to lock them in some manner, and the usual way is to notch them. You may cut flat notches like those shown in Fig. 162 and this will hold the logs together, as shown by 162 _E_ or you may only flatten the ends, making the General Putnam joint shown in Fig. 163. This is called after General Putnam because the log cabins at his old camp near my farm at Redding, Conn., are made in this manner. Or you may use the Pike notch which has a wedge-shaped cut on the lower log, as shown by Fig. 164 _J_, made to fit into a triangular notch shown by 164 _H_. When fitted together these logs look like the sketch marked 164 _F_ which was drawn from a cabin built in this manner. But the simplest notch is the rounded one shown by _A_, _B_, and _C_ (Fig. 165). When these are locked together they will fit like those shown at Fig. 165 _D_. Away up North the people dovetail the ends of the logs (Fig. 166) so that their ends fit snugly together and are also securely locked by their dovetail shape. To build a log house, place the two sill logs on the ground or on the foundation made for them, then two other logs across them, as shown in Fig. 168. Handling the Logs That the logs may be more easily handled they should be piled up on a skidway which is made by resting the top ends of a number of poles upon a big log or some other sort of elevation and their lower ends upon the ground. With this arrangement the logs may be rolled off without much trouble as they are used. Chinking A log cabin built with hardwood logs or with pitch-pine logs can seldom be made as tight as one built with the straight spruce logs of the virgin forests. The latter will lie as close as the ones shown in Fig. 162 _E_, while the former, on account of their unevenness, will have large cracks between them like those shown in Fig. 165 _D_. These cracks may be stopped up by quartering small pieces of timber (_Y_ and _W_, Fig. 168½) and fitting these quartered pieces into the cracks between the logs where they are held by spikes. This is called "chinking the cabin." Fig. 162. Fig. 162E Fig. 163. Fig. 164. Fig. 164F. Fig. 165. Fig. 165C. Fig. 165D. Fig. 166. Fig. 167. Fig. 168. Fig. 168½. [Illustration: Showing how the logs are notched.] To keep the cold and wind out, the cracks may be "mudded" up on the inside with clay or ordinary lime mortar. Models Study these diagrams carefully, then sit down on the ground with a pile of little sticks alongside of you and a sharp jack-knife in your hand and proceed to experiment by building miniature log cabins. Really, this is the best way to plan a large cabin if you intend to erect one. From your model you can see at a glance just how to divide your cabin up into rooms, where you want to place the fireplace, windows, and doors; and I would advise you always to make a small model before building. Make the model about one foot three inches long by ten inches wide, using sticks for logs a little less than one inch in diameter--that is, one inch through or one inch thick. I have taken these dimensions or measurements from a little model that I have before me here in my studio, but, of course, you can vary them according to the plans of your cabin. XXVI NOTCHED LOG LADDERS EVER since man learned to use edged tools he has made ladders or steps, or whatever you may call them, by notching logs (Figs. 169 and 170). Fig. 169. Fig. 170. [Illustration: The pioneer log ladder.] A few years ago I took a splendid trip among the unnamed lakes and in what is known as "the unexplored country"--that is, the unmapped country of northwestern Quebec. We travelled over trails that had not been changed by man since canoes were invented. The forests were untouched by the axe of the white man. There were no roads, no houses, no fences, no people except a few wandering Indians, no cattle except caribou and moose, no dogs except wolves, and we slept at night on beds of balsam and paddled by day through rivers and lakes or carried our luggage and our canoes over the portages from one body of water to another over centuries-old trails. At one place the trail led up the side of a mountain to the beetling face of a cliff--a cliff that we had to climb with all our canoes and luggage, and we climbed it on a couple of notched logs, as shown in Fig. 169. By the way, boys, the Indian with the big load on his back is my old friend Bow-Arrow, formerly chief of the Montainais, and the load on his back was sketched from the real one he carried up that ladder portage. This old man was then sixty years of age. But all this talk is for the purpose of telling you the use of the notched log. Our pioneer ancestors used them to ascend to the loft over their cabins where they slept (Fig. 170). It is also a good ladder to use for tree-houses and a first-rate one for our underground hogans when we have an entrance through the top instead of one at the side shown by Fig. 156. Since you have learned how to use the axe you may make one of these primitive ladders to reach the hay-loft in your barn, if you have a barn. You may make the ladder of one log if you set the pole or log upright and notch it on both sides so that you can clasp it with your hand and, placing one foot on each side of it, climb up in that manner. XXVII A POLE HOUSE. HOW TO USE A CROSS-CUT SAW AND A FROE Pole House FIG. 171 shows a pole house--that is, a house, the walls of which are made by setting straight poles up on end with sides against each other and nailing a beam across the top (Fig. 172) and toe-nailing them (Fig. 173); that is, driving the nails slantingly down through the poles to the sill beneath. Fig. 172 shows how to nail them to the top beam or side-plate. To build a pole house, erect the four corner-posts and any intermediate posts which may be necessary, nailing the plates on top of the posts to hold the frame together (Fig. 172), afterward fitting the other posts in place, as shown in the sketch. We have not yet arrived at the part of the book where we can build as extensive houses as the one shown here. The drawing is only inserted at this place because it naturally comes with the use of the cross-cut saw. You can, however, without much trouble, build a small pole house without the veranda, and after you have learned how to build the big log houses you can turn back to this page and try a pole house like Fig. 171. Fig. 171. Fig. 172. Fig. 173. Fig. 174. Fig. 175. Fig. 176. Fig. 177. Fig. 178. Fig. 179. [Illustration: The use of the saw in log work.] Sawing on an Angle Fig. 174 shows how to saw off poles on the bias, as a woman would say, or on an angle, as a man would say. Suppose, for instance, you want to cut the poles to fit the dormer over the veranda shown in Fig. 171. Measure off the height of the middle pole, then the distance along the base from the middle pole to the corner at the eaves. Next fit the poles you are going to use closely together to cover that distance; hold them in place by nailing a plank temporarily across the bottom ends; then place another plank at the point marked for the height of the middle pole, run it down to the bottom plank, and nail it temporarily along this line. Now take hold of one end of the saw, as the fellow does in Fig. 174, and let another boy take the other end of the saw; then by working it back and forth along the line you may saw off the protruding ends of the poles. Proceed in the same manner along the base-board. You will then have half the dormer poles all nicely tacked together and cut in the right shape so that they may be evenly fitted in place, and after they are secured there the marking planks may be knocked off. Fig. 175 shows two boys at work "pit-sawing." They are sawing planks from a log, which is rather hard work but not unpleasant. I know, for I have tried it when I was up among the moonshiners in the mountains of Kentucky. Fig. 176 is from a sketch I made up in Michigan, where two men were sawing down a tree as they frequently do nowadays in place of chopping it down with an axe; this tree, however, was first notched with an axe so that it would fall in the right direction. Fig. 178 shows the peculiar teeth of one of these two-handled saws. It is not necessary for you to be expert on the sort of teeth a saw should have; any saw that cuts well for your purpose is the sort of saw you need. The Froe Fig. 179 shows two forms of the froe, an implement used for splitting shakes and shingles and clapboards like those on the roof of Fig. 171. The froe is held by the handle with the left hand and hammered on the top with a mallet held in the right hand. Fig. 177 shows two boys sawing a log up into sections, but for our work in cabin building the woodsman's axe is the real tool we need. The saw is all right and may be used if you have it, but it is a little too civilized for real woodcraft work. You cannot throw one of these saws over your shoulder as you would an axe and go marching into the woods with any comfort. The saw is also a more dangerous implement around camp than even a sharp axe. XXVIII LOG-ROLLING AND OTHER BUILDING STUNTS OF course my readers know all about geometry, but if by the rarest of chances one of them should not it will not prevent him from using that science to square the corners of his log cabin. Builders always have a ten-foot measuring rod--that is, a rod or straight stick ten feet long and marked with a line at each foot from end to end. Make your own ten-foot pole of as straight a piece of wood as you can find. With it measure six feet carefully on the log _C_, _G_ (Fig. 180) and mark the point at _O_ (Fig. 180); measure eight feet on the other log _C_, _A_ (Fig. 180) and mark the point at _N_. If these measurements have been carefully made from _C_ to _O_ and from _C_ to _N_ and your corner is "square," then your ten-foot pole will reach between the two points _O_ and _N_ with the tips of the pole exactly touching _O_ and _N_. If it does not exactly fit between _N_ and _O_, either the corner is not square or you have not marked off the distances accurately on the logs. Test the measurements and if they are not found true then push your logs one way or the other until it is exactly ten feet from _O_ to _N_. Then test the corner at _H_ in the same manner. Fig. 180. Fig. 181. Fig. 182. Fig. 183. [Illustration: How to square the corners, roll the logs of cabin, and make log steps.] Log-Rolling In the olden times log-rolling was always a great frolic and brought the people from far and near to lend a helping hand in building the new house. In handling logs, lumbermen have tools made for that purpose--cant-hooks, peevy irons, lannigans, and numerous other implements with names as peculiar as their looks--but the old backwoodsmen and pioneers who lived in log houses owned no tools but their tomahawks, their axes, and their rifles, and the logs of most of their houses were rolled in place by the men themselves pushing them up the skids laid against the cabin wall for that purpose; later, when the peddlers and traders brought ropes to the settlements, they used these to pull their logs in place. In building my log house in Pennsylvania we used two methods; one was hand power (Fig. 181). Taking two ropes we fastened the ends securely inside the cabin. We then passed the free ends of the ropes around the log, first under it and then over the top of it, then up to a group of men who, by pulling on the free ends, rolled the log (Fig. 181) up to the top of the cabin. But when Lafe Jeems and Nate Tanner and Jimmy Rosencranz were supplied with some oxen they fastened a chain to each end of the log (Fig. 182), then fastened a pulley-block to the other side of the cabin, that is, the side opposite the skids, and ran the line through the pulley-block to the oxen as it is run to the three men in Fig. 182. When the oxen were started the log slid up the skids to the loose rafters _N_, _O_, _P_ and when once up there it was easily shoved and fitted into place. Log Steps Sometimes one wants front steps to one's log house and these may be made of flattened logs or puncheons, as shown by Fig. 183. XXIX THE ADIRONDACK OPEN LOG CAMP AND A ONE-ROOM CABIN Adirondack Log Camp NOT satisfied with the open brush Adirondack camp, the men in those woods often build such camps of logs with a puncheon floor and a roof of real shingles. The sketch (Fig. 184) is made from such a camp. At the rear the logs are notched and placed like those of a log house (Figs. 162, 163, 164, 166), but the front ends of the side logs are toe-nailed (Fig. 173) to the two upright supports. In this particular camp the logs are also flattened on the inside in order to give a smoother finish, as they often are in old Virginia and Kentucky log houses. In Virginia they formerly hewed the logs flat with broad axes after the walls were up, but that required a workman of a different type than the ordinary woodsman. The broadaxe is seldom used now and may be omitted from our kit. Cabin Plan A one-room log cabin with double bunks at one end makes a good camp (Fig. 185) with room for two or four sleepers according to the width of the bunk (Fig. 186). Fig. 184. Fig. 185. Fig. 186. [Illustration: The lean-to and one-pen cabin plan.] The Bunks The bunks are made by setting the ends of two poles into holes in the logs bored for that purpose (Fig. 185) and nailing slats across the poles. Over this a bed of browse is laid and on this blankets are spread and all is then ready for bedtime. XXX THE NORTHLAND TILT AND INDIAN LOG TENT Log Tents SOME years ago in the north country the Indians built themselves log tents like the one shown in Fig. 187. These were the winter houses in the north country. A ridge-pole was set up on two forked sticks and the logs slanted up against each other and rested upon that pole. Smaller poles were then laid up against this frame, both front and rear, all of which could then be covered with sod or browse and made into a warm winter house. My boy readers may build a similar house by using small poles instead of big logs, or they may make a "northland tilt" (Fig. 189), which is a modification of the Indian's log tent and has two side-plates (Fig. 188) instead of one ridge-pole. The log chimney is also added, and when this is connected with a generous fireplace the fire will brighten and warm the interior of the tilt and make things comfortable. The chimney may be made by first building a fireplace of sod or stone, as shown in Figs. 269 and 270, on top of which a chimney can be erected in the same manner that you build a log house. Fig. 187. Fig. 188. Fig. 189. [Illustration: Log tilts of the North.] The front of the northland tilt is faced in with small logs set on end, as shown in the unfinished one (Fig. 189); this makes a substantial, warm winter camp. If the logs fit close together on the roof they may be calked with moss and dry grass. If the cracks are too wide on account of the unevenness of the log, cover them first with grass, fine brush, or browse and over all place a coating of sod or mud and you will have a house fit for a king to live in. To tell the truth, it is much too good for a mere king and almost good enough for a real American boy--that is, if anything is good enough for such a lad. CHAPTER XXXI HOW TO BUILD THE RED JACKET, THE NEW BRUNSWICK, AND THE CHRISTOPHER GIST THE "Red Jacket" is another camp; but this, you see, has straight walls, marking it as _a white man's camp_ in form not apparently borrowed from the red men. It is, however, a good, comfortable, rough camp and Figs. 190 and 191 show how it was evolved or grew. To build the Red Jacket one will first have to know how to build the more simple forms which we call the New Brunswick, then the next step will be the Christopher Gist, and last the Red Jacket. We will now begin with the New Brunswick. The New Brunswick By referring to Fig. 190 you will see that it is practically a deep, Adirondack, open-face camp with a wind-shield built in front of it. To build this camp, make the plan about six feet by twelve on the ground; of course the back logs must be something over six feet long to allow for six feet in the clear. Notch about four or five back logs with the plain, rounded notch already described and illustrated by Fig. 165. Then lay the side sill logs and erect two upright forked sticks for the front of your cabin to hold the cross stick which supports the roof rafter. Now build up your cabin as you would a log house, notching only the small ends of the side logs and saving the larger ends for the front; between each of these chink with other logs shaped to fit the spaces or with pieces of other logs so as to make the front higher than the rear. When the logs meet the rafter pole all the cracks are chinked up with small pieces of wood and the crevices calked with moss. Then the roof of bark is put on, shingled as described for the Pontiac, and illustrated by Figs. 36 and 190 _A_. The bark is kept in place by laying sticks or poles over it to weight it down, as may be seen by the plan of the roof (Fig. 190 _A_), which is supposed to be the way the unfinished roof would look to you if you were looking down upon it from the branch of a tree or an aeroplane. After you have your open-faced camp finished take some green logs from the fir-trees if they are handy and split them in half by one of the methods shown by Fig. 119. Then leaving enough room for a passageway, erect your wind-shield of green logs, resting them against a pole laid between two forked sticks. Be sure you have the green, split side of the log facing the camp and the bark side facing outdoors, because the green wood will not burn readily; and as the camp-fire is built close to the wind-shield, if the shield is made of very inflammable material it will soon burn down. Some woods, you know, burn well when green and some woods must be made dry before we can use them for fuel; but the wood we want for the fire-shield is the sort that will not burn readily; the good-burning woods we save to use in our fire. Christopher Gist The next camp is the Christopher Gist, named after George Washington's camping friend. This camp, as you may see by Fig. 191, is built like a New Brunswick except that the side sill logs are much longer as is also the log which extends over the doorway. Then, in place of having a wind-shield built by itself, the wind-shield in Fig. 191 is the other end of the cabin built just the same as the rear end, but it should be built of peeled logs as they are less liable to catch afire than the ones with the bark upon them. If you feel real lazy it will only be necessary to peel the bark off from the inside half of the log. Above the door at the end of the roof of the Adirondack camp part of the space is filled by logs running across, with the lower one resting upon the top of the door-jamb; this closes the shed above the wind-shield and leaves a little open yard in front wherein to build your camp-fire. Fig. 190. Fig. 190A. Fig. 191. Fig. 192. [Illustration: The stages in the evolution of a log cabin.] The Red Jacket The Red Jacket continues the suggestion offered by the Christopher Gist and extends the side walls all the way across to the wind-shield, and the latter now becomes the true end of the log shack. The side walls and end wall are built up from the top of the shack to form a big, wide log chimney under which the open camp-fire is built on the ground. The Red Jacket is roofed with bark in the same manner as the New Brunswick and Christopher Gist and occupies the important position of the missing link between the true log cabin or log house and the rude log camp of the hunter. If you will look at Fig. 184, the open-faced log camp; then Fig. 190, the camp with the wind-shield in front of it; then Fig. 191 with the wind-shield enclosed but still open at the top; then 192 where the wind-shield has turned into a fireplace with a chimney; then Figs. 271 and 273, showing the ends of the real log cabin, you will have all the steps in the growth or evolution which has produced the American log house. XXXII CABIN DOORS AND DOOR-LATCHES, THUMB-LATCHES AND FOOT LATCHES AND HOW TO MAKE THEM PERHAPS my reader has noticed that, although many of the descriptions of how to build the shacks, shanties, shelters, camps, sheds, tilts, and so forth are given with somewhat minute details, little or nothing has been said regarding the doors and door-latches. Of course we have no doors on the open Adirondack camp, but we have passed the open camps now and are well into cabin work, and all cabins have some sort of a door. All doors have, or should have, some sort of a door-latch, so the doors and door-latches have been saved for this place in the book, where they are sandwiched between the log cabin and the log houses proper, which is probably the best place for them. The "gummers" who collect spruce gum in the north woods and the trappers and all of the hermit class of woodsmen frequently come home to their little shack with their hands full of traps or with game on their shoulders, and consequently they want to have a door which may be opened without the necessity of dropping their load, and so they use a foot latch. Foot Latch One of the simplest of the foot latches consists of a piece of wood cut out by the aid of axe and hunting-knife to the form shown by Fig. 199; a hole in the door cut for that purpose admits the flattened and notched end and upon the inside it fits the round log sill. The owner of the shack, when reaching home, steps upon the foot latch (Fig. 199), which lifts up the catch (on the inside) and allows the door to swing open. Trigger Latch Fig. 200 shows a more complicated form of latch with a trigger protruding from the lower part of the door, which is hinged to a wooden shaft, and the shaft in turn is connected with the latch. The fastenings of the trigger to the shaft and the shaft to the latch are made with hardwood pegs or wire nails which move freely in their sockets. The latch is the simplest form of a wooden bar fastened at one end with a screw or nail on which it can move up and down freely; the other end is allowed to drop into the catch. The latch itself is similar to the one shown in Figs. 193 and 194. The trigger is also fastened to a block on the outside of the door by a nail or peg upon which it moves freely, so that when the weight of the foot is placed upon the trigger outside the door that end is forced down which pushed the end attached to the shaft up; this pushes the shaft up and the shaft pushes _the latch up_; thus the door is unfastened. The diagram to the left in Fig. 200 shows the edge of the door with the trigger on the outside, the shaft upon the inside. The diagram to the right in Fig. 200 shows the inside of the door, the end of the trigger, the shaft, the latch, and the catch. The Latch-String In the preceding locks and fastenings, no matter how generous and hospitable the owner may be, his latch-string never "hangs on the outside," but in this one the latch-string literally hangs outside and any one may enter by pulling it (Figs. 193 and 194). But when the owner is in and does not want to be interrupted he pulls the string in, which tells the outsider that he must knock before he can be admitted. This simplest form of latch has been here put upon the simplest form of a door, a door with a wooden hinge made by nailing a round rod to the edge of the door and allowing the ends of the rod to project above and below the door. In the sill log below the door a hole about two inches deep is bored to receive the short end of the hinge rod; above a deeper hole is bored to receive the long end of the hinge rod. To hang the door run the long end up in the top hole far enough to lift the door sufficiently to be able to drop the lower end of the hinge rod in the lower hole. Your door is then hung and may swing back and forth at your pleasure. Notwithstanding the fact that such a door admits plenty of cold air, it is a very popular door for camps and is even used for log houses. Fig. 193. Fig. 194. Fig. 195. Fig. 196. Fig. 197. Fig. 198. Fig. 199. Fig. 200. [Illustration: Foot and thumb door-latches.] Simple Spring-Latch A simple form of spring-latch is shown by Fig. 196, as you may see, _A_ is a peg driven into the door-jamb. It has a notch in it's outer end so that _B_, a piece of hickory, may be sprung into the notch; _B_ is fastened to the door by a couple of screws. By pushing the door the latch will slide out of the rounded notch and the door opens. When you pull the door to close it the end of the spring strikes the rounded end of the _A_ peg and, sliding over it, drops naturally into the slot and holds the door closed. This form of latch is also a good one for gates. Better Spring-Latch Figs. 197 and 198 show more complicated spring-latches but this latch is not so difficult to make as it may appear in the diagram. _A_ and _D_ (197) show, respectively, the wooden catch and the guard confining the latch. _C_ is another guard made, as you may observe, from a twig with a branch upon it; the twig is split in half and fastened at the base with two screws, and at the upper end, where the branch is bent down, is fastened with one screw. A guard like the one shown by _D_ (Fig. 197) would answer the purpose, but I am taking the latch as it was made. The lower diagram (Fig. 198) shows a side view of the edge of the door with two cotton spools fastened at each end of the stick which runs through a slot in the door. _E_ is the cotton spool on the outside of the door and _F_ the cotton spool on the inside of the door. The upper left-hand diagram (Fig. 198) shows the slot in the door and the spool as it appears from the outside. _B_ (Fig. 197) is the spring-latch which is held in place by the spool _F_. The stick or peg which runs through the spools and the slot also runs through a hole made for that purpose in the spring-latch, as shown at _F_ (Fig. 197). After the stick with the _E_ spool on it has been run through the slot from the outside of the door, thence through the spring-latch _B_ and into the spool _F_, it is fastened there by driving around its end some thin wedges of wood or by allowing it to protrude and running a small peg through the protruding end, as shown by _F_, _G_ (Fig. 197, lower diagram). The thin, springy end of your latch is now forced down by a peg or nail in the door at _H_ (Fig. 197) and the tail end of it forced up by a peg or nail at _K_. When this is done properly it will give considerable spring to the latch and impart a decided tendency to force the latch into the wooden catch, a tendency which can only be overcome by lifting the spool up in the slot and thus lifting the latch and allowing the door to open. Fig. 197 shows the inside of the door with the spring-latch, catches and all complete; it also gives details of the wooden catch _A_ with guards _D_ and _C_ and the fastening of the stick in the spool by a peg driven through the end of the stick at _F_, _G_. This last one is a good jack-knife latch to make for your camp or cabin. XXXIII SECRET LOCKS SECRET locks are more useful than strong ones for a country house which is left alone during the winter months, for it is not so much cupidity which causes such houses to be broken into as it is the curiosity of the native boys. But while these lads often do not hesitate to force or pick a lock they will seldom go as far as to smash a door to effect an entrance; hence, if your lock is concealed your house is safe from all but professional thieves, and such gentry seldom waste their time to break open a shack which contains nothing of value to them. The latches shown by Figs. 193, 200, and 201 may be made very heavy and strong, and if the trigger in Fig. 200, the latch-string hole in Fig. 193, and the peg hole in Fig. 201 are adroitly concealed they make the safest and most secure locks for summer camps, shacks, and houses. If a large bar (Fig. 201½ _B_) be made of one-by-four-inch plank, bolted in the middle of the plank with an iron bolt through the centre of the door and fastened on the inside by a nut screwed on to the bolt it will allow the bar to revolve freely on the inside of the door and bar the door when resting in the _A_ and _C_ catches. But if a string is attached to one end it may be unfastened by pulling the string up through the gimlet hole in the door. To conceal this lock, draw the string through the gimlet hole and fasten a nail on the string. When it is undrawn the door bar is horizontal and the door consequently barred. Then push the nail in the gimlet hole so that only the head appears on the outside and no one not in the secret will ever suppose that the innocent-appearing nail is the key to unfasten the door. When you wish to open the door from the outside, pluck out the nail, pull the string, and walk in. There are a thousand other simple contrivances which will suggest themselves to the camper, and he can find entertainment for rainy days in planning and enlarging on the ideas here given. In the real wilderness, however, every camp is open to all comers--that is, the latch-string hangs outside the door, but the real woodsmen respect the hospitality of the absent owner and replace whatever food they may use with fresh material from their own packs, wash all dishes they may use, and sweep up and leave the shack in "apple-pie" order after their uninvited visit, for this is the law of the wilderness which even horse thieves and bandits respect. The Tippecanoe The Tippecanoe latch is worked with a wooden spring and when properly made, of well-seasoned wood, will probably outlast a metal one, for wood will not rust and cannot rot unless subjected to moisture. The position of the spring in Fig. 201 shows the latch with the bolt sprung back. The fact that the bolt-hole in the catch is empty also tells the same story. The drawing of the outside of the door (Fig. 203) shows by the position of the peg that the door is fastened. To open the door, push back the bolt by sliding the peg to the opposite end of the slot. From a view of the edge of the door (Fig. 202) one may see how the peg protrudes on the outside of the door. Fig. 201. Fig. 201½. Fig. 202. Fig. 203. [Illustration: The Tippecanoe. A jack door-latch.] Although the Tippecanoe latch is made of quite a number of parts, it is really a very simple device, but in order to display the simplicity of its construction to the ambitious jack-knife latch maker I have drawn all the parts but the spring stick natural size (Figs. 204 to 207), but since the original diagram is drawn too large for this page and was reduced by the engraver there is a scale of inches at the bottom to give the reader the proportions. There are no fixed dimensions for this or any other lock, latch, or catch, but the proportions here given are probably the ones that will fit your door. The foundation block is shown by Fig. 204. Upon this the latch rests and is securely nailed or screwed to the door. Figs. 205 and 206 are two wooden clamps which are fastened to the door and also to the foundation block (Fig. 204). These clamps must be notched as in the diagrams to allow for the movement of the bolt, but since the bolt (Fig. 207) is larger and thicker at the butt the notch in Fig. 205 is made just a trifle larger than the butt end of the bolt and in Fig. 206 the notch is made a trifle smaller than the opposite end of the bolt. The object of the offset on the bolt (Fig. 207) forward of the peg is to make a shoulder to stop it from shooting too far when the spring is loosened. Fig. 204. Fig. 204½. Fig. 205. Fig. 206. Fig. 207. [Illustration: Detail parts of Tippecanoe door-latch.] The Catch Figs. 201 and 204½ show the catch which is to be securely fastened to the door-jamb. The spring, of course, must be made of well-seasoned, elastic wood. Hickory is the best. This stick may be quite long, say half again as long in proportion as the one shown in Fig. 201. It must be flattened at the upper end and secured by two nails and it must be flattened at right angles to the upper part and somewhat pointed at the lower end so as to fit in a notch in the bolt (Fig. 201). A well-made lock of this sort is a source of constant joy and pride to the maker and he will never tire of springing it back and forth and extolling its virtues to his guests. XXXIV HOW TO MAKE THE BOW-ARROW CABIN DOOR AND LATCH AND THE DEMING TWIN BOLTS, HALL, AND BILLY FIG. 209 shows the inside of the door with the wooden latch in place. You may use planks from the sawmill for the door in place of splitting them from spruce logs, as the ones here are supposed to be. The battens (_A_, _B_, _C_) are made of birch, but you may use any material at hand for them. The hinges (Figs. _E_, 211 _D_, 210) are made of birch sticks whittled off at the top so as to leave a peg (Fig. _E_, 211) to work in a hole in the flattened end of the horizontal battens (_A_ and _C_, Fig. 209). The batten _B_ is in two pieces. The top piece serves as a brace for the spring (Fig. _G_, 209) and the bottom piece as a support for the bolt (Fig. _H_, 209 and 212). The battens may be made of a piece of board. The bolt (Fig. _H_, 212) works free upon a nail in the left-hand end and rests in the catch (Fig. _K_, 215) on the door-jamb. The guard (Fig. _J_, 216) fits over the bolt and keeps it in place. The notch in the guard must be long enough to give the bolt free play up and down. The spring (Fig. _G_, 209) is fastened with a nail to the door in such a manner that its thin end rests upon the top of the bolt with sufficient force to bend the spring and hold the bolt down in the catch (Fig. _K_, 215). The thumb-latch (Fig. _L_, 213) is whittled out in the form shown, and fastened in a slot cut in the door by a nail driven through the edge of the door (Fig. _M_, 213) and through a hole in the thumb-latch (Fig. _L_, 213). On this nail the latch works up and down. Fig. 217 shows the outside of the door and you can see that by pressing down the thumb-latch on the outside it will lift it up on the inside, and with it the bolt lifts up the free end of the latch and thus unfastens the door. The handle (Figs. 217 and 214 _N_) is used in place of a door-knob. It is made of yellow birch bent in hot water. The Deming Twin Lock E. W. Deming, the painter of Indian pictures, the mighty hunter, and fellow member of the Camp-Fire Club of America, is a great woodsman. Not only is he a great woodsman but he is the father of _twins_, and so we have thought that he possesses all the characteristics necessary to entitle him to a place in this book, and after him and his twins we have named the twin bolts shown by Fig. 208. The lower or Hall bolt is shot into a hole in the door-sill, and the upper or Billy bolt is shot into a hole in the door-jamb above the door. The holes should be protected upon the surface of the wood by pieces of tin or sheet iron with holes cut in them to admit the bolt. The tins may be tacked over the bolt-hole in the sill for the Hall bolt and on the bolt-hole overhead for the Billy bolt, and it will prevent the splitting away of the wood around the holes. Guards Two guards, _A_ and _B_ (Fig. 208), made as in Fig. 216, protect the bolts and act as guides to keep them from swinging out of position; two springs _C_ and _D_ (Fig. 208), made of well-seasoned hickory and attached to the battens on the door by nails or screws, force the bolts down and up into the bolt-holes (Fig. 208). To release the bolts, the spring must be drawn back as shown by the dotted lines in Fig. 208. This may be done by means of a string or picture wire, which is fastened in the ends of the bolts and runs through a hole in the ends of the spring and is attached to the lever _E_ (Fig. 208). When the end of this lever is pushed down into the position shown by the dotted line and arrow-point, it lifts up the Hall bolt at the bottom of the door and pulls down the Billy bolt overhead, thus unfastening the door. Fig. 208. Fig. 209. Fig. 210. Fig. 211. Fig. 212. Fig. 213. Fig. 214. Fig. 215. Fig. 216. Fig. 217. [Illustration: Jack-knife latches suitable for Canada and America.] But, of course, if one is outside the door one cannot reach the lever _E_; so, to overcome this difficulty, a hole is bored through the central batten of the door and the latch-string is tied to the top end of the lever and the other end is run through the hole bored in the door (Fig. 208). The end outside of the door is then tied to a nail; by pulling the nail you pull down the lever _E_, which undoes the bolts and opens the door. When it is desired to leave the door locked, after it is closed, push the nail into the latch-string hole so that only the head will be visible from the outside. When the nail and string are arranged in this manner, a stranger will see no means of opening the door, and, as there are many nail-heads in all rough doors, the one to which the latch-string is attached will not attract the attention of any one who is unacquainted with the Deming twin bolt. XXXV THE AURES LOCK LATCH THE Aures lock differs from the preceding ones in the use of metal springs, but wooden ones may be substituted; for instance, a wooden spring like the one in Fig. 209 may be put under the bolt or latch shown in Fig. 219, which is practically the same latch; that is, if you turn the latch in Fig. 209 upside down it will make the latch shown in Fig. 219; also, if you take the bolt or lock _B_ in Fig. 219 and make it of one piece of wood with a spring to it, like the one shown in Fig. 208 or Fig. 209, or make it exactly like the one shown in Fig. 201, the Aures lock can be made altogether of wood. But with this lock, as described below, metal springs were used (Figs. 219, 220, and 221). The Door The door shows the two strings _H_ and _K_ coming through gimlet holes near the top. Fig. 218 represents the outside of the door. The strings may be concealed by covering their ends with a board as shown in this diagram, but even if they are not concealed, one unacquainted with the lock will not know how to work them in order to open the door. _A_ in Figs. 219, 220, and 221 is the latch which is made of a piece of wood about eight or nine inches long by about one and one half inches wide by an inch or three quarters of an inch thick. A hole is drilled near the centre of the latch and a screw placed through which is screwed into the door so that the latch will extend about two or three inches beyond the end of the door. _D_ (Figs. 219, 220, and 221) is a catch or stop which is fastened to the door-jamb and keeps the end of the latch from flying too far up to lock the door. _B_ (Fig. 219) is the key which is made of the same sort of wood as the latch; a hole is drilled in this also but it is here placed about one inch from the top. A screw is run through this, as in the hole in the latch, and screwed into the door (Fig. 219). Fig. _C_, 219 is a small block of wood on which a steel-band spring has been screwed to keep the key in its proper place. The block is screwed to the door a short distance above the top of the key. Fig. _J_, 219 is a nail or peg placed in the door close beside the key when the key is vertical; this is intended to prevent the key from being shoved over too far by the force of the band spring _F_. Fig. 219 _L_ is a steel wire spring (a window-shade spring will answer the purpose), fastened to the door at one end and to the latch at the other end, and serves to keep the latch down and in place when locked. Fig. 219 _K_ is the latch-string, one end of which is fastened to one end of the latch and the other end run through a hole near the top of the door and extending outside the same as the latch-string (Fig. 218). Fig. 219 shows the positions of the latch and key when the latch is locked; to open the lock from the outside it is necessary to pull the key string first (_H_, Fig. 220), which releases the key; then pull the latch-string, thus lifting the latch while still holding the key string. The key string is now let go; the spring forcing the key into the position shown in Fig. 221 will keep the door unlocked. When leaving the room, all that is necessary is to pull the key string which lifts the key, then let go the latch-string, and the latch will spring back to its locked position and the key will also fly back into its position as in Fig. 219. Any one not knowing the combination will be unable to open the door. Fig. 218. Fig. 219. Fig. 220. Fig. 221. Fig. 222. Fig. 223. Fig. 224. Fig. 225. Fig. 226. Fig. 227. Fig. 228. [Illustration: Home-made cabin door-locks.] The Compass Lock This lock is made on the same principle as the combination safe lock, but it is a lock any bright boy can make for himself. In the first place, instead of numbers, use compass divisions; that is, use a disk with the points of the compass scratched on it and an ordinary door-knob with an index mark filed on its base, as shown by Fig. 224 where the finger is pointing. Hunt up three old door-knobs like those shown in Figs. 222, 224, and 225. When you take one of the door-knobs off one end of the shaft you will find several small screw holes in the steel shaft (Fig. 222). Over this end you set a block of hardwood which you fashion out of a square block (Fig. 223) by first cutting off the corners as shown by the dotted lines, then whittling the angles off until it becomes rounded like a compass face; after which saw off an arc, that is, part of a circle, as shown in Figs. 224, 226, and 227. Next make a square hole through the centre of the circle to fit the square end of the steel shaft of the door-knob. The square hole is not the centre of the block as it is now cut, but it is the centre of the block as it was when it was round; that is, the centre of the circle. Insert the square end of the steel shaft into the square hole in the block, and, through a hole carefully drilled for the purpose, put a screw down through the hole in the end of the steel shaft (Fig. 224); this will firmly fix the block on the end of the knob. Of course, the knob must be inserted through the door before the block is permanently fastened upon the end of the shaft. Fig. 225 shows the edge of the door with the three knobs in place. If these knobs are so turned (Fig. 226) that their flat edges are parallel with the crack of the door, there is nothing to prevent you from opening the door; but if the knobs are so turned (Fig. 227) that the blocks overlap the crack of the door, the door cannot be opened without breaking the lock. It is evident that we must have some sort of a mark to tell us how to make the proper combination so that the door may be opened. To do this, take the metal washer of the door-knob (the upper figure in Fig. 228) or a circular piece or disk of tin and divide it up like a compass (Fig. 228). Fasten these disks securely on to the door with nails or screws; place all of the disks with the north point pointing to the top of the door and in line with each other. File in the circular base of each door-knob (Fig. 224) a little notch at the black mark where the finger is pointing, then put the door-knobs in place and fasten them there (Fig. 225) by screwing the block on their ends (Fig. 224) and securing the screws in the blocks by running them through the shaft. Carefully turn the knobs so that the block on the inside fits like those shown in Fig. 226. Jot down in your notebook the position of the index on each knob (finger point, 224); one may read northeast, another may read southwest, and another may read south. When one wants to open the door one must turn the knobs so that they will read according to the notes and the door may be opened; but unless the indexes read as noted some of them will be turned as in Fig. 227, locking the door, and it may not be opened. When the door is closed, twist the knobs around and it will lock them so that no one else can open the door unless they know the combination. The fact that there _is_ a combination will not be suggested to a stranger by the compasses, although it might be suggested if there were figures in place of compass points. But even supposing they did suspect a combination it would take a long time for them to work it out, and no one would do it but a thief. A burglar, however, would not take the time; he would pry open the door with his "jimmy" and, as I have said before, these locks are for the purpose of keeping out tramps, vagrants, and inquisitive boys. We have no locks yet invented which will keep out a real, professional burglar if he has reason to suppose there are valuables inside. The safety of your log cabin depends principally upon the fact that valuables are not kept in such shacks, and real burglars know it. XXXVI THE AMERICAN LOG CABIN NOW that we know how to make doors and door-latches, locks, bolts, and bars, we may busy ourselves with building an American log cabin. It is all well enough to build our shacks and shanties and camps of logs with the bark on them, but, when one wishes to build a log cabin, one wants a house that will last. Abraham Lincoln's log cabin is still in existence, but it was built of logs with no bark on them. There is a two-story log house still standing in Dayton, O.; it is said to have been built before the town was there; but there is no bark on the logs. Bark holds moisture and moisture creates decay by inviting fibrous and threadlike cousins of the toadstool to grow on the damp wood and work their way into its substance. The bark also shelters all sorts of boring insects and the boring insects make holes through the logs which admit the rain and in the end cause decay, so that the first thing to remember is to peel the logs of which you propose to build the cabin. There is now, or was lately, a log cabin on Hempstead Plains, L. I., near the road leading from Mineola to Manhassett; it is supposed to have been built when the first white settlers began to arrive on Long Island, but this was what was known as a "blockhouse," a small fort. In 1906 Mr. I. P. Sapington said: "I think that I am the only man now living who helped build General Grant's log cabin." Grant's house was what is popularly known in the South as a "saddle-bag" log house, or, as the old Southwestern settlers called it, a "two-pen," the pens being two enclosures with a wide passageway or gallery between them, one roof extending over both pens and the gallery. General Grant was not afraid of work, and, like a good scout, was always willing to help a neighbor. He had a team of big horses, a gray and a bay, and the loads of cord-wood he hauled to St. Louis were so big that they are still talked of by the old settlers. In the summer of 1854 Grant started his log cabin, and all his neighbors turned in to help him build his house. American Log House The American log house differs from the Canadian log house principally in the shape of the roof. Our old settlers made steep gambrel roofs to shed the rain. "Gambrel! Gambrel? Let me beg You'll look at a horse's hinder leg; First great angle above the hoof, That's the gambrel, hence the gambrel roof." The Canadians put very flat roofs on their log cabins, usually composed of logs laid over the rafters, making them strong enough to support the heavy weight of snow. The American log cabins, as a rule, are built in a milder climate, and the flat sod roof is peculiar to our Northern boundary and the hot, arid parts of our country. We build the chimneys outside of our log cabins because, as the old settlers would say, "thar's more room out thar" (see Figs. 271, 273). One-Pen Cabin Fig. 229 is a one-pen cabin. To build it we first snake our logs to a skid near the site of our proposed cabin (Fig. 167), from which we can roll our logs to our house as we need them. Lay out the corners and square them (Fig. 180); notch the logs with a rounded or U-shaped notch (Fig. 165). Remember that all the logs should be two or three feet longer than the walls of the proposed building, but the notches must be the same distance apart in order to make even walls. The protruding ends of the logs may be allowed to stick out as they happen to come, no matter how irregular they may be, until the cabin is erected; then with a two-handed saw and a boy at each end they can be trimmed off evenly, thus giving a neat finish to the house. Fig. 229. Fig. 230. Fig. 231. Fig. 232. Fig. 233. Fig. 234. [Illustration: Hints and suggestions in cabin construction.] Sills The largest, straightest, and best logs should be saved for sills or foundations. If you are building a "mudsill," that is, a building upon the ground itself, the sill logs will be subject to dampness which will cause them to rot unless they are protected by some wood preservative. Wood Preservative If the logs are painted with two or three coats of creosote before they are laid upon the ground, it will protect them for an indefinite time and prevent decay. Hugh P. Baker, dean of the New York State College of Forestry, writes me that-- two or three applications of warm oil with a brush will be very helpful and will probably be all that the ordinary man can do. Creosote is the best preservative because of its penetrating power and the way it acts upon the fibres of wood, and in the end is cheaper than a good many other things which have been used to preserve timber. In fact, various forms of creosote are best-known preservers of organic matter. There is no advantage in using charcoal at all and I presume suggestions have been made for using it because we know that charred wood is more durable. Linseed-oil is good; ordinary white-lead paint will be better, but neither of them is as effective as creosote, and both are more expensive. You will find that carbolineum and other patent preparations are recommended very highly; they are good but expensive and the difference in price between these patent preparations and ordinary creosote is much larger than is justified by their increased value. Creosote can be procured in large or small quantities from a number of concerns. I think we have been getting it for about ten dollars per barrel of fifty or fifty-three gallons. Creosote may be purchased in large or small quantities from various manufacturing companies, such as the Barret Manufacturing Company, 17 Battery Place, New York City, and the Chattfield Manufacturing Company, Carthage, O., handle it in large quantities. Openings Build the pen as if it were to have no openings, either doors, windows, or fireplaces. When you reach the point where the top of the door, window, or fireplace is to be (Fig. 229) saw out a section of the log to mark the place and admit a saw when it is desired to finish the opening as shown in the diagram and continue building until you have enough logs in place to tack on cleats like those shown in Figs. 229, 230, and 231, after which the openings may be sawed out. The cleats will hold the ends of the logs in place until the boards _U_ (Fig. 232) for the door-jambs, window-frames, or the framework over the fireplace can be nailed to the ends of the logs and thus hold them permanently in place. If your house is a "mudsill," wet the floor until it becomes spongy, then with the butt end of a log ram the dirt down hard until you have an even, hard floor--such a floor as some of the greatest men of this nation first crept over when they were babies. But if you want a board floor, you must necessarily have floor-joists; these are easily made of milled lumber or you may use the rustic material of which your house is built and select some straight logs for your joists. Of course, these joists must have an even top surface, which may be made by flattening the logs by scoring and hewing them as illustrated by Figs. 123, 124, and 125 and previously described. It will then be necessary to cut the ends of the joist square and smaller than the rest of the log (Fig. _A_, 229); the square ends must be made to fit easily into the notches made in the sill logs (_B_, Fig. 229) so that they will all be even and ready for the flooring (_C_, Fig. 229). For a house ten feet wide the joists should be half a foot in diameter, that is, half a foot through from one side to the other; for larger spans use larger logs for the joists. Foundation If your house is not a "mudsill" you may rest your sill logs upon posts or stone piles; in either case, in the Northern States, they should extend three feet below the ground, so as to be below frost-line and prevent the upheaval of the spring thaw from throwing your house "out of plumb." Roofing All the old-time log cabins were roofed with shakes, splits, clapboards, or hand-rived shingles as already described and illustrated by Figs. 126, 128, 129, and 130; but to-day they are usually shingled with the machine-sawed shingle of commerce. You may, however, cover the roof with planks as shown by Fig. 233 or with bark weighted down with poles as shown by Fig. 234. In covering it with board or plank nail the latter on as you would on a floor, then lay another course of boards over the cracks which show between the boards on the first course. Gables The gable ends of the cabin should be built up of logs with the rafters of the roof running between the logs as they are in Figs. 229 and 233, but the roof may be built, as it frequently is nowadays, of mill lumber, in which case it may be framed as shown by Figs. 49, 51, and the gable end above the logs filled in with upright poles as shown in Figs. 173 and 247, or planked up as shown in the Southern saddle-bag (Fig. 241), or the ends may be boarded up and covered with tar paper as shown in Fig. 248, or the gable end may be shingled with ordinary shingles (Fig. 79). Steep Roof Remember that the steeper the roof is the longer the shingles will last, because the water will run off readily and quickly on a steep surface and the shingles have an opportunity to dry quickly; besides which the snow slides off a steep roof and the driving rains do not beat under the shingles. If you are using milled lumber for the roof, erect the rafters at the gable end first, with the ridge board as shown in Fig. 263 and in greater detail in Fig. 49. Put the other rafters two or three feet apart. Let your roof overhang the walls by at least seven or eight inches so as to keep the drip from the rain free of the wall. It is much easier for the architect to draw a log house than it is for a builder to erect one, for the simple reason that the draughtsman can make his logs as straight as he chooses, also that he can put the uneven places where they fit best; but except in well-forested countries the tree trunks do not grow as straight as the logs in my pictures and you must pick out the logs which will fit together. Run them alternately butt and head; that is, if you put the thick end of the log at the right-hand end of your house, with the small end at the left, put the next log with the small end at the right and thick end at the left; otherwise, if all the thick ends are put at one side and the small ends at the other, your house will be taller at one end than at the other as is the case with some of our previous shacks and camps (Figs. 190, 191, and 192) which are purposely built that way. If it is planned to have glass window lights, make your window openings of the proper size to fit the window-frames which come with the sashes from the factory. In any case, if the cabin is to be left unoccupied you should have heavy shutters to fit in the window opening so as to keep out trespassers. Chinking If your logs are uneven and leave large spaces between them, they may be chinked up by filling the spaces with mud plaster or cement, and then forcing in quartered pieces of small logs and nailing them or spiking them in position. If your logs are straight spruce logs and fit snugly, the cracks may be calked up with swamp moss (Sphagnum), or like a boat, with oakum, or the larger spaces may be filled with flat stones and covered with mud. This mud will last from one to seven or eight years; I have some on my own log cabin that has been there even a longer time. XXXVII A HUNTER'S OR FISHERMAN'S CABIN IN all the hilly and mountainous States there are tracts of forest lands and waste lands of no use to the farmer and of no use to settlers, but such places offer ideal spots for summer camps for boys and naturalists, for fishermen and sportsmen, and here they may erect their cabins (_see Frontispiece_) and enjoy themselves in a healthy, natural manner. These cabins will vary according to the wants of the owners, according to the material at hand and the land upon which they are built. By extending the rafters of the roof, the latter may be extended (_see Frontispiece_) to protect the front and make a sort of piazza which may be floored with puncheons. The logs forming the sides of the house may be allowed to extend so as to make a wall or fence, as they do on the right-hand side of the Frontispiece, thus preventing the danger of falling over the cliff upon which this cabin is perched and receiving injury or an unlooked-for ducking in the lake. They may also be extended as they are on the left, to make a shield behind which a wood-yard is concealed, or to protect an enclosure for the storage of the larger camp utensils. In fact, this drawing is made as a suggestion and not to be copied exactly, because every spot differs from every other spot, and one wants to make one's house conform to the requirements of its location; for instance, the logs upon the right-hand side might be allowed to extend all the way up to the roof, as they do at the bottom, and thus make a cosey corner protected from the wind and storm. The windows in such a cabin may be made very small, for all work is supposed to be done outdoors, and when more light is needed on the inside the door may be left open. In a black-fly country or a mosquito country, however, when you are out of reach of screen doors, mosquito-netting may be tacked over the windows and a portière of mosquito-netting over the doorway. XXXVIII HOW TO MAKE A WYOMING OLEBO, A HOKO RIVER OLEBO, A SHAKE CABIN, A CANADIAN MOSSBACK, AND A TWO-PEN OR SOUTHERN SADDLE-BAG HOUSE ONE of the charms of a log-cabin building is the many possibilities of novelties suggested by the logs themselves. In the hunter's cabin (_see Frontispiece_) we have seen how the ends of the logs were allowed to stick out in front and form a rail for the front stoop; the builders of the olebos have followed this idea still further. The Wyoming Olebo In Fig. 236 we see that the side walls of the pen are allowed to extend on each side so as to enclose a roofed-over open-air room, or, if you choose to so call it, a front porch, veranda, stoop, piazza, or gallery, according to the section of the country in which you live. So as to better understand this cabin the plan is drawn in perspective, with the cabin above and made to appear as if some one had lifted the cabin to show the ground-floor plan underneath. The olebo roof is built upon the same plan as the Kanuck (Fig. 244), with this exception, that in Fig. 244 the rooftree or ridge-log is supported by cross logs which are a continuation of the side of the house (_A_, _A_, Figs. 242, 244, and 245), but in the olebo the ridge pole or log is supported by uprights (Figs. 236 and 237). To build the olebo lay the two side sill logs first (_A_, _B_, and _C_, _D_, Fig. 236), then the two end logs _E_, _F_, and _D_, _B_ and proceed to build the cabin as already described, allowing the irregular ends of the logs to extend beyond the cabin until the pen is completed and all is ready for the roof, after which the protruding ends of the logs _excepting the two top ones_ may be sawed off to suit the taste and convenience of the builder. The olebo may be made of any size that the logs will permit and one's taste dictate. After the walls are built, erect the log columns at _A_ and _C_ (Fig. 236), cut their tops wedge shape to fit in notches in the ends of the projecting side-plates (Fig. 144, _A_ and _B_); next lay the end plate (_G_, Fig. 236) over the two top logs on the sides of your house which correspond to the side-plates of an ordinary house. The end plate _G_ is notched to fit on top of the side-plates, and the tops of the side-plates have been scored and hewn and flattened, thus making a General Putnam joint like the one shown above (_G_, Fig. 236); but when the ends of the side logs of the cabin were trimmed off the side-plates or top side logs were allowed to protrude a foot or more beyond the others; this was to give room for the supporting upright log columns at _A_ and _C_ (see view of cabin, Fig. 236 and the front view, Fig. 237). _H_ and _J_ (Fig. 237) are two more upright columns supporting the end plate which, in turn, supports the short uprights upon which the two purlins _L_ and _M_ rest; the other purlins _K_ and _N_ rest directly upon the end plate (Fig. 237). The rear end of the cabin can have the gable logged up as the front of the house is in Fig. 240, or filled in with uprights as in Fig. 247. The roof of the olebo is composed of logs, but if one is building an olebo where it will not be subjected during the winter to a great weight of snow, one may make the roof of any material handy. Fig. 236. Fig. 237. Fig. 238. Fig. 239. Fig. 240. Fig. 241. [Illustration: Some native American log houses.] Hoko River Olebo The Hoko River olebo has logs only up to the ceiling of the first story (Fig. 238), or the half story as the case may be; this part, as you see, is covered with shakes previously illustrated and described (Figs. 127, 128, 129, and 130). The logs supporting the front of the second story serve their purpose as pillars or supports only during the winter-time, when the heavy load of snow might break off the unsupported front of the olebo. In the summer-time they are taken away and set to one side, leaving the overhang unsupported in front. The shakes on the side are put on the same as shingles, overlapping each other and breaking joints as shown in the illustration. They are nailed to the side poles, the ends of which you may see protruding in the sketch (Fig. 238). The Mossback Cabin In the north country, where the lumbermen are at work, the farmers or settlers are looked down upon by the lumberjacks much in the same manner as the civilians in a military government are looked down upon by the soldiers, and hence the lumberjacks have, in derision, dubbed the settlers mossbacks. Mossback Fig. 239 shows a mossback's house or cabin in the lake lands of Canada. The same type of house I have seen in northern Michigan. This one is a two-pen house, but the second pen is made like the front to the olebo, by allowing the logs of the walls of the house itself to extend sufficient distance beyond to make another room, pen, or division. In this particular case the settler has put a shed roof of boards upon the division, but the main roof is made of logs in the form of tiles. In Canada these are called _les auges_ (pronounced [=o]ge), a name given to them by the French settlers. The back of this house has a steeper roof than the front, which roof, as you see, extends above the ends of _les auges_ to keep the rain from beating in at the ends of the wooden troughs. Above the logs on the front side of the small room, pen, or addition the front is covered with shakes. Fig. 240 shows a cabin in the Olympic mountains, but it is only the ordinary American log cabin with a shake roof and no windows. A cooking-stove inside answers for heating apparatus and the stovepipe protrudes above the roof. The Southern Saddle-Bag or Two-Pen Cabin Now we come to the most delightful of all forms of a log house. The one shown in Fig. 241 is a very simple one, such as might be built by any group of boys, but I have lived in such houses down South that were very much more elaborate. Frequently they have a second story which extends like the roof over the open gallery between the pens; the chimneys are at the gable ends, that is, on the outside of the house, and since we will have quite a space devoted to fireplaces and chimneys, it is only necessary to say here that in many portions of the South the fireplaces, while broad, are often quite shallow and not nearly so deep as some found in the old houses on Long Island, in New York, and the Eastern States. The open gallery makes a delightful, cool lounging place, also a place for the ladies to sit and sew, and serves as an open-air dining-room during the warm weather; this sort of house is inappropriate and ill fitted for the climate which produced the olebo, the mossback, and the Kanuck, but exactly suited for our Southern States and very pleasant even as far north as Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. I have lived in one part of every summer for the last twenty-two years in the mountains of northern Pennsylvania. The saddle-bag may be built by boys with the two rooms ten by ten and a gallery six feet wide, or the two rooms six by six and a gallery five feet wide; the plan may be seen on the sketch below the house (Fig. 241). Where you only expect to use the house in the summer months, a two-pen or saddle-bag can be used with comfort even in the Northern States, but in the winter-time in such States as Michigan and part of New York, the gallery would be filled up with drifting snow. XXXIX NATIVE NAMES FOR THE PARTS OF A KANUCK LOG CABIN, AND HOW TO BUILD ONE IF the writer forgets himself once in a while and uses words not familiar to his boy readers, he hopes they will forgive him and put all such slips down as the result of leaving boys' company once in a while and associating with men. The reader knows that men dearly love big, ungainly words and that just as soon as boys do something worth while the men get busy hunting up some top-heavy name for it. When one is talking of foreign things, however, it is well to give the foreign names for those things, and, since the next house to be described is not a real American one but a native of Canada, the Canadian names are given for its parts. While in northern Quebec, making notes for the Kanuck, the writer enlisted the interest of a fellow member of the Camp-Fire Club of America, Doctor Alexander Lambert, and through him secured the names of all parts of the Canadian shack. The author is not a French-Canadian, and, although, like most of his readers, he studied French at school, what he learned of that great language is now securely locked up in one of the safe-deposit vaults of his brain and the key lost. He owns up to his ignorance because he is a scout and would not try to deceive his readers, also because if the reader's knowledge of French enables him to find some error, the writer can sidestep the mistake and say, "'Tain't mine." But, joking aside, these names are the ones used in the Province of Quebec and are here given not because they are good French but because they are the names used by the builders among the natives known by the Indians as _les habitants_ Local Names of Parts of Cabin spruce épinette balsam sapin to chop boucher, Figs. 113 and 122 to cut couper logs les bois or les billots, _A_, _A_, _A_, Figs. 242, 245, also 119, 126, etc. square carré door porte, Figs. 242, 243 window châssis, Fig. 243 window-glass les vitres, 242 the joist on which the floor is laid les traverses, Fig. 49, _B_, _B_, _B_, _B_, Fig. 244 the floor itself plancher the purlins, that is, the two big logs used to support the roof les poudres, _C_, _C_, Fig. 244 the roof couverture, Fig. 242 bark écorce birch bark bouleau the poles put on a birch-bark roof to keep the bark flat les péches, Figs. 41, 234, 242 the hollow half-logs sometimes used like tiling on a roof les auges, Fig. 246 piazza, porch, front stoop, veranda galerie, Figs. 236, 237, and 241 The only thing that needs explanation is the squaring of the round logs of the cabin. For instance, instead of leaving the logs absolutely round and untouched inside the camp, after the logs are placed, they are squared off so as to leave a flat surface (Fig. 125). They call this the _carréage_. I do not know whether this is a local name or whether it is an expression peculiar to that Quebec section of Canada or whether it is simply a corruption of better French. It is derived from the word _carrer_, to square. Fig. 242. Fig. 243. Fig. 244. Fig. 245. Fig. 246. Fig. 247. Fig. 248. Fig. 249. [Illustration: Showing construction of the common Canadian log house.] The perspective drawings (Figs. 242 and 243) show views of the cabin we call the Kanuck. The pen is built exactly as it is built in the houses already described. The windows are placed where the builder desires, as is also the doorway, but when the side-plate logs, that is Les Traverses or top side logs, are put in place, then the traverses logs (_B_, _B_, _B_, _B_, Fig. 244) are laid across the pen from one side-plate to the other, their ends resting on top of the side-plates over the traverses logs, the two purlins Les Poudres (_C_, _C_, Fig. 244) are notched and fitted, and over their ends the two pieces _D_, _D_ are fitted, and, resting on the centres of the _D_ logs, the ridge log (_E_, Fig. 244) is placed. Couverture The roof is made of small logs flattened on the under-side or left in their rounded form (Fig. 242) and laid from the ridge logs down, extending over the eaves six or more inches. Les Péches The roof logs are then held in place by poles pegged with wooden pegs to the roof (_F_, _G_, Fig. 242). Roofing Material The roof is now covered with a thick layer of browse, hay, straw, dry leaves, or dry grass, and on top of this moist blue clay, yellow clay, hard-pan, or simple mud is spread and trampled down hard, forcing the thatch underneath into all the cracks and crannies and forming a firm covering of clay several inches thick. Fireplace The fireplace and chimney may be built inside or outside the cabin, or the house may be heated by a stove and the stovepipe allowed to protrude through a hole in the roof large enough to separate the pipe a safe distance from the wood and straw and amply protected by a piece of sheet iron or tin. Then, after you have stored your _butin_ (luggage), you can sit and sing: You may pull the _sourdine_ out You may push the _rabat-joie_ in But the _boucan_ goes up the _cheminée_ just the same Just the same, just the same, But the _boucan_ goes up the _cheminée_ just the same. When "l'habitant" hears you sing this verse he will not know what your song is about, but he will slap you on the back, laugh, and call you _Bon Homme chez nous_, but do not get mad at this; it is a compliment and not a bad name. Clay Roof A clay roof should be as flat as possible with only pitch enough to shed the water; a shingle roof should have a rise of at least one foot high to four feet wide and a thatched roof should have a rise of 45°, that is, the rise of a line drawn from corner to corner of a square. Fig. 247 shows a gable filled with upright logs and Fig. 248 shows a tar paper roof and a gable covered with tar paper. Since Kanucks are cold-climate houses, they frequently have novel means of keeping them warm; one way that I have frequently seen used is to surround them with a log fence shown in Fig. 249, and pack the space between with stable manure or dirt and rotten leaves. XL HOW TO MAKE A POLE HOUSE AND HOW TO MAKE A UNIQUE BUT THOROUGHLY AMERICAN TOTEM LOG HOUSE A POLE house is a log house with the logs set upright. We call it a pole house because, usually, the logs are smaller than those used for a log house. The pole house (Fig. 250) is built in the manner shown by Figs. 171, 172, and 173, but in the present instance the ridge-pole is a log which is allowed to extend some distance beyond the house both in front and rear, and the front end of the ridge-pole is carved in the shape of a grotesque or comical animal's head like those we see on totem-poles. The roof is made of shakes (see Figs. 126 to 130) and the shakes are held in place by poles pegged onto the roof in much the same manner as we have described and called _les péches_ for the Kanuck. This pole cabin may have an old-fashioned Dutch door which will add to its quaintness and may have but one room which will answer the many purposes of a living-room, sleeping-room, and dining-room. A lean-to at the back can be used for a kitchen. American Totem Log House But if you really want something unique, build a log house on the general plan shown by Figs. 251 and 252; then carve the ends of all the extending logs to represent the heads of reptiles, beasts, or birds; also carve the posts which support the end logs on the front gallery, porch, or veranda in the form of totem-poles. You may add further to the quaint effect by placing small totem-posts where your steps begin on the walk (Fig. 253) and adding a tall totem-pole (Fig. 255) for your family totem or the totem of your clan. Fig. 252 shows how to arrange and cut your logs for the pens. The dining-room is supposed to be behind the half partition next to the kitchen; the other half of this room being open, with the front room, it makes a large living-room. The stairs lead up to the sleeping-rooms overhead; the latter are made by dividing the space with partitions to suit your convenience. Before Building Take your jack-knife and a number of little sticks to represent the logs of your cabin; call an inch a foot or a half inch a foot as will suit your convenience and measure all the sticks on this scale, using inches or parts of inches for feet. Then sit down on the ground or on the floor and experiment in building a toy house or miniature model until you make one which is satisfactory. Next glue the little logs of the pen together; but make the roof so that it may be taken off and put on like the lid to a box; keep your model to use in place of an architect's drawing; the backwoods workmen will understand it better than they will a set of plans and sections on paper. Fig. 251 is a very simple plan and only put here as a suggestion. You can put the kitchen at the back of the house instead of on one side of it or make any changes which suit your fancy; the pen of the house may be ten by twelve or twenty by thirty feet, a camp or a dwelling; the main point is to finish your house up with totems as shown by Fig. 253, and then tell the other fellows where you got the idea. Fig. 250. Fig. 251. Fig. 252. Fig. 253. Fig. 254. Fig. 255. [Illustration: A totem motif. An artistic and novel treatment for a log house.] Peeled Logs For any structure which is intended to be permanent never use the logs with bark on them; use _peeled_ logs. When your house is finished it may look very fresh and new without bark, but one season of exposure to the weather will tone it down so that it will be sufficiently rustic to please your fancy, but if you leave the bark on the logs, a few seasons will rot your house down, making it _too_ rustic to suit any one's fancy. Lay up the pen of this house as already described and illustrated by Figs. 229, 233, etc., and when the sides and front walls have reached the desired height, frame your roof after the manner shown by Fig. 49 or any of the other methods described which may suit your fancy or convenience, but in this case we use the Susitna form for the end plates, which are made by first severing the root of a tree and leaving an elbow or bend at the end of the trunk (Fig. 264). This is flattened by scoring and hewing as is described and illustrated under the heading of the Susitna house. The elbows at the terminals of the end plate are carved to represent grotesque heads (Fig. 253). The house when built is something like the Wyoming olebo (Fig. 236), but with the difference which will appear after careful inspection of the diagram. The Wyoming olebo is a one-story house; this is a two-story house. The Wyoming olebo has a roof built upon a modified plan of a Kanuck; this roof is built on the American log-cabin plan, with the logs continued up to the top of the gable, as are those in the Olympic (Fig. 240). But the present house is supposed to be _very carefully_ built; to be sure, it is made of rude material but handled in a very neat and workmanlike manner. Great care must be used in notching and joining the logs, and only the straightest logs which can be had should be used for the walls of the house. The piazza may need some additional supports if there is a wide front to the house, but with a narrow front half, log puncheons will be sufficiently stiff to support themselves. Totems The most difficult part about these descriptions, for the writer, is where he attempts to tell you how to make your totems; but remember that a totem, in order to have a _real_ totem look, must be very crude and amateurish, a quality that the reader should be able to give it without much instruction. The next important thing is that when you make one side of a head, be it a snake's, a man's, a beast's, or a bird's, make the other side like it. Do not make the head lopsided; make both sides of the same proportions. Flatten the sides of the end of the log enough to give you a smooth surface, then sketch the profile on each side of the log with charcoal or chalk, carve out the head with a chisel, drawing-knife, and jack-knife, and gouge until you have fashioned it into the shape desired. In order to do this the end of the log should be free from the ground and a convenient distance above it. The carving is best done after the house is practically finished; but the two end plates had better be carved before they are hoisted into place. Totem-Poles When you carve out the totem-poles (Fig. 256 or 262), the log had better be put on an elongated sawbuck arrangement which will hold it free from the ground and allow one to turn it over as the work may require. Fig. 259 represents a peeled log. On this log one may sketch, with chalk, the various figures here represented, then begin by notching the log (Fig. 258) according to the notches which are necessary to carve out the totem. Figs. 260, 261, and 262 show different views of the same totem figures. Fig. 257 shows how to make a variation of the totem-pole. Paint your totem heads and figures red, blue, and yellow, and to suit your fancy; the more startling they are the better will they imitate the Indian totems. The weather will eventually tone them down to the harmonious colors of a Turkish rug. In "The Boy Pioneers" I have told how to make various other forms of totems, all of which have since been built by boys and men in different parts of the country. Mr. Stewart Edward White, a member of the Camp-Fire Club of America, woodsman, plainsman, mountaineer, and African hunter and explorer, built himself a totem in the form of a huge bird twelve feet high from the plans published in "The Boy Pioneers," and I anticipate no great difficulty will be encountered by those who try to totemize a log cabin after the manner shown by Fig. 258. It will not, however, be a small boy's work, but the small boys who started at the beginning of this book are older and more experienced now, and, even if they cannot handle the big logs themselves, they are perfectly competent to teach their daddies and uncles and their big brothers how to do it, so they may act as boss builders and architects and let the older men do the heavy work. But however you proceed to build this house, when it is finished you will have a typically native building, and at the same time different from all others, as quaint as any bungling bungalow, and in better taste, because it will fit in the landscape and become part of it and look as if it _belonged there_, in place of appearing as if it had been blown by a tornado from some box factory and deposited in an unsuitable landscape. Fig. 256. Fig. 257. Fig. 258. Fig. 259. Fig. 260. Fig. 261. Fig. 262. [Illustration: Totem-poles and how to make them.] You must understand by this that unsuitable refers to the fact that a bungalow _does not_ belong in the American landscape, although many of the cottages and shacks, miscalled bungalows, may be thoroughly American and appropriate to the American surroundings despite the exotic name by which some people humble them. XLI HOW TO BUILD A SUSITNA LOG CABIN AND HOW TO CUT TREES FOR THE END PLATES STANDING on a hill overlooking the salt meadows at Hunter's Point, L. I., there was an old farmhouse the roof of which projected over both sides of the house four or five feet. The hill on which it stood has been cut away, the meadows which it overlooked have been filled up with the dirt from the hill, and only a surveyor with his transit and the old property-lines map before him could ever find the former location of this house, but it is somewhere among the tracks of the Long Island Railroad. Opposite the house, on the other side of the railroad track, in the section known as Dutch Kills of Long Island City, two other houses of the same style of architecture stood; they had double doors--that is, doors which were cut in two half-way up so that you might open the top or bottom half or both halves to suit your fancy. The upper panels of these doors had two drop-lights of glass set in on the bias, and between them, half-way down the upper half, was a great brass knocker with a grip big enough to accommodate both hands in case you really wanted to make a noise. There was another house of this same description in the outskirts of Hoboken, and I often wondered what the origin of that peculiar roof might be. I found this type of house as far north toward the Hudson Bay as the settlements go, and still farther north the Susitna house explains the origin of the overhanging eaves (Fig. 268). Of course the Susitna, as here drawn, is not exactly the same as that built by the natives on the Susitna River, but the end plates (Fig. 263) are the same as those used in the primitive houses of the Northwest. How to Cut the Tree Fig. 264 shows a standing fir-tree and also shows what cuts to make in order to get the right-shaped log for an end plate. Fig. 265 shows the method of scoring and hewing necessary in order to flatten the end of the log as it is in Fig. 266. Fig. 267 shows the style in which the natives roof their Susitnas with logs. The elbows at the end of the plates (Fig. 266) serve to keep the logs of the roof (Fig. 267) from rolling off, but the Susitna log cabin which we are building is expected to have a roof (Fig. 268) of thatch or a roof of shingles, because we have passed the rude shacks, sheds, and shelters used for camps and are now building real houses in which we may live. The Susitna may be built of round logs or of flattened logs (_le carréage_), in which case we can use the General Putnam square notch (Fig. 263) for joining the ends of our logs. In raising the roof, erect the ridge-pole first. The ridge-pole may be set up on two uprights to which it is temporarily nailed, and the upright props may be held in place by the two diagonal props or braces, as shown in Fig. 263. If the logs are squared, cut a small bird's-mouth notch in the rafter where it extends over the side-plate logs of the pen and bevel the top end of your gable rafters to fit against the ridge-pole as in the diagrams. The other rafters are now easily put in place, but if the logs are round you must notch the rafters and side-plates as shown by the diagram between Figs. 263 and 267; the dotted lines show where the rafter and the logs come together. Nail your rafters to your ridge-pole and fasten them to the side-plate with wooden pegs or spikes. The ridge-pole may be allowed to extend, as in Fig. 268, on each side of the cabin or the elbows (Fig. 266) may be attached to each end of the ridge-pole with noses turned up and painted or carved into a fanciful head as in Fig. 268. If the roof is to be shingled, collect a lot of poles about four inches in diameter, flatten them on both sides, and nail them to the rafters not more than two inches apart, allowing the ends of the sticks to extend beyond the walls of the house at least six inches. Fig. 263. Fig. 264. Fig. 265. Fig. 266. Fig. 267. Fig. 268. [Illustration: The Susitna log house.] If you desire to make your own shingles, saw up a hemlock, pine, or spruce log into billets of one foot four inches long, then with a froe and a mall (Fig. 179) split the shingles from the billets of wood, or use a broadaxe for the same purpose. Broadaxes are dangerous weapons in the hands of an amateur, but the writer split shingles with a broadaxe upon the shores of Lake Erie when he was but seven years old and, as near as he can count, he still has ten toes and ten fingers. If you intend to thatch the roof you need not flatten the poles which you fasten across the rafters, because the thatch will hide all unevenness of the underpinning. The poles may be laid at right angles to the rafters between six and eight inches apart and the roof thatched as described and illustrated by Fig. 66. The Susitna form of house is the one from which the old Long Island farmhouses were evolved, although the old Long Islanders copied theirs from the homes they left in Holland, but we must remember that even the effete civilization of Europe once had a backwoods country a long, long time ago, and then they built their houses from the timbers hewn in the forests as our own ancestors did in this country; consequently, many of the characteristics of present-day houses which seem to us useless and unnecessary are survivals of the necessary characteristics of houses made of crude material. XLII HOW TO MAKE A FIREPLACE AND CHIMNEY FOR A SIMPLE LOG CABIN FIG. 269 shows a simple form of fireplace which is practically the granddaddy of all the other fireplaces. It consists of three walls for windbreaks, laid up in stone or sod against some stakes driven in the ground for the purpose of supporting them. The four-cornered stakes are notched or forked and small logs are laid horizontally in these forks and on top of this a pyramidal form of a log pen is built of small logs and billets, and this answers the purpose of a chimney. This style of fireplace is adapted to use in camps and rude shacks like those shown by Figs. 187, 189, 191, and 192; also for the most primitive log cabins, but when we make a real log house we usually plan to have a more elaborate or more finished fireplace and chimney. The ground-plan of Fig. 269 is shown by Fig. 270. Mud Hearth Here you see there is a mud hearth, a wall of clay plastered over the stones of the fireplace. This will prevent the fire from cracking and chipping the stones, but clay is not absolutely necessary in this fireplace. When, however, you build the walls of your fireplace of logs and your chimney of sticks the clay _is_ necessary to prevent the fire from igniting the woodwork and consuming it. For a log-framed fireplace, make a large opening in the wall of your house and against the ends of the logs where you sawed out the opening, erect jamb pieces of planks two or three inches thick running up to the log over the fireplace and spiked to the round ends of the logs (see plan, Fig. 272). Next, lay your foundation of sill logs on the fireplace, first two side logs and then a back log, neatly notched so as to look like the logs in the walls of the cabin. Build your fireplace walls as shown by Fig. 271, after which take your mud or clay and make the hearth by hammering the clay down hard until you have a firm, smooth foundation. The front hearth may be made, as shown in the diagram, of stones of any size from pebbles to flagstones, with the surfaces levelled by sinking the under-part down into the clay until a uniform level is reached on top. The fireplace may be built with bricks of moist clay and wet clay used for mortar. Make the clay walls of the fireplace at least one foot thick and pack it down hard and tight as you build it. If you choose you may make a temporary inside wall of plank as they do when they make cement walls, and then between the temporary board wall and the logs put in your moist clay and ram it down hard until the top of the fireplace is reached, after which the boards may be removed and the inside of the fireplace smoothed off by wiping it with a wet cloth. Stick Chimney After the walls of logs and clay are built to top of the fireplace proper, split some sticks and make them about one inch wide by one and one half inch thick, or use the round sticks in the form in which they grow, but peel off the bark to render them less combustible; then lay them up as shown by Fig. 261, log-cabin style. With the chimney we have four sides to the wall in place of three sides as in the fireplace. The logs of the fireplace, where they run next to the cabin, may have to be chinked up so as to keep them level, but the chimney should be built level as it has four sides to balance it. Leave a space between the chimney and the outside wall and plaster the sticks thickly with clay upon the outside and much thicker with clay upon the inside, as shown by Fig. 271 _A_, which is supposed to be a section of the chimney. Fig. 269. Fig. 270. Fig. 271. Fig. 271A. Fig. 272. Fig. 273. [Illustration: Detail for fireplaces and flues.] Durability All through the mountains of East Tennessee and Kentucky I have seen these stick chimneys, some of them many, many years old. In these mountain countries the fireplaces are lined with stones, but in Illinois, in the olden times, stones were scarce and mud was plenty and the fireplaces were made like those just described and illustrated by Fig. 272. The stone chimney is an advance and improvement upon the log chimney, but I doubt if it requires any more skill to build. Chimney Foundation Dig your foundation for your fireplace and chimney at least three feet deep; then fill the hole up with small cobblestones or broken bluestone until you have reached nearly the level of the ground; upon this you can begin to lay your hearth and chimney foundation. If you fail to dig this foundation the frost will work the ground under your chimney and the chimney will work with the ground, causing it either to upset or to tilt to one side or the other and spoil the looks of your house, even if it does not put your fireplace out of commission. Stone Chimney In laying up the stones for your chimney, remember that it makes no difference how rough and uneven it is upon the outside. The more uneven the outside is the more picturesque it will appear, but the smoother and more even the inside is the less will it collect soot and the less will be the danger of chimney fires. Lay your stones in mortar or cement. See that each stone fits firmly in the bed and does not rock and that it breaks joints with the other stone below it. By breaking joints I mean that the crack between the two stones on the upper tier should fit over the middle of the stone on the lower tier; this, with the aid of the cement, locks the stones and prevents any accidental cracks which may open from extending any further than the two stones between which it started. If, however, you do not break joints, a crack might run from the top to the bottom of the chimney causing it to fall apart. Above the fireplace make four walls to your chimney, as you did with your stick chimney (Fig. 271), and let the top of the chimney extend above the roof at least three feet; this will not only help the draught but it will also lessen the danger of fire. XLIII HEARTHSTONES AND FIREPLACES IN erecting the fireplace for your cabin the stone work should extend into the cabin itself, thus protecting the ends of the logs from the fire. The stone over the top of the fireplace (_A_, _B_, Fig. 274) rests upon two iron bars; these iron bars are necessary for safety because, although the stone _A_, _B_ may bridge the fireplace successfully, the settling of the chimney or the heat of the fire is liable to crack the stone, in which case, unless it is supported by two flat iron bars, it will fall down and wreck your fireplace. The stone _A_, _B_ in Fig. 275, has been cracked for fifteen years but, as it rests upon the flat iron bars beneath, the crack does no harm. Fig. 274. Fig. 275. [Illustration: Fireplace in author's cabin, and suggestion for stone and wood mantel.] In Fig. 274 (the ends of the fireplace) the two wing walls of it are built up inside the cabin to support a plank for a mantelpiece. Another plank _C_, _D_ is nailed under the mantelpiece against the log before the stone work is built up. This is only for the purpose of giving a finish to your mantelpiece. The hearth in Fig. 274 is made of odd bits of flat stones laid in cement, but the hearth in Fig. 275 is one big slab of bluestone just as it came from the quarry, and the fireplace in Fig. 275 is lined with fire-brick. The two three-legged stools which you see on each side were made by the woodsmen who built the cabin to use in their camp while the cabin was being erected. The stools have occupied the position of honor on each side of the fireplace now for twenty-seven years. The mantelpiece in this drawing is made of puncheons with the rounded side out on the two supports and the flat side against the wall; of course, for the mantel itself, the rounded side must be down and the flat side up. This fireplace has been used for cooking purposes and the crane is still hanging over the flames, while up over the mantel you may see, roughly indicated, a wrought-iron broiler, a toaster, and a brazier. The flat shovel hanging to the left of the fireplace is what is known as a "peal," used in olden times to slip under the pies or cakes in the old-fashioned ovens in order to remove them without burning one's fingers. XLIV MORE HEARTHS AND FIREPLACES SOMETIMES it is desired to have a fireplace in the middle of the room. Personally, such a fireplace does not appeal to me, but there are other people who like the novelty of such a fireplace, and Fig. 276 shows one constructed of rough stones. The fireplace is high so that one tending it does not have to stoop and get a backache. The foundation should be built in the ground underneath the cabin and up through the floor. A flat stone covers the top of the fireplace, as in the other drawings. Fig. 277 shows a fireplace with a puncheon support for a plank mantel. Fig. 276. Fig. 277. Fig. 278. Fig. 279. Fig. 280. [Illustration: Fireplace and mantel of half logs. Also centre fireplaces for cabin.] A Plank Mantel _A_ and _B_ are two half logs, or puncheons, which run from the floor to the ceiling on each side of the fireplace. _S_, _S_, _S_ are the logs of the cabin walls. _C_ is the puncheon supporting the mantel and _D_ is the mantel. Fig. 279 shows a section or a view of the mantel looking down on it from the top, a topographical view of it. Fig. 278 is the same sort of a view showing the puncheon _A_ at the other end of the mantel before the mantel is put in place between the two puncheons _A_ and _B_. In Fig. 279 the reader may see that it will be necessary to cut the corners out of the mantel-board in order to fit it around the puncheons _A_ and _B_; also, since _A_ and _B_ have rounded surfaces, it will be necessary to so bevel the ends of the puncheon (_C_, Fig. 277) that they will fit on the rounded surfaces of _A_ and _B_. Fig. 280 shows the end of _C_ bevelled in a perspective view, and also a profile view of it, with the puncheon _A_ indicating the manner in which _C_ must be cut to fit upon the rounded surface. This makes a simple mantelpiece but a very appropriate one for a log cabin. XLV FIREPLACES AND THE ART OF TENDING THE FIRE ONE of my readers has written to me asking what to do about a fireplace that smokes. Not knowing the fireplace in question, I cannot prescribe for that particular invalid, but I have a long acquaintance with many fireplaces that smoke and fireplaces that do not--in other words, healthy fireplaces with a good digestion and diseased fireplaces functionally wrong with poor digestion--so perhaps the easiest way to answer these questions is to describe a few of my acquaintances among the fireplaces which I have studied. There is an old fireplace in Small Acres, Binghamton, N. Y., of which I made sketches and took measurements which furnished me data by which I built the fireplaces in my own houses. In Binghamton fireplaces the side walls are on an angle and converge toward the back of the fireplace, as in Fig. 274. The back also pitches forward, as in Fig. 282. The great advantage of this is the reflecting of more heat into the room. Fig. 281 shows the fireplace before which I am now working. The fire was started in last November and is now (April 1) still burning, although it has not been rekindled since it was first lighted. This fireplace is well constructed, and on very cold days I have the fire burning out on the hearth fully a foot beyond the line of the mantel without any smoke coming into my studio. Fig. 282 shows a diagram with the dimensions of my studio fireplace and represents the vertical section of it. I give these for the benefit of the people who want to know how to build a fireplace which will not smoke. But, of course, even the best of fireplaces will smoke if the fire is not properly arranged. With smoke the angle of reflection would be equal to the angle of incidence did not the constant tendency of smoke to ascend modify this rule. Throw a rubber ball against the wall and the direction from your hand to where it strikes the wall makes the angle of incidence; when the ball bounces away from the wall it makes the angle of reflection. Management of the Fire But, before we enter into the question regarding the structure of the flue we will take up the management of the fire itself. In the first place, there is but one person who can manage a fire, and that is yourself. Servants never did and never will learn the art, and, as I am writing for men, and the ladies are not supposed to read this article, I will state that the fair sex show a like deficiency in this line. The first thing a woman wants to do with a fire is to make the logs roost on the andirons, the next thing is to remove every speck of ashes from the hearth, and then she wonders why the fire won't burn. The ashes have not been removed from my studio fire since it was first lighted last fall. Ashes are absolutely essential to control a wood-fire and to keep the embers burning overnight. Fig. 288 shows the present state of the ashes in my studio fire. You will see by this diagram that the logs are not resting on the andirons. I only use the andirons as a safeguard to keep the logs from rolling out on the hearth. If the fire has been replenished late in the evening with a fresh log, before retiring I pull the front or the ornamental parts of the andirons to the hearth and then lay the shovel and poker across them horizontally. When the burning log is covered with ashes and the andirons arranged in this manner you can retire at night with a feeling of security and the knowledge that if your house catches afire it will not be caused by the embers in your fireplace. Then in the morning all you have to do is to shovel out the ashes from the rear of the fireplace, put in a new backlog, and bed it in with ashes, as shown in Fig. 286. Put your glowing embers next to the backlog and your fresh wood on top of that and sit down to your breakfast with the certainty that your fire will be blazing before you get up from the table. Don't make the mistake of poking a wood-fire, with the idea, by that means, of making it burn more briskly, or boosting up the logs to get a draught under them. Two logs placed edge to edge, like those in Fig. 288, with hot coals between them, will make their own draught, which comes in at each end of the log, and, what is essential in fire building, they keep the heat between themselves, constantly increasing it by reflecting it back from one to the other. If you happen to be in great haste to make the flames start, don't disturb the logs but use a pair of bellows. Fig. 287 shows a set of the logs which will make the best-constructed fireplace smoke. The arrow-point shows the line of incidence or the natural direction which the smoke would take did not the heat carry it upward. Fig. 285 shows the same logs arranged so that the angle of incidence strikes the back of the chimney and the smoke ascends in the full and orderly manner. But both Figs. 285 and 287 are clumsily arranged. The _B_ logs in each case should be the backlog and the small logs _A_ and _C_ should be in front of _B_. Fig. 281. Fig. 282. Fig. 283. Fig. 284. Fig. 285. Fig. 286. Fig. 287. Fig. 288. [Illustration: Proper and improper ways to build a fireplace and make a fire.] In all of the fireplaces which we have described you will note that the top front of the fireplace under the mantel extends down several inches below the angle of the chimney. Fig. 283 shows a fireplace that is improperly built. This is from a fireplace in a palatial residence in New York City, enclosed in an antique Italian marble mantel, yellow with age, which cost a small fortune. The fireplace was designed and built by a firm of the best architects, composed of men famed throughout the whole of the United States and Europe, _but the fireplace smoked_ because the angle of the chimney was below the opening of the fireplace and, consequently, sent the smoke out into the room. This had to be remedied by setting a piece of thick plate glass over the top of the fireplace, thus making the opening smaller and extending it below the angle of the chimney. Fig. 284 shows the most primitive form of fireplace and chimney. One that a child may see will smoke unless the fire is kept in the extreme back of the hearth. The advantages of ashes in your fireplace are manifold. They retain the heat, keep the hot coals glowing overnight, and when the fire is too hot may be used to cover the logs and subdue the heat. But, of course, if you want a clean hearthstone and the logs roosting upon the andirons, and are devoid of all the camp-fire sentiment, have some asbestos gas-logs. There will be no dust or dirt, no covering up at night with ashes, no bill for cord-wood, and it will look as stiff and prim as any New England old maid and be as devoid of sentiment and art as a department-store bargain picture frame. XLVI THE BUILDING OF THE LOG HOUSE How a Forty-Foot-Front, Two-Story Pioneer Log House Was Put Up with the Help of "Backwoods Farmers"--Making Plans with a Pocket Knife. OUR log house on the shore of Big Tink Pond, Pike County, Pa., was built long before the general public had been educated to enjoy the subtle charms of wild nature, at a time when nature-study was confined to scientists and children, and long before it was fashionable to have wild fowl on one's lawn and wild flowers in one's garden. At that time only a few unconventional souls spent their vacations out of sight of summer hotels, camping on the mountain or forest trails. The present state of the public mind in regard to outdoor life has only been developed within the last few years, and when I first announced my intention of hunting up some accessible wild corner and there erecting a log house for a summer studio and home I found only unsympathetic listeners. But I was young and rash at that time, and without any previous experience in building or the aid of books to guide me and with only such help as I could find among backwoods farmers I built a forty-foot-front, two-story log house that is probably the pioneer among log houses erected by city men for summer homes. It gave Mr. Charles Wingate the suggestions from which he evolved Twilight Park in the Catskills. Twilight Park, being the resort of literary people and their friends, did much to popularize log houses with city people. The deserted farms of New England offer charming possibilities for those whose taste is for nature with a shave, hair cut, and store clothes, but for lovers of untamed nature the waste lands offer stronger inducements for summer-vacation days, and there is no building which fits so naturally in a wild landscape as a good, old-fashioned log cabin. It looks as if it really belonged there and not like a windfall from some passing whirlwind. When I make the claim that any ordinary man can build himself a summer home, I do not mean to say that he will not make blunders and plenty of them; only fools never make mistakes, wise men profit by them, and the reader may profit by mine, for there is no lack of them in our log house at Big Tink. But the house still stands on the bank overlooking the lake and is practically as sound as it was when the last spike was driven, twenty-seven years ago. Almost all of the original log cabins that were once sprinkled through the eastern part of our country disappeared with the advent of the saw-mill, and the few which still exist in the northern part of the country east of the Alleghany Mountains would not be recognized as log houses by the casual observer, for the picturesque log exteriors have been concealed by a covering of clapboards. To my surprise I discovered that even among the old mountaineers I could find none who had ever attended a log-rolling frolic or participated in the erection of a real log house. Most of these old fellows, however, could remember living in such houses in their youth, but they could not understand why any sane man of to-day wanted "to waste so much good lumber," and in the quaint old American dialect still preserved in these regions they explained the wastefulness of my plans and pointed out to me the number of good planks which might be sawed from each log. Fig. 289. [Illustration: Wildlands, the author's log house in Pike County, Pa.] Fig. 290, _B_, shows the plans of the house, which will be seen to be a modification of the Southern "saddle-bag" cabin--two houses under one roof. By referring to Fig. 289 it will be seen that above the gallery there is a portico, which we called the "afterthought" because it did not appear upon the original plans. We got the hint, as "Jimmy" called it, when it was noticed that chance had ordained that the two "_A_" logs should protrude much farther than the others. "Don't saw them off," I exclaimed; "we will have a balcony"; and so the two "_A_" logs were left, and this gave us room for a balcony over the gallery, back of which is a ten-by-ten bedroom, while the two large bedrooms on each side have doors opening on the six-foot passageway, which is made still broader by the addition of the balcony. It will be seen that there is a stairway marked out on the ground plan, but there was none on the original plan, for, to tell the honest truth, I did not know where to put the stairs until the logs were in place. However, it is just such problems that lend charm to the work of building your own house. An architect or a professional builder would have the thing all cut and dried beforehand and leave nothing to chance and inspiration; this takes the whole charm out of the work when one is building for recreation and the pleasure to be derived from the occupation. When our house was finished we had no shutters to the windows and no way of closing up the open ends of the gallery, and my helpers told me that I must not leave the house that way because stray cattle would use the house for a stable and break the windows with their horns as they swung their heads to drive away the flies. So we nailed boards over these openings when we closed the house for the winter. Later we invented some shutters (see _C_, Fig. 290) which can be put up with little trouble and in a few moments. Fig. 290, _C_, shows how these shutters are put in place and locked on the inside by a movable sill that is slid up against the bottom of the shutters and fastened in place by iron pins let into holes bored for the purpose. Fig. 290. [Illustration: Details of author's log house, Wildlands.] Of course, this forms no bar to a professional burglar, but there is nothing inside to tempt cracksmen, and these professional men seldom stray into the woods. The shutters serve to keep out cattle, small boys, and stray fishermen whose idle curiosity might tempt them to meddle with the contents of a house less securely fastened. A house is never really finished until one loses interest in it and stops tinkering and planning homely improvements. This sort of work is a healthy, wholesome occupation and just the kind necessary to people of sedentary occupations or those whose misfortune it is to be engaged in some of the nerve-racking business peculiar to life in big cities. Dwellers in our big cities do not seem to realize that there is any other life possible for them than a continuous nightmare existence amid monstrous buildings, noisy traffic, and the tainted air of unsanitary streets. They seem to have forgotten that the same sun that in summer scorches the towering masonry and paved sidewalks until the canyon-like streets become unbearable also shines on green woods, tumbling waters, and mirror-like lakes; or, if they are dimly conscious of this fact, they think such places are so far distant as to be practically out of their reach in every sense. Yet in reality the wilderness is almost knocking at our doors, for within one hundred miles of New York bears, spotted wildcats, and timid deer live unconfined in their primitive wild condition. Fish caught in the streams can be cooked for dinner in New York the same day. In 1887, when the writer was himself a bachelor, he went out into the wilderness on the shores of Big Tink Pond, upon which he built the log house shown in the sketch. At first he kept bachelor hall there with some choice spirits, not the kind you find in bottles on the bar-room shelf, but the human kind who love the outdoor world and nature, or he took his parents and near relatives with him for a vacation in the woods. Like all sensible men, in course of time he married, and then he took his bride out to the cabin in the woods. At length the time came when he found it necessary to shoulder his axe and go to the woods to secure material for a new _piece of furniture_. He cut the young chestnut-trees, peeled them, and with them constructed a crib; and every year for the last eight years that crib has been occupied part of the season. Thus, you see, a camp of this kind becomes hallowed with the most sacred of human memories and becomes a joy not only to the builder thereof but also to the coming generation. At the big, open fire in the grill-room, with the old-fashioned cooking utensils gathered from farmhouses on Long Island, I have cooked venison steaks, tenderloin of the great northern hare, the plump, white breasts of the ruffed grouse, all broiled over the hot coals with slices of bacon, and when done to a turn, placed in a big platter with fresh butter and served to a crowd who watched the operation and sniffed the delicious odor until they literally drooled at the corners of their mouths. As the house was built on a deer runway, all these things were products of the surrounding country, and on several occasions they have all been served at one meal. XLVII HOW TO LAY A TAR PAPER, BIRCH BARK, OR PATENT ROOFING Preparing the Roofing for Laying BIRCH BARK and patent roofing are more pliable than tin or shingles, consequently taking less time to lay and making it easier work. In very cold weather put your patent roofing in a warm room a few hours before using it. Never try to cut birch bark, tar paper, or patent roofing with a dull knife. Roofing Foundation No matter what sort of roofing material is used, do not forget the great importance of the roofing foundation (Figs. 296 and 298). If the foundation is poor or uneven the roofing will be poor and uneven, even if only the best roofing material is used. The sheathing boards should be matched if possible and of uniform thickness, laid close, and free from nails, protruding knots, and sharp edges. Do not use green lumber; the sun is almost certain to shrink and warp it. Sometimes it will even break the roofing material. On very particular work, where the rafters are wide apart, the best builders recommend laying a course of boards over the planking at right angles to it. Valleys If there are valleys in the roof (Fig. 298) use a long strip of roofing and lay it up and down in the direction of the valleys. Press the strip into the hollow so that it takes the shape of the valley itself. Allow the edges of the roofing to overlap the strip in the valley an equal distance on both sides of the valley (Fig. 298). How to Lay the Roofing Begin at the eaves to lay the roofing (Fig. 299). Always lay the roll of patent roofing with the inside surface to the weather and in the same direction that the boards run--not at right angles to them. Begin nailing at the centre of the edges of the strips and work both ways to the ends--never the reverse, as the roofing may become wrinkled, twisted, or crooked. Always set caps even with the edge of the laps about two inches apart between their centres. Gutters To finish gutters, fasten and carefully cement with the pitch or tar or prepared composition the edge of the strip about half-way to the gutter. Bring the other edge onto the roof, then lay the next strip over this strip so that it will overlap at least two inches. Proceed to lay the balance of the roofing in the same way. Never nail the middle of the strips; nail only along the edges. The end strips should always be lapped over the edges of the roof and fastened (Figs. 297 and 299). Before fastening laps paint a two-inch strip with the tar or pitch cement which comes with all patent roofing in order to stick it to the lower strip of roofing and to make a tight joint when put in place. Do not drive nails carelessly or with too much force and be sure the cap fits snugly against the roofing. If nails go into holes or open cracks, do not remove them but thoroughly cement around them. Allow six inches for overlaps for joints where one strip joins another (Fig. 299, _B_). Be sure that two strips of roofing never meet at the ridge leaving a joint to invite a leak over the ridge-pole. Examine the diagrams if you fail to understand the description. How to Patch a Shingle Roof The reader must not suppose that the roof of my camp was made of flannel because it shrank, for the whole house, which was made of logs, diminished in size as the wood became seasoned; so that now each log averages a quarter of an inch less in width than it did when the house was built twenty odd years ago. There are just one hundred logs in the house, which makes the house twenty-five inches smaller than it was when it was built, but I cannot point out the exact spot where the two feet and one inch are missing. Neither do I know that this had anything to do with the opening in the roof about the chimney; but I do know that the opening gradually became wider and wider until it not only admitted the entrance of numerous flying squirrels and other varmints but also let in the rain and snow and consequently it had to be remedied. Neither the flying squirrels nor the elements can now enter at that point. The Connecticut Yankees stop the leaks around the big chimneys of the old farmhouses with mortar or concrete, but at permanent camps cement is not always handy, and even if one is living in a farmhouse it will probably necessitate quite a long drive to procure it. If, however, there happens to be on hand some strips of the various tar roofing compounds, some old tin, or even a good piece of oilcloth--by which I mean a piece that may be so worn as to have been cast aside and yet not so perforated with holes that it will admit the rain--it may be used to stop the leak. Fig. 291. Fig. 292. Fig. 293. Fig. 294. Fig. 296. Fig. 297. Fig. 298. Fig. 299. [Illustration: How to lay a composition roof and how to cover space around flue. (Fig. 295 is on next plate.)] Fixtures for Applying Roofing The complete roofing kit consists of cement, caps, and nails. The galvanized caps and nails are the best to use; they won't rust. Square caps have more binding surface than the ordinary round ones; but we can mend "with any old thing." Fig. 291 shows a chimney from which the roof of the house is parted, leaving a good-sized opening around the smoke-stack. To cover this, take a piece of roofing compound, tin, oilcloth, tar paper, or paroid and cut as is shown in the upper diagram (Fig. 292). Make the slits in the two ends of the material of such a length that when the upper ends are bent back, as in the lower diagram (Fig. 292), they will fit snugly around the chimney. You will need one piece like this for each side of the chimney. Where the ends of the chimney butt against the ridge of the roof you will require pieces slit in the same manner as the first but _bent differently_. The upper lobe in this case is bent on the bias to fit the chimney, while the lower one is bent over the ridge of the roof (Figs. 293 and 294). To better illustrate how this is done, Fig. 293 is supposed to show the chimney with the roof removed. Fig. 294 is the same view of the chimney with the two pieces in place. You will need four pieces, two at each end of the chimney, to cover the ridge of the roof. With all the many varieties of tar paper and composition roofing there come tacks or wire nails supplied with round tin disks perforated in the centre, which are used as washers to prevent the nail from pulling through the roofing. Fig. 295 shows the chimney with the patches around it tacked in place, and the protruding ends of the parts trimmed off according to the dotted lines. Fig. 297 shows the way the roofing people put flashing on; but I like my own way, as illustrated by Figs. 291, 292, 293, 294, and 295. It must not be taken for granted that every camp or farmhouse has a supply of tin washers, but we know that every camp and farmhouse does have a supply of tin cans, and the washers may be made from these, as shown by Figs. 300 and 301. Knock the cans apart at their seams and cut the tin up into pieces like the rectangular one shown under the hand in Fig. 301. Bend these pieces in their centres so as to make them into squares, then place them on a piece of soft wood and punch holes in them by driving a wire nail through the tin and you will have better washers than those you can buy although they may not be so handsome. Patched Roofs and New Shingles Any decent shingled roof should last fifteen years without repairing and many of them last nearly twice that time. But there comes a time when the roof begins to leak and needs mending; when that time comes, with your jack-knife whittle a number of little wooden pegs or splints each about six inches long and a little thicker than a pipe-stem with which to Mark the Holes Go up in the attic and wherever you see daylight through the roof push through the hole a wooden peg to mark the spot. Then, when you have finished and are ready to climb on the roof, take off your shoes, put on a pair of woollen socks, and there will be little danger of your slipping. New india rubber shoes with corrugated soles are also good to wear when climbing on the roof. In Fig. 295½ you will see two of the pegs sticking through the roof marking the holes, and below is a larger view of one of these pegs connected with the upper ones by dotted lines. Sheet-Iron Shingles To mend simple cracks or holes like these it is only necessary to bend up bits of tin or sheet iron (Fig. 300) and drive the metal shingle up underneath the shingle above the hole so that the "weather" part of the tin covers the leak, or drive it under the leaking shingle itself, or drive a new shingle up under or over the damaged one. Where there is a bad place in the roof it may be necessary to make a patch of a number of shingles like the one shown in the right-hand corner of Fig. 295½, but even then it is not necessary to remove the old shingles unless the hole is very large. These patches of old tin or new shingles do not look handsome on an old roof, but they serve their purpose in keeping out the rain and snow and preventing moisture from rotting the timbers. The weather will soon tone down the color of the new shingles so that they will not be noticeable and you will have the satisfaction of having a dry roof over your head. There is only one thing worse than a leaky roof and that is a leaky boat. Practical Patching In these days when everybody with a few hundred dollars in pocket is very sensibly using it to buy a farm and farmhouse so as to be able for a part of the year to return to the simple life of our ancestors it is very necessary that we should also know something of the simple economies of those days, for when one finds oneself out on a farm there is no plumber around the corner and no tinsmith on the next block whom one may call upon to repair breaks and the damage done by time and weather on an old farmhouse. The ordinary man under these conditions is helpless, but some are inspired by novel ideas, as, for instance, the man who mended the leaking roof with porous plasters. Fig. 295. Fig. 295½. Fig. 300. Fig. 301. Fig. 302. Fig. 303. Fig. 304. Fig. 305. Fig. 306. [Illustration: How to mend a shingle or tin roof.] But for the benefit of those who are not supplied with a stock of porous plasters I will tell how to do the plumbing and how to mend the tin roof with old bits of tin, rags, and white lead; and to begin with I want to impress upon the reader's mind that this will be no bungling, unsightly piece of work, but much more durable and just as neat as any piece of work which the professionals would do for him. In the first place, if you have an old tin roof on one of the extensions of your house or on your house itself, do not be in haste to replace it with a new one. Remember that most of the modern sheet tin is made by modern methods and its life is not an extended one. The sheet _steel_ they often use in place of sheet _iron_ rapidly disintegrates and such a roof will not last you half the time that a properly patched old one will. The roof of the house in which I am writing this article is made of tin and was made about sixty years ago; it has been patched and mended but to no great extent, and it bids fair to outlive me. Had it been made of sheet steel it would have been necessary to renew it many times since that period. So, if you find that the tin roof to your farmhouse, bungalow, or camp leaks in consequence of some splits at the seams and a few rust holes patch them yourself. Fig. 301 shows the only material necessary for that purpose. You do not even need a pair of shears to cut your tin, for it is much better folded over and hammered into shape, as shown by Fig. 301. Fig. 302 shows a crack and some rust holes in the tin roof. Take your carpet-tacks and hammer and neatly tack down the edges of the opening, as shown by Fig. 303. If there is any difficulty in driving tacks through the tin roof, use a small wire nail and hammer to first punch the holes. Put the tacks close together. With your paint-brush thickly coat the mended parts with white lead, as shown by Fig. 304. Cut a strip of a rag to fit over the holes and tack it at its four corners, as shown by Fig. 305. Now, then, cover the rag with a thick coat (Fig. 306) of the white lead. Next tack the tin over the wounded spots, putting the tacks close together, as shown by Fig. 306. Afterward coat the tin with a covering of white lead and the patchwork is done. The roof will not leak again at those spots in the next twenty years. This will leave white, unsightly blotches on the roof, but after the white lead is dry a few dabs with the red roof paint will make the white patches the same color as the surrounding tin and effectually conceal them. Do not forget the importance of carefully going over your roof after it is mended and make sure that every joint is properly covered, tacked, and thoroughly coated with white lead. Cover all joints, nails, and caps with a coat of white lead. Water will not run through the tin roofing, but it will find its way through nail holes, rust holes, and open seams if they are not made absolutely tight. Plumbing After I had finished doctoring up the kitchen roof of my farmhouse, I discovered that the drain-pipe from the kitchen sink had a nasty leak where the pipe ran through the cellar. Of course, there was no plumber handy--plumbers do not live in farming districts--so it was "up to" me and my helper to stop the leak as best we could. A few blows on the lead with the hammer, carefully administered, almost closed the hole. I then had recourse to the white lead which I had been using on the kitchen roof, and I daubed the pipe with paint; still the water oozed through; but after I had applied a strip of linen to the leak and then neatly wrapped it round and painted the whole of it with white lead the leak was effectually stopped, and the pipe is apparently as good now, six years after the mending, as it was when it was new. In this sort of work it must be remembered that it is the white lead we depend upon, and the other material which we use--the tin and the rags--are only for the purpose of protecting and holding the white lead in place. Of course, a roof may be mended with tar, but that is always unsightly and insists upon running when heated by a hot sun; besides, it is most difficult to conceal and does not come ready for use like white lead. If the leak happens to be around the chimney it can be mended by bending pieces of tin up against the chimney according to the diagram shown for the tar paper and patent roofings (Figs. 295 and 297). Flashings, Chimneys, Walls, Etc. Lead or copper is best for flashings, but in case metal is not convenient you will find that various patent roofing materials are good substitutes. Run the strips of roofing to the angle formed by the object to be flashed and extend the same up the object three or four inches. Fasten these strips to the roof in the usual way or by nailing cleats of wood over the top edges. Leaks in tubs, barrels, and tanks used about the farm can be mended with rags, tin, and white lead in the manner described for the roof and pipe. Also leaks in the leaders running from the roof may be treated in the same manner, but if you must get new leaders for your house by no means replace the old ones with _galvanized-steel_ tubes. You can tell the difference between galvanized steel and galvanized iron by its appearance. The steel is brighter and more silvery than the iron, but my experience is that the steel will last only two or three years; sometimes one season puts steel pipes out of commission, whereas galvanized iron will last indefinitely. After having three sets of galvanized-steel leaders on my town house, I had them replaced with copper leaders; for, although the expense is greater, I have found it more economical in the end. For people having plenty of money to spend on their country houses I would advise the use of copper leaders, but folks of limited means will save money patching up the old tin ones or old galvanized ones instead of replacing them with galvanized steel, which is of little service for outdoor wear. There are, I believe, only a few firms who now manufacture galvanized iron, but your architect can find them if you insist upon it. XLVIII HOW TO MAKE A CONCEALED LOG CABIN INSIDE OF A MODERN HOUSE IT was because the writer knew that a great many men and all the boys rebelled against the conventionalities and restrictions of a modern house that he first invented and suggested the surprise den and told how to make one years ago in the _Outing_ magazine. Since that article appeared the idea has been adopted by a number of people. There is a beautiful one in Toledo, O., where the writer was entertained during the floods, and Doctor Root, of Hartford, Conn., has even a better one in his home in that Yankee city. Fig. 308 shows a rough sketch of a corner of Doctor Root's surprise den which he calls his "loggery." From the outside of the house there is no indication of anything upon the inside that may not be found in any conventional dwelling, which is the proper way to build the surprise den. Figs. 307, 309, and 310 are sketches made as suggestions to those wishing to add the surprise den to their dwelling. To fathers and mothers having sons anywhere from twelve to thirty years of age, it is almost a necessity nowadays to give these boys a room of their own, popularly known as the "den," a retreat where they can go and sit in a chair without having fancy embroidered tidies adhere to their coat collars, where they can lean back in their chairs, if they choose, with no danger of ruining the valuable Hepplewhite or breaking the claw feet off a rare Chippendale--a place where they can relax. The greater the contrast between this room and the rest of the house, the greater will be the enjoyment derived by the boys to whom it belongs. The only two surprise dens which I have personally visited are the pride of the lives of two gentlemen who are both long past the years generally accorded to youth, but both of them are still boys in their hearts. The truth is a surprise den appeals to any man with romance in his soul; and the more grand, stately, and formal his house may be, the greater will the contrast be and the greater the surprise of this den. It is a unique idea and makes a delightful smoking-room for the gentlemen of the house as well as a den for the boys of the house. Fig. 307. Fig. 308. Fig. 309. Fig. 310. [Illustration: Suggestions for interiors of surprise dens and sketch of Dr. Root's surprise den.] If the reader's house is already built, the surprise den may be erected as an addition; it may be built as a log cabin after the manner of any of those previously described in this book, or it may be made an imitation log cabin by using slabs and nailing them on the walls in place of real whole logs. Doctor Root's surprise den, or "loggery," is made of whole logs and chinked with moss. Fig. 310 is supposed to be made of slabs, half logs, or puncheons nailed to the walls and ceiling and so arranged that the visitor cannot detect the deception. Personally, however, I do not like deception of any sort and would recommend that the house be made, if possible, of whole logs; but whatever way you build it, remember that it must have a generous, wide fireplace, a crane, and a good hearthstone, and that your furniture must either be made of the material to be found in the woods or selected from the antique furniture of some old farmhouse, not mahogany furniture, but Windsor chairs, three-legged stools, and deal-wood tables--such furniture as might be found in an old pioneer's home. Fig. 311. Fig. 312. Fig. 313. Fig. 314. Fig. 315. Fig. 316. Fig. 317. Fig. 318. Fig. 319. Fig. 320. [Illustration: Details of combined door-knob and wooden latch.] The principal thing to the surprise den, however, is the doorway. The outside of the door--that is, the side seen from the main part of the house--should be as formal as its surroundings and give no indication of what might be on the other side. If it opens from the most formal room in the house, so much the better. Fig. 321 shows the outside of the door of the surprise den; I do not mean by this outside of the house but a doorway facing the dining-room, library, drawing-room, or parlor. Fig. 321 shows one side of the door and Fig. 322 the other side of the same door. In this instance one side of the door is supposed to have a bronze escutcheon and a glass knob (Figs. 315 and 316). Of course, any other sort of a knob (Fig. 313) will answer our purpose, but the inside, or the surprise-den side, of the door must have A Wooden Latch After some experiments I discovered that this could be easily arranged by cutting a half-round piece of hardwood (_F_, Fig. 312) to fit upon the square end _G_ of the knob (Figs. 311 and 313) and be held in place with a small screw (Fig. 314). When this arrangement is made for the door and the knob put in place as it is in Figs. 315 and 316, a simple wooden latch (Fig. 317) with the catch _K_ (Fig. 319) and the guard (Fig. 320) may be fastened upon the den side of the door as shown by _K_, _L_, (Fig. 317). When the door is latched the wooden piece _F_ fits underneath the latch as shown by Fig. 317. When the knob is turned, it turns the half disk and lifts the latch _H_ as shown in Fig. 318; this, of course, opens the door, and the visitor is struck with amazement upon being ushered into a pioneer backwoods log cabin, where after-dinner coffee may be served, where the gentlemen may retire to smoke their cigars, where the master of the house may retire, free from the noise of the children, to go over his accounts, write his private letters, or simply sit before the fire and rest his tired brain by watching the smoke go up the chimney. Fig. 321. Fig. 322. [Illustration: The "surprise den." A log house inside a modern mansion.] Here also, over the open fire, fish, game, and chickens may be cooked, as our grandams and granddaddies cooked them, and quaint, old-fashioned luncheons and suppers served on earthenware or tin dishes, camp style. In truth, the surprise den possesses so many charming possibilities that it is destined to be an adjunct to almost every modern home. It can be enclosed within the walls of a city house, a suburban house, or added as a wing to a country house, but in all cases the outside of the surprise den should conform in material used and general appearance to the rest of the house so as not to betray the secret. XLIX HOW TO BUILD APPROPRIATE GATEWAYS FOR GROUNDS ENCLOSING LOG HOUSES, GAME PRESERVES, RANCHES, BIG COUNTRY ESTATES, AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST BOY SCOUTS' CAMP GROUNDS THE great danger with rustic work is the temptation, to which most builders yield, to make it too fancy and intricate in place of practical and simple. Figs. 323, 324, 325, and 326 are as ornamental as one can make them without incurring the danger of being overdone, too ornate, too fancy to be really appropriate. Fig. 323. Fig. 324. Fig. 325. Fig. 326. [Illustration: Which would you rather do or go fishing? Suggestions for log gates.] Which Would You Rather Do or Go Fishing? Fig. 328 is a gate made of upright logs with bevelled tops protected by plank acting as a roof, and a flattened log fitting across the top. The gate and fence, you may see, are of simple construction; horizontal logs for the lower part keep out small animals, upright posts and rails for the upper part keep out larger animals and at the same time do not shut out the view from the outside or the inside of the enclosure. Fig. 324 shows a roof gateway designed and made for the purpose of supplying building sites for barn swallows or other useful birds. The fence for this one is a different arrangement of logs, practical and not too fancy. Fig. 325 shows a modification of the gate shown by Fig. 323; in this one, however, in place of a plank protecting bevelled edges of the upright logs, two flattened logs are spiked on like rafters to a roof, the apex being surmounted by a bird-house. Fig. 326 shows another gateway composed of two upright logs with a cross log overhead in which holes have been excavated for the use of white-breasted swallows, bluebirds, woodpeckers, or flickers. Fig. 327 is another simple but picturesque form of gateway, where the cross log at the top has its two ends carved after the fashion of totem-poles. In place of a wooden fence a stone wall is shown. The ends of the logs (Fig. 327), which are embedded in the earth, should first be treated with two or three coats of creosote to prevent decay; but since it is the moisture of the ground that causes the decay, if you arrange your gate-posts like those shown in the vertical section (Fig. 328), they will last practically forever. Note that the short gate-post rests upon several small stones with air spaces between them, and pointed ends of the upright logs rest upon one big stone. The gate-post is fastened to the logs by crosspieces of board running horizontally from log to the post, and these are enclosed inside the stone pier so that they are concealed from view. This arrangement allows all the water to drain from the wood, leaving it dry and thus preventing decay. Fig. 329 shows another form of gate-post of more elaborate structure, surmounted by the forked trunk of a tree; these parts are supposed to be spiked together or secured in place by hardwood pegs. Never forget to add the bird-house or bird shelter to every gateway you make; it is more important than the gate itself. In my other books I have described and told how to make various forms of bird-houses, including my invention of the woodpecker's house now being manufactured by many firms, including one in Germany, but the reader should make his own bird-houses. I am glad the manufacturers have taken up these ideas for the good they will _do the birds_, but the ideas were published first solely for the use of the boys in the hopes of educating them both in the conservation of bird life and in the manual training necessary to construct bird-houses. Fig. 327. Fig. 328. Fig. 329. [Illustration: Gateways for game preserves, camps, etc.] Fig. 330. Fig. 331. Fig. 332. [Illustration: Log gate and details of same.] The reader must have, no doubt, noticed that the problems in this book have become more and more difficult as we approach the end, but this is because everything grows; as we acquire skill we naturally seek more and more difficult work on which to exercise our skill. These gateways, however, are none of them too difficult for the boys to build themselves. The main problem to overcome in building the picturesque log gateway shown by Fig. 331 is not in laying up the logs or constructing the roof--the reader has already learned how to do both in the forepart of this book--but it is in so laying the logs that the slant or incline on the two outsides will be exactly the same, also in so building the sides that when you reach the top of the open way and place your first overhead log, the log will be exactly horizontal, exactly level, as it must be to carry out the plan in a workmanlike manner. Fig. 330 shows you the framework of the roof, the ridge-pole of which is a plank cut "sway-backed," that is, lower in the centre than at either end. The frame should be roofed with hand-rived shingles, or at least hand-trimmed shingles, if you use the manufactured article of commerce. This gateway is appropriate for a common post-and-rail fence or any of the log fences illustrated in the previous diagrams. Fig. 332 shows how the fence here shown is constructed: the _A_ logs are bevelled to fit in diagonally, the _B_ and _C_ logs are set in as shown by the dotted line in Fig. 332. A gateway like the one shown here would make a splendid and imposing one for a permanent camp, whether it be a Boy Scout, a Girl Pioneer, a private camp for boys, or simply the entrance to a large private estate. The writer has made these diagrams so that they may be used by men or boys; the last one shows a gateway large enough to admit a "four-in-hand" stage-coach or an automobile, but the boys may build it in miniature so that the opening is only large enough to admit a pedestrian. _The End_ THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS By DAN C. BEARD Shelters, Shacks, and Shanties Illustrated by the Author $1.25 net He gives easily workable directions, accompanied by very full illustration, for over fifty shelters, shacks, and shanties, ranging from the most primitive shelter to a fully equipped log cabin. Boys will find it an invaluable guide in constructing temporary or permanent shelters in their hikes or encampments. Boat-Building and Boating A Handy Book for Beginners Illustrated by the Author $1.00 net The directions for making boats are practical and illustrated by simple diagrams, and the work is full of new and suggestive ideas for all kinds of craft. The Boy Pioneers Sons of Daniel Boone Illustrated by the Author $1.50 net "A book that is truly fine and will probably have a wider influence on the lives of boys into whose hands it falls than almost any other book that comes their way."--_The Interior._ The Field and Forest Handy Book Or, New Ideas for Out of Doors Illustrated by the Author $1.50 net "Instructions as to ways to build boats and fire-engines, make aquariums, rafts and sleds, to camp in a back-yard, etc. No better book of the kind exists."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ THE BEARD BOOKS FOR BOYS The Jack of All Trades Or, New Ideas for American Boys Illustrated by the Author $1.50 net "Every boy who is handy with tools of any sort will enjoy this book."--_Youth's Companion._ "Full of new ideas for active boys who like to use tools and see interesting things growing under their hands."--_New York Tribune._ "A perfect treasure-house of things that delight the soul of a boy."--_The Interior._ The Outdoor Handy Book For Playground, Field and Forest Illustrated by the Author $1.50 net "It tells how to play all sorts of games with marbles, how to make and spin more kinds of tops than most boys ever heard of, how to make the latest things in plain and fancy kites, where to dig bait and how to fish, all about boats and sailing, and a host of other things which can be done out of doors. The volume is profusely illustrated and will be an unmixed delight to any boy."--_New York Tribune._ The American Boys Handy Book Or, What To Do and How To Do It Illustrated by the Author $1.50 net "It tells boys how to make all kinds of things--boats, traps, toys, puzzles, aquariums, fishing tackle; how to tie knots, splice ropes, make bird calls, sleds, blow guns, balloons; how to rear wild birds, to train dogs, and do a thousand and one things that boys take delight in. The book is illustrated in such a way that no mistake can be made; and the boy who gets a copy of this book will consider himself set up in business."--_The Indianapolis Journal._ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS By LINA BEARD and ADELIA B. BEARD Handicraft and Recreation for Girls With over 700 illustrations by the Authors 8vo. $1.50 net An elaborate book for girls, by Lina and Adelia Beard whose former books on girls' sports have become classic, which contains a mass of practical instruction on handicrafts and recreations. So many and so various are the things it tells how to do and make that it will give occupation to any sort of girl in all seasons and all weathers. "The girl who gets this book will not lack for occupation and pleasure."--_Chicago Evening Post._ What a Girl Can Make and Do New Ideas for Work and Play With more than 300 illustrations by the Authors Square 8vo. $1.50 net This book is the result of the authors' earnest desire to encourage in their young friends the wish to do things for themselves. Its aim is to give suggestions that will help them to satisfy this wish. Within its covers are described a great variety of things useful, instructive, and entertaining, suited for both indoors and out. "It would be a dull girl who could not make herself busy and happy following its precepts."--_Chicago Record-Herald._ THE BEARD BOOKS FOR GIRLS The American Girl's Handy Book How To Amuse Yourself and Others With nearly 500 illustrations 8vo. $1.50 net In this book Lina and Adelia Beard, the authors, tell everything the girls of to-day want to know about sports, games, and winter afternoon and evening amusements and work, in a clear, simple, entertaining way. Eight new chapters have been added to the original forty-two that made the book famous. "It is a treasure which, once possessed, no practical girl would willingly part with."--_Grace Greenwood._ Things Worth Doing and How To Do Them With some 600 drawings by the Authors that show exactly how they should be done 8vo. $1.50 net This book by Lina and Adelia Beard comprises an infinite variety of amusing things that are worth doing. Some of these things are:--"A Wonderful Circus at Home," "The Wild West on a Table," "How to Weave Without a Loom," "How to Make Friends with the Stars," "A Living Christmas Tree," etc. "Everything is so plainly set forth and so fully illustrated with drawings that the happy owners of the book should find it easy to follow its suggestions."--_New York Tribune._ CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Page 202 fat side changed to flat side. Page 230 numer changed to number. 
23129	----	The Young Voyageurs--Boy Hunters in the North, by Captain Mayne Reid. ________________________________________________________________________ The heroes are the three boys whom we met in "The Boy Hunters" where they were off on a search for a white buffalo, which their father had requested. Now, however, their father has died, and the only relative they have is an uncle who works for the Hudson's Bay Company, in the very north of Canada. The uncle sends for them, and sends his own son to guide them over the Canadian part of the journey. This is the story of their journey from their original home in the south of the U.S.A., many thousands of miles, to be with their uncle. At the time the only way they could do this journey was by their own efforts, by canoe, on foot, and, after the onset of winter, by sledge, or, if they could get one, by dog-train. The canoe and much of their clothes, food and equipment is lost in a major rapid, so they are very much thrown on their own ingenuity and woodcraft. One of the boys has a major interest in natural history, and we hear from him all about the various animals and birds encountered. This is far from being a bore, as the author has taken care to make it interesting. This is a very enjoyable book, even though it is over 150 years since it was written. ________________________________________________________________________ THE YOUNG VOYAGEURS--BOY HUNTERS IN THE NORTH, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. CHAPTER ONE. THE FUR COUNTRIES. Boy reader, you have heard of the Hudson's Bay Company? Ten to one, you have worn a piece of fur, which it has provided for you; if not, your pretty little sister has--in her muff, or her boa, or as a trimming for her winter dress. Would you like to know something of the country whence come these furs?--of the animals whose backs have been stripped to obtain them? As I feel certain that you and I are old friends, I make bold to answer for you--yes. Come, then! let us journey together to the "Fur Countries;" let us cross them from south to north. A vast journey it will be. It will cost us many thousand miles of travel. We shall find neither railway-train, nor steamboat, nor stage-coach, to carry us on our way. We shall not even have the help of a horse. For us no hotel shall spread its luxurious board; no road-side inn shall hang out its inviting sign and "clean beds;" no roof of any kind shall offer us its hospitable shelter. Our table shall be a rock, a log, or the earth itself; our lodging a tent; and our bed the skin of a wild beast. Such are the best accommodations we can expect upon our journey. Are you still ready to undertake it? Does the prospect not deter you? No--I hear you exclaim. I shall be satisfied with the table--what care I for mahogany? With the lodging--I can tent like an Arab. With the bed--fling feathers to the wind! Enough, brave boy! you shall go with me to the wild regions of the "North-west," to the far "fur countries" of America. But, first--a word about the land through which we are going to travel. Take down your Atlas. Bend your eye upon the map of North America. Note two large islands--one upon the right side, Newfoundland; another upon the left, Vancouver. Draw a line from one to the other; it will nearly bisect the continent. North of that line you behold a vast territory. How vast! You may take your scissors, and clip fifty Englands out of it! There are lakes there in which you might _drown_ England, or make an island of it! Now, you may form some idea of the vastness of that region known as the "fur countries." Will you believe me, when I tell you that all this immense tract is a wilderness--a howling wilderness, if you like a poetical name? It is even so. From north to south, from ocean to ocean,--throughout all that vast domain, there is neither town nor village--hardly anything that can be dignified with the name of "settlement." The only signs of civilisation to be seen are the "forts," or trading posts, of the Hudson's Bay Company; and these "signs" are few and far--hundreds of miles--between. For inhabitants, the country has less than ten thousand white men, the _employes_ of the Company; and its native people are Indians of many tribes, living far apart, few in numbers, subsisting by the chase, and half starving for at least a third part of every year! In truth, the territory can hardly be called "inhabited." There is not a man to every ten miles; and in many parts of it you may travel hundreds of miles without seeing a face, red, white, or black! The physical aspect is, therefore, entirely wild. It is very different in different parts of the territory. One tract is peculiar. It has been long known as the "Barren Grounds." It is a tract of vast extent. It lies north-west from the shores of Hudson's Bay, extending nearly to the Mackenzie River. Its rocks are _primitive_. It is a land of hills and valleys,--of deep dark lakes and sharp-running streams. It is a woodless region. No timber is found there that deserves the name. No trees but glandular dwarf birches, willows, and black spruce, small and stunted. Even these only grow in isolated valleys. More generally the surface is covered with coarse sand--the _debris_ of granite or quartz-rock--upon which no vegetable, save the lichen or the moss, can find life and nourishment. In one respect these "Barren Grounds" are unlike the deserts of Africa: they are well watered. In almost every valley there is a lake; and though many of these are landlocked, yet do they contain fish of several species. Sometimes these lakes communicate with each other by means of rapid and turbulent streams passing through narrow gorges; and lines of those connected lakes form the great rivers of the district. Such is a large portion of the Hudson's Bay territory. Most of the extensive peninsula of Labrador partakes of a similar character; and there are other like tracts west of the Rocky Mountain range in the "Russian possessions." Yet these "Barren Grounds" have their denizens. Nature has formed animals that delight to dwell there, and that are never found in more fertile regions. Two ruminating creatures find sustenance upon the mosses and lichens that cover their cold rocks: they are the caribou (reindeer) and the musk-ox. These, in their turn, become the food and subsistence of preying creatures. The wolf, in all its varieties of grey, black, white, pied, and dusky, follows upon their trail. The "brown bear,"--a large species, nearly resembling the "grizzly,"--is found only in the Barren Grounds; and the great "Polar bear" comes within their borders, but the latter is a dweller upon their shores alone, and finds his food among the finny tribes of the seas that surround them. In marshy ponds, existing here and there, the musk-rat (_Fibre zibethieus_) builds his house, like that of his larger cousin, the beaver. Upon the water sedge he finds subsistence; but his natural enemy, the wolverene (_Gulo luscus_), skulks in the same neighbourhood. The "Polar hare" lives upon the leaves and twigs of the dwarf birch-tree; and this, transformed into its own white flesh, becomes the food of the Arctic fox. The herbage, sparse though it be, does not grow in vain. The seeds fall to the earth, but they are not suffered to decay. They are gathered by the little lemmings and meadow-mice (_arvicolae_), who, in their turn, become the prey of two species of _mustelidae_, the ermine and vison weasels. Have the fish of the lakes no enemy? Yes--a terrible one in the Canada otter. The mink-weasel, too, pursues them; and in summer, the osprey, the great pelican, the cormorant, and the white-headed eagle. These are the _fauna_ of the Barren Grounds. Man rarely ventures within their boundaries. The wretched creatures who find a living there are the Esquimaux on their coasts, and a few Chippewa Indians in the interior, who hunt the caribou, and are known as "caribou-eaters." Other Indians enter them only in summer, in search of game, or journeying from point to point; and so perilous are these journeyings, that numbers frequently perish by the way. There are no white men in the Barren Grounds. The "Company" has no commerce there. No fort is established in them: so scarce are the fur-bearing animals of these parts, their skins would not repay the expense of a "trading post." Far different are the "wooded tracts" of the fur countries. These lie mostly in the southern and central regions of the Hudson's Bay territory. There are found the valuable beaver, and the wolverene that preys upon it. There dwells the American hare, with its enemy the Canada lynx. There are the squirrels, and the beautiful martens (sables) that hunt them from tree to tree. There are found the foxes of every variety, the red, the cross, and the rare and highly-prized silver-fox (_Vulpes argentatus_), whose shining skin sells for its weight in gold! There, too, the black bear (_Ursus Americanus_) yields its fine coat to adorn the winter carriage, the holsters of the dragoon, and the shako of the grenadier. There the fur-bearing animals exist in greatest plenty, and many others whose skins are valuable in commerce, as the moose, the wapiti, and the wood-bison. But there is also a "prairie" district in the fur countries. The great table prairies of North America, that slope eastward from the Rocky Mountains, also extend northward into the Hudson's Bay territory. They gradually grow narrower, however, as you proceed farther north, until, on reaching the latitude of the Great Slave Lake, they end altogether. This "prairie land" has its peculiar animals. Upon it roams the buffalo, the prong-horned antelope, and the mule-deer. There, too, may be seen the "barking-wolf" and the "swift fox." It is the favourite home of the marmots, and the gauffres or sand-rats; and there, too, the noblest of animals, the horse, runs wild. West of this prairie tract is a region of far different aspect,--the region of the Rocky Mountains. This stupendous chain, sometimes called the Andes of North America, continues throughout the fur countries from their southern limits to the shores of the Arctic Sea. Some of its peaks overlook the waters of that sea itself, towering up near the coast. Many of these, even in southern latitudes, carry the "eternal snow." This "mountain-chain" is, in places, of great breadth. Deep valleys lie in its embrace, many of which have never been visited by man. Some are desolate and dreary; others are oases of vegetation, which fascinate the traveller whose fortune it has been, after toiling among naked rocks, to gaze upon their smiling fertility. These lovely wilds are the favourite home of many strange animals. The argali, or mountain-sheep, with his huge curving horns, is seen there; and the shaggy wild goat bounds along the steepest cliffs. The black bear wanders through the wooded ravines; and his fiercer congener, the "grizzly"--the most dreaded of all American animals--drags his huge body along the rocky declivities. Having crossed the mountains, the fur countries extend westward to the Pacific. There you encounter barren plains, treeless and waterless; rapid rivers, that foam through deep, rock-bound channels; and a country altogether rougher in aspect, and more mountainous, than that lying to the east of the great chain. A warmer atmosphere prevails as you approach the Pacific, and in some places forests of tall trees cover the earth. In these are found most of the fur-bearing animals; and, on account of the greater warmth of the climate, the true _felidae_--the long-tailed cats--here wander much farther north than upon the eastern side of the continent. Even so far north as the forests of Oregon these appear in the forms of the cougar (_Felis concolor_), and the ounce (_Felis onza_). But it is not our intention at present to cross the Rocky Mountains. Our journey will lie altogether on the eastern side of that great chain. It will extend from the frontiers of civilisation to the shores of the Arctic Sea. It is a long and perilous journey, boy reader; but as we have made up our minds to it, let us waste no more time in talking, but set forth at once. You are ready? Hurrah! CHAPTER TWO. THE YOUNG VOYAGEURS. There is a canoe upon the waters of Red River--Red River of the north. It is near the source of the stream, but passing downward. It is a small canoe, a frail structure of birch-bark, and contains only four persons. They are all young--the eldest of them evidently not over nineteen years of age, and the youngest about fifteen. The eldest is nearly full-grown, though his body and limbs have not yet assumed the muscular development of manhood. His complexion is dark, nearly olive. His hair is jet-black, straight as an Indian's, and long. His eyes are large and brilliant, and his features prominent. His countenance expresses courage, and his well-set jaws betoken firmness and resolution. He does not belie his looks, for he possesses these qualifications in a high degree. There is a gravity in his manner, somewhat rare in one so young; yet it is not the result of a morose disposition, but a subdued temperament produced by modesty, good sense, and much experience. Neither has it the air of stupidity. No: you could easily tell that the mind of this youth, if once roused, would exhibit both energy and alertness. His quiet manner has a far different expression. It is an air of coolness and confidence, which tells you he has met with dangers in the past, and would not fear to encounter them again. It is an expression peculiar, I think, to the hunters of the "Far West,"--those men who dwell amidst dangers in the wild regions of the great prairies. Their solitary mode of life begets this expression. They are often for months without the company of a creature with whom they may converse--months without beholding a human face. They live alone with Nature, surrounded by her majestic forms. These awe them into habits of silence. Such was in point of fact the case with the youth whom we have been describing. He had hunted much, though not as a professional hunter. With him the chase had been followed merely as a pastime; but its pursuit had brought him into situations of peril, and in contact with Nature in her wild solitudes. Young as he was, he had journeyed over the grand prairies, and through the pathless forests of the West. He had slain the bear and the buffalo, the wild-cat and the cougar. These experiences had made their impression upon his mind, and stamped his countenance with that air of gravity we have noticed. The second of the youths whom we shall describe is very different in appearance. He is of blonde complexion, rather pale, with fair silken hair that waves gently down his cheeks, and falls upon his shoulders. He is far from robust. On the contrary, his form is thin and delicate. It is not the delicacy of feebleness or ill-health, but only a body of slighter build. The manner in which he handles his oar shows that he possesses both health and strength, though neither in such a high degree as the dark youth. His face expresses, perhaps, a larger amount of intellect, and it is a countenance that would strike you as more open and communicative. The eye is blue and mild, and the brow is marked by the paleness of study and habits of continued thought. These indications are no more than just, for the fair-haired youth _is_ a student, and one of no ordinary attainments. Although only seventeen years of age, he is already well versed in the natural sciences; and many a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge would but ill compare with him. The former might excel in the knowledge--if we can dignify it by that name--of the laws of scansion, or in the composition of Greek idyls; but in all that constitutes _real_ knowledge he would prove but an idle theorist, a dreamy imbecile, alongside our practical young scholar of the West. The third and youngest of the party--taking them as they sit from stem to bow--differs in many respects from both those described. He has neither the gravity of the first, nor yet the intellectuality of the second. His face is round, and full, and ruddy. It is bright and smiling in its expression. His eye dances merrily in his head, and its glance falls upon everything. His lips are hardly ever at rest. They are either engaged in making words--for he talks almost incessantly--or else contracting and expanding with smiles and joyous laughter. His cap is jauntily set, and his fine brown curls, hanging against the rich roseate skin of his cheeks, give to his countenance an expression of extreme health and boyish beauty. His merry laugh and free air tell you he is not the boy for books. He is not much of a hunter neither. In fact, he is not particularly given to anything--one of those easy natures who take the world as it comes, look upon the bright side of everything, without getting sufficiently interested to excel in anything. These three youths were dressed nearly alike. The eldest wore the costume, as near as may be, of a backwoods hunter--a tunic-like hunting-shirt, of dressed buckskin, leggings and mocassins of the same material, and all--shirt, leggings, and mocassins--handsomely braided and embroidered with stained quills of the porcupine. The cape of the shirt was tastefully fringed, and so was the skirt as well as the seams of the mocassins. On his head was a hairy cap of raccoon skin, and the tail of the animal, with its dark transverse bars, hung down behind like the drooping plume of a helmet. Around his shoulders were two leathern belts that crossed each other upon his breast. One of these slung a bullet-pouch covered with a violet-green skin that glittered splendidly in the sun. It was from the head of the "wood-duck" (_Anas sponsa_), the most beautiful bird of its tribe. By the other strap was suspended a large crescent-shaped horn taken from the head of an Opelousas bull, and carved with various ornamental devices. Other smaller implements hung from the belts, attached by leathern thongs: there was a picker, a wiper, and a steel for striking fire with. A third belt--a broad stout one of alligator leather--encircled the youth's waist. To this was fastened a holster, and the shining butt of a pistol could be seen protruding out; a hunting-knife of the kind denominated "bowie" hanging over the left hip, completed his "arms and accoutrements." The second of the youths was dressed, as already stated, in a somewhat similar manner, though his accoutrements were not of so warlike a character. Like the other, he had a powder-horn and pouch, but instead of knife and pistol, a canvass bag or haversack hung from his shoulder; and had you looked into it, you would have seen that it was half filled with shells, pieces of rock, and rare plants, gathered during the day-- the diurnal storehouse of the geologist, the palaeontologist, and botanist--to be emptied for study and examination by the night camp-fire. Instead of the 'coon-skin cap he wore a white felt hat with broad leaf; and for leggings and mocassins he had trousers of blue cottonade and laced buskins of tanned leather. The youngest of the three was dressed and accoutred much like the eldest, except that his cap was of blue cloth--somewhat after the fashion of the military forage cap. All three wore shirts of coloured cotton, the best for journeying in these uninhabited regions, where soap is scarce, and a laundress not to be had at any price. Though very unlike one another, these three youths were brothers. I knew them well. I had seen them before--about two years before--and though each had grown several inches taller since that time, I had no difficulty in recognising them. Even though they were now two thousand miles from where I had formerly encountered them, I could not be mistaken as to their identity. Beyond a doubt they were the same brave young adventurers whom I had met in the swamps of Louisiana, and whose exploits I had witnessed upon the prairies of Texas. They were the "Boy Hunters,"--Basil, Lucien, Francois! I was right glad to renew acquaintance with them. Boy reader, do you share my joy? But whither go they now? They are full two thousand miles from their home in Louisiana. The Red River upon which their canoe floats is not that Red River, whose blood-like waters sweep through the swamps of the hot South--the home of the alligator and the gar. No, it is a stream of a far different character, though also one of great magnitude. Upon the banks of the former ripens the rice-plant, and the sugar-cane waves its golden tassels high in the air. There, too, flourishes the giant reed (_Arundo gigantea_), the fan-palm (_Chamaerops_), and the broad-leafed magnolia, with its huge snow-white flowers. There the aspect is Southern, and the heat tropical for most part of the year. All this is reversed on the Red River of the North. It is true that on its banks sugar is also produced; but it is no longer from a plant but a lordly tree--the great sugar-maple (_Acer saccharinum_). There is rice too,--vast fields of rice upon its marshy borders; but it is not the pearly grain of the South. It is the wild rice, "the water oats" (_Zizania aquatica_), the food of millions of winged creatures, and thousands of human beings as well. Here for three-fourths of the year the sun is feeble, and the aspect that of winter. For months the cold waters are bound up in an icy embrace. The earth is covered with thick snow, over which rise the needle-leafed _coniferae_--the pines, the cedars, the spruce, and the hemlock. Very unlike each other are the countries watered by the two streams, the Red River of the South and its namesake of the North. But whither go our Boy Hunters in their birch-bark canoe? The river upon which they are _voyaging_ runs due northward into the great Lake Winnipeg. They are floating with its current, and consequently increasing the distance from their home. Whither go they? The answer leads us to some sad reflections. Our joy on again beholding them is to be mingled with grief. When we last saw them they had a father, but no mother. Now they have neither one nor the other. The old Colonel, their father--the French _emigre_, the _hunter-naturalist_--is dead. He who had taught them all they knew, who had taught them "to ride, to swim, to dive deep rivers, to fling the lasso, to climb tall trees, and scale steep cliffs, to bring down birds upon the wing or beasts upon the run, with the arrow and the unerring rifle; who had trained them to sleep in the open air, in the dark forest, on the unsheltered prairie, along the white snow-wreath-- anywhere--with but a blanket or a buffalo-robe for their bed; who had taught them to live on the simplest food, and had imparted to one of them a knowledge of science, of botany in particular, that enabled them, in case of need, to draw sustenance from plants and trees, from roots and fruits, to find resources where ignorant men would starve; had taught them to kindle a fire without flint, steel, or detonating powder; to discover their direction without a compass, from the rocks and the trees and the signs of the heavens; and in addition to all, had taught them, as far as was then known, the geography of that vast wilderness that stretches from the Mississippi to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, and northward to the icy borders of the Arctic Sea"--he who had taught them all this, their father, was no more; and his three sons, the "boy men," of whom he was so proud, and of whose accomplishments he was wont to boast, were now orphans upon the wide world. But little more than a year after their return from their grand expedition to the Texan prairies, the "old Colonel" had died. It was one of the worst years of that scourge of the South--the yellow fever-- and to this dread pestilence he had fallen a victim. Hugot, the _ex-chasseur_ and attached domestic, who was accustomed to follow his master like a shadow, had also followed him into the next world. It was not grief that killed Hugot, though he bore the loss of his kind master sadly enough. But it was not grief that killed Hugot. He was laid low by the same disease of which his master had died--the yellow fever. A week had scarcely passed after the death of the latter, before Hugot caught the disease, and in a few days he was carried to the tomb and laid by the side of his "old Colonel." The Boy Hunters--Basil, Lucien, Francois--became orphans. They knew of but _one_ relation in the whole world, with whom their father had kept up any correspondence. This relation was an uncle, and, strange as it may seem, a Scotchman--a Highlander, who had strayed to Corsica in early life, and had there married the Colonel's sister. That uncle had afterwards emigrated to Canada, and had become extensively engaged in the fur trade. He was now a superintendent or "factor" of the Hudson's Bay Company, stationed at one of their most remote posts near the shores of the Arctic Sea! There is a romance in the history of some men wilder than any fiction that could be imagined. I have not yet answered the question as to where our Boy Hunters were journeying in their birch-bark canoe. By this time you will have divined the answer. Certainly, you will say, they were on their way to join their uncle in his remote home. For no other object could they be travelling through the wild regions of the Red River. That supposition is correct. To visit this Scotch uncle (they had not seen him for years) was the object of their long, toilsome, and perilous journey. After their father's death he had sent for them. He had heard of their exploits upon the prairies; and, being himself of an adventurous disposition, he was filled with admiration for his young kinsmen, and desired very much to have them come and live with him. Being now their guardian, he might command as much, but it needed not any exercise of authority on his part to induce all three of them to obey his summons. They had travelled through the mighty forests of the Mississippi, and upon the summer prairies of the South. These great features of the earth's surface were to them familiar things, and they were no longer curious about them. But there remained a vast country which they longed eagerly to explore. They longed to look upon its shining lakes and crystal rivers; upon its snow-clad hills and ice-bound streams; upon its huge mammalia--its moose and its musk-oxen, its wapiti and its monster bears. This was the very country to which they were now invited by their kinsman, and cheerfully did they accept his invitation. Already had they made one-half the journey, though by far the easier half. They had travelled up the Mississippi, by steamboat as far as the mouth of the Saint Peter's. There they had commenced their canoe voyage--in other words became "voyageurs"--for such is the name given to those who travel by canoes through these wild territories. Their favourite horses and the mule "Jeannette" had been left behind. This was a necessity, as these creatures, however useful upon the dry prairies of the South, where there are few or no lakes, and where rivers only occur at long intervals, would be of little service to the traveller in the Northern regions. Here the route is crossed and intercepted by numerous rivers; and lakes of all sizes, with tracts of inundated marsh, succeed one another continually. Such, in fact, are the highways of the country, and the canoe the travelling carriage; so that a journey from one point of the Hudson's Bay territory to another is often a canoe voyage of thousands of miles--equal to a "trip" across the Atlantic! Following the usual custom, therefore, our Boy Hunters had become voyageurs--"_Young Voyageurs_." They had navigated the Saint Peter's in safety, almost to its head-waters. These interlock with the sources of the Red River. By a "portage" of a few miles they had crossed to the latter stream; and, having launched their canoe upon its waters, were now floating downward and northward with its current. But they had yet a long journey before them--nearly two thousand miles! Many a river to be "run," many a rapid to be "shot," many a lake to be crossed, and many a "portage" to be passed, ere they could reach the end of that great _voyage_. Come, boy reader, shall we accompany them? Yes. The strange scenes and wild adventures through which we must pass, may lighten the toils, and perhaps repay us for the perils, of the journey. Think not of the toils. Roses grow only upon thorns. From toil we learn to enjoy leisure. Regard not the perils. "From the nettle danger we pluck the flower safety." Security often springs from peril. From such hard experiences great men have arisen. Come, then, my young friend! mind neither toil nor peril, but with me to the great wilderness of the North! Stay! We are to have another "_compagnon du voyage_." There is a fourth in the boat, a fourth "young voyageur." Who is he? In appearance he is as old as Basil, full as tall, and not unlike him in "build." But he is altogether of a different _colour_. He is fair-haired; but his hair (unlike that of Lucien, which is also light-coloured) is strong, crisp, and curly. It does not droop, but stands out over his cheeks in a profusion of handsome ringlets. His complexion is of that kind known as "fresh," and the weather, to which it has evidently been much exposed, has bronzed and rather enriched the colour. The eyes are dark blue, and, strange to say, with _black_ brows and lashes! This is not common, though sometimes observed; and, in the case of the youth we are describing, arose from a difference of complexion on the part of his parents. He looked through the eyes of his mother, while in other respects he was more like his father, who was fair-haired and of a "fresh" colour. The youth, himself, might be termed handsome. Perhaps he did not possess the youthful beauty of Francois, nor the bolder kind that characterised the face of Basil. Perhaps he was of a coarser "make" than any of his three companions. His intellect had been less cultivated by education, and _education adds to the beauty of the face_. His life had been a harder one--he had toiled more with his hands, and had seen less of civilised society. Still many would have pronounced him a handsome youth. His features were regular, and of clean outline. His lips expressed good-nature as well as firmness. His eye beamed with native intelligence, and his whole face bespoke a heart of true and determined honesty--_that made it beautiful_. Perhaps a close scrutiniser of countenances might have detected some resemblance--a family one--between him and his three companions. If such there was, it was very slight; but there might have been, from the relationship that existed between them and him. He was their cousin-- their full cousin--the only son of that uncle they were now on their way to visit, and the new-comer who had been sent to bring them. Such was the fourth of "the young voyageurs." His dress was not unlike that worn by Basil; but as he was seated on the bow, and acting as pilot, and therefore more likely to feel the cold, he wore over his hunting-shirt a Canadian _capote_ of white woollen cloth, with its hood hanging, down upon his shoulders. But there was still another "voyageur," an old acquaintance, whom you, boy reader, will no doubt remember. This was an animal, a quadruped, who lay along the bottom of the canoe upon a buffalo's hide. "From his size and colour--which was a tawny red--you might have mistaken him for a panther--a cougar. His long black muzzle and broad hanging ears gave him quite a different aspect, however, and declared him to be a hound. He _was_ one--a bloodhound, with the build of a mastiff--a powerful animal. He was the dog `Marengo.'" You remember Marengo? In the canoe there were other objects of interest. There were blankets and buffalo-robes; there was a small canvass tent folded up; there were bags of provisions, and some cooking utensils; there was a spade and an axe; there were rifles--three of them--and a double-barrelled shot-gun; besides a fish-net, and many other articles, the necessary equipments for such a journey. Loaded almost to the gunwale was that little canoe, yet lightly did it float down the waters of the Red River of the North. CHAPTER THREE. THE TRUMPETER SWAN AND THE BALD EAGLE. It was the spring season, though late. The snow had entirely disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than usual. Our young voyageurs needed not therefore to ply their oars, except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no rudder, but are steered by the paddles. The skilful voyageurs can shoot them to any point they please, simply by their dexterous handling of the oars; and Basil, Lucien, and Francois, had had sufficient practice both with "skiffs" and "dugouts" to make good oarsmen of all three. They had made many a canoe trip upon the lower Mississippi and the bayous of Louisiana; besides their journey up the Saint Peter's had rendered them familiar with the management of their birchen craft. An occasional stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on without effort. Norman--such was the name of their Canadian or Highland cousin--sat in the bow and directed their course. This is the post of honour in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post. Lucien sat in the stern. He held in his hands a book and pencil; and as the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his memoranda. The trees upon the banks were in leaf--many of them in blossom--and as the little craft verged near the shore, his keen eye followed the configuration of the leaves, to discover any new species that might appear. There is a rich vegetation upon the banks of the Red River; but the _flora_ is far different from that which appears upon the low _alluvion_ of Louisiana. It is Northern, but not Arctic. Oaks, elms, and poplars, are seen mingling with birches, willows, and aspens. Several species of indigenous fruit trees were observed by Lucien, among which were crab-apple, raspberry, strawberry, and currant. There was also seen the fruit called by the voyageurs "le poire," but which in English phraseology is known as the "service-berry" (_Amelanchier ovalis_). It grows upon a small bush or shrub of six or eight feet high, with smooth pinnate leaves. These pretty red berries are much esteemed and eaten both by Indians and whites, who preserve them by drying, and cook them in various ways. There was still another bush that fixed the attention of our young botanist, as it appeared all along the banks, and was a _characteristic_ of the vegetation of the country. It was not over eight feet in height, with spreading branches of a grey colour. Its leaves were three inches wide, and somewhat lobed liked those of the oak. Of course, at this early season, the fruit was not ripe upon it; but Lucien knew the fruit well. When ripe it resembles very much a red cherry, or, still more, a cranberry, having both the appearance and acrid taste of the latter. Indeed, it is sometimes used as a substitute for cranberries in the making of pies and tarts; and in many parts it is called the "bush cranberry." The name, however, by which it is known among the Indians of Red River is "_anepeminan_," from "_nepen_," summer, and "_minan_" berry. This has been corrupted by the fur-traders and voyageurs into "Pembina;" hence, the name of a river which runs into the Red, and also he name of the celebrated but unsuccessful settlement of "Pembina," formed by Lord Selkirk many years ago. Both took their names from this berry that grows in abundance in the neighbourhood. The botanical appellation of this curious shrub is _Viburnum oxycoccos_; but there is another species of the viburnum, which is also styled "oxycoccos." The common "snowball bush" of our gardens is a plant of the same genus, and very like the "Pembina" both in leaf and flower. In fact, in a wild state they might be regarded as the same; but it is well-known that the flowers of the snowball are sterile, and do not produce the beautiful bright crimson berries of the "Pembina." Lucien lectured upon these points to his companions as they floated along. Norman listened with astonishment to his philosophic cousin, who, although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its plants and trees than he did himself. Basil also was interested in the explanations given by his brother. On the contrary, Francois, who cared but little for botanical studies, or studies of any sort, was occupied differently. He sat near the middle of the canoe, double-barrel in hand, eagerly watching for a shot. Many species of water-fowl were upon the river, for it was now late in the spring, and the wild geese and ducks had all arrived, and were passing northward upon their annual migration. During the day Francois had got several shots, and had "bagged" three wild geese, all of different kinds, for there are many species of wild geese in America. He had also shot some ducks. But this did not satisfy him. There was a bird upon the river that could not be approached. No matter how the canoe was manoeuvred, this shy creature always took flight before Francois could get within range. For days he had been endeavouring to kill one. Even upon the Saint Peter's many of them had been seen, sometimes in pairs, at other times in small flocks of six or seven, but always shy and wary. The very difficulty of getting a shot at them, along with the splendid character of the birds themselves, had rendered Francois eager to obtain one. The bird itself was no other than the great wild swan--the king of aquatic birds. "Come, brother!" said Francois, addressing Lucien, "bother your viburnums and your oxycocks! Tell us something about these swans. See! there goes another of them! What a splendid fellow he is! I'd give something to have him within range of buck-shot." As Francois spoke he pointed down-stream to a great white bird that was seen moving out from the bank. It was a swan, and one of the very largest kind--a "trumpeter" (_Cygnus buccinator_). It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice (_Zizania aquatica_), and no doubt the sight of the canoe or the plash of the guiding oar had disturbed, and given it the alarm. It shot out from the reeds with head erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyageurs a spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing, that, among the feathered race at least, is quite inimitable. A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down the river, and swam with the current. At the point where it turned it was not two hundred yards ahead of the canoe. Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without taking wing, led Francois to hope that they might get still nearer; and, begging his companions to ply the paddles, he seized hold of his double-barrel, and leaned forward in the canoe. Basil also conceived a hope that a shot was to be had, for he took up his rifle, and looked to the cock and cap. The others went steadily and quietly to work at the oars. In a few moments the canoe cleft the current at the rate of a galloping horse, and one would have supposed that the swan must either at once take wing or be overtaken. Not so, however. The "trumpeter" knew his game better than that. He had full confidence both in his strength and speed upon the water. He was not going to undergo the trouble of a fly, until the necessity arose for so doing; and, as it was, he seemed to be satisfied that that necessity had not yet arrived. The swim cost him much less muscular exertion than flying would have done, and he judged that the current, here very swift, would carry him out of reach of his pursuers. It soon began to appear that he judged rightly; and the voyageurs, to their chagrin, saw that, instead of gaining upon him, as they had expected, every moment widened the distance between him and the canoe. The bird had an advantage over his pursuers. Three distinct powers propelled him, while they had only two to rely upon. He had the current in his favour--so had they. He had oars or paddles--his feet; they had oars as well. He "carried sail," while they spread not a "rag." The wind chanced to blow directly down-stream, and the broad wings of the bird, held out from his body, and half extended, caught the very pith of the breeze on their double concave surfaces, and carried him through the water with the velocity of an arrow. Do you think that he was not aware of this advantage when he started in the race? Do you suppose that these birds do not _think_? I for one am satisfied they do, and look upon every one who prates about the _instinct_ of these creatures as a philosopher of a very old school indeed. Not only does the great swan think, but so does your parrot, and your piping bullfinch, and the little canary that hops on your thumb. All think, and _reason_, and _judge_. Should it ever be your fortune to witness the performance of those marvellous birds, exhibited by the graceful Mademoiselle Vandermeersch in the fashionable _salons_ of Paris and London, you will agree with me in the belief that the smallest of them has a mind like yourself. Most certainly the swan, which our voyageurs were pursuing, thought, and reasoned, and judged, and calculated his distance, and resolved to keep on "the even tenor of his way," without putting himself to extra trouble by beating the air with his wings, and lifting his heavy body--thirty pounds at least--up into the heavens. His judgment proved sound; for, in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the chase, he had gained a clear hundred yards upon his pursuers, and continued to widen the distance. At intervals he raised his beak higher than usual, and uttered his loud booming note, which fell upon the ears of the voyageurs as though it had been sent back in mockery and defiance. They would have given up the pursuit, had they not noticed that a few hundred yards farther down the river made a sharp turn to the right. The swan, on reaching this, would no longer have the wind in his favour. This inspired them with fresh hopes. They thought they would be able to overtake him after passing the bend, and then, either get a shot at him, or force him into the air. The latter was the more likely; and, although it would be no great gratification to see him fly off, yet they had become so interested in this singular chase that they desired to terminate it by putting the trumpeter to some trouble. They bent, therefore, with fresh energy to their oars, and pulled onward in the pursuit. First the swan, and after him the canoe, swung round the bend, and entered the new "reach" of the river. The voyageurs at once perceived that the bird now swam more slowly. He no longer "carried sail," as the wind was no longer in his favour. His wings lay closely folded to his body, and he moved only by the aid of his webbed feet and the current, which last happened to be sluggish, as the river at this part spread over a wide expanse of level land. The canoe was evidently catching up, and each stroke was bringing the pursuers nearer to the pursued. After a few minutes' brisk pulling, the trumpeter had lost so much ground that he was not two hundred yards in the advance, and "dead ahead." His body was no longer carried with the same gracefulness, and the majestic curving of his neck had disappeared. His bill protruded forward, and his thighs began to drag the water in his wake. He was evidently on the threshold of flight. Both Francois and Basil saw this, as they stood with their guns crossed and ready. At this moment a shrill cry sounded over the water. It was the scream of some wild creature, ending in a strange laugh, like the laugh of a maniac! On both sides of the river there was a thick forest of tall trees of the cotton-wood species (_Populus angustifolia_). From this forest the strange cry had proceeded, and from the right bank. Its echoes had hardly ceased, when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees upon the left. So like were the two, that it seemed as if some one of God's wild creatures was mocking another. These cries were hideous enough to frighten any one not used to them. They had not that effect upon our voyageurs, who knew their import. One and all of them were familiar with the voice of the _white-headed eagle_! The trumpeter knew it as well as any of them, but on him it produced a far different effect. His terror was apparent, and his intention was all at once changed. Instead of rising into the air, as he had premeditated, he suddenly lowered his head, and disappeared under the water! Again was heard the wild scream and the maniac laugh; and the next moment an eagle swept out from the timber, and, after a few strokes of its broad wing, poised itself over the spot where the trumpeter had gone down. The other, its mate, was seen crossing at the same time from the opposite side. Presently the swan rose to the surface, but his head was hardly out of the water when the eagle once more uttered its wild note, and, half folding its wings, darted down from above. The swan seemed to have expected this, for before the eagle could reach the surface, he had gone under a second time, and the latter, though passing with the velocity of an arrow, plunged his talons in the water to no purpose. With a cry of disappointment the eagle mounted back into the air, and commenced wheeling in circles over the spot. It was now joined by its mate, and both kept round and round watching for the reappearance of their intended victim. Again the swan came to the surface, but before either of the eagles could swoop upon him he had for the third time disappeared. The swan is but an indifferent diver; but under such circumstances he was likely to do his best at it. But what could it avail him? He must soon rise to the surface to take breath--each time at shorter intervals. He would soon become fatigued and unable to dive with sufficient celerity, and then his cruel enemies would be down upon him with their terrible talons. Such is the usual result, unless the swan takes to the air, which he sometimes does. In the present case he had built his hopes upon a different means of escape. He contemplated being able to conceal himself in a heavy sedge of bulrushes (_Scirpus lacustris_) that grew along the edge of the river, and towards these he was evidently directing his course under the water. At each emersion he appeared some yards nearer them, until at length he rose within a few feet of their margin, and diving again was seen no more! He had crept in among the sedge, and no doubt was lying with only his head, or part of it, above the water, his body concealed by the broad leaves of the _nymphae_, while the head itself could not be distinguished among the white flowers that lay thickly along the surface. The eagles now wheeled over the sedge, flapping the tops of the bulrushes with their broad wings, and screaming with disappointed rage. Keen as were their eyes they could not discover the hiding-place of their victim. No doubt they would have searched for it a long while, but the canoe--which they now appeared to notice for the first time--had floated near; and, becoming aware of their own danger, both mounted into the air again, and with a farewell scream flew off, and alighted at some distance down the river. "A swan for supper!" shouted Francois, as he poised his gun for the expected shot. The canoe was headed for the bulrushes near the point where the trumpeter had been last seen; and a few strokes of the paddles brought the little craft with a whizzing sound among the sedge. But the culms of the rushes were so tall, and grew so closely together, that the canoemen, after entering, found to their chagrin they could not see six feet around them. They dared not stand up, for this is exceedingly dangerous in a birch canoe, where the greatest caution is necessary to keep the vessel from careening over. Moreover, the sedge was so thick, that it was with difficulty they could use their oars. They remained stationary for a time, surrounded by a wall of green bulrush. They soon perceived that that would never do, and resolved to push back into the open water. Meanwhile Marengo had been sent into the sedge, and was now heard plunging and sweltering about in search of the game. Marengo was not much of a water-dog by nature, but he had been trained to almost every kind of hunting, and his experience among the swamps of Louisiana had long since relieved him of all dread for the water. His masters therefore had no fear but that Marengo would "put up" the trumpeter. Marengo had been let loose a little too soon. Before the canoe could be cleared of the entangling sedge, the dog was heard to utter one of his loud growls, then followed a heavy plunge, there was a confused fluttering of wings, and the great white bird rose majestically into the air! Before either of the gunners could direct their aim, he was beyond the range of shot, and both prudently reserved their fire. Marengo having performed his part, swam back to the canoe, and was lifted over the gunwale. The swan, after clearing the sedge, rose almost vertically into the air. These birds usually fly at a great elevation--sometimes entirely beyond the reach of sight. Unlike the wild geese and ducks, they never alight upon land, but always upon the bosom of the water. It was evidently the intention of this one to go far from the scene of his late dangers, perhaps to the great Lake Winnipeg itself. After attaining a height of several hundred yards, he flew forward in a horizontal course, and followed the direction of the stream. His flight was now regular, and his trumpet-note could be heard at intervals, as, with outstretched neck, he glided along the heavens. He seemed to feel the pleasant sensations that every creature has after an escape from danger, and no doubt he fancied himself secure. But in this fancy he deceived himself. Better for him had he risen a few hundred yards higher, or else had uttered his self-gratulation in a more subdued tone; for it was heard and answered, and that response was the maniac laugh of the white-headed eagle. At the same instant two of these birds--those already introduced--were seen mounting into the air. They did not fly up vertically, as the swan had done, but in spiral curves, wheeling and crossing each other as they ascended. They were making for a point that would intersect the flight of the swan should he keep on in his horizontal course. This, however, he did not do. With an eye as quick as theirs, he saw that he was "headed;" and, stretching his long neck upward, he again pursued an almost vertical line. But he had to carry thirty pounds of flesh and bones, while the largest of the eagles--the female bird--with a still broader spread of wing, was a "light weight" of only seven. The result of this difference was soon apparent. Before the trumpeter had got two hundred yards higher, the female of the eagles was seen wheeling around him on the same level. The swan was now observed to double, fly downward, and then upward again, while his mournful note echoed back to the earth. But his efforts were in vain. After a series of contortions and manoeuvres, the eagle darted forward, with a quick toss threw herself back downward, and, striking upward, planted her talons in the under part of the wing of her victim. The lacerated shaft fell uselessly down; and the great white bird, no longer capable of flight, came whistling through the air. But it was not allowed to drop directly to the earth; it would have fallen on the bosom of the broad river, and that the eagles did not wish, as it would have given them some trouble to get the heavy carcass ashore. As soon as the male--who was lower in the air--saw that his partner had struck the bird, he discontinued his upward flight, and, poising himself on his spread tail, waited its descent. A single instant was sufficient. The white object passed him still fluttering; but the moment it was below his level he shot after it like an arrow, and, clutching it in his talons, with an outward stroke sent it whizzing in a diagonal direction. The next moment a crashing was heard among the twigs, and a dull sound announced that the swan had fallen upon the earth. The eagles were now seen sailing downward, and soon disappeared among the tops of the trees. The canoe soon reached the bank; and Francois, accompanied by Basil and Marengo, leaped ashore, and went in search of the birds. They found the swan quite dead and lying upon its back as the eagles had turned it. Its breast was torn open, and the crimson blood, with which they had been gorging themselves, was spread in broad flakes over its snowy plumage. The eagles themselves, scared by the dog Marengo, had taken flight before the boys could get within shot of them. As it was just the hour for a "noon halt" and a luncheon, the swan was carried to the bank of the river, where a crackling fire was soon kindled to roast him; and while this operation was going on the "naturalist" was requested by his companions to give them an account of the "swans of America." CHAPTER FOUR. THE SWANS OF AMERICA. "Very well, then," said Lucien, agreeing to the request. "I shall tell you all I know of the swans; and, indeed, that is not much, as the natural history of these birds in their wild state is but little understood. On account of their shy habits, there is not much opportunity of observing them; and as they annually migrate and breed in those desolate regions within the Arctic circle, where civilised men do not live, but little information has been collected about them. Some of the species, however, breed in the temperate zones, and the habits of these are better known. "For a long time it was fancied there was but one species of swan. It is now known that there are several, distinguished from each other in form, colour, voice, and habits. `White as a swan,' is a simile as old, perhaps; as language itself. This, I fancy, would sound strangely to the ears of a native Australian, who is accustomed to look upon swans as being of the very opposite colour, for the black swan is a native of that country. "According to the naturalist Brehm, who has given much attention to this subject, there are four distinct species of swans in Europe. They are all white, though some of the species have a reddish orange tinge about the head and neck. Two of them are `gibbous,' that is, with a knob or protuberance upon the upper part of the bill. One of these Brehm terms the `white-headed gibbous swan' (_Cygnus gibbus_). The other is the `yellow-headed' (_Cygnus olor_); and this last also is known as the _mute_ or _tame_ swan, because it is that species most commonly seen in a tame state upon the ornamental lakes and ponds of England. The other two European species Brehm has designated `singing swans,' as both of them utter a note that may be heard to a considerable distance. "The black swan of Australia (_Cygnus niger_) has been naturalised in Europe, and breeds freely in England, where, from its great size and peculiar markings, it is one of the most ornamental of water-fowls. It is, moreover, a great tyrant, and will not permit other birds to approach its haunt, but drives them off, striking them furiously with its strong broad wings. "Until a late period the swans of America were supposed to be all of one kind. This is not the case. There are now known to be three distinct species inhabiting the fur countries, and migrating annually to the South. That which is best known is the `whistler,' or `hooper' (_Cygnus Americanus_), because it is the species that abounds in the old States upon the Atlantic, and was therefore more observed by naturalists. It is believed to be identical with one of the European `singing' swans (_Cygnus ferus_), but this is not certain; and for my part, I believe they are different, as the eggs of the American swan are greenish, while those of its European congener are brownish, with white blotches. "The `hooper' is four and a half feet in length, though there are males still larger, some of them measuring five feet. Its colour is white, except upon the head and back part of the neck, where there is a coppery tinge. The bill and feet are black. From the angle of the mouth to the eye there is a small naked `cere,' of a bright yellow colour. These swans, like others of the genus, do not care much for the salt water. They are rarely seen upon the sea, except near its shores, where they may find the aquatic plants upon which they feed. Nor do they go out upon the large lakes. When found upon these, it is generally close in to the land. This is accounted for by the fact that the swans do not `dive' for their food, but stretch down for it with their long necks, which Nature has peculiarly adapted to this very purpose. Their favourite food consists of the roots of aquatic plants, which are often farinaceous. As these grow best in the shallow small lakes and along the margins of rivers, such places are the usual resort of the swans. Although their diet is a vegetable one, it is not exclusively so, as they will eat frogs, worms, and small fish. Unlike the ducks and geese, they rarely feed upon land, but while floating upon the surface of the water. They walk but awkwardly on land, and are at home only on water or in the air. In the air they are quite at home, and fly so swiftly that it is no easy matter to shoot them, especially when going before the wind. At such times they are supposed to fly at the rate of one hundred miles an hour. When moulting, and unable to rise into the air, it is no easy matter to follow them even with a canoe. By means of their broad feet and strong wings, they can flutter so quickly over the water, now and then diving, that the hunter cannot overtake them in his boat, but is obliged to use his gun in the pursuit. "The `hoopers' are migratory,--that is, they pass to the north every spring, and southward again in the autumn. Why they make these annual migrations, remains one of the mysteries of nature. Some believe they migrate to the north, because they there find those desolate uninhabited regions where they can bring forth their young in security. But this explanation cannot be the true one, as there are also uninhabited regions in the south, even under the equator, where they may be equally free from the presence of man. Another explanation might be offered. In hot and tropical countries most of the small lakes and swamps, where these birds love to dwell, dry up during the summer months: hence the necessity of a migration to colder and moister regions. But this would only hold good of the wading and water birds; it would not account for the migration of the many other birds of passage. "A better explanation may be this: The north and the cold zones are the natural habitat of most migratory birds. It is there that they bring forth their young, and there they are at home. In tropical regions they are only sojourners for a season, forced thither, some of them, by a cold which they do not relish; but others, such as the water-fowl, by the frost, which, binding up the lakes, rivers, and swamps, hinders them from procuring their food. They are thus compelled to make an annual migration to the open waters of the South, but as soon as the ice has given way before the genial breath of spring, they all return rejoicing to their favourite home in the North, when their season of love commences. "The `hoopers' follow this general law, and migrate to the northward every spring. They breed upon islets in the numerous lakes that stud the whole northern part of the American continent. Eminences in swamps are also chosen for breeding places, and the ends of promontories that jut out into the water. The spot selected is always such that the swan, when seated upon her nest, can have a view of the surrounding country, and detect any enemy long before it can approach her. The top of the dome-shaped dwellings of the musk-rat, or musquash (_Fibre zibethicus_), is often selected by the swan for her nest. These curious little houses are usually in the midst of impenetrable swamps: they are only occupied by their builders during the winter; and as they are deserted by them in early spring, they are therefore quite at the service of the swan for the `balance of the season.' The bird makes a large cavity in the top, and lines it with such reeds and grass as may be found near the spot. "The hooper lays from six to eight eggs, and sits upon them for a period of six weeks, when the cygnets come forth covered with a thick down of a bluish-grey colour. While sitting upon her eggs, the swan is exceedingly watchful and shy. She `faces' towards the point whence she most apprehends danger. When the weather is severe, and the wind cold and keen, she changes into that position which is most comfortable. If her nest be upon a promontory instead of an island, she usually sits with her head to the land, as she feels secure that no enemy will reach her from the waterside. From the land she has not only man to `look out' for, but the wolverene (_Gulo luscus_), the lynx (_Felis Canadensis_), foxes, and wolves. "The Indians often snare the swan upon her nest. Of course the snare--a running noose made from the intestines of the deer--is set in her absence. It is placed upon the side by which she enters, as these birds enter and leave the nest upon opposite sides. The snare must be arranged with great care, and with _clean hands_; and the Indians always take the precaution to wash their hands before setting it, else the swans, whose sense of smell is very acute, will perceive the presence of danger, and will not only keep away for a time, but sometimes desert the eggs altogether. There are many other birds that have a similar habit. "So much for the `hooper,'" continued Lucien; "now for the `trumpeter.' This is the largest of the American swans, being found to measure seventy inches in length. Its specific name `trumpeter' (Cygnus _buccinator_) is given to it on account of its note, which resembles the sound of a French horn, or trumpet, played at a distance. The bird is white, with black bill and feet, and has also a reddish orange or copper tinge upon the crown and neck; but it wants the yellow spot between the split of the mandibles and the eye. It is easily distinguished from the hooper, both by its louder note and larger body. Its habits, however, are very similar, except that it seems to be more gregarious,--small flocks of six or eight often appearing together, while the hooper is seen only in pairs, and sometimes solitary. Another distinction is, that the trumpeter arrives much earlier in its migrations to the North, being the earliest bird that appears except the eagles. It breeds as far South as latitude 61 degrees, but most generally within the Arctic circle. Its nest is constructed similarly to those of the hooper, but its eggs are much larger, one of them being a meal for a moderate eater, without bread or any other addition. The trumpeter frequently arrives in the North before the lakes or rivers are thawed. It is then obliged to find sustenance at the rapids and waterfalls, where the Indians can approach under cover, and many are shot at such times by these people. At all other times, as you, Francois, have observed, it is a bird most difficult of approach; and the Indian hunters only attempt it when they have a long-range gun loaded with ball. "The third species of American swans is that known as Bewick's swan (Cygnus _Bewickii_), called after the naturalist of that name. It is the smallest of the three, rarely measuring over fifty-two inches in length, and weighing only fourteen pounds, while the hooper is over twenty pounds in weight, and the trumpeter is often obtained of the enormous weight of thirty! "Bewick's swan is also said to be identical with one of Brehm's singing swans. Its colour is almost similar to that of the hooper, and the two are often mistaken for each other. The size and the tail-feathers of all three of the American swans form a sufficiently specific distinction. In the trumpeter these are twenty-four in number, in the hooper twenty, while the small species has only eighteen. "Of the three, the last-mentioned is the latest on its annual journey, but it breeds farther North than either of the others. Its nest is found upon the islands of the Arctic Sea; it is usually built of peat-moss, and is of gigantic dimensions, being six feet long by five in width, and nearly two feet high. In the top of this pile is the nest itself, forming a large round cavity nearly two feet in diameter. The eggs are of a brownish white, with clouds of darker tint. "I have remarked," continued Lucien, "a singularity in the geographical distribution of these three species. Upon the Pacific coast the smallest kind and the hooper only are met with, and the small ones outnumber the others in the ratio of five to one. In the interior parts of the continent only the hoopers and trumpeters appear; and the trumpeters are by far the most numerous, while upon the eastern coasts of America the hoopers are the sort best known. "The swans are eagerly hunted both by the Indians and white hunters. Their skins, with the quills and down, form a source of profit to the natives of the fur countries, who dispose of them to the Hudson's Bay Company. In some years as many as ten thousand skins have been exported, and sold at the rate of six or seven shillings each. Most of the skins thus sold were those of the trumpeter swans, which are the most numerous. "Now," said Lucien, in conclusion, "you know as much about the swans as I do; so I shall drop the subject, and recommend to all of you a piece of roast swan, which is now just done to a turn, and which I doubt not will be found less dry than my lecture." CHAPTER FIVE. A SWAN-HUNT BY TORCHLIGHT. A few days brought our travellers to the settlement of Red River, where they made but a very short stay; and, having procured a few articles which they stood in need of, they resumed their journey, and floated on towards Lake Winnipeg. The swans were seen in greater numbers than ever. They were not less shy however, and Francois, as before, in vain tried to get a shot at one. He was very desirous of bringing down one of these noble birds, partly because the taste he had had of their flesh had given him a liking for it; and partly because their shyness had greatly tantalised him. One is always more eager to kill shy game, both on account of the rarity of the thing, and the credit one gets for his expertness. But the voyageurs had now got within less than twenty miles of Lake Winnipeg, and Francois had not as yet shot a single swan. It was not at all likely the eagles would help him to another. So there would be no more roast swan for supper. Norman, seeing how eager Francois was to shoot one of these birds, resolved to aid him by his advice. "Cousin Frank," said he, one evening as they floated along, "you wish very much to get a shot at the swans?" "I do," replied Francois,--"I do; and if you can tell me how to accomplish that business, I'll make you a present of this knife." Here Francois held up a very handsome clasp-knife that he carried in his pouch. A knife in the fur countries is no insignificant affair. With a knife you may sometimes buy a horse, or a tent, or a whole carcass of beef, or, what is stranger still, a wife! To the hunter in these wild regions--perhaps a thousand miles from where knives are sold--such a thing is of very great value indeed; but the knife which Francois offered to his cousin was a particularly fine one, and the latter had once expressed a wish to become the owner of it. He was not slow, therefore, in accepting the conditions. "Well," rejoined he, "you must consent to travel a few miles by night, and I think I can promise you a shot at the trumpeters--perhaps several." "What say you, brothers?" asked Francois, appealing to Basil and Lucien; "shall we have the sport? Say yes." "Oh! I have no objection," said Lucien. "Nor I," added Basil. "On the contrary, I should like it above all things. I wish very much to know what plan our cousin shall adopt. I never heard of any mode of approaching these birds." "Very well, then," answered Norman, "I shall have the pleasure of instructing you in a way that is in use in these parts among the Indians, who hunt the swan for its skin and quills, which they trade to us at the post. We can manage it to-night, I think," continued he, looking up at the sky: "there is no moon, and the sky is thick. Yes, it will be dark enough." "Is it necessary the night should be a dark one?" asked Francois. "The darker the better," replied Norman. "To-night, if I am not mistaken, will be as black as pitch. But we need to make some preparations. It is near sundown, and we shall have just time to get ready for the business. Let us get ashore, then, as quickly as possible." "Oh! certainly--let us land," replied all three at once. The canoe was now turned to the shore; and when it had arrived within a few feet of the land it was brought to a stop. Its keel was not allowed to touch the bottom of the river, as that would have injured the little craft. The greatest precaution is always observed both in landing and embarking these vessels. The voyageurs first get out and wade to the shore, one or two remaining to hold the canoe in its place. The cargo, whatever it be, is then taken out and landed; and after that the canoe itself is lifted out of the water, and carried ashore, where it is set, bottom upward, to dry. The birch-bark canoe is so frail a structure, that, were it brought rudely in contact either with the bottom or the bank, it would be very much damaged, or might go to pieces altogether. Hence the care with which it is handled. It is dangerous, also, to stand upright in it, as it is so "crank" that it would easily turn over, and spill both canoemen and cargo into the water. The voyageurs, therefore, when once they have got in, remain seated during the whole passage, shifting about as little as they can help. When landed for the night, the canoe is always taken out of the water as described. The bark is of a somewhat spongy nature; and if left in the water for a length of time, would become soaked and heavy, and would not run so well. When kept all night, bottom upward, it drips and becomes dryer and lighter. In the morning, at the commencement of the day's journey, it sits higher upon the water than in the afternoon and evening, and is at that time more easily paddled along. Our voyageurs, having got on shore, first kindled a fire to cook their supper. This they intended to despatch earlier than usual, so as to give them the early part of the night for their swan-hunt, which they expected to finish before midnight. Lucien did the cooking, while Norman, assisted by Basil and Francois, made his preparations for the hunt. Francois, who was more interested in the result than any of them, watched every movement of his cousin. Nothing escaped him. Norman proceeded as follows:-- He walked off into the woods, accompanied by Francois. After going about an hundred yards or so, he stopped at the foot of a certain tree. The tree was a birch--easily distinguished by its smooth, silvery bark. By means of his sharp hunting-knife he "girdled" this tree near the ground, and then higher up, so that the length between the two "girdlings," or circular cuttings, was about four feet. He then made a longitudinal incision by drawing the point of his knife from one circle to the other. This done he inserted the blade under the bark, and peeled it off, as he would have taken the skin from a buffalo. The tree was a foot in diameter, consequently the bark, when stripped off and spread flat, was about three feet in width; for you must remember that the circumference of a circle or a cylinder is always about three times the length of its diameter, and therefore a tree is three times as much "_round_" as it is "_through_." They now returned to the camp-fire, taking along with them the piece of bark that had been cut off. This was spread out, though not quite flat, still leaving it somewhat curved. The convex side, that which had lain towards the tree, was now blackened with pulverised charcoal, which Norman had directed Basil to prepare for the purpose; and to the bark at one end was fastened a stake or shaft. Nothing more remained but to fix this stake in the canoe, in an upright position near the bow, and in such a way that the bottom of the piece of bark would be upon a level with the seats, with its hollow side looking forward. It would thus form a screen, and prevent those in the canoe from being seen by any creature that might be ahead. When all this had been arranged, Norman shouldered the axe, and again walked off into the woods. This time his object was to obtain a quantity of "knots" of the pitch-pine (_Pinus rigida_), which he knew would most likely be found in such a situation. The tree was soon discovered, and pointed out to Francois, who accompanied him as before. Francois saw that it was a tree of about fifty feet in height, and a foot in diameter at its base. Its bark was thick, very dark in the colour, and full of cracks or fissures. Its leaves, or "needles," were about three inches long, and grew in threes, each three forming a little bunch, bound together at its base by a brownish sheath. These bunches, in botanical language, are termed "fasciles." The cones were somewhat shorter than the leaves, nearly of the shape of eggs, and clustered together in threes and fours. Francois noticed that the tree was thickly branched, and therefore there are many knots in the wood. For this reason it is not of much use as timber; but on account of the resin which it contains, it is the best species for firewood; and for that purpose it is used in all parts of the United States, where it grows. Most of the _pine-wood_ sold for fuel in the large cities of America is the wood of this species. Francois supposed that his companion was about to fell one of the trees. He was mistaken, however; Norman had no such intention; he had only stopped before one to examine it, and make sure that it was the species he was in search of. He was soon satisfied of this, and moved on, directing his eyes along the ground. Again he stopped; but this time it was by a tree that had already fallen--blown down, perhaps, by the wind. It was half decayed; but Francois could see that it was one of the same species--the pitch-pine. This was the very thing Norman wanted, and plying his axe, he soon knocked out a large quantity of the resinous knots. These he at length collected, and putting them into a bag, returned with Francois to the fire. He then announced that he had no further preparations to make. All four now sat down to supper, which consisted of dry meat, with biscuits and coffee; and, as their appetites were sharpened by their water journey, they made a hearty meal of it. As soon as they had finished eating, the canoe was launched and got ready. The screen of birch-bark was set up, by lashing its shaft to the bottom timbers, and also to one of the seats. Immediately in front of this, and out upon the bow, was placed the frying-pan; and this having been secured by being tied at the handle, was filled with dry pine-knots, ready to be kindled at a moment's notice. These arrangements being made, the hunters only awaited the darkness to set forth. In the progress of their hunt they would be carried still farther down-stream; but as that was the direction in which they were travelling, they would only be progressing on their journey, and thus "killing two birds with one stone." This was altogether a very pleasant consideration; and, having stowed everything snugly in the canoe, they sat chatting agreeably and waiting for the arrival of night. Night came at length, and, as Norman had predicted, it was as "dark as pitch." Stepping gently into the canoe, and seating themselves in their respective places, they pushed out and commenced floating down-stream. Norman sat near the bow, in order to attend to his torch of pine-knots. Francois was next to him, holding his double-barrel, loaded with buck-shot, which is the same size as that used for swans, and in England is even known as "swan-shot." Next came Basil with his rifle. He sat near Francois, just by the middle of the little vessel. Lucien, who was altogether a man of peace principles, and but little of a shot compared with either of his brothers, handled the oar--not to propel the canoe, but merely to guide it. In this way the party floated on in silence. Norman soon kindled his torch, which now cast its red glare over the surface of the river, extending its fiery radii even to the banks on both sides of the stream. The trees that overhung the water seemed tinged with vermilion, and the rippling wave sparkled like liquid gold. The light only extended over a semicircle. From the manner in which the torch was placed, its light did not fall upon the other half of the circle, and this, by contrast, appeared even darker than it would otherwise have done. The advantage of the plan which Norman had adopted was at once apparent to all. Ahead of the canoe the whole river was plainly seen for a distance of several hundred yards. No object larger than a cork could have floated on its surface, without being visible to those in the vessel--much less the great white body of a trumpeter swan. Astern of the canoe, on the other hand, all was pitchy darkness, and any one looking at the vessel from a position ahead could have seen nothing but the bright torch and the black uniform surface behind it. As I have already stated, the concave side of the bark was towards the blaze, and the pan containing the torch being placed close in to the screen, none of the light could possibly fall upon the forms of those within the canoe. They were therefore invisible to any creature from the front, while they themselves could see everything before them. Two questions yet remained unanswered. First,--would our hunters find any swans on the river? Second,--if they should, would these birds allow themselves to be approached near enough to be shot at? The first question Norman, of course, could not answer. That was a matter beyond his knowledge or control. The swans might or might not appear, but it was to be hoped they would. It was likely enough. Many had been seen on the preceding day, and why not then? To the second question, the young Canadian gave a definite reply. He assured his cousins that, if met with, the birds would be easily approached in this manner; he had often hunted them so. They would either keep their place, and remain until the light came very near them, or they would move towards it (as he had many times known them to do), attracted by curiosity and the novelty of the spectacle. He had hunted deer in the same manner; he had shot, he said, hundreds of these animals upon the banks of rivers, where they had come down to the water to drink, and stood gazing at the light. His cousins could well credit his statements. They themselves had hunted deer by torchlight in the woods of Louisiana, where it is termed "fire-hunting." They had killed several in this way. The creatures, as if held by some fascination, would stand with head erect looking at the torch carried by one of the party, while the other took sight between their glancing eyes and fired the deadly bullet. Remembering this, they could easily believe that the swans might act in a similar manner. It was not long until they were convinced of it by actual experience. As the canoe rounded a bend in the river, three large white objects appeared in the "reach" before them. A single glance satisfied all that they were swans, though, in the deceptive glare of the torch, they appeared even larger than swans. Their long upright necks, however, convinced the party they could be nothing else, and the canoe was headed directly for them. As our hunters approached, one of the birds was heard to utter his strange trumpet-note, and this he repeated at intervals as they drew nearer. "I have heard that they sing before death," muttered Francois to Basil, who sat nearest him. "If so, I hope that's the song itself;" and Francois laughed quietly at the joke he had perpetrated. Basil also laughed; and Lucien, who had overheard the remark, could not restrain himself from joining in the laughter. "I fear not," rejoined Basil; "there is hardly enough music in the note to call it a song. They may live to `blow their own trumpet' a long while yet." This remark called forth a fresh chorus of laughter, in which all took part; but it was a very silent kind of laughter, that could not have been heard ten yards off: it might have been termed "laughing in a whisper." It soon ended, however, as matters now became serious: they were already within less than two hundred yards of the game, and the greatest caution had to be observed. The gunners had arranged the order of fire: Basil was to shoot first, taking steady aim with his rifle at any one of the birds; while Francois should fire as soon as he heard the report of his brother's gun, taking the remaining swans upon the wing, with one or both barrels, as he best might. At length Basil deemed himself near enough, and, levelling his piece, fired. The bird threw out its wings, and flattened down upon the water, almost without a struggle. The other two were rising into the air, when "crack! crack!" went the two barrels of Francois' piece, and one of the swans fell back with a broken wing, and fluttered over the surface of the stream. Basil's had been shot dead, and was taken up easily; but the wounded bird was only captured after a long chase with the canoe; and when overtaken, it struck so fiercely with its remaining wing, that one of the blows inflicted a painful wound on the wrist of Francois. Both, however, were at length got safely aboard, and proved to be a male and female of the largest dimensions. CHAPTER SIX. "CAST AWAY." Of course, the reports of the guns must have frightened any other swans that were near. It was not likely they would find any more before going some distance farther down the river; so, having stowed away in a safe place the two already killed, the hunters paddled rapidly onward. They had hardly gone half a mile farther, when another flock of swans was discovered. These were approached in a similar way, and no less than three were obtained--Francois making a remarkable shot, and killing with both barrels. A little farther down, one of the "hoopers" was killed; and still farther on, another trumpeter; making in all no less than seven swans that lay dead in the bottom of the canoe! These seven great birds almost filled the little craft to the gunwales, and you would think that our "torch-hunters" ought to have been content with such a spoil; but the hunter is hard to satisfy with game, and but too often inclined to "spill much more blood" than is necessary to his wants. Our voyageurs, instead of desisting, again set the canoe in motion, and continued the hunt. A short distance below the place where they had shot the last swan, as they were rounding a bend in the river, a loud rushing sounded in their ears; similar to that produced by a cascade or waterfall. On first hearing it, they were startled and somewhat alarmed. It might be a "fall," thought they. Norman could not tell: he had never travelled this route; he did not know whether there were falls in the Red River or not, but he believed not. In his voyage to the South, he had travelled by another route; that was, up the Winnipeg River, and through Rainy Lake and the Lake of the Woods to Lake Superior. This is the usual and well-known track followed by the _employes_ of the Hudson's Bay Company; and Norman had travelled it. In this uncertainty the canoe was brought to a stop, and our voyageurs remained listening. The noise made by the water was not very distant, and sounded like the roaring of "rapids," or the rush of a "fall." It was evidently one or the other; but, after listening to it for a considerable time, all came to the conclusion that the sound did not proceed from the Red River itself, but from some stream that emptied into it upon the right. With this belief they again put the canoe in motion, and glided slowly and cautiously onward. Their conjecture proved to be correct. As they approached nearer, they perceived that the noise appeared every moment more and more to their right; and presently they saw, below them, a rapid current sweeping into the Red River from the right bank. This was easily distinguished by the white froth and bubbles that were carried along upon its surface, and which had evidently been produced by some fall over which the water had lately passed. The hunters now rowed fearlessly forward, and in a few moments came opposite the _debouchure_ of the tributary stream, when a considerable cascade appeared to their view, not thirty yards from the Red River itself. The water foamed and dashed over a series of steps, and then swept rapidly on, in a frothy current. They had entered this current, and were now carried along with increased velocity, so that the oarsmen suspended operations, and drew their paddles within the canoe. A flock of swans now drew their attention. It was the largest flock they had yet seen, numbering nearly a score of these noble birds,--a sight, as Norman informed them, that was exceedingly rare even in the most favoured haunts of the swan. Rarely are more than six or seven seen together, and oftener only two or three. A grand _coup_ was determined upon. Norman took up his own gun, and even Lucien, who managed the stern oar, and guided the craft, also brought his piece--a very small rifle--close to his hand, so that he might have a shot as well as the others. The canoe was directed in such a manner that, by merely keeping its head down the stream, it would float to the spot where the swans were. In a short while they approached very near the great birds, and our hunters could see them sitting on the water, with upraised necks, gazing in wonder at the torch. Whether they sounded their strange note was not known, for the "sough" of the waterfall still echoed in the ears of the canoemen, and they could not hear aught else. Basil and Norman fired first, and simultaneously; but the louder detonations of Francois' double-barrel, and even the tiny crack of Lucien's rifle, were heard almost the instant after. Three of the birds were killed by the volley, while a fourth, evidently "winged," was seen to dive, and flutter down-stream. The others mounted into the air, and disappeared in the darkness. During the time occupied in this manoeuvre, the canoe, no longer guided by Lucien's oar, had been caught by some eddy in the current, and swept round stern-foremost. In this position the light no longer shone upon the river ahead, but was thrown up-stream. All in a downward direction was buried in deep darkness. Before the voyageurs could bring the canoe back to its proper direction, a new sound fell upon their ears that caused some of them to utter a cry of terror. It was the noise of rushing water, but not that which they had already heard and passed. It was before them in the river itself. Perhaps it was a cataract, and _they were sweeping rapidly to its brink_! The voice of Norman was heard exclaiming, "Hold with your oars!--the rapids!--the rapids!" At the same time he himself was seen rising up and stretching forward for an oar. All was now consternation; and the movements of the party naturally consequent upon such a sudden panic shook the little craft until her gunwales lipped the water. At the same time she had swung round, until the light again showed the stream ahead, and a horrid sight it was. Far as the eye could see was a reach of foaming rapids. Dark points of rocks, and huge black boulders, thickly scattered in the channel, jutted above the surface; and around and against these, the water frothed and hissed furiously. There was no cataract, it is true--there is none such in Red River--but for all purposes of destruction the rapids before them were equally dangerous and terrible to the eyes of our voyageurs. They no longer thought of the swans. The dead were permitted to float down unheeded, the wounded to make its escape. Their only thought was to stop the canoe before it should be carried upon the rapids. With this intent all had taken to the oars, but in spite of every exertion they soon found that the light craft had got within the influence of the strong current, and was sucked downward more rapidly than ever. Their backward strokes were to no purpose. In a few seconds the canoe had passed over the first stage of the rapids, and shot down with the velocity of an arrow. A huge boulder lay directly in the middle of the channel, and against this the current broke with fury, laving its sides in foaming masses. The canoe was hurried to this point; and as the light was again turned up-stream, none of the voyageurs could see this dangerous rock. But they could not have shunned it then. The boat had escaped from their control, and spun round at will. The rock once more came under the light, but just as the canoe, with a heavy crash, was driven against it. For some moments the vessel, pressed by the current against the rock, remained motionless, but her sides were stove in, and the water was rushing through. The quick eye of Basil--cool in all crises of extreme danger--perceived this at a glance. He saw that the canoe was a wreck, and nothing remained but to save themselves as they best might. Dropping the oar, and seizing his rifle, he called to his companions to leap to the rock: and all together immediately sprang over the gunwale. The dog Marengo followed after. The canoe, thus lightened, heeled round into the current, and swept on. The next moment she struck another rock, and was carried over on her beams. The water then rushed in--the white bodies of the swans, with the robes, blankets, and implements, rose on the wave; the blazing knots were spilled from the pan, and fell with a hissing sound: and a few seconds after they were extinguished, and all was darkness! The Young Voyageurs--by Captain Mayne Reid CHAPTER SEVEN. A BRIDGE OF BUCKSKIN. The canoe was lost, and all it had contained, or nearly all. The voyageurs had saved only their guns, knives, and the powder-horns and pouches, that had been attached to their persons. One other thing had been saved--an axe which Basil had flung upon the rock as he stepped out of the sinking vessel. All the rest--robes, blankets, swans, cooking utensils, bags of provisions, such as coffee, flour, and dried meat-- were lost--irrecoverably lost. These had either drifted off upon the surface, or been carried under water and hidden among the loose stones at the bottom. No matter where, they were lost; and our voyageurs now stood on a small naked rock in the middle of the stream, with nothing left but the clothes upon their backs, and the arms in their hands. Such was their condition. There was something so sudden and awful in the mishap that had befallen them, that for some minutes they stood upon the spot where they had settled without moving or addressing a word to one another. They gazed after the canoe. They knew that it was wrecked, although they could see nothing either of it or its contents. Thick darkness enveloped them, rendered more intense from the sudden extinction of the torchlight. They saw nothing but the foam flickering along the river; like the ghosts of the swans they had killed, and they heard only the roaring of the water, that sounded in their ears with a hoarse and melancholy wail. For a long time they stood impressed with the lamentable condition into which the accident had plunged them; and a lamentable condition it was, sure enough. They were on a small rock in the midst of a rapid river. They were in the midst of a great wilderness too, many long miles from a settlement. The nearest could only be reached by travelling through pathless forests, and over numerous and deep rivers. Impassable swamps, and lakes with marshy shores, lay on the route, and barred the direct course, and all this journey would have to be made on foot. But none of our young voyageurs were of that stamp to yield themselves to despair. One and all of them had experienced perils before--greater even than that in which they now stood. As soon, therefore, as they became fully satisfied that their little vessel was wrecked, and all its contents scattered, instead of despairing, their first thoughts were how to make the best of their situation. For that night, at least, they were helpless. They could not leave the rock. It was surrounded by rapids. Sharp, jagged points peeped out of the water, and between these the current rushed with impetuosity. In the darkness no human being could have crossed to either shore in safety. To attempt it would have been madness, and our voyageurs soon came to this conclusion. They had no other choice than to remain where they were until the morning; so, seating themselves upon the rock, they prepared to pass the night. They sat huddled close together. They could not lie down--there was not room enough for that. They kept awake most of the night, one or other of them, overcome by fatigue, occasionally nodding over in a sort of half-sleep, but awakening again after a few minutes' uncomfortable dreaming. They talked but little, as the noise of the rushing rapids rendered conversation painful. To be heard, they were under the necessity of shouting to one another, like passengers in an omnibus. It was cold, too. None of them had been much wetted in escaping from the canoe; but they had saved neither overcoat, blanket, nor buffalo-robe; and, although it was now late in the spring, the nights near Lake Winnipeg, even at that season, are chilly. They were above the latitude of 50 degrees; and although in England, which is on that parallel, it is not very cold of a spring night, it must be remembered that the line of equal temperature--in the language of meteorologists the "_isothermal line_,"--is of a much lower latitude in America than in Europe. Another fact worth remembering is, that upon the eastern or Atlantic coast of the American Continent it is much colder in the same latitude than on the western or Pacific side. The Pacific "sea-board" in its climate is more like the western edge of the old continent. This would seem to indicate that the climate of a coast country is much influenced by the side upon which the ocean lies, whether east or west. This in reality is the case, for you may observe on your map that the western coasts of both the "old world" and the "new" are somewhat similarly placed in regard to their oceans, and hence the similarity of their climates. There are many other causes connected with this; such as the direction of winds, and the different effects produced by them on the atmosphere when they have passed over water or over land. It was, and is still by many people believed, that the winds are produced by the air becoming heated in a particular place, and then ascending, and leaving a "vacuum" into which the colder air rushes from all sides around. This "rushing," it was supposed, made the wind. To some extent this theory is true, but there are several other causes that operate in producing wind. Electricity--an agent hitherto but little known, but one of the most important elements of our Earth--has much to do with the winds; and the revolution of the Earth on its own axis has also an influence upon them. Indeed it is to be wondered at, that mankind should have so long remained satisfied with the very unsatisfactory theory of the _heated air_. But it is not to be wondered at either, when we consider how little mankind has had to do with these things--when we consider that as yet nearly every country upon the face of the globe is despotic; that the whole time of the great body of the people is occupied in a struggle for life--occupied in toiling for a few, who by the most cunning devices rob them of the fruits of their toils--rob them so skilfully that the poor blinded masses have grown to consider eternal toil as the _natural state of man_--nay more, are ready to persecute him who would elevate them, and worship him who would sink them deeper in baseness and bondage;--when we reflect on this almost hopeless darkness of soul that has marked the history of the past, and is too much the character of the present, we need not wonder that so few have had either leisure or inclination to yield themselves to the acquirement or prosecution of scientific knowledge. "The winds have blown where they listed, and we have heard the sound thereof," but men absorbed in the hard struggle of life have found but little time to inquire "whence they come or whither they go." The people of the United States are yet but partially free. They still inherit, from customs and prejudices, the fruits of an ancestral oppression, and a bondage of centuries of duration. But even their _partial_ freedom has already shown its good effects. At this moment knowledge is progressing faster among these people than any other on the face of the earth. Meteorology begins to assume the palpable shape of an exact science. The winds are being traced in their currents, and followed through all their windings, by Maury and other men of talent; and if you live twenty years longer (and I hope you may live three times as many years), you will no doubt be able to tell "whence the wind cometh and whither it goeth." Well, we began this politico-scientific discussion by observing that it was very cold in the latitude of Lake Winnipeg, even in late spring. Only at night though; the days are sometimes so hot there that you might fancy yourself in the tropics. These extremes are characteristic of the climate of all American countries, and particularly those that lie at a distance from the sea-coast. Our voyageurs were chilled to the very bones, and of course glad to see the daylight glimmering through the tops of the trees that grew upon the banks of the river. As soon as day broke, they began to consider how they would reach those trees. Although swimming a river of that width would have been to any of the four a mere bagatelle, they saw that it was not to be so easy an affair. Had they been upon either bank, they could have crossed to the other without difficulty--as they would have chosen a place where the water was comparatively still. On the rock they had no choice, as the rapids extended on both sides above and below it. Between the boulders the current rushed so impetuously, that had they attempted to swim to either bank, they would have been carried downward, and perhaps dashed with violence against one or other of the sharp stones. As soon as it was light, they saw all this; not without feelings of apprehension and uneasiness. Their whole attention was now occupied with the one object--how they should get to the bank of the river. The right bank was the more distant; but the passage in that direction appeared the easier one. The current was not so swift, nor yet did it seem so deep. They thought they might ford it, and Basil made the attempt; but he soon got beyond his depth; and was obliged, after being carried off his feet, to swim up under the lee of the rock again. From the rock to the right bank was about an hundred yards' distance. Here and there, at irregular intervals, sharp, jagged stones rose above the surface, some of them projecting three feet or more out of the water, and looking _very_ much like upright tombstones. Lucien had noticed these, and expressed the opinion that if they only had a rope, they might fling it over one of these stones, and then, holding it fast at the other end, might pass by that means from one to the other. The suggestion was a good one, but where was the rope to come from? All their ropes and cords--lassoes and all--had been swept away in the wreck. Not a string remained, except those that fastened their horns, flasks, and other accoutrements; and these were only small thongs, and would be of no use for such a purpose. It would require a rope strong enough to carry the weight of a man impelled by a rapid current--in fact, a weight equal to that of several men. They all set to thinking how this was to be obtained. Each looked at the other, and scanned the straps and thongs that were around their bodies. They were satisfied at a glance that these would not be sufficient to make such a rope as was wanted. They did not give up the hope of being able to obtain one. They were all of them accustomed to resort to strange expedients, and a sufficiently strange one now suggested itself. Basil and Norman seemed to have thought of it at the same time, for both at once unbuckled their straps, and commenced pulling off their buckskin hunting-shirts. The others said nothing, as they knew well what they were going to do with them--they knew they intended cutting them into strips, and then twisting a rope out of them. All four set to work together. Lucien and Francois held the shirts taut, while Basil and Norman handled the knives, and in a few minutes the rock was covered with strips of buckskin about two inches wide, by a yard or so in length. These were next joined and plaited together in such a manner that a rope was formed nearly forty feet long. An eye was made at one end, and through this the other end was reeved--so that a running noose was obtained, in the same manner as the Mexicans and Indians make their lassoes. The rope was now ready for use, and Basil was the very hand to use it; for Basil knew how to fling a lasso as well as either Mexican or Indian. He had practised it often, and had lassoed many a long-horned bull upon the prairies of Opelousas and the Attakapas. To Basil, therefore, the rope was given. He placed himself on the highest part of the rock, having first coiled the new-made lasso, and hung the coil lightly over his left arm. He then took the noose-end in his right hand, and commenced winding it around his head. His companions had laid themselves flat, so as not to be in the way of the noose as it circled about. After a few turns the rope was launched forth, and a loud "hurrah!" from Francois announced that the throw was successful. It was so in fact, as the noose was seen settling smoothly over the jutting-stone, taking full hold upon it. A pull from Basil fixed it; and in a few minutes it was made quite fast, without the slightest danger of its slipping off. The other end was then carried round a projecting point of the rock on which they stood, and knotted firmly, so that the rope was quite taut, and stretched in a nearly horizontal direction, about a foot above the surface of the water. The voyageurs now prepared to cross over. Their guns, pouches, and flasks were carefully secured, so that the water could not damage them. Then each took a piece of the buckskin thong, and fastened it round his waist, leaving enough to form a running loop. This loop was intended to embrace the rope, and run along it, as they drew themselves forward by their hands. Basil passed over first. He was the oldest, and, as he asserted, it was but right he should run the risk in testing the new-fashioned bridge, of which he was the architect. It worked admirably, and sustained the weight of his body, with the whole force of the current acting upon it. Of course he was swept far down, and the rope was stretched to its full tension, but he succeeded in handing himself along, until he was able to touch the second rock, and clamber upon it in safety. During the passage across he was watched by his companions with emotions of no ordinary character, but as soon as he had reached the opposite end of the rope all three uttered a loud and simultaneous cheer. Lucien passed over next, and after him Francois. Notwithstanding his danger, Francois laughed loudly all the time he was in the water, while his brothers were not without some fears for his safety. Marengo was next attached to the rope, and pulled safely over. Norman was the last to cross upon the buckskin bridge, but, like the others, he landed in safety; and the four, with the dog, now stood upon the little isolated boulder, where there was just room enough to give them all a footing. A difficulty now presented itself, which they had not hitherto thought of. Another reach of rapid current was to be crossed, before they could safely trust themselves to enter the water. This they knew before, but they had also noticed that there was another jutting rock, upon which they might fling their rope. But the rope itself was now the difficulty. It was fast at both ends, and how were they to release it from the rock they had left? One of them could easily cross over again and untie it, but how was he to get back to the others? Here was a dilemma which had not presented itself before, and they now saw themselves no better off than ever. The rapid that remained to be crossed, was as dangerous as the one they had succeeded in passing. There was no hope that they could swim it in safety. They would certainly be swept with violence against the rocks below. There was no chance, then, of their going an inch farther--unless by some means similar to that they had just used, and the rope was no longer at their service. For some time they all stood silent, each considering the matter in his own way. How could they free the rope? "It cannot be done," said one. "Impossible," rejoined another. "We must make a second rope. Francois's shirt still remains, and our leggings--we can use them." This was the mode suggested by Francois and Norman, and Lucien seemed to assent to it. They had already commenced untying their leggings, when Basil uttered the ejaculation-- "Stop!" "Well, what is it, brother?" asked Lucien. "I think I can free the rope at the other end. At all events, let me try. It will not cost much, either in time or trouble." "How do you mean to do it, brother?" "Sit close, all of you. Give me room--you shall see presently." As directed by Basil, they all cowered closely down, so as to occupy as little space as possible. Basil, having uncovered the lock of his rifle--which had been carefully bound up in a piece of deer's bladder-- placed himself in a firm position, and appeared as if about to fire. Such was his intention--for in a few moments he was seen to raise the gun to his shoulder, and take aim. None of his companions uttered a word. They had already guessed the object of this movement, and sat silently awaiting the result. On the rock which they had left, the rope still bound fast passed around one of the angles, in such a way that, from the point where Basil stood, it offered a fair mark. It was at this Basil was aiming. His object was to cut the thong with his bullet. He could not do it with a single shot, as the thong was broader than the bullet, but he had calculated that he might effect his purpose with several. If he did not succeed in cutting it clean through, the ball flattening upon the rock would, perhaps, tear the rope in such a manner that, by pulling by the other end, they might detach it. Such were the calculations and hopes of Basil. A moment more and the crack of his rifle was heard. At the same instant the dust rose up from the point at which he had aimed, and several small fragments flew off into the water. Again was heard Francois's "hurrah," for Francois, as well as the others, had seen that the rope had been hit at the right place, and now exhibited a mangled appearance. While Basil was reloading, Norman took aim and fired. Norman was a good shot, though perhaps not so good a one as Basil, for that was no easy matter, as there were few such marksmen to be found anywhere, not even among the professional trappers and hunters themselves. But Norman was a fair shot, and this time hit his mark. The thong was evidently better than half divided by the two; bullets. Seeing this, Francois took hold of the other end, and gave it a strong jerk or two, but it was still too much for him, and he ceased pulling, and waited the effect of Basil's second shot. The latter had now reloaded, and, taking deliberate aim again, fired. The rope was still held taut upon the rock, for part of it dragged in the current, the force of which kept pressing it hard downward. Scarcely was the report heard, when the farther end of the thong flew from its fastening, and, swept by the running water, was seen falling into the lee of the boulder on which the party now stood. A third time was heard the voice of Francois uttering one of his customary "hurrahs." The rope was now dragged up, and made ready for further use. Basil again took hold of it; and, after coiling it as before, succeeded in throwing the noose over the third rock, where it settled and held fast. The other end was tied as before, and all passed safely to the new station. Here, however, their labour ended. They found that from this point to the shore the river was shallow, and fordable; and, leaving the rope where it was, all four took the water, and waded safely to the bank. CHAPTER EIGHT. DECOYING THE "GOATS." For the present, then, our voyageurs had escaped. They were safe upon the river's bank; but when we consider the circumstances in which they were placed, we shall perceive that they were far from being pleasant ones. They were in the midst of a wilderness, without either horse or boat to carry them out of it. They had lost everything but their arms and their axe. The hunting-shirts of some of them, as we have seen, were destroyed, and they would now suffer from the severe cold that even in summer, as we have said, often reigns in these latitudes. Not a vessel was left them for cooking with, and not a morsel of meat or anything was left to be cooked. For their future subsistence they would have to depend upon their guns, which, with their ammunition, they had fortunately preserved. After reaching the shore, their first thoughts were about procuring something to eat. They had now been a long time without food, and all four were hungry enough. As if by one impulse, all cast their eyes around, and looked upward among the branches of the tree's, to see if any animal could be discovered that might serve them for a meal. Bird or quadruped, it mattered not, so that it was large enough to give the four a breakfast. But neither one nor the other was to be seen, although the woods around had a promising appearance. The trees were large, and as there was much underwood, consisting of berry-bushes and plants with edible roots, our voyageurs did not doubt that there would be found game in abundance. It was agreed, then, that Lucien and Francois should remain on the spot and kindle a fire, while Basil and Norman went off in search of something to be cooked upon it. In less than an hour the latter returned, carrying an animal upon his shoulders, which both the boys recognised as an old acquaintance,--the prong-horned antelope (_Antilope furcifer_), so called from the single fork or prong upon its horns. Norman called it "a goat," and stated that this was its name among the fur-traders, while the Canadian voyageurs give it the title of "cabree." Lucien, however, knew the animal well. He knew it was not of the goat kind, but a true antelope, and the only animal of that genus found in North America. Its habitat is the prairie country, and at the present time it is not found farther east than the prairies extend, nor farther north either, as it is not a creature that can bear extreme cold. In early times, however--that is, nearly two centuries ago--it must have ranged nearly to the Atlantic shores, as Father Hennepin in his Travels speaks of "goats" being killed in the neighbourhood of Niagara, meaning no other than the prong-horned antelopes. The true wild goat of America is a very different animal, and is only found in the remote regions of the Rocky Mountains. What Norman had shot, then, was an antelope; and the reason why it is called "cabree" by the voyageurs, and "goat" by the fur-traders, is partly from its colour resembling that of the common goat, but more from the fact, that along the upper part of its neck there is a standing mane, which does in truth give it somewhat the appearance of the European goat. Another point of resemblance lies in the fact, that the "prong-horns" emit the same disagreeable odour, which is a well-known characteristic of the goat species. This proceeds from two small glandular openings that lie at the angles of the jaws, and appear spots of a blackish brown colour. Both Lucien and Francois had shot antelopes. They had decoyed them within range in their former expedition on the prairies, and had seen wolves do the same. The Indians usually hunt them in this manner, by holding up some bright-coloured flag, or other curious object, which rarely fails to bring them within shot; but Norman informed his cousins that the Indians of the Hudson's Bay Company care little about the antelope, and rarely think it worth hunting. Its skin is of little value to them, and they consider its flesh but indifferent eating. But the chief reason why they take so little notice of it is, because it is found in the same range with the buffalo, the moose, and the elk; and, as all these animals are more valuable to the Indian hunter, he allows the antelope to go unmolested, unless when he is hard pressed with hunger, and none of the others are to be had. While skinning the antelope for breakfast, Norman amused his companions by relating how he had killed it. He said that he had got near enough to shoot it by practising a "dodge." After travelling through the woods for some half-mile or so, he had come out into a country of "openings," and saw that there was a large prairie beyond. He saw that the woods extended no farther than about a mile from the banks of the river, and that the whole country beyond was without timber, except in scattered clumps. This is, in fact, true of the Red River country, particularly of its western part, from which the great prairies stretch westward, even to the "foot-hills" (_piedmont_) of the Rocky Mountains. Well, then, after arriving at the openings, Norman espied a small herd of antelopes, about ten or a dozen in all. He would rather they had been something else, as elk or deer; for, like the Indians, he did not much relish the "goat's" meat. He was too hungry, however, to be nice, and so he set about trying to get within shot of the herd. There was no cover, and he knew he could not approach near enough without using some stratagem. He therefore laid himself flat upon his back, and raised his heels as high as he could into the air. These he kicked about in such a manner, as soon to attract the attention of the antelopes, that, curious to make out what it was, commenced running round and round in circles, of which Norman himself was the centre. The circles gradually became smaller and smaller, until the hunter saw that his game was within range; when, slyly rolling himself round on one shoulder, he took aim at a buck, and fired. The buck fell, and the rest of the herd bounded off like the wind. Norman feeling hungry himself, and knowing that his companions were suffering from the same cause, lost no time in looking for other game; but shouldering the "goat," carried it into camp. By this time Lucien and Francois had a fire kindled--a roaring fire of "pine-knots"--and both were standing by it, smoking all over in their wet leggings. They had got nearly dry when Norman returned, and they proceeded to assist in butchering the antelope. The skin was whipped off in a trice; and the venison, cut into steaks and ribs, was soon spitted and sputtering cheerily in the blaze of the pine-knots. Everything looked pleasant and promising, and it only wanted the presence of Basil to make them all feel quite happy again. Basil, however, did not make his appearance; and as they were all as hungry as wolves, they could not wait for him, but set upon the antelope-venison, and made each of them a hearty meal from it. As yet they had no apprehensions about Basil. They supposed he had not met with any game, and was still travelling about in search of it. Should he succeed in killing any, he would bring it in; and should he not, he would return in proper time without it. It was still early in the day. But several hours passed over, and he did not come. It was an unusual length of time for him to be absent, especially in strange woods of which he knew nothing; moreover, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and the rest of his clothing had been dripping wet when he set out. Under these circumstances would he remain so long, unless something unpleasant had happened to him? This question the three began to ask one another. They began to grow uneasy about their absent companion; and as the hours passed on without his appearing, their uneasiness increased to serious alarm. They at length resolved to go in search of him. They took different directions, so that there would be a better chance of finding him. Norman struck out into the woods, while Lucien and Francois, followed by the dog Marengo, kept down the bank--thinking that if Basil had got lost, he would make for the river to guide him, as night approached. All were to return to the camp at nightfall whether successful or not. After several hours spent in traversing the woods and openings, Norman came back. He had been unable to find any traces of their missing companion. The others had got back before him. They heard his story with sorrowing hearts, for neither had they fallen in with the track of living creature. Basil was lost, beyond a doubt. He would never have stayed so long, had not some accident happened to him. Perhaps he was dead--killed by some wild animal--a panther or a bear. Perhaps he had met with Indians, who had carried him off, or put him to death on the spot. Such were the painful conjectures of his companions. It was now night. All three sat mournfully over the fire, their looks and gestures betokening the deep dejection they felt. Although in need of repose, none of them attempted to go to sleep. At intervals they discussed the probability of his return, and then they would remain silent. Nothing could be done that night. They could only await the morning light, when they would renew their search, and scour the country in every direction. It was near midnight, and they were sitting silently around the fire, when Marengo started to his feet, and uttered three or four loud barks. The echoes of these had hardly died among the trees when a shrill whistle was heard at some distance off in the woods. "Hurrah!" shouted Francois, leaping to his feet at the instant; "that's Basil's whistle, I'll be bound. I'd know it a mile off. Hurrah!" Francois' "hurrah!" rang through the woods, and the next moment came back a loud "Hilloa!" which all recognised as the voice of Basil. "Hilloa!" shouted the three by the fire. "Hilloa, my boys! all right!" replied the voice; and a few seconds after, the tall upright form of Basil himself was seen advancing, under the glare of the pine-knots. A shout of congratulation was again raised; and all the party, preceded by Marengo, rushed out to meet the new-comer. They soon returned, bringing Basil up to the fire, when it was seen that he had not returned empty-handed. In one hand he carried a bag of grouse, or "prairie hens," while from the muzzle of his shouldered rifle there hung something that was at once recognised as a brace of buffalo tongues. "_Voila_!" cried Basil, flinging down the bag, "how are you off for supper? And here," continued he, pointing to the tongues, "here's a pair of tit-bits that'll make you lick your lips. Come! let us lose no time in the cooking, for I'm hungry enough to eat either of them raw." Basil's request was instantly complied with. The fire was raked up, spits were speedily procured, a tongue and one of the grouse were roasted; and although Lucien, Francois, and Norman, had already supped on the "goat's meat," they set to upon the new viands with fresh appetites. Basil was hungrier than any, for he had been all the while fasting. It was not because he was without meat, but because he knew that his comrades would be uneasy about him, and he would not stop to cook it. Of meat he had enough, since he had slain the two buffaloes to which the tongues had belonged; and these same buffaloes, he now informed them, had been the cause of his long absence. Of course, all were eager to know how the buffaloes could have delayed him; and therefore, while they were discussing their savoury supper, Basil narrated the details of his day's adventure. CHAPTER NINE. A "PARTRIDGE DANCE." "After leaving here," said Basil, "I struck off through the woods in a line that led from the river, in a diagonal direction. I hadn't walked more than three hundred yards, when I heard a drumming sound, which I at first took to be thunder; but, after listening a while, I knew it was not that, but the drumming of the ruffed grouse. As soon as I could ascertain the direction of the sound, I hurried on in that way; but for a long time I appeared to get no nearer it, so greatly does this sound deceive one. I should think I walked a full mile before I arrived at the place where the birds were, for there were many of them. I then had a full view of them, as they went through their singular performances. "There were, in all, about a score. They had selected a piece of open and level ground, and over this they were running in a circle, about twenty feet in diameter. They did not all run in the same direction, but met and crossed each other, although they never deviated much from the circumference of the circle, around which the grass was worn quite bare, and a ring upon the turf looked baked and black. When I first got near, they heard my foot among the leaves, and I saw that one and all of them stopped running, and squatted close down. I halted, and hid myself behind a tree. After remaining quiet a minute or so, the birds began to stretch up their necks, and then all rose together to their feet, and commenced running round the ring as before. I knew they were performing what is called the `Partridge Dance;' and as I had never witnessed it I held back awhile, and looked on. Even hungry as I was, and as I knew all of you to be, so odd were the movements of these creatures, that I could not resist watching them a while, before I sent my unwelcome messenger into their `ballroom.' Now and then an old cock would separate from the pack, and running out to some distance, would leap upon a rock that was there; then, after dropping his wings, flirting with his spread tail, erecting the ruff upon his neck, and throwing back his head, he would swell and strut upon the rock, exhibiting himself like a diminutive turkey-cock. After manoeuvring in this way for a few moments, he would commence flapping his wings in short quick strokes, which grew more rapid as he proceeded, until a `booming' sound was produced, more like the rumble of distant thunder than anything I can think of. "This appeared to be a challenge to the others; and then a second would come out, and, after replying to it by putting himself through a similar series of attitudes, the two would attack each other, and fight with all the fury of a pair of game-cocks. "I could have watched their manoeuvres much longer," continued Basil, "but hunger got the better of me, and I made ready to fire. Those that were `dancing' moved so quickly round the ring that I could not sight one of them. If I had had a shot-gun, I might have covered several, but with the rifle I could not hope for more than a single bird; so, wanting to make sure of that, I waited until an old cock mounted the rock, and got to `drumming.' Then I sighted him, and sent my bullet through his crop. I heard the loud whirr of the pack as they rose up from the ring; and, marking them, I saw that they all alighted only a couple of hundred yards off, upon a large spruce-tree. Hoping they would sit there until I could get another shot, I loaded as quickly as possible, and stepped forward. The course I took brought me past the one I had killed, which I picked up, and thrust hastily into my bag. Beyond this I had to pass over some logs that lay along the ground, with level spaces between them. What was my surprise in getting among these, to see two of the cocks down upon the grass, and righting so desperately that they took no notice of my approach! At first I threw up my rifle, intending to fire, but seeing that the birds were within a few feet of me, I thought they might let me lay hold of them, which they, in fact, did; for the next moment I had `grabbed' both of them, and cooled their bellicose spirits by wringing their heads off. "I now proceeded to the pack, that still kept the tree. When near enough, I sheltered myself behind another tree; and taking aim at one, I brought him tumbling to the ground. The others sat still. Of course, I shot the one upon the lowest branch: I knew that, so long as I did this, the others would sit until I might get the whole of them; but that if I shot one of the upper ones, its fluttering down through the branches would alarm the rest, and cause them to fly off. I loaded and fired, and loaded and fired, until half-a-dozen of the birds lay around the root of the tree. I believe I could have killed the whole pack, but it just then occurred to me that I was wasting our precious ammunition, and that, considering the value of powder and shot to us just now, the birds were hardly worth a load apiece; so I left off cracking at them. As I stepped forward to gather what I had killed, the rest whirred away into the woods. "On reaching the tree where they had perched, I was very much surprised to find a raw-hide rope neatly coiled up, and hanging from one of the lower branches. I knew that somebody must have placed it there, and I looked round to see what `sign' there was besides. My eye fell upon the cinders of an old fire near the foot of the tree; and I could tell that some Indians had made their camp by it. It must have been a good while ago, as the ashes were beaten into the ground by the rain, and, moreover, some young plants were springing up through them. I concluded, therefore, that whoever had camped there had hung the rope upon the tree, and on leaving the place had forgotten it. I took the rope down to examine it: it was no other than a lasso, full fifty feet long, with an iron ring neatly whipped into the loop-end; and, on trying it with a pull, I saw it was in the best condition. Of course, I was not likely to leave such a prize behind me. I had grown, as you may all conceive, to have a very great regard for a rope, considering that one had just saved all our lives; so I resolved on bringing the lasso with me. In order to carry it the more conveniently, I coiled it, and then hung the coil across my shoulders like a belt. I next packed my game into the bag, which they filled chock up to the mouth, and was turning to come back to camp, when my eye fell upon an object that caused me suddenly to change my intention. "I was near the edge of the woods, and through the trunks I could see a large open space beyond, where there were no trees, or only one here and there. In the middle of this opening there was a cloud of dust, and in the thick of it I could see two great dark animals in motion. They were running about, and now and then coming together with a sudden rush; and every time they did so, I could hear a loud thump, like the stroke of a sledgehammer. The sun was shining upon the yellow dust-cloud, and the animals appeared from this circumstance to be of immense size--much larger than they really were. Had I not known what kind of creatures were before me, I should have believed that the mammoths were still in existence. But I knew well what they were: I had seen many before, carrying on just such a game. I knew they were buffalo bulls, engaged in one of their terrible battles." Here Basil's narrative was interrupted by a singular incident. Indeed, it had been interrupted more than once by strange noises that were heard at some distance off in the woods. These noises were not all alike: at one time they resembled the barking of a cur dog; at another, they might have been mistaken for the gurglings of a person who was being hanged; and then would follow a shriek so dreadful that for some time the woods would echo with its dismal sound! After the shriek a laugh would be heard, but a miserable "haw-haw-haw!" unlike the laugh of a sane person. All these strange voices were calculated to inspire terror, and so have they many a time, with travellers not accustomed to the solitary woods of America. But our young voyageurs were not at all alarmed by them. They knew from what sort of a creature they proceeded; they knew they were the varying notes of the great horned-owl (_Strix Virginiana_); and as they had seen and heard many a one before, they paid no heed to this individual. While Basil was going on with his relation, the bird had been several times seen to glide past, and circle around upon his noiseless pinions. So easy was his flight, that the slightest inclining of his spread tail, or the bending of his broad wing, seemed sufficient to turn and carry him in any direction. Nothing could be more graceful than his flight, which was not unlike that of the eagle, while he was but little inferior in size to one of these noble birds. What interrupted Basil was, that the owl had alighted upon a branch not twenty feet from where they were all sitting round the fire, by the blaze of which they now had a full view of this singular creature. The moment it alighted, it commenced uttering its hideous and unmusical cries, at the same time going through such a variety of contortions, both with its head and body, as to cause the whole party a fit of laughter. It was, in fact, an odd and interesting sight to witness its grotesque movements, as it turned first its body, and then its head around, without moving the shoulders, while its great honey-coloured eyes glared in the light of the fire. At the end of every attitude and utterance, it would snap its bill with such violence, that the cracking of the mandibles upon each other might have been heard to the distance of several hundred yards. This was too much for Francois' patience to bear, and he immediately crept to his gun. He had got hold of the piece, and cocked it; but, just as he was about to take aim, the owl dropped silently down from the branch, and, gliding gently forward, thrust out its feathered leg, and lifted one of the grouse in its talons. The latter had been lying upon the top of a fallen tree not six feet from the fire! The owl, after clutching it, rose into the air; and the next moment would have been lost in darkness, but the crack of Francois' rifle put a sudden stop to its flight, and with the grouse still clinging to its claws it fell fluttering to the earth. Marengo jumped forward to seize it; but Marengo little knew the sort of creature he had to deal with. It happened to be only "winged," and as soon as the dog came near, it threw itself upon its back, and struck at him with its talons so wickedly, that he was fain to approach it with more caution. It cost Marengo a considerable fight before he succeeded in getting his jaws over it. During the contest it continually snapped its bill, while its great goggle eyes kept alternately and quickly opening and closing, and the feathers being erected all over its body, gave it the appearance of being twice its real size. Marengo at length succeeded in "crunching" it--although not until he was well scratched about the snout--and its useless carcass having been thrown upon the ground, the dog continued to worry and chew at it, while Basil went on with his narration. CHAPTER TEN. BASIL AND THE BISON-BULL. "As soon as I saw the buffaloes," continued Basil, "my first thought was to get near, and have a shot at them. They were worth a charge of powder and lead, and I reflected that if I could kill but one of them, it would ensure us against hunger for a couple of weeks to come. So I hung my game-bag to the branch of a tree, and set about approaching them. I saw that the wind was in my favour, and there was no danger of their scenting me. But there was no cover near them--the ground was as level as a table, and there was not a score of trees upon as many acres. It was no use crawling up, and I did not attempt it, but walked straight forward, treading lightly as I went. In five minutes, I found myself within good shooting range. Neither of the bulls had noticed me. They were too busy with one another, and in all my life I never saw two creatures fighting in such earnest. They were foaming at the mouth, and the steam poured out of their nostrils incessantly. At times, they would back from each other like a pair of rams, and then rush together head-foremost, until their skulls cracked with the terrible collision. One would have fancied that they would break them at every fresh encounter, but I knew the thickness of a buffalo's skull before that time. I remember having fired a musket at one that stood fronting me not more than six feet distant, when, to my surprise, the bullet flattened and fell to the ground before the nose of the buffalo! The creature was not less astonished than myself, as up to that time it had not seen me. "Well," continued Basil after a pause, "I did not stop long to watch the battle of the bison-bulls. I was not curious about that. I had seen such many a time. I was thinking about the meat; and I paused just long enough to select the one that appeared to have the most fat upon his flanks, when I drew up my rifle and fired. I aimed for the heart, and my aim was a true one, for the animal came to its knees along with the crack. Just at that moment the other was charging upon it, and, to my surprise, it continued to run on, until striking the wounded one full butt upon the forehead, it knocked the latter right over upon its side; where, after giving half-a-dozen kicks, it lay quite dead. "The remaining bull had dashed some paces beyond the spot, and now turned round again to renew his attack. On seeing his antagonist stretched out and motionless, he seemed to be as much astonished as I was. At first, no doubt, he fancied himself the author of a grand _coup_, for it was plain that up to this time he had neither noticed my presence, nor the report of the rifle. The bellowing noise that both were making had drowned the latter; and the dust, together with the long shaggy tufts that hung over his eyes, had prevented him from seeing anything more than his rival, with whom he was engaged. Now that the other was no longer able to stand before him, and thinking it was himself that had done the deed, he tossed up his head and snorted in triumph. At this moment, the matted hair was thrown back from his eyes, and the dust having somewhat settled away, he sighted me, where I stood reloading my gun. I fancied he would take off before I could finish, and I made all the haste in my power--so much so that I dropped the box of caps at my feet. I had taken one out, however, and hurriedly adjusted it, thinking to myself, as I did so, that the box might lie where it was until I had finished the job. I brought the piece to my shoulder, when, to my surprise, the bull, instead of running away, as I had expected, set his head, and uttering one of his terrible bellows, came rushing towards me. I fired, but the shot was a random one, and though it hit him in the snout, it did not in the least disable him. Instead of keeping him off, it only seemed to irritate him the more, and his fury was now at its height. "I had no time to load again. He was within a few feet of me when I fired, and it was with difficulty that, by leaping to one side, I avoided his horns; but I did so, and he passed me with such violence that I felt the ground shake under his heavy tread. "He wheeled immediately, and made at me a second time. I knew that if he once touched me I was gone. His horns were set, and his eyes glared with a terrible earnestness. I rushed towards the body of the buffalo that lay near, hoping that this might assist me in avoiding the onset. It did so, for, as he dashed forward over it, he became entangled among the limbs, and again charged without striking me. He turned, however, as quick as thought, and again rushed bellowing upon me. There was a tree near at hand. I had noticed it before, but I could not tell whether I should have time to reach it. I was now somewhat nearer it, and, fearing that I might not be able to dodge the furious brute any longer upon the ground, I struck out for the tree. You may be sure I did my best at running. I heard the bull coming after, but before he could overtake me, I had got to the root of the tree. It was my intention, at first, only to take shelter behind the trunk; but when I had got there, I noticed that there were some low branches, and catching one of these I swung myself up among them. "The bull passed under me with a rush--almost touching my feet as I hung by the branch--but I was soon safely lodged in a fork, and out of his reach. "My next thought was to load my gun, and fire at him from my perch, and, with this intention, I commenced loading. I had no fear but that he would give me an opportunity, for he kept round the tree, and at times attacked the trunk, butting and goring it with his horns, and all the while bellowing furiously. The tree was a small one, and it shook so, that I began to fear it might break down. I therefore made all the haste I could to get in the load, expecting soon to put an end to his attacks. I succeeded at length in ramming down the bullet, and was just turning the gun to put on a cap, when I recollected that the cap-box was still lying on the ground where it had fallen! The sudden attack of the animal had prevented me from taking it up. My caps were all within that box, and my gun, loaded though it was, was as useless in my hands as a bar of iron. To get at the caps would be quite impossible. I dared not descend from the tree. The infuriated bull still kept pacing under it, now going round and round, and occasionally stopping for a moment and looking angrily up. "My situation was anything but a pleasant one. I began to fear that I might not be permitted to escape at all. The bull seemed to be most pertinacious in his vengeance. I could have shot him in the back, or the neck, or where I liked, if I had only had one cap. He was within three feet of the muzzle of my rifle; but what of that when I could not get the gun to go off? After a while I thought of making some tinder paper, and then trying to `touch off' the piece with it, but a far better plan at that moment came into my head. While I was fumbling about my bullet-pouch to get at my flint and steel, of course my fingers came into contact with the lasso which was still hanging around my shoulders. It was this that suggested my plan, which was no other than to _lasso the bull, and tie him to the tree_! "I lost no time in carrying it into execution. I uncoiled the rope, and first made one end fast to the trunk. The other was the loop-end, and reeving it through the ring, I held it in my right hand while I leaned over and watched my opportunity. It was not long before a good one offered. The bull still continued his angry demonstrations below, and passed round and round. It was no new thing for me to fling a lasso, and at the first pitch I had the satisfaction of seeing the noose pass over the bison's head, and settle in a proper position behind his horns. I then gave it a twitch, so as to tighten it, and after that I ran the rope over a branch, and thus getting `a purchase' upon it, I pulled it with all my might. "As soon as the bull felt the strange cravat around his neck, he began to plunge and `rout' with violence, and at length ran furiously out from the tree. But he soon came to the end of his tether; and the quick jerk, which caused the tree itself to crack, brought him to his haunches, while the noose tightening on his throat was fast strangling him. But for the thick matted hair it would have done so, but this saved him, and he continued to sprawl and struggle at the end of the rope. The tree kept on cracking, and as I began to fear that it might give way and precipitate me to the ground, I thought it better to slip down. I ran direct to where I had dropped the caps; and, having got hold of the box, I soon had one upon my gun. I then stole cautiously back, and while the bison was hanging himself as fast as he could, I brought his struggles to a period by sending a bullet through his ribs. "As it was quite night when I had finished the business, of course I could not stay to butcher the bulls. I knew that you would be wondering what kept me, so I cut out the tongues, and coming by the place where I had left the grouse, brought them along. I left a `scare-wolf' over both the bulls, however, and I guess we'll find them all right in the morning." Basil having finished the narration of his day's adventures, fresh fuel was heaped on the embers, and a huge fire was built--one that would last until morning. This was necessary, as none of them had now either blankets or bedding. Basil himself and Norman were even in their shirt-sleeves, and of course their only chance for keeping warmth in their bodies would be to keep up a roaring fire all the night. This they did, and all four laying themselves close together, slept soundly enough. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THREE CURIOUS TREES. Next morning they were awake at an early hour. There was still enough of the tongues and grouse left, along with some ribs of the antelope, to breakfast the party; and then all four set out to bring the flesh of Basil's buffaloes into camp. This they accomplished, after making several journeys. It was their intention to dry the meat over the fire, so that it might keep for future use. For this purpose the flesh was removed from the bones, and after being cut into thin slices and strips, was hung up on poles at some distance from the blaze. Nothing more could be done, but wait until it became sufficiently parched by the heat. While this process was going on our voyageurs collected around the fire, and entered into a consultation about what was best to be done. At first they thought of going back to the Red River settlement, and obtaining another canoe, as well as a fresh stock of provisions and implements. But they all believed that getting back would be a toilsome and difficult matter. There was a large lake and several extensive marshes on the route, and these would have to be got round, making the journey a very long one indeed. It would take them days to perform it on foot, and nothing is more discouraging on a journey than to be forced by some accident to what is called "taking the back-track." All of them acknowledged this, but what else could they do? It is true there was a post of the Hudson's Bay Company at the northern end of Lake Winnipeg. This post was called Norway House. How were they to reach that afoot? To walk around the borders of the lake would be a distance of more than four hundred miles. There would be numerous rivers to cross, as well as swamps and pathless forests to be threaded. Such a journey would occupy a month or more, and at Norway House they would still be as it were only at the beginning of the great journey on which they had set out. Moreover, Norway House lay entirely out of their way. Cumberland House--another trading post upon the River Saskatchewan--was the next point where they had intended to rest themselves, after leaving the Red River settlements. To reach Cumberland House _afoot_ would be equally difficult, as it, too, lay at the distance of hundreds of miles, with lakes, and rivers, and marshes, intervening. What, then, could they do? "Let us _not_ go back," cried Francois, ever ready with a bold advice; "let us make a boat, and keep on, say I." "Ha! Francois," rejoined Basil, "it's easy to say `make a boat;' how is that to be done, I pray?" "Why, what's to hinder us to hew a log, and make a dugout? We have still got the axe, and two hatchets left." Norman asked what Francois meant by a dugout. The phrase was new to him. "A canoe," replied Francois, "hollowed out of a tree. They are sometimes called `dugouts' on the Mississippi, especially when they are roughly made. One of them, I think, would carry all four of us well enough. Don't you think so, Luce?" "Why, yes," answered the student; "a large one might: but I fear there are no trees about here of sufficient size. We are not among the great timber of the Mississippi bottom, you must remember." "How large a tree would it require?" asked Norman, who knew but little of this kind of craft. "Three feet in diameter, at least," replied Lucien; "and it should be of that thickness for a length of nearly twenty feet. A less one would not carry four of us." "Then I am sure enough," responded Norman, "that we won't find such timber here. I have seen no tree of that size either yesterday, or while we were out this morning." "Nor I," added Basil. "I don't believe there's one," said Lucien. "If we were in Louisiana," rejoined Francois, "I could find fifty canoe-trees by walking as many yards. Why, I never saw such insignificant timber as this here." "You'll see smaller timber than this, Cousin Frank, before we reach the end of our voyage." This remark was made by Norman, who knew that, as they proceeded northward, the trees would be found decreasing in size until they would appear like garden shrubbery. "But come," continued he, "if we can't build a craft to carry us from _one_ tree, perhaps we can do it out of _three_." "With three!" echoed Francois. "I should like to see a canoe made from three trees! Is it a raft you mean, Cousin Norman?" "No," responded the other; "a canoe, and one that will serve us for the rest of our voyage." All three--Basil, Lucien, and Francois--looked to their cousin for an explanation. "You would rather not go back up the river?" he inquired, glancing from one to the other. "We wish to go on--all of us," answered Basil, speaking for his brothers as well. "Very well," assented the young fur-trader; "I think it is better as you wish it. Out of these trees I can build a boat that will carry us. It will take us some days to do it, and some time to find the timber, but I am tolerably certain it is to be found in these woods. To do the job properly I want three kinds; two of them I can see from where I sit; the third I expect will be got in the hills we saw this morning." As Norman spoke he pointed to two trees that grew among many others not far from the spot. These trees were of very different kinds, as was easily told by their leaves and bark. The nearer and more conspicuous of them at once excited the curiosity of the three Southerners. Lucien recognised it from its botanical description. Even Basil and Francois, though they had never seen it, as it is not to be found in the hot clime of Louisiana, knew it from the accounts given of it by travellers. The tree was the celebrated "canoe-birch," or, as Lucien named it, "paper-birch" (_Betula papyracea_), celebrated as the tree out of whose bark those beautiful canoes are made that carry thousands of Indians over the interior lakes and rivers of North America; out of whose bark whole tribes of these people fashion their bowls, their pails, and their baskets; with which they cover their tents, and from which they even make their soup-kettles and boiling-pots! This, then, was the canoe-birch-tree, so much talked of, and so valuable to the poor Indians who inhabit the cold regions where it grows. Our young Southerners contemplated the tree with feelings of interest and curiosity. They saw that it was about sixty feet high, and somewhat more than a foot in diameter. Its leaves were nearly cordate, or heart-shaped, and of a very dark-green colour; but that which rendered it most conspicuous among the other trees of the forest was the shining white or silver-coloured bark that covered its trunk, and its numerous slender branches. This bark is only white externally. When you have cut through the epidermis you find it of a reddish tinge, very thick, and capable of being divided into several layers. The wood of the tree makes excellent fuel, and is also often used for articles of furniture. It has a close, shining grain, and is strong enough for ordinary implements; but if exposed to the weather will decay rapidly. The "canoe-birch" is not the only species of these trees found in North America. The genus _Betula_ (so called from the Celtic word _batu_, which means birch) has at least half-a-dozen other known representatives in these parts. There is the "white birch" (_Betula populifolia_), a worthless tree of some twenty feet in height, and less than six inches diameter. The bark of this species is useless, and its wood, which is soft and white, is unfit even for fuel. It grows, however, in the poorest soil. Next there is a species called the "cherry-birch" (_Betula lento_), so named from the resemblance of its bark to the common cherry-tree. It is also called "sweet birch," because its young twigs, when crushed, give out a pleasant aromatic odour. Sometimes the name of "black birch" is given to this species. It is a tree of fifty or sixty feet in height, and its wood is much used in cabinet-work, as it is close-grained, of a beautiful reddish colour, and susceptible of a high polish. The "yellow birch" is a tree of the same size, and is so called from the colour of its epidermis. It is likewise used in cabinet-work, though it is not considered equal in quality to the cherry-birch. Its leaves and twigs have also an aromatic smell when bruised, not so strong, however, as the last-mentioned. The wood makes excellent fuel, and is much used for that purpose in some of the large cities of America. The bark, too, is excellent for tanning--almost equal to that of the oak. The "red birch" is still another species, which takes its name from the reddish hue of its bark. This is equal in size to the canoe-birch, often growing seventy feet high, with a trunk of nearly three feet diameter. Its branches are long, slender, and pendulous; and it is from the twigs of this species that most of the "birch-brooms" used in America are made. Still another species of American birches is the "dwarf birch" (_Betula nana_), so called from its diminutive size, which is that of a shrub, only eighteen inches or two feet in height. It usually grows in very cold or mountainous regions, and is the smallest of these interesting trees. This information regarding the birches of America was given by Lucien to his brothers, not at that time, but shortly afterward, when the three were engaged in felling one of these trees. Just then other matters occupied them, and they had only glanced, first at the canoe-birch and then at the other tree which Norman had pointed out. The latter was of a different genus. It belonged to the order _Coniferae_, or cone-bearing trees, as was evident from the cone-shaped fruits that hung upon its branches, as well as from its needle-like evergreen leaves. The cone-bearing trees of America are divided by botanists into three great sub-orders--the _Pines_, the _Cypresses_, and the _Yews_. Each of these includes several genera. By the "pine tribe" is meant all those trees known commonly by the names pine, spruce, fir, and larch; while the _Cupressinae_, or cypress tribe, are the cypress proper, the cedars, the arbour-vitae, and the junipers. The yew tribe has fewer genera or species; but the trees in America known as yews and hemlocks--of which there are several varieties--belong to it. Of the pine tribe a great number of species exist throughout the North American Continent. The late explorations on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, and in the countries bordering on the Pacific, have brought to light a score of species hitherto unknown to the botanist. Many of these are trees of a singular and valuable kind. Several species found in the mountains of North Mexico, and throughout those desert regions where hardly any other vegetation exists, have edible seeds upon which whole tribes of Indians subsist for many months in the year. The Spanish Americans call them _pinon_ trees, but there are several species of them in different districts. The Indians parch the seeds, and sometimes pound them into a coarse meal, from which they bake a very palatable bread. This bread is often rendered more savoury by mixing the meal with dried "prairie crickets," a species of coleopterous insects--that is, insects with a crustaceous or shell-like covering over their wings--which are common in the desert wilds where these Indians dwell. Some prairie travellers have pronounced this singular mixture equal to the "best pound-cake." The "Lambert pine," so called from the botanist of that name, is found in Oregon and California, and may be justly considered one of the wonders of the world. Three hundred feet is not an uncommon height for this vegetable giant; and its cones have been seen of eighteen inches in length, hanging like sugar-loaves from its high branches! The wonderful "palo Colorado" of California is another giant of the pine tribe. It also grows above three hundred feet high, with a diameter of sixteen feet! Then there is the "red pine," of eighty feet high, much used for the decks and masts of ships; the "pitch-pine" (_Pinus rigida_), a smaller tree, esteemed for its fuel, and furnishing most of the firewood used in some of the American cities. From this species the strong burning "knots" are obtained. There is the "white pine" (_Pinus strobus_), valuable for its timber. This is one of the largest and best known of the pines. It often attains a height of an hundred and fifty feet, and a large proportion of those planks so well-known to the carpenter are sawed from its trunk. In the State of New York alone no less than 700,000,000 feet of timber are annually obtained from trees of this species, which, by calculation, must exhaust every year the enormous amount of 70,000 acres of forest! Of course, at this rate the pine-forests of New York State must soon be entirely destroyed. In addition, there is the "yellow pine," a tree of sixty feet high, much used in flooring houses; and the beautiful "balsam fir," used as an ornamental evergreen both in Europe and America, and from which is obtained the well-known medicine--the "Canada balsam." This tree, in favourable situations, attains the height of sixty feet; while upon the cold summits of mountains it is often seen rising only a few inches from the surface. The "hemlock spruce" (_Pinus Canadensis_), is another species, the bark of which is used in tanning. It is inferior to the oak, though the leather made by it is of excellent quality. The "black" or "double spruce" (_Pinus nigra_), is that species from the twigs of which is extracted the essence that gives its peculiar flavour to the well-known "_spruce beer_." Besides these, at least a dozen new species have lately been discovered on the interior mountains of Mexico--all of them more or less possessing valuable properties. The pines cannot be termed trees of the tropics, yet do they grow in southern and warm countries. In the Carolinas, tar and turpentine, products of the pine, are two staple articles of exportation; and even under the equator itself, the high mountains are covered with pine-forests. But the pine is more especially the tree of a northern _sylva_. As you approach the Arctic circle, it becomes the characteristic tree. There it appears in extensive forests, lending their picturesque shelter to the snowy desolation of the earth. One species of pine is the very last tree that disappears as the traveller, in approaching the pole, takes his leave of the limits of vegetation. This species is the "white spruce" (_Pinus alba_), the very one which, along with the birch-tree, had been pointed out by Norman to his companions. It was a tree not over thirty or forty feet high, with a trunk of less than a foot in thickness, and of a brownish colour. Its leaves or "needles" were about an inch in length, very slender and acute, and of a bluish green tint. The cones upon it, which at that season were young, were of a pale green. When ripe, however, they become rusty-brown, and are nearly two inches in length. What use Norman would make of this tree in building his canoe, neither Basil nor Francois knew. Lucien only guessed at it. Francois asked the question, by saying that he supposed the "timbers" were to come out of it. "No," said Norman, "for that I want still another sort. If I can't find that sort, however, I can manage to do without it, but not so well." "What other sort?" demanded Francois. "I want some cedar-wood," replied the other. "Ah! that's for the timbers," said Francois; "I am sure of it. The cedar-wood is lighter than any other, and, I dare say, would answer admirably for ribs and other timbers." "You are right this time, Frank--it is considered the best for that purpose." "You think there are cedar-trees on the hills we saw this morning?" said Francois, addressing his Canadian cousin. "I think so. I noticed something like them." "And I, too, observed a dark foliage," said Lucien, "which looked like the cedar. If anywhere in this neighbourhood, we shall find them there. They usually grow upon rocky, sterile hills, such as those appear to be--that is their proper situation." "The question," remarked Basil, "ought to be settled at once. We have made up our mind to the building of a canoe, and I think we should lose no time in getting ready the materials. Suppose we all set out for the hills." "Agreed--agreed!" shouted the others with one voice; and then shouldering their guns, and taking the axe along, all four set out for the hills. On reaching these, the object of their search was at once discovered. The tops of all the hills--dry, barren ridges they were-- were covered with a thick grove of the red cedar (_Juniperus viginiana_). The trees were easily distinguished by the numerous branches spreading horizontally, and thickly covered with short dark-green needles, giving them that sombre, shady appearance, that makes them the favourite haunt of many species of owls. Their beautiful reddish wood was well-known to all the party, as it is to almost every one in the civilised world. Everybody who has seen or used a black-lead pencil must know what the wood of the red cedar is like--for it is in this the black-lead is usually incased. In all parts of America, where this tree grows in plenty, it is employed for posts and fence-rails, as it is one of the most durable woods in existence. It is a great favourite also for kindling fires, as it catches quickly, and blazes up in a few seconds, so as to ignite the heavier logs of other timbers, such as the oak and the pine. The red cedar usually attains a height of about thirty to forty feet, but in favourable situations it grows still larger. The soil which it loves best is of a stony, and often sterile character, and dry barren hill-tops are frequently covered with cedars, while the more moist and fertile valleys between possess a _sylva_ of a far different character. There is a variety of the red cedar, which trails upon the ground like a creeping plant, its branches even taking root again. This is rather a small bush than a tree, and is often seen hanging down the face of inaccessible cliffs. It is known among botanists as the _Juniperus prostrata_. "Now," said Norman, after examining a few of the cedar-trees, "we have here all that's wanted to make our canoe. We need lose no more time, but go to work at once!" "Very well," replied the three brothers, "we are ready to assist you,-- tell us what to do." "In the first place," said the other, "I think we had better change our camp to this spot, as I see all the different kinds of trees here, and much better ones than those near the river. There," continued he, pointing to a piece of moist ground in the valley,--"there are some journeys if we go back and bring our meat to this place at once." To this they all of course agreed, and started back to their first camp. They soon returned with the meat and other things, and having chosen a clean spot under a large-spreading cedar-tree, they kindled a new fire and made their camp by it--that is, they strung up the provisions, hung their horns and pouches upon the branches around, and rested their guns against the trees. They had no tent to pitch, but that is not necessary to constitute a camp. In the phraseology of the American hunter, wherever you kindle your fire or spend the night is a "camp." CHAPTER TWELVE. HOW TO BUILD A BARK CANOE. Norman expected that they would be able to finish the canoe in about a week. Of course, the sooner the better, and no time was lost in setting about it. The ribs or "timbers" were the first thing to be fashioned, and a number of straight branches of cedar were cut, out of which they were to be made. These branches were cleared of twigs, and rendered of an equal thickness at both ends. They were then flattened with the knife; and, by means of a little sweating in the ashes, were bent so as to bear some resemblance in shape to the wooden ox-yokes commonly used in America, or indeed to the letter U. The ribs when thus bent were not all of the same width. On the contrary, those which were intended to be placed near the middle or gangway of the vessel, were about two feet across from side to side, while the space between the sides of the others was gradually less in each fresh pair, according as their position was to be near to the stem and stern. When the whole of them had been forced into the proper shape, they were placed, one inside the other after the manner of dishes, and then all were firmly lashed together, and left to dry. When the lashing should be removed, they would hold to the form thus given them, and would be ready for fastening to the kelson. While Norman was occupied with the timbers the others were not idle. Basil had cut down several of the largest and straightest birches, and Lucien employed himself in carefully removing the bark and cleansing it of nodules and other inequalities. The broad sheets were suspended by a smoke fire, so as completely to dry up the sap, and render it tough and elastic. Francois had his part to play, and that was to collect the resinous gum which was distilled, in plenty from the trunks of the epinette or spruce-trees. This gum is a species of pitch, and is one of the most necessary materials in the making of a bark canoe. It is used for "paying" the seams, as well as any cracks that may show themselves in the bark itself; and without it, or some similar substance, it would be difficult to make one of these little vessels watertight. But that is not the only thing for which the epinette is valued in canoe-building; far from it. This tree produces another indispensable material; its long fibrous roots when split, form the twine-like threads by which the pieces of bark are sewed to each other and fastened to the timbers. These threads are as strong as the best cords of hemp, and are known among the Indians by the name of "watap." In a country, therefore, where hemp and flax cannot be readily procured, the "watap" is of great value. You may say that deer are plenty, and that thongs of buckskin would serve the same purpose. This, however, is not the case. The buckskin would never do for such a use. The moment it becomes wet it is liable to stretch, so that the seams would open and the canoe get filled with water. The watap, wet or dry, does not yield, and has therefore been found to be the best thing of all others for this purpose. The only parts now wanted were the gunwale and the bottom. The former was easily obtained. Two long poles, each twenty feet in length, were bent somewhat like a pair of bows, and then placed with their concave sides towards each other, and firmly lashed together at the ends. This was the gunwale. The bottom was the most difficult part of all. For that a solid plank was required, and they had no saw. The axe and the hatchet, however, were called into requisition, and a log was soon hewn and thinned down to the proper dimensions. It was sharpened off at the ends, so as to run to a very acute angle, both at the stem and stern. When the bottom was considered sufficiently polished, and modelled to the right shape, the most difficult part of the undertaking was supposed to be accomplished. A few long poles were cut and trimmed flat. These were to be laid longitudinally between the ribs and the bark, somewhat after the fashion of laths in the roofing of a house. Their use was to prevent the bark from splitting. The materials were now all obtained complete, and, with a few days' smoking and drying, would be ready for putting together. While waiting for the timbers to dry, paddles were made, and Norman, with the help of the others, prepared what he jokingly called his "dock," and also his "ship-yard." This was neither more nor less than a long mound of earth--not unlike a new-made grave, only three times the length of one, or even longer. It was flat upon the top, and graded with earth so as to be quite level and free from inequalities. At length all the materials were considered quite ready for use, and Norman went to work to put them together. His first operation was to untie the bundle of timbers, and separate them. They were found to have taken the exact form into which they had been bent, and the thongs being no longer necessary to keep them in place, were removed. The timbers themselves were next placed upon the bottom or kelson, those with the widest bottoms being nearer to "midships," while those with the narrower bend were set towards the narrower ends of the plank. Thus placed, they were all firmly lashed with strong cords of watap, by means of holes pierced in the bottom plank. Fortunately Lucien happened to have a pocket-knife, in which there was a good awl or piercer, that enabled them to make these holes-- else the matter would have been a much more difficult one, as an awl is one of the most essential tools in the construction of a bark canoe. Of course it took Norman a considerable time to set all the ribs in their proper places, and fasten them securely; but he was ably assisted by Francois, who waited upon him with much diligence, handing him now the awl, and then the watap, whenever he required them. Norman's next operation was the laying of his kelson "in dock." The timbers being attached to it, it was lifted up on the earthen mound, where it reached quite from end to end. Half-a-dozen large heavy stones were then placed upon it, so that, pressed down by these upon the even surface of the mould, it was rendered quite firm; and, moreover, was of such a height from the ground that the young shipwright could work upon it without too much bending and kneeling. The gunwale, already prepared, was next placed so as to touch the ends of the ribs all round, and these ends were adjusted to it with great nicety, and firmly joined. Strong cross-pieces were fixed, which were designed, not only to keep the gunwale from spreading or contracting, but afterwards to serve as seats. Of course the gunwale formed the complete mouth, or upper edge of the canoe. It was several feet longer than the bottom plank, and, when in place, projected beyond the ribs at both ends. From each end of the bottom plank, therefore, to the corresponding end of the gunwale, a straight piece of wood was stretched, and fastened. One of these pieces would form the stem or cutwater, while the other would become the stern of the craft. The long poles were next laid longitudinally upon the ribs outside, and lashed in their places; and this done, the skeleton was completed, ready for the bark. The latter had been already cut to the proper dimensions and shape. It consisted of oblong pieces--each piece being a regular parallelogram, as it had been stripped from the tree. These were laid upon the ribs longitudinally, and then sewed to the edge of the bottom plank, and also to the gunwale. The bark itself was in such broad pieces that two of them were sufficient to cover half a side, so that but one seam was required lengthwise, in addition to the fastenings at the top and bottom. Two lengths of the bark also reached cleverly from stem to stern, and thus required only one transverse seam on each side. There was an advantage in this arrangement, for where the birch-bark can only be obtained in small flakes, a great number of seams is a necessary consequence, and then it is extremely difficult to keep the canoe from leaking. Thanks to the fine birch-trees, that grew in abundance around, our boat-builders had procured the very best bark. The canoe was now completed all but the "paying," and that would not take long to do. The gum of the epinette had to be boiled, and mixed with a little grease, so as to form a species of wax. For this the fat already obtained from the buffaloes was the very thing; and a small tin cup which Basil had saved from the wreck (it had been strung to his bullet-pouch), enabled them to melt the gum, and apply it hot. In less than an hour the thing was done. Every crack and awl-hole was payed, and the canoe was pronounced "watertight," and, as Francois added, with a laugh, "seaworthy." A small pond was near, at the bottom of the hill: Francois espied it. "Come, boys," cried he, "a launch! a launch!" This was agreed to by all. The great stones were taken out. Basil and Norman, going one to the stem the other to the stern, lifted the canoe from the "dock," and, raising it upon their shoulders, carried it down to the pond. The next moment it was pushed into the water, where it floated like a cork. A loud cheer was given, in which even Marengo joined; and a salute was then fired--a full broadside--from the four guns. Francois, to complete the thing, seized one of the paddles, and leaping into the canoe, shot the little craft out upon the bosom of the pond, cheering all the while like one frantic. After amusing himself for some minutes, he paddled back to the shore, when they all looked eagerly into the canoe, and perceived to their gratification that not as much as a drop of water had leaked during the "trip." Thanks and congratulations now greeted Norman from every side; and, taking their vessel from the water, the young voyageurs returned to their camp, to regale themselves with a grand dinner, which Lucien had cooked for the occasion. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE CHAIN OF LAKES. Our young voyageurs now prepared to resume their journey. While Norman was engaged in building his canoe, with his assistant, Francois, the others had not been idle. Basil was, of course, the hunter of the party; and, in addition to the small game, such as hares, geese, and grouse, he had killed three caribou, of the large variety known as "woodland caribou." These are a species of the reindeer (_Cervus tarandus_), of which I have more to say hereafter. Lucien had attended to the drying of their flesh; and there was enough of it still left, as our voyageurs believed, to supply their wants until they should reach Cumberland House, where they would, of course, procure a fresh stock of provisions. The skins of the caribou had also been scraped and dressed by Lucien--who understood the process well--and these, with the skin of the antelope, were sufficient to make a pair of hunting-shirts for Basil and Norman, who, it will be remembered, had lost theirs by cutting them up. Next morning the canoe was launched upon the river--below the rapids-- and the dried meat, with their other matters, snugly stowed in the stern. Then the young voyageurs got in, and, seating themselves in their places, seized hold of the paddles. The next moment the canoe shot out into the stream; and a triumphant cheer from the crew announced that they had recommenced their journey. They found to their delight that the little vessel behaved admirably,--shooting through the water like an arrow, and leaking not water enough, as Francois expressed it, "to drown a mosquito." They had all taken their seats in the order which had been agreed upon for the day. Norman was "bowsman," and, of course, sate in the bow. This, among the regular Canadian voyageurs, is esteemed the post of honour, and the bowsman is usually styled "Captain" by the rest of the crew. It is also the post that requires the greatest amount of skill on the part of its occupant, particularly where there are rapids or shoals to be avoided. The post of "steersman" is also one of honour and importance; and both steersman and bowsman receive higher wages than the other voyageurs, who pass under the name of "middlemen." The steersman sits in the stern, and that place was now occupied by Lucien, who had proved himself an excellent steersman. Basil and Francois were, of course, the "middlemen," and plied the paddles. This was the arrangement made for the day; but although on other days the programme was to be changed, so as to relieve Basil and Francois, on all occasions when there were rapids or other difficulties to be encountered they were to return to this order. Norman, of course, understood canoe navigation better than his Southern cousins; and therefore, by universal assent, he was acknowledged "the Captain," and Francois always addressed him as such. Lucien's claim to the post of second honour was admitted to be just, as he had proved himself capable of filling it to the satisfaction of all. Marengo had no post, but lay quietly upon the buffalo skin between Lucien's legs, and listened to the conversation without joining in it, or in any way interfering in the working of the vessel. In a few hours our voyageurs had passed through the low marshy country that lies around the mouth of the Red River, and the white expanse of the great Lake Winnipeg opened before them, stretching northward far beyond the range of their vision. Norman knew the lake, having crossed it before, but its aspect somewhat disappointed the Southern travellers. Instead of a vast dark lake which they had expected to see, they looked upon a whitish muddy sheet, that presented but few attractive points to the eye, either in the hue of its water or the scenery of its shores. These, so far as they could see them, were low, and apparently marshy; and this is, in fact, the character of the southern shores of Winnipeg. On its east and north, however, the country is of a different character. There the geological formation is what is termed _primitive_. The rocks consist of granite, sienite, gneiss, etcetera; and, as is always the case where such rocks are found, the country is hilly and rugged. On the western shores a _secondary_ formation exists. This is _stratified limestone_,--the same as that which forms the bed of many of the great prairies of America; and, indeed, the Lake Winnipeg lies between this secondary formation and the primitive, which bounds it on the east. Along its western shores extends the flat limestone country, partly wooded and partly prairie land, running from that point for hundreds of miles up to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains, where the primitive rocks again make their appearance in the rugged peaks of that stupendous chain. Lake Winnipeg is nearly three hundred miles in length, but it is very narrow--being in its widest reach not over fifty miles, and in many places only fifteen miles from shore to shore. It trends nearly due north and south, leaning a little north-west and south-east, and receives many large rivers, as the Red, the Saskatchewan, and the Winnipeg. The waters of these are again carried out of it by other rivers that run from the lake, and empty into the Hudson's Bay. There is a belief among the hunters and voyageurs that this lake has its tides like the ocean. Such, however, is not the case. There is at times a rise and overflow of its waters, but it is not periodical, and is supposed to be occasioned by strong winds forcing the waters towards a particular shore. Lake Winnipeg is remarkable, as being in the very centre of the North American continent, and may be called the centre of the _canoe navigation_. From this point it is possible to travel _by water_ to Hudson's Bay on the north-east, to the Atlantic Ocean on the east, to the Gulf of Mexico on the south, to the Pacific on the west, and to the Polar Sea on the north and north-west. Considering that some of these distances are upwards of three thousand miles, it will be perceived that Lake Winnipeg holds a singular position upon the continent. All the routes mentioned can be made without any great "portage," and even a choice of route is often to be had upon those different lines of communication. These were points of information communicated by Norman as the canoe was paddled along the shore; for Norman, although troubling himself but little about the causes of things, possessed a good practical knowledge of things as they actually were. He was tolerably well acquainted with the routes, their portages, and distances. Some of them he had travelled over in company with his father, and of others he had heard the accounts given by the voyageurs, traders, and trappers. Norman knew that Lake Winnipeg was muddy,--he did not care to inquire the cause. He knew that there was a hilly country on its eastern and a low level land on its western shores, but it never occurred to him to speculate on this geological difference. It was the naturalist Lucien who threw out some hints on this part of the subject, and further added his opinion, that the lake came to be there in consequence of the wearing away of the rocks at the junction of the stratified with the primitive formation, thus creating an excavation in the surface, which in time became filled with water and formed the lake. This cause he also assigned for the existence of a remarkable "chain of lakes" that extends almost from the Arctic Sea to the frontiers of Canada. The most noted of these are Martin, Great Slave, Athabasca, Wollaston, Deer, Lake Winnipeg, and the Lake of the Woods. Lucien further informed his companions, that where primitive rocks form the surface of a country, that surface will be found to exhibit great diversity of aspect. There will be numerous lakes and swamps, rugged steep hills with deep valleys between, short streams with many falls and rapids. These are the characteristics of a primitive surface. On the other hand, where secondary rocks prevail the surface is usually a series of plains, often high, dry, and treeless, as is the case upon the great American prairies. Upon such topics did Lucien instruct his companions, as they paddled their canoe around the edge of the lake. They had turned the head of their little vessel westward--as it was their design to keep along the western border of the lake until they should reach the mouth of the Saskatchewan. They kept at a short distance from the shore, usually steering from point to point, and in this way making their route as direct as possible. It would have been still more direct had they struck out into the open lake, and kept up its middle; but this would have been a dangerous course to pursue. There are often high winds upon Lake Winnipeg, that spring up suddenly; and at such times the waves, if not mountains high, at least arrive at the height of houses. Among such billows the little craft would have been in danger of being swamped, and our voyageurs of going to the bottom. They, therefore, wisely resolved not to risk such an accident, but to "hug the shore," though it made their voyage longer. Each night they would land at some convenient place, kindle their fire, cook their supper, and dry their canoe for the next day's journey. According to this arrangement, a little before sunset of the first day they came to land and made their camp. The canoe was unloaded, carefully lifted out of the water, and then set bottom upward to drip and dry. A fire was kindled, some of the dry meat cooked, and all four sat down and began to eat, as only hungry travellers can. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. WAPITI, WOLVES, AND WOLVERENE. The spot where our voyageurs had landed was at the bottom of a small bay. The country back from the lake was level and clear of timber. Here and there, nearer the shore, however, its surface was prettily interspersed with small clumps of willows, that formed little copse-like thickets of deep green. Beside one of these thickets, within a hundred yards of the beach, the fire had been kindled, on a spot of ground that commanded a view of the plain for miles back. "Look yonder!" cried Francois, who had finished eating, and risen to his feet. "What are these, captain?" Francois pointed to some objects that appeared at a great distance off upon the plain. The "captain" rose up, placed his hand so as to shade his eyes from the sun, and, after looking for a second or two in the direction indicated, replied to the other's question by simply saying-- "Wapiti." "I'm no wiser than before I asked the question," said Francois. "Pray, enlighten me as to what a wapiti may be!" "Why, red deer; or elk, if you like." "Oh! elk--now I understand you. I thought they were elk, but they're so far off I wasn't sure." Lucien at this moment rose up, and looking through a small telescope, which he carried, confirmed the statement of the "captain," and pronounced it to be a herd of elk. "Come, Luce," demanded Francois, "tell us what you know of the elk. It will pass the time. Norman says it's no use going after them out there in the open ground, as they'd shy off before one could get within shot. You see there is not a bush within half-a-mile of them." "If we wait," interrupted Norman, "I should not wonder but we may have them among the bushes before long. They appear to be grazing this way. I warrant you, they'll come to the lake to drink before nightfall." "Very well then: the philosopher can tell us all about them before that." Lucien, thus appealed to, began:-- "There are few animals that have so many names as this. It is called in different districts, or by different authors, _elk, round-horned elk, American elk, stag, red deer, grey moose, le biche, wapiti_, and _wewaskish_. Naturalists have given not a _few of_ their designations, as _Cervus Canadensis, Cervus major, Cervus alces, Cervus strongylocerus, etcetera_. "You may ask, Why so many names? I shall tell you. It is called `elk' because it was supposed by the early colonists to be the same as the elk of Europe. Its name of `grey moose' is a hunter appellation, to distinguish it from the real moose, which the same hunters know as the `black moose.' `Round-horned elk' is also a hunter name. `Wewaskish,' or `waskesse,' is an Indian name for the animal. `Stag' comes from the European deer so called, because this species somewhat resembles the stag; and `red deer' is a name used by the Hudson Bay traders. `Le biche' is another synonyme of French authors. "Of all these names I think that of `wapiti,' which our cousin has given, the best. The names of `elk,' `stag,' and `red deer,' lead to confusion, as there are other species to which they properly belong, all of which are entirely different from the wapiti. I believe that this last name is now used by the best-informed naturalists. "In my opinion," continued Lucien, "the wapiti is the noblest of all the deer kind. It possesses the fine form of the European stag, while it is nearly a third larger and stronger. It has all the grace of limb and motion that belongs to the common deer, while its towering horns give it a most majestic and imposing appearance. Its colour during the summer is of a reddish brown, hence the name red deer; but, indeed, the reddish tint upon the wapiti is deeper and richer than that of its European cousin. The wapiti, like other deer, brings forth its fawns in the spring. They are usually a male and female, for two is the number it produces. The males only have horns; and they must be several years old before the antlers become full and branching. They fall every year, but not until February or March, and then the new ones grow out in a month or six weeks. During the summer the horns remain soft and tender to the touch. They are covered at this time with a soft membrane that looks like greyish velvet, and they are then said to be `in the velvet,' There are nerves and blood-vessels running through this membrane, and a blow upon the horns at this season gives great pain to the animal. When the autumn arrives the velvet peels off, and they become as hard as bone. They would need to be, for this is the `rutting' season, and the bucks fight furious battles with each other, clashing their horns together, as if they would break them to pieces. Very often a pair of bucks, while thus contending, `lock' their antlers, and being unable to draw them apart, remain head to head, until both die with hunger, or fall a prey to the prowling wolves. This is true not only of the elk, but also of the reindeer, the moose, and many other species of deer. Hundreds of pairs of horns have been found thus `locked,' and the solitary hunter has often surprised the deer in this unpleasant predicament. "The wapiti utters a whistling sound, that can be heard far off, and often guides the hunter to the right spot. In the rutting season the bucks make other noises, which somewhat resemble the braying of an ass, and are equally disagreeable to listen to. "The wapiti travel about in small herds, rarely exceeding fifty, but often of only six or seven. Where they are not much hunted they are easily approached, but otherwise they are shy enough. The bucks, when wounded and brought to bay, become dangerous assailants; much more so than those of the common deer. Hunters have sometimes escaped with difficulty from their horns and hoofs, with the latter of which they can inflict very severe blows. They are hunted in the same way as other deer; but the Indians capture many of them in the water, when they discover them crossing lakes or rivers. They are excellent swimmers, and can make their way over the arm of a lake or across the widest river. "They feed upon grass, and sometimes on the young shoots of willows and poplar-trees. They are especially fond of a species of wild rose (_Rosa blanda_), which grows in the countries they frequent. "The wapiti at one time ranged over a large part of the continent of North America. Its range is now restricted by the spread of the settlements. It is still found in most of the Northern parts of the United States, but only in remote mountainous districts, and even there it is a rare animal. In Canada it is more common; and it roams across the continent to the shores of the Pacific. It is not an animal of the tropical countries, as it is not found in Mexico proper. On the other hand, wapiti do not go farther north than about the fifty-seventh parallel of latitude, and then they are not in their favourite habitat, which is properly the temperate zone." Lucien was interrupted by an exclamation from Basil, who stood up looking out upon the prairie. They all saw that he had been observing the wapiti. "What is it?" cried they. "Look yonder!" replied Basil, pointing in the direction of the herd. "Something disturbs them. Give me your glass, Luce." Lucien handed the telescope to his brother, who, drawing it to the proper focus, pointed it towards the deer. The rest watched them with the naked eye. They could see that there was some trouble among the animals. There were only six in the herd, and even at the distance our voyageurs could tell that they were all bucks, for it was the season when the does secrete themselves in the woods and thickets to bring forth their young. They were running to and fro upon the prairie, and doubling about as if playing, or rather as if some creature was chasing them. With the naked eye, however, nothing could be seen upon the ground but the bucks themselves, and all the others looked to Basil, who held the glass, for an explanation of their odd manoeuvres. "There are wolves at them," said Basil, after regarding them for a second or two. "That's odd," rejoined Norman. "Wolves don't often attack full-grown wapiti, except when wounded or crippled somehow. They must be precious hungry. What sort of wolves are they?" To you, boy reader, this question may seem strange. You, perhaps, think that a wolf is a wolf, and there is but one kind. Such, however, is not the exact truth. In America there are two distinct species of wolves, and of these two species there are many varieties, which differ so much in colour and other respects, that some authors have classed them as so many distinct species instead of considering them mere varieties. Whether they may be species or not is still a question among naturalists; but certain it is that _two_ well-defined species do exist, which differ in size, form, colour, and habits. These are the _large_ or _common wolf (Canis lupus_), and the barking or prairie wolf (_Canis latrans_). The first species is the American representative of the common wolf of Europe; and although an animal of similar nature and habits, it differs very much from the latter in form and appearance. It is, therefore, not the _same_, as hitherto supposed. This American wolf is found in greater or less numbers throughout the whole continent; but in the Northern regions it is very common, and is seen in at least five different varieties, known by the characteristic names of _black, pied, white, dusky_, and _grey_ wolves. Of these the grey is the most numerous kind; but as I shall have occasion to speak of the large wolves hereafter, I shall say no more of them at present, but direct your attention to the second and very different species, the _prairie wolves_. These are a full third smaller than the common kind. They are swifter, and go in larger packs. They bring forth their young in burrows on the open plain, and not among the woods, like the other species. They are the most cunning of American animals, not excepting their kindred the foxes. They cannot be trapped by any contrivance, but by singular manoeuvres often themselves decoy the over-curious antelope to approach too near them. When a gun is fired upon the prairies they may be seen starting up on all sides, and running for the spot in hopes of coming in for a share of the game. Should an animal--deer, antelope, or buffalo-- be wounded, and escape the hunter, it is not likely to escape them also. They will set after it, and run it down if _the wound has been a mortal one_. On the other hand, if the wound has been only slight, and is not likely in the end to cripple the animal, the wolves will not stir from the spot. This extraordinary sagacity often tells the hunter whether it is worth his while to follow the game he has shot at; but in any case he is likely to arrive late, if the wolves set out before him, as a dozen of them will devour the largest deer in a few minutes' time. The prairie wolves as well as the others follow the herds of buffaloes, and attack the gravid cows and calves when separated from the rest. Frequently they sustain a contest with the bulls, when the latter are old or wounded, but on such occasions many of them get killed before the old bull becomes their prey. They resemble the common grey wolf in colour, but there are varieties in this respect, though not so great as among the larger species. Their voice is entirely different, and consists of three distinct barks, ending in a prolonged howl. Hence the specific and usual name "barking-wolf" (_Canis latrans_). They are found only in the Western or prairie half of the continent, and thence west to the Pacific. Their Northern range is limited to the fifty-fifth parallel of latitude--but they are met with southward throughout Mexico, where they are common enough, and known by the name of "coyote." Their skins are an article of trade with the Hudson's Bay Company. The fur is of about the same quality with that of other wolves, and consists of long hairs, with a thick wool at the base. In commerce they are termed "cased wolves," because their skins, on being removed, are not split open as with the large wolf-skins, but are stript off after the manner of rabbits, and then turned inside out, or "cased," as it is termed. So much for the _Canis latrans_. "Prairie wolves!" said Basil, in answer to the question put by his cousin. "There must be something the matter with one of the bucks, then," remarked Norman, "or else there's a good big pack of the wolves, and they expect to tire one down. I believe they sometimes do try it that way." "There appears to be a large pack," answered Basil, still looking through the glass; "fifty at least--See! they have separated one of the bucks from the herd--it's running this way!" Basil's companions had noticed this as soon as himself, and all four now leaped to their guns. The wapiti was plainly coming towards them, and they could now distinguish the wolves following upon his heels, strung out over the prairie like a pack of hounds. When first started, the buck was a full half-mile distant, but in less than a minute's time he came breasting forward until the boys could see his sparkling eyes and the play of his proud flanks. He was a noble animal to look at. His horns were full-grown, but still "in the velvet," and as he ran with his snout thrown forward, his antlers lay along both sides of his neck until their tips touched his shoulders. He continued on in a direct line until he was within less than an hundred paces of the camp; but, perceiving the smoke of the fire, and the figures crouching around it, he swerved suddenly from his course, and darted into the thicket of willows, where he was for the moment hidden from view. The wolves-- fifty of them at least--had followed him up to this point; and as he entered the thicket several had been close upon his heels. The boys expected to see the wolves rush in after him--as there appeared to be no impediment to their doing so--but, to the astonishment of all, the latter came to a sudden halt, and then went sneaking back--some of them even running off as if terrified! At first the hunters attributed this strange conduct to their own presence, and the smoke of the camp; but a moment's reflection convinced them that this could not be the reason of it, as they were all well acquainted with the nature of the prairie wolf, and had never witnessed a similar exhibition before. They had no time to think of the wolves just then. The buck was the main attraction, and, calling to each other to surround the thicket, all four started in different directions. In a couple of minutes they had placed themselves at nearly equal distances around the copse, and stood watching eagerly for the reappearance of the wapiti. The willows covered about an acre of ground, but they were tolerably thick and full-leaved, and the buck could not be seen from any side. Wherever he was, he was evidently at a standstill, for not a rustle could be heard among the leaves, nor were any of the tall stalks seen to move. Marengo was now sent in. This would soon start him, and all four stood with guns cocked and ready. But before the dog had made three lengths of himself into the thicket, a loud snort was heard, followed by a struggle and the stamping of hoofs, and the next moment the wapiti came crashing through the bushes. A shot was fired--it was the crack of Lucien's small rifle--but it had missed, for the buck was seen passing onward and outward. All ran round to the side he had taken, and had a full view of the animal as he bounded off. Instead of running free as before, he now leaped heavily forward, and what was their astonishment on seeing that he _carried another animal upon his back_! The hunters could hardly believe their eyes, but there it was, sure enough, a brown shaggy mass, lying flat along the shoulders of the wapiti, and clutching it with large-spreading claws. Francois cried out, "A panther!" and Basil at first believed it to be a bear, but it was hardly large enough for that. Norman, however, who had lived more in those parts where the animal is found, knew it at once to be the dreaded "wolverene." Its head could not be seen, as that was hid behind the shoulder of the wapiti, whose throat it was engaged in tearing. But its short legs and broad paws, its busily tail and long shaggy hair, together with its round-arching back and dark-brown colour, were all familiar marks to the young fur-trader; and he at once pronounced it a "wolverene." When first seen, both it and the wapiti were beyond the reach of their rifles; and the hunters, surprised by such an unexpected apparition, had suddenly halted. Francois and Basil were about to renew the pursuit, but were prevented by Norman who counselled them to remain where they were. "They won't go far," said he; "let us watch them a bit. See! the buck takes the water!" The wapiti, on leaving the willows, had run straight out in the first direction that offered, which happened to be in a line parallel with the edge of the lake. His eye, however, soon caught sight of the water, and, doubling suddenly round, he made directly towards it, evidently with the intention of plunging in. He had hopes, no doubt, that by this means he might rid himself of the terrible creature that was clinging to his shoulders, and tearing his throat to pieces. A few bounds brought him to the shore. There was no beach at the spot. The bank--a limestone bluff--rose steeply from the water's edge to a height of eight feet, and the lake under it was several fathoms in depth. The buck did not hesitate, but sprang outward and downwards. A heavy plash followed, and for some seconds both wapiti and wolverene were lost under the water. They rose to the surface, just as the boys reached the bank, but they came up _separately_. The dip had proved a cooler to the fierce wolverene; and while the wapiti was seen to strike boldly out into the lake and swim off, the latter--evidently out of his element--kept plunging about clumsily, and struggling to get back to the shore. Their position upon the cliff above gave the hunters an excellent opportunity with their rifles, and both Basil and Norman sent their bullets into the wolverene's back. Francois also emptied his double-barrelled gun at the same object, and the shaggy brute sank dead to the bottom of the lake. Strange to say, not one of the party had thought of firing at the buck. This persecution by so many enemies had won for him their sympathy, and they would now have suffered him to go free, but the prospect of fresh venison for supper overcame their commiseration, and the moment the wolverene was despatched all set about securing the deer. Their guns were reloaded, and, scattering along the shore, they prepared to await his return. But the buck, seeing there was nothing but death in his rear, swam on, keeping almost in a direct line out into the lake. It was evident to all that he could not swim across the lake, as its farther shore was not even visible. He must either return to where they were, or drown; and knowing this to be his only alternative, they stood still and watched his motions. When he had got about half-a-mile from the shore, to the surprise of all, he was seen to rise higher and higher above the surface, and then all at once stop, with half of his body clear out of the water! He had come upon a shoal, and, knowing the advantage of it, seemed determined to remain there. Basil and Norman ran to the canoe, and in a few minutes the little craft was launched, and shooting through the water. The buck now saw that it was likely to be all up with him, and, instead of attempting to swim farther, he faced round and set his antlers forward in a threatening attitude. But his pursuers did not give him the chance to make a rush. When within fifty yards or so, Norman, who used the paddles, stopped and steadied the canoe, and the next moment the crack of Basil's rifle echoed over the lake, and the wapiti fell upon the water, where, after struggling a moment, he lay dead. The canoe was paddled up, and his antlers being made fast to the stern, he was towed back to the shore, and carried into camp. What now surprised our voyageurs was, their finding that the wapiti had been wounded before encountering either the wolves, wolverene, or themselves. An arrow-head, with a short piece of the shaft, was sticking in one of his thighs. The Indians, then, had been after him, and very lately too, as the wound showed. It was not a mortal wound, had the arrow-head been removed; but of course, as it was, it would have proved his death in the long run. This explained why the wolves had assailed an animal, that otherwise, from his great size and strength, would have defied them. The wolverene, moreover, rarely attacks game so large as the wapiti; but the latter had, no doubt, chanced upon the lair of his fierce enemy, who could not resist such a tempting opportunity of getting a meal. The wolves had seen the wolverene as they approached the thicket, and that accounted for their strange behaviour in the pursuit. These creatures are as great cowards as they are tyrants, and their dread of a wolverene is equal to that with which they themselves often inspire the wounded deer. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A PAIR OF DEEP DIVERS. The wapiti was carefully skinned, and the skin spread out to dry. Since their mishap our voyageurs had been very short of clothing. The three skins of the woodland caribou had made only a pair of jackets, instead of full hunting-shirts, and even these were pinched fits. For beds and bed-clothes they had nothing but the hides of buffaloes, and these, although good as far as they went, were only enough for two. Lucien, the most delicate of the party, appropriated one, as the others insisted upon his so doing. Francois had the other. As for Basil and Norman, they were forced each night to lie upon the naked earth, and but for the large fires which they kept blazing all the night, they would have suffered severely from cold. Indeed, they did suffer quite enough; for some of the nights were so cold, that it was impossible to sleep by the largest fire without one-half of their bodies feeling chilled. The usual practice with travellers in the Far West is to lie with their feet to the fire, while the head is at the greatest distance from it. This is considered the best mode, for so long as the feet are warm, the rest of the body will not suffer badly; but, on the contrary, if the feet are allowed to get cold, no matter what state the other parts be in, it is impossible to sleep with comfort. Of course our young voyageurs followed the well-known practice of the country, and lay with their feet to the fire in such a manner that, when all were placed, their bodies formed four radii of a circle, of which the fire was the centre. Marengo usually lay beside Basil, whom he looked upon as his proper master. Notwithstanding a bed of grass and leaves which they each night spread for themselves, they were sadly in want of blankets, and therefore the skin of the wapiti, which was a very fine one, would be a welcome addition to their stock of bedding. They resolved, therefore, to remain one day where they had killed it, so that the skin might be dried and receive a partial dressing. Moreover, they intended to "jerk" some of the meat--although elk-venison is not considered very palatable where other meat can be had. It is without juice, and resembles dry short-grained beef more than venison. For this reason it is looked upon by both Indians and white hunters as inferior to buffalo, moose, caribou, or even the common deer. One peculiarity of the flesh of this animal is, that the fat becomes hard the moment it is taken off the fire. It freezes upon the lips like suet, and clings around the teeth of a person eating it, which is not the case with that of other species of deer. The skin of the wapiti, however, is held in high esteem among the Indians. It is thinner than that of the moose, but makes a much better article of leather. When dressed in the Indian fashion--that is to say, soaked in a lather composed of the brains and fat of the animal itself, and then washed, dried, scraped, and smoked--it becomes as soft and pliable as a kid-glove, and will wash and dry without stiffening like chamois leather. That is a great advantage which it has, in the eyes of the Indians, over the skins of other species of deer, as the moose and caribou--for the leather made from these, after a wetting, becomes harsh and rigid and requires a great deal of rubbing to render it soft again. Lucien knew how to dress the elk-hide, and could make leather out of it as well as any Indian squaw in the country. But travelling as they were, there was not a good opportunity for that; so they were content to give it such a dressing as the circumstances might allow. It was spread out on a frame of willow-poles, and set up in front of the fire, to be scraped at intervals and cleared of the fatty matter, as well as the numerous parasites that at this season adhere to the skins of the wapiti. While Lucien was framing the skin, Basil and Norman occupied themselves in cutting the choice pieces of the meat into thin slices and hanging them up before the fire. This job being finished, all sat down to watch Lucien currying his hide. "Ho, boys!" cried Francois, starting up as if something had occurred to him; "what about the wolverene? It's a splendid skin--why not get it too?" "True enough," replied Norman, "we had forgotten that. But the beasts gone to the bottom--how can we get at him?" "Why, fish him up, to be sure," said Francois. "Let's splice one of these willow-poles to my ramrod, and I'll screw it into him, and draw him to the surface in a jiffy. Come!" "We must get the canoe round, then," said Norman. "The bank's too steep for us to reach him without it." "Of course," assented Francois, at the same time going towards the willows; "get you the canoe into the water, while I cut the sapling." "Stay!" cried Basil, "I'll show you a shorter method. Marengo!" As Basil said this, he rose to his feet, and walked down to the bluff where they had shot the wolverene. All of them followed him as well as Marengo, who bounded triumphantly from side to side, knowing he was wanted for some important enterprise. "Do you expect the dog to fetch him out?" inquired Norman. "No," replied Basil; "only to help." "How?" "Wait a moment--you shall see." Basil flung down his 'coon-skin cap, and stripped off his caribou jacket, then his striped cotton shirt, then his under-shirt of fawn skin, and, lastly, his trousers, leggings, and mocassins. He was now as naked as Adam. "I'll show you, cousin," said he, addressing himself to Norman, "how we take the water down there on the Mississippi." So saying, he stepped forward to the edge of the bluff; and having carefully noted the spot where the wolverene had gone down, turned to the dog, and simply said-- "Ho! Marengo! _Chez moi_!" The dog answered with a whimper, and a look of intelligence which showed that he understood his master's wish. Basil again pointed to the lake, raised his arms over his head, placing his palms close together, launched himself out into the air, and shot down head-foremost into the water. Marengo, uttering a loud bay, sprang after so quickly that the plunges were almost simultaneous, and both master and dog were for some time hidden from view. The latter rose first, but it was a long time before Basil came to the surface--so long that Norman and the others were beginning to feel uneasy, and to regard the water with some anxiety. At length, however, a spot was seen to bubble, several yards from where he had gone down, and the black head of Basil appeared above the surface. It was seen that he held something in his teeth, and was pushing a heavy body before him, which they saw was the wolverene. Marengo, who swam near, now seized hold of the object, and pulled it away from his master, who, calling to the dog to follow, struck out towards a point where the bank was low and shelving. In a few minutes Basil reached a landing-place, and shortly after Marengo arrived towing the wolverene, which was speedily pulled out upon the bank, and carried, or rather dragged, by Norman and Francois to the camp. Lucien brought Basil's clothes, and all four once more assembled around the blazing fire. There is not a more hideous-looking animal in America than the wolverene. His thick body and short stout legs, his shaggy coat and bushy tail, but, above all, his long curving claws and doglike jaws, give him a formidable appearance. His gait is low and skulking, and his look bold and vicious. He walks somewhat like a bear, and his tracks are often mistaken for those of that animal. Indians and hunters, however, know the difference well. His hind-feet are plantigrade, that is, they rest upon the ground from heel to toe; and his back curves like the segment of a circle. He is fierce and extremely voracious--quite as much so as the "glutton," of which he is the American representative. No animal is more destructive to the small game, and he will also attack and devour the larger kinds when he can get hold of them; but as he is somewhat slow, he can only seize most of them by stratagem. It is a common belief that he lies in wait upon trees and rocks to seize the deer passing beneath. It has been also asserted that he places moss, such as these animals feed upon, under his perch, in order to entice them within reach; and it has been still further asserted, that the arctic foxes assist him in his plans, by hunting the deer towards the spot where he lies in wait, thus acting as his jackals. These assertions have been made more particularly about his European cousin, the "glutton," about whom other stories are told equally strange--one of them, that he eats until scarce able to walk, and then draws his body through a narrow space between two trees, in order to relieve himself and get ready for a fresh meal. Buffon and others have given credence to these tales upon the authority of one "Olaus Magnus," whose name, from the circumstance, might be translated "great fibber." There is no doubt, however, that the glutton is one of the most sagacious of animals, and so, too, is the wolverene. The latter gives proof of this by many of his habits; one in particular fully illustrates his cunning. It is this. The marten-trappers of the Hudson Bay territory set their traps in the snow, often extending over a line of fifty miles. These traps are constructed out of pieces of wood found near the spot, and are baited with the heads of partridges, or pieces of venison, of which the marten (_Mustela martes_) is very fond. As soon as the marten seizes the bait, a trigger is touched, and a heavy piece of wood falling upon the animal, crushes or holds it fast. Now the wolverene _enters the trap from behind_, tears the back out of it before touching the bait, and thus avoids the falling log! Moreover, he will follow the tracks of the trapper from one to another, until he has destroyed the whole line. Should a marten happen to have been before him, and got caught in the trap, he rarely ever eats it, as he is not fond of its flesh. But he is not satisfied to leave it as he finds it. He usually digs it from under the log, tears it to pieces, and then buries it under the snow. The foxes, who are well aware of this habit, and who themselves greedily eat the marten, are frequently seen following him upon such excursions. They are not strong enough to take the log from off the trapped animal, but from their keen scent can soon find it where the other has buried it in the snow. In this way, instead of their being providers for the wolverene, the reverse is the true story. Notwithstanding, the wolverene will eat _them_ too, whenever he can get his claws upon them; but as they are much swifter than he, this seldom happens. The foxes, however, are themselves taken in traps, or more commonly shot by guns set for the purpose, with the bait attached by a string to the trigger. Often the wolverene, finding the foxes dead or wounded, makes a meal of them before the hunter comes along to examine his traps and guns. The wolverene kills many of the foxes while young, and sometimes on finding their burrow, widens it with his strong claws, and eats the whole family in their nests. Even young wolves sometimes become his prey. He lives, in fact, on very bad terms with both foxes and wolves, and often robs the latter of a fat deer which they may have just killed, and are preparing to dine upon. The beaver, however, is his favourite food, and but that these creatures can escape him by taking to the water--in which element he is not at all at home--he would soon exterminate their whole race. His great strength and acute scent enable him to overcome almost every wild creature of the forest or prairie. He is even said to be a full match for either the panther or the black bear. The wolverene lives in clefts of rock, or in hollow trees, where such are to be found; but he is equally an inhabitant of the forest and the prairie. He is found in fertile districts, as well as in the most remote deserts. His range is extensive, but he is properly a denizen of the cold and snowy regions. In the southern parts of the United States he is no longer known, though it is certain that he once lived there when those countries were inhabited by the beaver. North of latitude 40 degrees he ranges perhaps to the pole itself, as traces of him have been found as far as man has yet penetrated. He is a solitary creature, and, like most predatory animals, a nocturnal prowler. The female brings forth two, sometimes three and four, at a birth. The cubs are of a cream colour, and only when full-grown acquire that dark-brown hue, which in the extreme of winter often passes into black. The fur is not unlike that of the bear, but is shorter-haired, and of less value than a bear-skin. Notwithstanding, it is an article of trade with the Hudson's Bay Company, who procure many thousands of the skins annually. The Canadian voyageurs call the wolverene "carcajou;" while among the Orkney and Scotch servants of the Hudson's Bay Company he is oftener known as the "quickhatch." It is supposed that both these names are corruptions of the Cree word _okee-coo-haw-gew_ (the name of the wolverene among the Indians of that tribe). Many words from the same language have been adopted by both voyageurs and traders. Those points in the natural history of the wolverene, that might be called _scientific_, were imparted by Lucien, while Norman furnished the information about its habits. Norman knew the animal as one of the most common in the "trade"; and in addition to what we have recorded, also related many adventures and stories current among the voyageurs, in which this creature figures in quite as fanciful a manner, as he does in the works either of Olaus Magnus, or Count de Buffon. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. A GRAND SUNDAY DINNER. After remaining a day at their first camp on the lake, our voyageurs continued their journey. Their course lay a little to the west of north, as the edge of the lake trended in that direction. Their usual plan, as already stated, was to keep out in the lake far enough to shun the numerous indentations of the shore, yet not so far as to endanger their little craft when the wind was high. At night they always landed, either upon some point or on an island. Sometimes the wind blew "dead ahead," and then their day's journey would be only a few miles. When the wind was favourable they made good progress, using the skin of the wapiti for a sail. On one of these days they reckoned a distance of over forty miles from camp to camp. It was their custom always to lie by on Sunday, for our young voyageurs were Christians. They had done so on their former expedition across the Southern prairies, and they had found the practice to their advantage in a physical as well as a moral sense. They required the rest thus obtained; besides, a general cleaning up is necessary, at least, once every week. Sunday was also a day of feasting with them. They had more time to devote to culinary operations, and the _cuisine_ of that day was always the most varied of the week. Any extra delicacy obtained by the rifle on previous days, was usually reserved for the Sunday's dinner. On the first Sunday after entering Lake Winnipeg the "camp" chanced to be upon an island. It was a small island, of only a few acres in extent. It lay near the shore, and was well wooded over its whole surface with trees of many different kinds. Indeed, islands in a large lake usually have a great variety of trees, as the seeds of all those sorts that grow around the shores are carried thither by the waves, or in the crops of the numerous birds that flit over its waters. But as the island in question lay in a lake, whose shores exhibited such a varied geology, it was natural the vegetation of the island itself should be varied. And, in truth; it was so. There were upon it, down by the water's edge, willows and cottonwoods (_Populus angulata_), the characteristic _sylva_ of the prairie land; there were birches and sugar-maples (_Acer saccharinum_); and upon some higher ground, near the centre, appeared several species that belonged more to the primitive formations that bounded the lake on the east. These were pines and spruces, the juniper, and tamarack or American larch (_Laryx Americana_); and among others could be distinguished the dark cone-shaped forms of the red cedar-trees. Among the low bushes and shrubs there were rose and wild raspberry; there were apple and plum trees, and whole thickets of the "Pembina" (_Viburnum oxycoccos_). There is, in fact, no part of the world where a greater variety of wild fruit has been found indigenous than upon the banks of the Red River of the North, and this variety extended to the little island where our voyageurs had encamped. The camp had been placed under a beautiful tree--the tacamahac, or balsam poplar (_Populus balsamifera_). This is one of the finest trees of America, and one of those that extend farthest north into the cold countries. In favourable situations it attains a height of one hundred and fifty feet, with a proportionate thickness of trunk; but it is oftener only fifty or eighty feet high. Its leaves are oval, and, when young, of a rich yellowish colour, which changes to a bright green. The buds are very large, yellow, and covered with a varnish, which exhales a delightful fragrance, and gives to the tree its specific name. It was near sunset on the afternoon of Saturday; the travellers had just finished their repast, and were reclining around a fire of red cedar, whose delicate smoke curled up among the pale-green leaves of the poplars. The fragrant smell of the burning wood, mixed with the aromatic odour of the balsam-tree, filled the air with a sweet perfume, and, almost without knowing why, our voyageurs felt a sense of pleasure stealing over them. The woods of the little island were not without their voices. The scream of the jay was heard, and his bright azure wing appeared now and then among the foliage. The scarlet plumage of the cardinal grosbeak flashed under the beams of the setting sun; and the trumpet-note of the ivory-billed woodpecker was heard near the centre of the island. An osprey was circling in the air, with his eye bent on the water below, watching for his finny prey; and a pair of bald eagles (_Haliaetus leucocephalus_) were winging their way towards the adjacent mainland. Half-a-dozen turkey vultures (_Cathartes atratus_) were wheeling above the beach, where some object, fish or carrion, had been thrown up by the waves. For some time the party remained silent, each contemplating the scene with feelings of pleasure. Francois, as usual, first broke the silence. "I say, cook, what's for dinner to-morrow?" It was to Lucien this speech was addressed. He was regarded as the _maitre de cuisine_. "Roast or boiled--which would you prefer?" asked the cook, with a significant smile. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Francois; "boiled, indeed! a pretty boil we could have in a tin cup, holding less than a pint. I wish we _could_ have a boiled joint and a bowl of soup. I'd give something for it. I'm precious tired of this everlasting dry roast." "You shall have both," rejoined Lucien, "for to-morrow's dinner. I promise you both the soup and the joint." Again Francois laughed incredulously. "Do you mean to make soup in your shoe, Luce?" "No; but I shall make it in this." And Lucien held up a vessel somewhat like a water-pail, which the day before he had himself made out of birch-bark. "Well," replied Francois, "I know you have got a vessel that holds water, but cold water ain't soup; and if you can boil water in that vessel, I'll believe you to be a conjuror. I know you can do some curious things with your chemical mixtures; but that you can't do, I'm sure. Why, man, the bottom would be burned out of your bucket before the water got blood-warm. Soup, indeed!" "Never mind, Frank, you shall see. You're only like the rest of mankind--incredulous about everything they can't comprehend. If you'll take your hook and line, and catch some fish, I promise to give you a dinner to-morrow, with all the regular courses--soup, fish, boiled, roast, and dessert, too! I'm satisfied I can do all that." "_Parbleu_! brother, you should have been cook to Lucullus. Well, I'll catch the fish for you." So saying, Francois took a fish-hook and line out of his pouch, and fixing a large grasshopper upon the hook, stepped forward to the edge of the water, and cast it in. The float was soon seen to bob and then sink, and Francois jerked his hook ashore with a small and very pretty fish upon it of a silver hue, with which the lake and the waters running into it abound. Lucien told him it was a fish of the genus _Hyodon_. He also advised him to bait with a worm, and let his bait sink to the bottom, and he might catch a sturgeon, which would be a larger fish. "How do you know there are sturgeon in the lake?" inquired Francois. "I am pretty sure of that," answered the naturalist; "the sturgeon (_Acipenser_) is found all round the world in the northern temperate zone--both in its seas and fresh waters; although, when you go farther south into the warmer climate, no sturgeons exist. I am sure there are some here, perhaps more than one species. Sink your bait, for the sturgeon is a toothless fish, and feeds upon soft substances at the bottom." Francois followed the advice of his brother, and in a few minutes he had a "nibble," and drew up and landed a very large fish, full three feet in length. Lucien at once pronounced it a sturgeon, but of a species he had not before seen. It was the _Acipenser carbonarius_, a curious sort of fish found in these waters. It did not look like a fish that would be pleasant eating; therefore Francois again took to bobbing for the silver fish (_Hyodons_), which, though small, he knew to be excellent when broiled. "Come," said Basil, "I must furnish my quota to this famous dinner that is to be. Let me see what there is on the island in the way of game;" and shouldering his rifle, he walked off among the trees. "And I," said Norman, "am not going to eat the produce of other people's labour without contributing my share." So the young trader took up his gun and went off in a different direction. "Good!" exclaimed Lucien, "we are likely to have plenty of meat for the dinner. I must see about the vegetables;" and taking with him his new-made vessel, Lucien sauntered off along the shore of the islet. Francois alone remained by the camp, and continued his fishing. Let us follow the plant-hunter, and learn a lesson of practical botany. Lucien had not gone far, when he came to what appeared to be a mere sedge growing in the water. The stalks or culms of this sedge were full eight feet high, with smooth leaves, an inch broad, nearly a yard in length, and of a light green colour. At the top of each stalk was a large panicle of seeds, somewhat resembling a head of oats. The plant itself was the famous wild rice (_Zizania aquatica_), so much prized by the Indians as an article of food, and also the favourite of many wild birds, especially the reed-bird or rice-bunting. The grain of the zizania was not yet ripe, but the ears were tolerably well filled, and Lucien saw that it would do for his purpose. He therefore waded in, and stripped off into his vessel as much as he wanted. "I am safe for rice-soup, at all events," soliloquised he, "but I think I can do still better;" and he continued on around the shore, and shortly after struck into some heavy timber that grew in a damp, rich soil. He had walked about an hundred yards farther, when he was seen to stoop and examine some object on the ground. "It ought to be found here," he muttered to himself; "this is the very soil for it,--yes, here we have it!" The object over which he was stooping was a plant, but its leaves appeared shrivelled, or rather quite withered away. The upper part of a bulbous root, however, was just visible above the surface. It was a bulb of the wild leek (_Allium tricoccum_.) The leaves, when young, are about six inches in length, of a flat shape and often three inches broad; but, strange to say, they shrivel or die off very early in the season,--even before the plant flowers, and then it is difficult to find the bulb. Lucien, however, had sharp eyes for such things; and in a short while he had rooted out several bulbs as large as pigeons' eggs, and deposited them in his birchen vessel. He now turned to go back to camp, satisfied with what he had obtained. He had the rice to give consistency to his soup, and the leek-roots to flavour it with. That would be enough. As he was walking over a piece of boggy ground his eye was attracted to a singular plant, whose tall stem rose high above the grass. It was full eight feet in height, and at its top there was an umbel of conspicuous white flowers. Its leaves were large, lobed, and toothed, and the stem itself was over an inch in diameter, with furrows running longitudinally. Lucien had never seen the plant before, although he had often heard accounts of it, and he at once recognised it from its botanical description. It was the celebrated "cow parsnip" (_Heracleum lanatum_). Its stem was jointed and hollow, and Lucien had heard that the Indians called it in their language "flute-stem," as they often used it to make their rude musical instruments from, and also a sort of whistle or "call," by which they were enabled to imitate and decoy several kinds of deer. But there was another use to which the plant was put, of which the naturalist was not aware. Norman, who had been wandering about, came up at this moment, and seeing Lucien standing by the plant, uttered a joyful "Hulloh!" "Well," inquired Lucien, "what pleases you, coz?" "Why, the flute-stem, of course. You talked of making a soup. It will help you, I fancy." "How?" demanded Lucien. "Why, the young stems are good eating, and the roots, if you will; but the young shoots are better. Both Indians and voyageurs eat them in soup, and are fond of them. It's a famous thing, I assure you." "Let us gather some, then," said Lucien; and the cousins commenced cutting off such stems as were still young and tender. As soon as they had obtained enough, they took their way back to the camp. Basil had already arrived with a fine _prairie hen (Tetrao cupido_) which he had shot, and Norman had brought back a squirrel; so that, with Francois's fish, of which a sufficient number had been caught, Lucien was likely to be able to keep his promise about the dinner. Francois, however, could not yet comprehend how the soup was to be boiled in a wooden pot; and, indeed, Basil was unable to guess. Norman, however, knew well enough, for he had travelled through the country of the Assinoboil Indians, who take their name from this very thing. He had also witnessed the operation performed by Crees, Chippewas, and even voyageurs, where metal or earthen pots could not be obtained. On the next day the mystery was cleared up to Basil and Francois. Lucien first collected a number of stones--about as large as paving-stones. He chose such as were hard and smooth. These he flung into the cinders, where they soon became red-hot. The water and meat were now put into the bark pot, and then one stone after another,--each being taken out as it got cooled,--until the water came to a fierce boil. The rice and other ingredients were added at the proper time, and in a short while an excellent soup was made. So much, then, for the soup, and the boiled dishes with vegetables. The roast, of course, was easily made ready upon green-wood spits, and the "game" was cooked in a similar way. The fish were broiled upon the red cinders, and eaten, as is usual, after the soup. There were no puddings or pies, though, no doubt, Lucien could have made such had they been wanted. In their place there was an excellent service of fruit. There were strawberries and raspberries, one sort of which found wild in this region is of a most delicious flavour. There were gooseberries and currants; but the most delicious fruit, and that which Francois liked best, was a small berry of a dark blue colour, not unlike the huckleberry, but much sweeter and of higher flavour. It grows on a low bush or shrub with ovate leaves; and this bush when it blossoms is so covered with beautiful white flowers, that neither leaves nor branches can be seen. There are no less than four varieties of it known, two of which attain to the height of twenty feet or more. The French Canadians call it "le poire," but in most parts of America it is known as the "service-berry," although several other names are given to it in different districts. Lucien informed his companions, while they were crushing its sweet purplish fruit between their teeth, that its botanical name is _Amelanchier_. "Now," remarked Francois, "if we only had a cup of coffee and a glass of wine, we might say that we had dined in fashionable style." "I think," replied Lucien, "we are better without the wine, and as for the other I cannot give you that, but I fancy I can provide you with a cup of tea if you only allow me a little time." "Tea!" screamed Francois; "why, there's not a leaf of tea nearer than China; and for the sugar, not a grain within hundreds of miles!" "Come, Frank," said Lucien, "nature has not been so ungenerous here,-- even in such luxuries as tea and sugar. Look yonder! You see those large trees with the dark-coloured trunks. What are they?" "Sugar-maples," replied Francois. "Well," said Lucien, "I think even at this late season we might contrive to extract sap enough from them to sweeten a cup of tea. You may try, while I go in search of the tea-plant." "Upon my word, Luce, you are equal to a wholesale grocery. Very well. Come, Basil, we'll tap the maples; let the captain go with Luce." The boys, separating into pairs, walked off in different directions. Lucien and his companion soon lighted upon the object of their search in the same wet bottom where they had procured the _Heracleum_. It was a branching shrub, not over two feet in height, with small leaves of a deep green colour above, but whitish and woolly underneath. It is a plant well-known throughout most of the Hudson's Bay territory by the name of "Labrador tea-plant;" and is so called because the Canadian voyageurs, and other travellers through these northern districts, often drink it as tea. It is one of the _Ericaceae_, or heath tribe, of the genus _Ledum_--though it is not a true heath, as, strange to say, no true heath is found upon the continent of America. There are two kinds of it known,--the "narrow-leafed" and "broad-leafed;" and the former makes the best tea. But the pretty white flowers of the plant are better for the purpose than the leaves of either variety; and these it was that were now gathered by Lucien and Norman. They require to be dried before the decoction is made; but this can be done in a short time over a fire; and so in a short time it was done, Norman having parched them upon heated stones. Meanwhile Basil and Francois had obtained the sugar-water, and Lucien having washed his soup-kettle clean, and once more made his boiling stones red-hot, prepared the beverage; and then it was served out in the tin cup, and all partook of it. Norman had drunk the Labrador tea before, and was rather fond of it, but his Southern cousins did not much relish it. Its peculiar flavour, which somewhat resembles rhubarb, was not at all to the liking of Francois. All, however, admitted that it produced a cheering effect upon their spirits; and, after drinking it, they felt in that peculiarly happy state of mind which one experiences after a cup of the real "Bohea." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE MARMOTS OF AMERICA. From such a luxurious dinner you may suppose that our young voyageurs lived in prime style. But it was not always so. They had their fasts as well as feasts. Sometimes for days they had nothing to eat but the jerked deer-meat. No bread--no beer--no coffee, nothing but water--dry venison and water. Of course, this is food enough for a hungry man; but it can hardly be called luxurious living. Now and then a wild duck, or a goose, or perhaps a young swan, was shot; and this change in their diet was very agreeable. Fish were caught only upon occasions, for often these capricious creatures refused Francois' bait, however temptingly offered. After three weeks' coasting the Lake, they reached the Saskatchewan, and turning up that stream, now travelled in a due westerly direction. At the Grand Rapids, near the mouth of this river, they were obliged to make a portage of no less than three miles, but the magnificent view of these "Rapids" fully repaid them for the toil they underwent in passing them. The Saskatchewan is one of the largest rivers in America, being full 1600 miles in length, from its source in the Rocky Mountains to its _debouchure_, under the name of the "Nelson River," in Hudson's Bay. For some distance above Lake Winnipeg, the country upon its banks is well wooded. Farther up, the river runs through dry sandy prairies that extend westward to the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains. Many of these prairies may be properly called "deserts." They contain lakes as salt as the ocean itself, and vast tracts--hundreds of square miles in extent--where not a drop of water is to be met with. But the route of our voyageurs did not lie over these prairies. It was their intention, after reaching Cumberland House, to turn again in a northerly direction. One evening, when within two days' journey of the Fort, they had encamped upon the bank of the Saskatchewan. They had chosen a beautiful spot for their camp, where the country, swelling into rounded hills, was prettily interspersed with bushy copses of _Amelanchiers_, and _Rosa blanda_, whose pale red flowers were conspicuous among the green leaves, and filled the air with a sweet fragrance, that was wafted to our voyageurs upon the sunny breeze. The ground was covered with a grassy sward enamelled by the pink flowers of the _Cleome_, and the deeper red blossoms of the beautiful wind-flower (_Anemone_). Upon that day our travellers had not succeeded in killing any game, and their dinner was likely to consist of nothing better than dry venison scorched over the coals. As they had been travelling all the morning against a sharp current, and, of course, had taken turn about at the paddles, they all felt fatigued, and none of them was inclined to go in search of game. They had flung themselves down around the fire, and were waiting until the venison should be broiled for dinner. The camp had been placed at the foot of a tolerably steep hill, that rose near the banks of the river. There was another and higher hill facing it, the whole front of which could be seen by our travellers as they sat around their fire. While glancing their eyes along its declivity, they noticed a number of small protuberances or mounds standing within a few feet of each other. Each of them was about a foot in height, and of the form of a truncated cone--that is, a cone with its top cut off, or beaten down. "What are they?" inquired Francois. "I fancy," answered Lucien, "they are marmot-houses." "They are," affirmed Norman; "there are plenty of them in this country." "Oh! marmots!" said Francois. "Prairie-dogs, you mean?--the same we met with on the Southern prairies?" "I think not," replied Norman: "I think the prairie-dogs are a different sort. Are they not, Cousin Luce?" "Yes, yes," answered the naturalist; "these must be a different species. There are too few of them to be the houses of prairie-dogs. The `dogs' live in large settlements, many hundreds of them in one place; besides, their domes are somewhat different in appearance from these. The mounds of the prairie-dogs have a hole in the top or on one side. These, you see, have not. The hole is in the ground beside them, and the hill is in front, made by the earth taken out of the burrow, just as you have seen it at the entrance of a rat's hole. They are marmots, I have no doubt, but of a different species from the prairie-dog marmots." "Are there not many kinds of marmots in America? I have heard so," said Francois. This question was of course addressed to Lucien. "Yes," answered he. "The _fauna_ of North America is peculiarly rich in species of these singular animals. There are thirteen kinds of them, well-known to naturalists; and there are even some varieties in these thirteen kinds that might almost be considered distinct species. I have no doubt, moreover, there are yet other species which have not been described. Perhaps, altogether, there are not less than twenty different kinds of marmots in North America. As only one or two species are found in the settled territories of the United States, it was supposed, until lately, that there were no others. Latterly the naturalists of North America have been very active in their researches, and no genus of animals has rewarded them so well as the marmots-- unless, perhaps, it may be the squirrels. Almost every year a new species of one or the other of these has been found--mostly inhabiting the vast wilderness territories that lie between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean. "As regards the marmots, the _closet-naturalists_, as usual, have rendered their history as complicated and difficult to be understood as possible. They have divided them into several genera, because one kind happens to have a larger tubercle upon its tooth than another, or a little more curving in its claws, or a shorter tail. It is true that in the thirteen species some differ considerably from the others in size, colour, and other respects. Yet, for all that, there is such an identity, if I may so express it, about the mode of life, the food, the appearance, and habits of all the thirteen, that I think it is both absurd and ill-judged to render the study of them more difficult, by thus dividing them into so many genera. They are all _marmots_, that is what they are; and why confound the study of them by calling them spermophiles and arctomys, and such-like hard names?" "I quite agree with you, Luce," said the hunter, Basil, who, although not averse to the study of natural history (all hunters, I believe, love it more or less), had no great opinion of the closet-naturalists and "babblers about teeth," as he contemptuously called them. "When a family of animals," continued Lucien, "contains a great many species, and these species differ widely from each other, I admit that it may then be convenient and useful to class them into genera, and sometimes even sub-genera; but, on the other hand, when there are only a few species, and these closely allied to each other, I think nothing can be more ridiculous than this dividing and subdividing, and giving such unpronounceable names to them. It is this that renders the study difficult, because even the committing to memory such a string of unmeaning phrases is of itself no easy task. Take, for example, such a phrase as `_Arctomys spermophilus Rickardsonii_,' which, although nearly a yard long, means simply the `tawny marmot.' Do not mistake me," continued Lucien; "I do not object to the use of the Greek or Latin phraseology used in such cases. Some universal language must be adopted, so that the naturalists of different countries may understand each other. But then this language should, when translated, describe the animal, by giving some of its characteristics, and thus have a meaning. On the contrary, it usually, when put into plain English, gives us only the name--often a clumsy and unpronounceable German one-- of some obscure friend of the author, or, as is not unfrequently the case, some lordly patron for whom your closet-naturalist entertains a flunkeyish regard, and avails himself of this means of making it known to his Maecenas. In my opinion," continued Lucien, warming with the enthusiasm of a true naturalist, "it is a most impertinent interference with the beautiful things of Nature--her birds and quadrupeds, her plants and flowers--to couple them with the names of kings, princes, lords, and lordlings, who chance to be the local gods of some closet-naturalist. It is these catalogue-makers who generally multiply synonymes so as to render science unintelligible. Sitting in their easy-chairs they know little or nothing of the habits of the animals about which they write; and therefore, to write something original, they multiply names, and give measurements _ad infinitum_, and this among them constitutes a science. I do not, of course, include among these the man whose name is given--Richardson. No; he was a true naturalist, who travelled and underwent hardships to earn the high name which he bears and so well deserves." "Brother Luce," said Basil, "you grow excited upon this subject, and that is something of a rarity to see. I agree with you, however, in all you have said. Previous to our leaving home I read several books upon natural history. They were the works of distinguished closet-naturalists. Well, I found that all the information they contained about the animals of these Northern regions--at least, all that could be called _information_--I had read somewhere before. After thinking for a while I recollected where. It was in the pages of the traveller Hearne--a man who, among these scientific gentlemen, is considered only in the light of a rude traveller, and not deserving the name of naturalist. Hearne journeyed to the Arctic Sea so early as the year 1771; and to him the world is indebted for their first knowledge of the fact that there was no strait across the Continent south of the seventieth parallel of latitude." "Yes," said Lucien, "he was sent out by the Hudson's Bay Company, perhaps more scantily furnished than any explorer ever was before. He underwent the most dreadful hardships and perils, and has left behind him an account of the inhabitants and natural history of these parts, so full and so truthful, that it has not only stood the test of subsequent observation, but the closet-naturalists have added but little to it ever since. Most of them have been satisfied with giving just what poor Hearne had gathered--as, in fact, they knew nothing more, and could not, therefore, add anything. Some of them have quoted his own words, and given him the credit of his vast labour; while others have endeavoured to pass off Hearne's knowledge as their own, by giving a slightly altered paraphrase of his language. This sort of thing," said Lucien, "makes me indignant." "It's downright mean," interposed Norman. "All of us in this country have heard of Hearne. He was a right hardy traveller, and no mistake about it." "Well, then," said Lucien, cooling down, and resuming the subject of the marmots, "these little animals seem to form a link between the squirrels and rabbits. On the side of the squirrels they very naturally join on, if I may use the expression, to the ground-squirrel, and some of them differ but little in their habits from many of the latter. Other species, again, are more allied to the rabbits, and less like the squirrels; and there are two or three kinds that I should say--using a Yankee expression--have a `sprinkling' of the rat in them. Some, as the ground-hog, or wood-chuck of the United States, are as large as rabbits, while others, as the leopard-marmot, are not bigger than Norway rats. Some species have cheek-pouches, in which they can carry a large quantity of seeds, nuts, and roots, when they wish to hoard them up for future use. These are the spermophiles, and some species of these have more capacious pouches than others. Their food differs somewhat, perhaps according to the circumstances in which they may be placed. In all cases it is vegetable. Some, as the prairie-dogs, live upon grasses, while others subsist chiefly upon seeds, berries, and leaves. It was long supposed that the marmots, like the squirrels, laid up stores against the winter. I believe this is not the case with any of the different species. I know for certain that most of them pass the winter in a state of torpidity, and of course require no provisions, as they eat nothing during that season. In this we observe one of those cases in which Nature so beautifully adapts a creature to its circumstances. In the countries where many of the marmots are found, so severe are the winters, and so barren the soil, that it would be impossible for these creatures to get a morsel of food for many long months. During this period, therefore, Nature suspends her functions, by putting them into a deep, and, for aught we know to the contrary, a pleasant sleep. It is only when the snow melts, under the vernal sun, and the green blades of grass and the spring flowers array themselves on the surface of the earth, that the little marmots make their appearance again. Then the warm air, penetrating into their subterranean abodes, admonishes them to awake from their protracted slumber, and come forth to the enjoyment of their summer life. These animals may be said, therefore, to have no winter. Their life is altogether a season of summer and sunshine. "Some of the marmots," continued Lucien, "live in large communities, as the prairie-dogs; others, in smaller tribes, while still other species lead a solitary life, going only in pairs, or at most in families. Nearly all of them are burrowing animals, though there are one or two species that are satisfied with a cleft in the rock, or a hole among loose stones for their nests. Some of them are tree-climbers, but it is supposed they only ascend trees in search of food, as they do not make their dwellings there. Many of the species are very prolific, the females bringing forth eight, and even ten young at a birth. "The marmots are extremely shy and watchful creatures. Before going to feed, they usually reconnoitre the ground from the tops of their little mounds. Some species do not have such mounds, and for this purpose ascend any little hillock that may be near. Nearly all have the curious habit of placing sentries to watch while the rest are feeding. These sentries station themselves on some commanding point, and when they see an enemy approaching give warning to the others by a peculiar cry. In several of the species this cry resembles the syllables `seek-seek' repeated with a hiss. Others bark like `toy-dogs,' while still other kinds utter a whistling noise, from which one species derives its trivial name of `whistler' among the traders, and is the `siffleur' of the Canadian voyageurs. "The `whistler's' call of alarm can be heard at a great distance; and when uttered by the sentinel is repeated by all the others as far as the troop extends. "The marmots are eaten both by Indians and white hunters. Sometimes they are captured by pouring water into their burrows; but this method only succeeds in early spring, when the animals awake out of their torpid state, and the ground is still frozen hard enough to prevent the water from filtering away. They are sometimes shot with guns; but, unless killed upon the spot, they will escape to their burrows, and tumble in before the hunter can lay his hands upon them." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE BLAIREAU, THE "TAWNIES," AND THE "LEOPARDS." Perhaps Lucien would have carried his account of the marmots still farther--for he had not told half what he knew of their habits--but he was at that moment interrupted by the marmots themselves. Several of them appeared at the mouths of their holes; and, after looking out and reconnoitring for some moments, became bolder, and ran up to the tops of their mounds, and began to scatter along the little beaten paths that led from one to the other. In a short while as many as a dozen could be seen moving about, jerking their tails, and at intervals uttering their "seek-seek." Our voyageurs saw that there were two kinds of them, entirely different in colour, size, and other respects. The larger ones were of a greyish yellow above, with an orange tint upon the throat and belly. These were the "tawny marmots," called sometimes "ground-squirrels," and by the voyageurs, "siffleurs," or "whistlers." The other species seen were the most beautiful of all the marmots. They were very little smaller than the tawny marmots; but their tails were larger and more slender, which rendered their appearance more graceful. Their chief beauty, however, lay in their colours and markings. They were striped from the nose to the rump with bands of yellow and chocolate colour, which alternated with each other, while the chocolate bands were themselves variegated by rows of yellow spots regularly placed. These markings gave the animals that peculiar appearance so well-known as characterising the skin of the leopard, hence the name of these little creatures was "leopard-marmots." It was plain from their actions that both kinds were "at home" among the mounds, and that both had their burrows there. This was the fact, and Norman told his companion that the two kinds are always found together, not living in the same houses, but only as neighbours in the same "settlement." The burrows of the "leopard" have much smaller entrances than those of their "tawny kin," and run down perpendicularly to a greater depth before branching off in a horizontal direction. A straight stick may be thrust down one of these full five feet before reaching an "elbow." The holes of the tawny marmots, on the contrary, branch off near the surface, and are not so deep under ground. This guides us to the explanation of a singular fact--which is, that the "tawnies" make their appearance three weeks earlier in spring than the "leopards," in consequence of the heat of the sun reaching them sooner, and waking them out of their torpid sleep. While these explanations were passing among the boys, the marmots had come out, to the number of a score, and were carrying on their gambols along the declivity of the hill. They were at too great a distance to heed the movements of the travellers by the camp-fire. Besides, a considerable valley lay between them and the camp, which, as they believed, rendered their position secure. They were not at such a distance but that many of their movements could be clearly made out by the boys, who after a while noticed that several furious battles were being fought among them. It was not the "tawnies" against the others, but the males of each kind in single combats with one another. They fought like little cats, exhibiting the highest degree of boldness and fury; but it was noticed that in these conflicts the leopards were far more active and spiteful than their kinsmen. In observing them through his glass Lucien noticed that they frequently seized each other by the tails, and he further noticed that several of them had their tails much shorter than the rest. Norman said that these had been bitten off in their battles; and, moreover, that it was a rare thing to find among the males, or "bucks," as he called them, one that had a perfect tail! While these observations were being made, the attention of our party was attracted to a strange animal that was seen slowly crawling around the hill. It was a creature about as big as an ordinary setter dog, but much thicker in the body, shorter in the legs, and shaggier in the coat. Its head was flat, and its ears short and rounded. Its hair was long, rough, and of a mottled hoary grey colour, but dark-brown upon the legs and tail. The latter, though covered with long hair, was short, and carried upright; and upon the broad feet of the animal could be seen long and strong curving claws. Its snout was sharp as that of a greyhound--though not so prettily formed--and a white stripe, passing from its very tip over the crown, and bordered by two darker bands, gave a singular expression to the animal's countenance. It was altogether, both in form and feature, a strange and vicious-looking creature. Norman recognised it at once as the "blaireau," or American badger. The others had never seen such a creature before--as it is not an inhabitant of the South, nor of any part of the settled portion of the United States, for the animal there sometimes called a badger is the ground-hog, or Maryland marmot (_Arctomys monax_). Indeed, it was for a long time believed that no true badger inhabited the Continent of America. Now, however, it is known that such exists, although it is of a species distinct from the badger of Europe. It is less in size than the latter, and its fur is longer, finer, and lighter in colour; but it is also more voracious in its habits, preying constantly upon mice, marmots, and other small animals, and feeding upon carcasses, whenever it chances to meet with such. It is an inhabitant of the sandy and barren districts, where it burrows the earth in such a manner that horses frequently sink and snap their legs in the hollow ground made by it. These are not always the holes scraped out for its own residence, but the burrows of the marmots, which the blaireau has enlarged, so that it may enter and prey upon them. In this way the creature obtains most of its food, but as the marmots lie torpid during the winter months, and the ground above them is frozen as hard as a rock, it is then impossible for the blaireau to effect an entrance. At this season it would undoubtedly starve had not Nature provided against such a result, by giving it the power of sleeping throughout the winter months as well as the marmots themselves, which it does. As soon as it wakes up and comes abroad, it begins its campaign against these little creatures; and it prefers, above all others, the "tawnies," and the beautiful "leopards," both of which it persecutes incessantly. The badger when first seen was creeping along with its belly almost dragging the ground, and its long snout projected horizontally in the direction of the marmot "village." It was evidently meditating a surprise of the inhabitants. Now and then it would stop, like a pointer dog when close to a partridge, reconnoitre a moment, and then go on again. Its design appeared to be to get between the marmots and their burrows, intercept some of them, and get a hold of them without the trouble of digging them up--although that would be no great affair to it, for so strong are its fore-arms and claws that in loose soil it can make its way under the ground as fast as a mole. Slowly and cautiously it stole along, its hind-feet resting all their length upon the ground, its hideous snout thrown forward, and its eyes glaring with a voracious and hungry expression. It had got within fifty paces of the marmots, and would, no doubt, have succeeded in cutting off the retreat of some of them, but at that moment a burrowing owl (_Strix cunicularia_), that had been perched upon one of the mounds, rose up, and commenced hovering in circles above the intruder. This drew the attention of the marmot sentries to their well-known enemy, and their warning cry was followed by a general scamper of both tawnies and leopards towards their respective burrows. The blaireau, seeing that further concealment was no longer of any use, raised himself higher upon his limbs, and sprang forward in pursuit. He was too late, however, as the marmots had all got into their holes, and their angry "seek-seek," was heard proceeding from various quarters out of the bowels of the earth. The blaireau only hesitated long enough to select one of the burrows into which he was sure a marmot had entered; and then, setting himself to his work, he commenced throwing out the mould like a terrier. In a few seconds he was half buried, and his hindquarters and tail alone remained above ground. He would soon have disappeared entirely, but at that moment the boys, directed and headed by Norman, ran up the hill, and seizing him by the tail, endeavoured to jerk him back. That, however, was a task which they could not accomplish, for first one and then another, and then Basil and Norman-- who were both strong boys--pulled with all their might, and could not move him. Norman cautioned them against letting him go, as in a moment's time he would burrow beyond their reach. So they held on until Francois had got his gun ready. This the latter soon did, and a load of small shot was fired into the blaireau's hips, which, although it did not quite kill him, caused him to back out of the hole, and brought him into the clutches of Marengo. A desperate struggle ensued, which ended by the bloodhound doubling his vast black muzzle upon the throat of the blaireau, and choking him to death in less than a dozen seconds; and then his hide--the only part which was deemed of any value--was taken off and carried to the camp. The carcass was left upon the face of the hill, and the red shining object was soon espied by the buzzards and turkey vultures, so that in a few minutes' time several of these filthy birds were seen hovering around, and alighting upon the hill. But this was no new sight to our young voyageurs, and soon ceased to be noticed by them. Another bird, of a different kind, for a short time engaged their attention. It was a large hawk, which Lucien, as soon as he saw it, pronounced to be one of the kind known as buzzards (_Buteo_). Of these there are several species in North America, but it is not to be supposed that there is any resemblance between them and the buzzards just mentioned as having alighted by the carcass of the blaireau. The latter, commonly called "turkey buzzards," are true vultures, and feed mostly, though not exclusively, on carrion; while the "hawk buzzards" have all the appearance and general habits of the rest of the falcon tribe. The one in question, Lucien said, was the "marsh-hawk," sometimes also called the "hen-harrier" (_Falco uliginosus_). Norman stated that it was known among the Indians of these parts as the "snake-bird," because it preys upon a species of small green snake that is common on the plains of the Saskatchewan, and of which it is fonder than of any other food. The voyageurs were not long in having evidence of the appropriateness of the Indian appellation; for these people, like other savages, have the good habit of giving names that express some quality or characteristic of the thing itself. The bird in question was on the wing, and from its movements evidently searching for game. It sailed in easy circlings near the surface, _quartering_ the ground like a pointer dog. It flew so lightly that its wings were not seen to move, and throughout all its wheelings and turnings it appeared to be carried onwards or upwards by the power of mere volition. Once or twice its course brought it directly over the camp, and Francois had got hold of his gun, with the intention of bringing it down, but on each occasion it perceived his motions; and, soaring up like a paper-kite until out of reach, it passed over the camp, and then sank down again upon the other side, and continued its "quarterings" as before. For nearly half-an-hour it went on manoeuvring in this way, when all at once it was seen to make a sudden turning in the air as it fixed its eyes upon some object in the grass. The next moment it glided diagonally towards the earth, and poising itself for a moment above the surface, rose again with a small green-coloured snake struggling in its talons. After ascending to some height, it directed its flight towards a clump of trees, and was soon lost to the view of our travellers. Lucien now pointed out to his companions a characteristic of the hawk and buzzard tribe, by which these birds can always be distinguished from the true falcon. That peculiarity lay in the manner of seizing their prey. The former skim forward upon it sideways--that is, in a horizontal or diagonal direction, and pick it up in passing; while the true falcons--as the merlin, the peregrine, the gerfalcon, and the great eagle-falcons--shoot down upon their prey _perpendicularly_ like an arrow, or a piece of falling lead. He pointed out, moreover, how the structure of the different kinds of preying birds, such as the size and form of the wings and tail, as well as other parts, were in each kind adapted to its peculiar mode of pursuing its prey; and then there arose a discussion as to whether this adaptation should be considered a _cause_ or an _effect_. Lucien succeeded in convincing his companions that the structure was the effect and not the cause of the habit, for the young naturalist was a firm believer in the changing and progressive system of nature. CHAPTER NINETEEN. AN ODD SORT OF DECOY-DUCK. Two days after the adventure with the blaireau, the young voyageurs arrived at Cumberland House--one of the most celebrated posts of the Hudson's Bay Company. The chief factor, who resided there, was a friend of Norman's father, and of course the youths were received with the warmest hospitality, and entertained during their stay in the best manner the place afforded. They did not make a long stay, however, as they wished to complete their journey before the winter should set in, when canoe-travelling would become impossible. During winter, not only the lakes, but the most rapid rivers of these Northern regions, become frozen up, and remain so for many months. Nearly the whole surface of the earth is buried under deep snow, and travelling can only be done with snow-shoes, or with sledges drawn by dogs. These are the modes practised by the Indians, the Esquimaux, and the few white traders and trappers who have occasion in winter to pass from one point to another of that icy and desolate region. Travelling under such circumstances is not only difficult and laborious, but is extremely perilous. Food cannot always be obtained--supplies fall short, or become exhausted--game is scarce, or cannot be found at all, as at that season many of the quadrupeds and most of the birds have forsaken the country, and migrated to the South--and whole parties of travellers--even Indians, who can eat anything living or dead, roast or raw--often perish from hunger. Our travellers were well acquainted with these facts; and being anxious, therefore, to get to the end of their journey before the winter should come down upon them, made all haste to proceed. Of course they obtained a new "outfit" at the Fort; but they took with them only such articles as were absolutely necessary, as they had many portages to make before they could reach the waters of the Mackenzie River. As it required two of the party to carry the canoe, with a few little things besides, all the baggage was comprised in such loads as the others could manage; and of course that was not a great deal, for Francois was but a lad, and Lucien was far from being in robust health. A light axe, a few cooking utensils, with a small stock of provisions, and of course their guns, formed the bulk of their loads. After leaving the Fort they kept for several days' journey up the Saskatchewan. They then took leave of that river, and ascended a small stream that emptied into it from the north. Making their first portage over a "divide," they reached another small stream that ran in quite a different direction, emptying itself into one of the branches of the Mississippi, or Churchill River. Following this in a north-westerly course, and making numerous other portages, they reached Lake La Crosse, and afterwards in succession, Lakes Clear, Buffalo, and Methy. A long "portage" from the last-mentioned lake brought them to the head of a stream known as the "Clear Water;" and launching their canoe upon this, they floated down to its mouth, and entered the main stream of the Elk, or Athabasca, one of the most beautiful rivers of America. They were now in reality upon the waters of the Mackenzie itself, for the Elk, after passing through the Athabasca Lake, takes from thence the name of Slave River, and having traversed Great Slave Lake, becomes the Mackenzie--under which name it continues on to the Arctic Ocean. Having got, therefore, upon the main head-water of the stream which they intended to traverse, they floated along in their canoe with light hearts and high hopes. It is true they had yet fifteen hundred miles to travel, but they believed that it was all down-hill work now; and as they had still nearly two months of summer before them, they doubted not being able to accomplish the voyage in good time. On they floated down-stream, feasting their eyes as they went--for the scenery of the Elk valley is of a most picturesque and pleasing character; and the broad bosom of the stream itself, studded with wooded islands, looked to our travellers more like a continuation of lakes than a running river. Now they glided along without using an oar, borne onward by the current; then they would take a spell at the paddles, while the beautiful Canadian boat-song could be heard as it came from the tiny craft, and the appropriate chorus "Row, brothers, row!" echoed from the adjacent shores. No part of their journey was more pleasant than while descending the romantic Elk. They found plenty of fresh provisions, both in the stream itself and on its banks. They caught salmon in the water, and the silver-coloured hyodon, known among the voyageurs by the name of "Dore." They shot both ducks and geese, and roast-duck or goose had become an everyday dinner with them. Of the geese there were several species. There were "snow-geese," so called from their beautiful white plumage; and "laughing geese," that derive their name from the circumstance that their call resembles the laugh of a man. The Indians decoy these by striking their open hand repeatedly over the mouth while uttering the syllable "wah." They also saw the "Brent goose," a well-known species, and the "Canada goose," which is the _wild goose par excellence_. Another species resembling the latter, called the "barnacle goose," was seen by our travellers. Besides these, Lucien informed them that there were several other smaller kinds that inhabit the northern countries of America. These valuable birds are objects of great interest to the people of the fur countries for months in the year. Whole tribes of Indians look to them as a means of support. With regard to ducks, there was one species which our travellers had not yet met with, and for which they were every day upon the look-out. This was the far-famed "canvass-back," so justly celebrated among the epicures of America. None of them had ever eaten of it, as it is not known in Louisiana, but only upon the Atlantic coast of the United States. Norman, however, had heard of its existence in the Rocky Mountains--where it is said to breed--as well as in other parts of the fur countries, and they were in hopes that they might fall in with it upon the waters of the Athabasca. Lucien was, of course, well acquainted with its "biography," and could have recognised one at sight; and as they glided along he volunteered to give his companions some information, not only about this particular species, but about the whole genus of these interesting birds. "The canvass-back," began he, "is perhaps the most celebrated and highly-prized of all the ducks, on account of the exquisite flavour of its flesh--which is thought by some epicures to be superior to that of all other birds. It is not a large duck--rarely weighing over three pounds--and its plumage is far from equalling in beauty that of many other species. It has a red or chestnut-coloured head, a shining black breast, while the greater part of its body is of a greyish colour; but upon close examination this grey is found to be produced by a whitish ground minutely mottled with zig-zag black lines. I believe it is this mottling, combined with the colour, which somewhat resembles the appearance and texture of ship's canvass, that has given the bird its trivial name; but there is some obscurity about the origin of this. In colour, however, it so nearly resembles the `pochard,' or `red-head' of Europe, and its near congener the red-head (_Anas ferina_) of America, that at a distance it is difficult to distinguish them from each other. The last-mentioned species is always found associated with the canvass-backs, and are even sold for the latter in the markets of New York and Philadelphia. A naturalist, however, can easily distinguish them by their bills and eyes. The canvass-back has red eyes, with a greenish black bill, nearly straight; while the eyes of the red-head are of an orange yellow, its bill bluish and concave along the upper ridge. "The canvass-back is known in natural history as _Anas valisneria_, and this specific name is given to it because it feeds upon the roots of an aquatic plant, a species of `tape-grass,' or `eel-grass;' but botanically called `_Valisneria_,' after the Italian botanist, Antonio Valisneri. This grass grows in slow-flowing streams, and also on shoals by the seaside--where the water, from the influx of rivers, is only brackish. The water where it grows is usually three to five feet in depth, and the plant itself rises above the surface to the height of two feet or more, with grass-like leaves of a deep green colour. Its roots are white and succulent, and bear some resemblance to celery--hence the plant is known among the duck-hunters as `wild celery.' It is upon these roots the canvass-back almost exclusively feeds, and they give to the flesh of these birds its peculiar and pleasant flavour. Wherever the valisneria grows in quantity, as in the Chesapeake Bay and some rivers, like the Hudson, there the canvass-backs resort, and are rarely seen elsewhere. They do not eat the leaves but only the white soft roots, which they dive for and pluck up with great dexterity. The leaves when stripped of the root are suffered to float off upon the surface of the water; and where the ducks have been feeding, large quantities of them, under the name of `grass wrack,' are thrown by the wind and tide upon the adjacent shores. "Shooting the canvass-backs is a source of profit to hundreds of gunners who live around the Chesapeake Bay, as these birds command a high price in the markets of the American cities. Disputes have arisen between the fowlers of different States around the Bay about the right of shooting upon it; and vessels full of armed men--ready to make war upon one another--have gone out on this account. But the government of these States succeeded in settling the matter peacefully, and to the satisfaction of all parties." The canoe at this moment shot round a bend, and a long smooth expanse of the river appeared before the eyes of our voyageurs. They could see that upon one side another stream ran in, with a very sluggish current; and around the mouth of this, and for a good stretch below it, there appeared a green sedge-like water-grass, or rushes. Near the border of this sedge, and in a part of it that was thin, a flock of wild fowl was diving and feeding. They were small, and evidently ducks; but the distance was yet too great for the boys to make out to what species they belonged. A single large swan--a trumpeter--was upon the water, between the shore and the ducks, and was gradually making towards the latter. Francois immediately loaded one of his barrels with swan, or rather "buck" shot, and Basil looked to his rifle. The ducks were not thought of--the trumpeter was to be the game. Lucien took out his telescope, and commenced observing the flock. They had not intended to use any precaution in approaching the birds, as they were not extremely anxious about getting a shot, and were permitting the canoe to glide gently towards them. An exclamation from Lucien, however, caused them to change their tactics. He directed them suddenly to "hold water" and stop the canoe, at the same time telling them that the birds ahead were the very sort about which they had been conversing--the "canvass-backs." He had no doubt of it, judging from their colour, size, and peculiar movements. The announcement produced a new excitement. All four were desirous not only of shooting, but of _eating_, a canvass-back; and arrangements were set about to effect the former. It was known to all that the canvass-backs are among the shyest of water-fowl, so much so that it is difficult to approach them unless under cover. While feeding, it is said, they keep sentinels on the look-out. Whether this be true or not, it is certain that they never all dive together, some always remaining above water, and apparently watching while the others are under. A plan to get near them was necessary, and one was suggested by Norman, which was to tie bushes around the sides of the canoe, so as to hide both the vessel and those in it. This plan was at once adopted--the canoe was paddled up to the bank--thick bushes were cut, and tied along the gunwale; and then our voyageurs climbed in, and laying themselves as low as possible, commenced paddling gently downward in the direction of the ducks. The rifles were laid aside, as they could be of little service with such game. Francois' double-barrel was the arm upon which dependence was now placed; and Francois himself leaned forward in the bow in order to be ready, while the others attended to the guidance of the vessel. The buck-shot had been drawn out, and a smaller kind substituted. The swan was no longer cared for or even thought of. In about a quarter of an hour's time, the canoe, gliding silently along the edge of the sedge--which was the wild celery (_Valisneria spiralis_)--came near the place where the ducks were; and the boys, peeping through the leafy screen, could now see the birds plainly. They saw that they were not all canvass-backs, but that three distinct kinds of ducks were feeding together. One sort was the canvass-backs themselves, and a second kind very much resembled them, except that they were a size smaller. These were the "red-heads" or "pochards." The third species was different from either. They had also heads of a reddish colour, but of a brighter red, and marked by a white band that ran from the root of the bill over the crown. This mark enabled Lucien at once to tell the species. They were widgeons (_Anas Americana_); but the most singular thing that was now observed by our voyageurs was the terms upon which these three kinds of birds lived with each other. It appeared that the widgeon obtained its food by a regular system of robbery and plunder perpetrated upon the community of the canvass-backs. The latter, as Lucien had said, feeds upon the roots of the valisneria; but for these it is obliged to dive to the depth of four or five feet, and also to spend some time at the bottom while plucking them up. Now the widgeon is as fond of the "celery" as the canvass-back, but the former is not a diver--in fact, never goes under water except when washing itself or in play, and it has therefore no means of procuring the desired roots. Mark, then, the plan that it takes to effect this end. Seated as near as is safe to the canvass-back, it waits until the latter makes his _somersault_ and goes down. It (the widgeon) then darts forward so as to be sufficiently close, and, pausing again, scans the surface with eager eye. It can tell where the other is at work, as the blades of the plant at which it is tugging are seen to move above the water. These at length disappear, pulled down as the plant is dragged from its root, and almost at the same instant the canvass-back comes up holding the root between his mandibles. But the widgeon is ready for him. He has calculated the exact spot where the other will rise; and, before the latter can open his eyes or get them clear of the water, the widgeon darts forward, snatches the luscious morsel from his bill, and makes off with it. Conflicts sometimes ensue; but the widgeon, knowing himself to be the lesser and weaker bird, never stands to give battle, but secures his prize through his superior agility. On the other hand, the canvass-back rarely attempts to follow him, as he knows that the other is swifter upon the water than he. He only looks after his lost root with an air of chagrin, and then, reflecting that there is "plenty more where it came from," kicks up its heels, and once more plunges to the bottom. The red-head rarely interferes with either, as he is contented to feed upon the leaves and stalks, at all times floating in plenty upon the surface. As the canoe glided near, those on board watched these curious manoeuvres of the birds with feelings of interest. They saw, moreover, that the "trumpeter" had arrived among them, and the ducks seemed to take no notice of him. Lucien was struck with something unusual in the appearance of the swan. Its plumage seemed ruffled and on end, and it glided along in a stiff and unnatural manner. It moved its neck neither to one side nor the other, but held its head bent forward, until its bill almost touched the water, in the attitude that these birds adopt when feeding upon something near the surface. Lucien said nothing to his companions, as they were all silent, lest they might frighten the ducks; but Basil and Norman had also remarked the strange look and conduct of the trumpeter. Francois' eyes were bent only upon the ducks, and he did not heed the other. As they came closer, first Lucien, and then Basil and Norman, saw something else that puzzled them. Whenever the swan approached any of the ducks, these were observed to disappear under the water. At first, the boys thought that they merely dived to get out of his way, but it was not exactly in the same manner as the others were diving for the roots. Moreover, none of those that went down in the neighbourhood of the swan were seen to come up again! There was something very odd in all this, and the three boys, thinking so at the same time, were about to communicate their thoughts to one another, when the double crack of Francois' gun drove the thing, for a moment, out of their heads; and they all looked over the bushes to see how many canvass-backs had been killed. Several were seen dead or fluttering along the surface; but no one counted them, for a strange, and even terrible, object now presented itself to the astonished senses of all. If the conduct of the swan had been odd before, it was now doubly so. Instead of flying off after the shot, as all expected it would do, it was now seen to dance and plunge about on the water, uttering loud screams, that resembled the human voice far more than any other sounds! Then it rose as if pitched into the air, and fell on its back some distance off; while in its place was seen a dark, round object moving through the water, as if making for the bank, and uttering, as it went, the same hideous human-like screams! This dark object was no other than the poll of a human being; and the river shallowing towards the bank, it rose higher and higher above the water, until the boys could distinguish the glistening neck and naked shoulders of a red and brawny Indian! All was now explained. The Indian had been duck-hunting, and had used the stuffed skin of the swan as his disguise; and hence the puzzling motions of the bird. He had not noticed the canoe--concealed as it was--until the loud crack of Francois' gun had startled him from his work. This, and the heads and white faces of the boys peeping over the bushes, had frightened him, even more than he had them. Perhaps they were the first white faces he had ever seen. But, whether or not, sadly frightened he was; for, on reaching the bank, he did not stop, but ran off into the woods, howling and yelling as if Old Nick had been after him: and no doubt he believed that such was the case. The travellers picked up the swan-skin out of curiosity; and, in addition to the ducks which Francois had killed, they found nearly a score of these birds, which the Indian had dropped in his fright, and that had afterwards risen to the surface. These were strung together, and all had their necks broken. After getting them aboard, the canoe was cleared of the bushes; and the paddles being once more called into service, the little craft shot down-stream like an arrow. CHAPTER TWENTY. THE DUCKS OF AMERICA. Lucien now continued his "monograph" of the American ducks. "There are," said he, "more than two dozen species of ducks on the waters of North America. These the systematists have divided into no less than _eighteen genera_! Why it would be more easy to learn all that ever was known about all the ducks in creation, than to remember the eighteen generic names which these gentlemen have invented and put forward. Moreover, the habits of any two species of these ducks are more similar than those of any two kinds of dogs. Why then, I should ask--why this complication? It is true that the ducks do not resemble each other in every thing. Some species are fonder of water than others. Some feed entirely upon vegetable substances; others upon small fish, insects, crustacea, etcetera. Some live entirely in the sea; others make their home in the freshwater lakes and rivers, while many species dwell indifferently, either in salt or fresh waters. Some love the open wave; others the sedgy marsh; while one or two species roost upon trees, and build their nests in the hollow trunks. Notwithstanding all this, there is such a similarity in the appearance and habits of the different species, that I think the systematists have improved but little, if anything, upon the simple arrangement of the true naturalist Wilson, who--poor Scotch _emigre_ as he was, with an empty purse and a loaded gun--has collected more original information about the birds of America than all that have followed him. He described the ducks of America under the single genus _Anas_; and, in my opinion, described them in a more intelligent and intelligible manner than any one has done since his time--not even excepting another great and true naturalist, whose career has been longer, more successful, and happier; and whose fame, in consequence of his better fortune, has become, perhaps, higher and more extended. "The water-fowl of America," continued Lucien--"I mean the swans, geese, and ducks, are of great importance in the fur countries where we are now travelling. At certain seasons of the year, in many parts, they furnish almost the only article of food that can be procured. They are all migratory--that is, when the lakes and rivers of these regions become frozen over in the winter they all migrate southward, but return again to breed and spend the summer. They do this, perhaps, because these wild territories afford them a better security during the season of incubation, and afterwards of moulting. It is not very certain, however, that this is the reason, and for my part I am inclined to think not, for there are also wild, uninhabited territories enough in southern latitudes, and yet they forsake these and migrate north in the spring. `Their arrival in the fur countries,' writes a distinguished naturalist, `marks the commencement of spring, and diffuses as much joy among the wandering hunters of the Arctic regions, as the harvest or vintage excites in more genial climes.' Both by the Indians and hunters in the employ of the Hudson's Bay Company swans, geese, and ducks, are slaughtered by thousands, and are eaten not only when fresh killed, but they are salted in large quantities, and so preserved for winter use, when fresh ones can no longer be procured. Of course, both Indian and white hunters use all their art in killing or capturing them; and to effect this they employ many different methods, as decoying, snaring, netting, and shooting them: but Cousin Norman here could give a better description of all these things than I. Perhaps he will favour us with some account of them." "The Indians," said the young trader, taking up the subject without hesitation, "usually snare them. Their most common way is to make a number of hedges or wattle fences projecting into the water at right angles to the edge of the lake, or, it may be, river. These fences are two or three yards apart, and between each two there is, of course, an opening, into which the birds swim, as they make towards the shore for their food. In these openings, then, the snares are set and tied so firmly to a post stuck in the bottom, that the birds, whether ducks, geese, or swans, when caught, may not be able to drag it away. To keep the snare in its place, it is secured to the wattles of the fence with tender strands of grass, that of course give way the moment the fowl becomes entangled. The snares are made out of deer sinews, twisted like packthread, and sometimes of thongs cut from a `parchment' deerskin, which, as you know, is a deerskin simply dried, and not tanned or dressed. The making of the fences is the part that gives most trouble. Sometimes the timber for the stakes is not easily had; and even when it is plenty, it is no easy matter to drive the stakes into the bottom and wattle them, while seated in a vessel so crank as a birch canoe. Sometimes, in the rivers where the water-fowl most frequent, the current is swift, and adds to this trouble. Where the lakes and rivers are shallow, the thing becomes easier; and I have seen small lakes and rivers fenced in this way from shore to shore. In large lakes this would not be necessary, as most of the water-birds--such as the swans and geese--and all the ducks that are not of the diving kinds, are sure to come to the shore to feed, and are more likely to be taken close in to land than out in the open water. "The Indians often snare these birds upon the nest, and they always wash their hands before setting the snare. They have a notion--I don't know whether true or not--that if their hands are not clean, the birds can smell the snare, and will be shy of going into it. They say that all these birds--and I believe it's true of all fowls that make their nests upon the ground--go into the nest at one side, and out at the opposite. The Indians knowing this, always set their snares at the side where the bird enters, and by this they are more sure of catching them, and also of getting them some hours sooner. "Besides snaring the water-fowl," continued Norman, "the Indians sometimes catch them in nets, and sometimes on hooks baited with whatever the birds are known to eat. They also shoot them as the white hunters do, and to get near enough use every sort of cunning that can be thought of. Sometimes they decoy them within shot, by putting wooden ducks on the water near their cover, where they themselves are stationed. Sometimes they disguise their canoes under brushwood, and paddle to the edge of the flock; and when the moulting season comes round, they pursue them through the water, and kill them with sticks. The swans, when followed in this way, often escape. With their strong wings and great webbed feet, they can flap faster over the surface than a canoe can follow them. I have heard of many other tricks which the Indians of different tribes make use of, but I have only seen these ways I have described, besides the one we have just witnessed." Norman was one of your practical philosophers, who did not choose to talk much of things with which he was not thoroughly acquainted. Lucien now took up the thread of the conversation, and gave some further information about the different species of American ducks. "One of the most celebrated," said he, "is the `eider-duck' (_Anas mollissima_). This is prized for its down, which is exceedingly soft and fine, and esteemed of great value for lining quilts and making beds for the over-luxurious. It is said that three pounds' weight of `eider down' can be compressed to the size of a man's fist, and yet is afterwards so dilatable as to fill a quilt of five feet square. The down is generally obtained without killing the bird, for that which is plucked from dead birds is far inferior, and has lost much of its elasticity. The mode of procuring it is to steal it from the nest, in the absence of the birds. The female lines the nest with down plucked from her own breast. When this is stolen from her, by those who gather the commodity, she plucks out a second crop of it, and arranges it as before. This being also removed, it is said that the male bird then makes a sacrifice of his downy waistcoat, and the nest is once more put in order; but should this too be taken, the birds forsake their nest never to return to it again. The quantity of `eider down' found in a single nest is sufficient to fill a man's hat, and yet it will weigh only about three ounces. "The eider-duck is about the size of the common mallard, or wild duck proper. Its colour is black below, and buff-white on the back, neck, and shoulders, while the forehead is bluish black. It is one of the `sea-ducks,' or _fuligulae_, as the naturalists term them, and it is rarely seen in fresh water. Its food is principally the soft mollusca common in the Arctic seas, and its flesh is not esteemed except by the Greenlanders. It is at home only in the higher latitudes of both Continents, and loves to dwell upon the rocky shores of the sea; but in very severe winters, it makes its appearance along the Atlantic coast of the United States, where it receives different names from the gunners-- such as `black-and-white coot,' `big sea-duck,' `shoal-duck,' and `squaw-duck;' and under these titles it is often sold in the markets of American cities. Some suppose that the eider-duck could be easily domesticated. If so, it would, no doubt, prove a profitable as well as an interesting experiment; but I believe it has already been attempted without success. It is in the countries of Northern Europe where the gathering of the eider down has been made an object of industry. On the American Continent the pursuit is not followed, either by the native or white settler. "Another species common to the higher latitudes of both Continents is the `king-duck,' so called from its very showy appearance. Its habits are very similar to the `eider,' and its down is equally soft and valuable, but it is a smaller bird. "A still smaller species, also noted for its brilliant plumage, inhabits the extreme north of both continents. This is the `harlequin-duck;' or, as the early colonists term it, the `lord.' "But the `wood-duck' (_Anas sponsa_) is perhaps the most beautiful of all the American species, or indeed of all ducks whatever--although it has a rival in the _mandarin duck_ of China, which indeed it very much resembles both in size and markings. The wood-duck is so called from the fact of its making its nest in hollow trees, and roosting occasionally on the branches. It is a freshwater duck, and a Southern species--never being seen in very high latitudes; nor is it known in Europe in a wild state, but is peculiar to the Continent of America. It is one of the easiest species to domesticate, and no zoological garden is now without it; in all of which its small size--being about that of a widgeon--its active movements and innocent look, its musical _peet-peet_, and, above all, its beautiful plumage, make it a general favourite. "Besides these, there are many others of the American ducks, whose description would interest you, but you would grow tired were I to give a detailed account of them all; so I shall only mention a few that are distinguished by well-known peculiarities. There is the `whistler' (_Anas clangula_), which takes its trivial name from the whistling sound of its wings while in flight; and the `shoveller,' so called from the form of its bill; and the `conjuring,' or `spirit' ducks of the Indians (_Anas vulgaris_ and _albeola_), because they dive so quickly and dexterously, that it is almost impossible to shoot them either with bow or gun. There is the `old wife,' or `old squaw' (_Anas glacialis_), so called from its incessant cackle, which the hunters liken to the scolding of an ill-tempered old wife. This species is the most noisy of all the duck tribe, and is called by the voyageurs `caccawee,' from its fancied utterance of these syllables; and the sound, so often heard in the long nights of the fur countries, has been woven into and forms the burden of many a voyageur's song. In some parts of the United States the caccawee is called `south-southerly,' as its voice is there thought to resemble this phrase, while at the time when most heard--the autumn-- these ducks are observed flying in a southerly direction. "Besides these," continued Lucien, "there are the teals--blue and green-winged--and the coots, and the widgeon--slightly differing from the widgeon of Europe--and there is the rare and beautiful little ruddy duck (_Anas rubida_), with its bright mahogany colour--its long upright tail and short neck--that at a distance give it the appearance of a duck with two heads. And there is the well-known `pintail,' and the `pochard' or `red-head;' and the `mallard,' from which comes the common domestic variety, and the `scoter,' and `surf,' and `velvet,' and `dusky,' ducks--these last four being all, more or less, of a dark colour. And there are the `shell-drakes,' or `fishers,' that swim low in the water, dive and fly well, but walk badly, and feed altogether on fish. These, on account of their toothed bills, form a genus of themselves--the `mergansers,'--and four distinct species of them are known in America." The approach of night, and the necessity of landing, to make their night camp, brought Lucien's lecture to a close. Indeed Francois was glad when it ended, for he was beginning to think it somewhat tedious. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE SHRIKE AND THE HUMMING-BIRDS. The picturesque scenery of the Elk appeared to be a favourite resort with the feathered creation. Here our voyageurs saw many kinds of birds; both those that migrate into the fur countries during summer, and those that make their home there in the cold, dark days of winter. Among the former were observed,--the beautiful blue bird of Wilson (_Sialia Wilsoni_) which, on account of its gentle and innocent habits, is quite as much esteemed in America as the "robin" in England. Another favourite of the farmer and the homestead, the purple martin, was seen gracefully wheeling through the air; while, among the green leaves, fluttered many brilliant birds. The "cardinal grosbeak" (_Pitylus cardinalis_) with his bright scarlet wings; the blue jay, noisy and chattering; the rarer "crossbill" (_Loxia_) with its deep crimson colour; and many others, equally bright and beautiful, enlivened the woods, either with their voice or their gaudy plumage. There was one bird, however, that had neither "fine feathers" nor an agreeable voice, but that interested our travellers more than any of the others. Its voice was unpleasant to the ear, and sounded more like the grating of a rusty hinge than anything else they could think of. The bird itself was not larger than a thrush, of a light grey colour above, white underneath, and with blackish wings. Its bill resembled that of the hawks, but its legs were more like those of the woodpecker tribe; and it seemed, in fact, to be a cross between the two. It was neither the colour of the bird, nor its form, nor yet its song, that interested our travellers, but its singular habits; and these they had a fine opportunity of observing at one of their "noon camps," where they had halted to rest and refresh themselves during the hot midday hours. The place was on one of the little islets, which was covered with underwood, with here and there some larger trees. The underwood bushes were of various sorts; but close to the spot where they had landed was a large thicket of honeysuckle, whose flowers were in full bloom, and filled the air with their sweet perfume. While seated near these, Francois' quick eye detected the presence of some very small birds moving among the blossoms. They were at once pronounced to be humming-birds, and of that species known as the "ruby-throats" (_Trochilus rolubris_), so called, because a flake of a beautiful vinous colour under the throat of the males exhibits, in the sun, all the glancing glories of the ruby. The back, or upper parts, are of a gilded green colour; and the little creature is the smallest bird that migrates into the fur countries, with one exception, and that is a bird of the same genus,--the "cinnamon humming-bird" (_Trochilus rufus_). The latter, however, has been seen in the Northern regions, only on the western side of the Rocky Mountains; but then it has been observed even as far north as the bleak and inhospitable shores of Nootka Sound. Mexico, and the tropical countries of America, are the favourite home of the humming-birds; and it was, for a long time, supposed that the "ruby-throats" were the only ones that migrated farther north than the territory of Mexico itself. It is now known, that besides the "cinnamon humming-bird," two or three other species annually make an excursion into higher latitudes. The "ruby-throats" not only travel into the fur countries, but breed in numbers upon the Elk River, the very place where our travellers now observed them. As they sat watching these little creatures, for there were several of them skipping about and poising themselves opposite the flowers, the attention of all was attracted to the movements of a far different sort of bird. It was that one we have been speaking of. It was seated upon a tree, not far from the honeysuckles; but every now and then it would spring from its perch, dash forward, and after whirring about for some moments among the humming-birds, fly back to the same tree. At first the boys watched these manoeuvres without having their curiosity excited. It was no new thing to see birds acting in this manner. The jays, and many other birds of the fly-catching kind (_Muscicapae_), have this habit, and nothing was thought of it at the moment. Lucien, however, who had watched the bird more narrowly, presently declared to the rest that it was catching the humming-birds, and preying upon them--that each time it made a dash among the honeysuckles, it carried off one in its claws, the smallness of the victim having prevented them at first from noticing this fact. They all now watched it more closely than before, and were soon satisfied of the truth of Lucien's assertion, as they saw it seize one of the ruby-throats in the very act of entering the corolla of a flower. This excited the indignation of Francois, who immediately took up his "double-barrel," and proceeded towards the tree where the bird, as before, had carried this last victim. The tree was a low one, of the locust or _pseud-acacia_ family, and covered all over with great thorny spikes, like all trees of that tribe. Francois paid no attention to this; but, keeping under shelter of the underwood, he crept forward until within shot. Then raising his gun, he took aim, and pulling trigger, brought the bird fluttering down through the branches. He stepped forward and picked it up--not that he cared for such unworthy game, but Lucien had called to him to do so, as the naturalist wished to make an examination of the creature. He was about turning to go back to camp, when he chanced to glance his eye up into the locust-tree. There it was riveted by a sight which caused him to cry out with astonishment. His cry brought the rest running up to the spot, and they were not less astonished than he, when they saw the cause of it. I have said that the branches of the tree were covered with long thorny spikes that pointed in every direction; but one branch in particular occupied their attention. Upon this there were about a dozen of these spines pointing upward, and upon each spike _was impaled a ruby-throat_! The little creatures were dead, of course, but they were neither torn nor even much ruffled in their plumage. They were all placed back upwards, and as neatly spitted upon the thorns as if they had been put there by human hands. On looking more closely, it was discovered that other creatures, as well as the humming-birds, had been served in a similar manner. Several grasshoppers, spiders, and some coleopterous insects were found, and upon another branch two small meadow-mice (_Arvicolae_) had been treated to the same terrible death! To Basil, Norman, and Francois, the thing was quite inexplicable, but Lucien understood well enough what it meant. All these creatures, he informed them, were placed there by the bird which Francois had shot, and which was no other than the "shrike" (_Lanius_) or "butcher-bird"--a name by which it is more familiarly known, and which it receives from the very habit they had just observed. Why it follows such a practice Lucien could not tell, as naturalists are not agreed upon this point. Some have asserted that it spits the spiders and other insects for the purpose of attracting nearer the small birds upon which it preys; but this cannot be true, for it preys mostly upon birds that are not insect-eaters, as the finches: besides, it is itself as fond of eating grasshoppers as anything else, and consumes large quantities of these insects. The most probable explanation of the singular and apparently cruel habit of the butcher-bird is, that it merely places its victims upon the thorns, in order to keep them safe from ground-ants, rats, mice, raccoons, foxes, and other preying creatures--just as a good cook would hang up her meat or game in the larder to prevent the cats from carrying it off. The thorny tree thus becomes the storehouse of the shrike, where he hangs up his superfluous spoil for future use, just as the crows, magpies, and jays, make their secret deposits in chinks of walls and the hollows of trees. It is no argument against this theory, that the shrike sometimes leaves these stores without returning to them. The fox, and dog, as well as many other preying creatures, have the same habit. Wondering at what they had seen, the voyageurs returned to their camp, and once more embarked on their journey. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE FISH-HAWK. A few days after, another incident occurred to our voyageurs, which illustrated the habits of a very interesting bird, the "osprey," or fish-hawk, as it is more familiarly known in America. The osprey (_Falco halicetus_) is a bird of the falcon tribe, and one of the largest of the genus--measuring two feet from bill to tail, with an immense spread of wing in proportion, being nearly six feet from tip to tip. It is of a dark-brown colour above, that colour peculiar to most of the hawk tribe, while its lower parts are ashy white. Its legs and bill are blue, and its eyes of a yellow orange. It is found in nearly all parts of America, where there are waters containing fish, for on these it exclusively feeds. It is more common on the sea-coast than in the interior, although it also frequents the large lakes, and lives in the central parts of the continent during summer, when these are no longer frozen over. It is not often seen upon muddy rivers, as there it would stand no chance of espying its victims in the water. It is a migratory bird, seeking the South in winter, and especially the shores of the Great Mexican Gulf, where large numbers are often seen fishing together. In the spring season these birds move to the northward, and make their appearance along the Atlantic coast of the continent, where they diffuse joy into the hearts of the fishermen--because the latter know, on seeing them, that they may soon expect the large shoals of herring, shad, and other fish, for which they have been anxiously looking out. So great favourites are they with the fishermen, that they would not knowingly kill an osprey for a boat-load of fish, but regard these bold fishing birds in the light of "professional brethren." In this case the old adage that "two of a trade never agree" is clearly contradicted. The farmer often takes up his gun to fire at the osprey-- mistaking it for the red-tailed buzzard (_Buteo borealis_) or some other hawk, several species of which at a distance it resembles--but, on discovering his mistake, brings down his piece without pulling trigger, and lets the osprey fly off unharmed. This singular conduct on the part of the farmer arises from his knowledge of the fact, that the osprey will not only _not_ kill any of his ducks or hens, but that where he makes a settlement he will drive off from the premises all the hawks, buzzards, and kites, that would otherwise prey upon the poultry. With such protection, therefore, the osprey is one of the securest birds in America. He may breed in a tree over the farmer's or fisherman's door without the slightest danger of being disturbed in his incubation. I say _his_ incubation; but the male takes no part in this domestic duty, further than to supply his loved mate with plenty of fish while she does the hatching business. Of course, thus protected, the osprey is not a rare bird. On the contrary, fish-hawks are more numerous than perhaps any other species of the hawk tribe. Twenty or thirty nests may be seen near each other in the same piece of woods, and as many as three hundred have been counted on one little island. The nests are built upon large trees--not always at the tops, as those of rooks, but often in forks within twenty feet of the ground. They are composed of large sticks, with stalks of corn, weeds, pieces of wet turf, and then lined plentifully with dry sea-grass, or any other grass that may be most convenient. The whole nest is big enough to make a load for a cart, and would be heavy enough to give any horse a good pull. It can be seen, when the woods are open, to an immense distance, and the more easily, as the tree upon which it is built is always a "dead wood," and therefore without leaves to conceal it. Some say that the birds select a dead or decaying tree for their nest. It is more probable such is the effect, and not the cause, of their building upon a particular tree. It is more likely that the tree is killed partly by the mass of rubbish thus piled upon it, and partly by the nature of the substances, such as sea-weed in the nest, the oil of the fish, the excrement of the birds themselves, and the dead fish that have been dropped about the root, and suffered to remain there; for when the osprey lets fall his finny prey, which he often does, he never condescends to pick it up again, but goes in search of another. Boys "a-nesting" might easily discover the nest of the osprey; but were they inclined to despoil it of its three or four eggs (which are about the size of a duck's, and blotched with Spanish brown), they would find that a less easy task, for the owners would be very likely to claw their eyes out, or else scratch the tender skin from their beardless cheeks: so that boys do not often trouble the nest of the osprey. A very curious anecdote is related of a negro having climbed up to plunder a nest of these birds. The negro's head was covered with a close nap of his own black wool, which is supposed by a certain stretch of fancy to have the peculiarity of "growing in at both ends." The negro, having no other protection than that which his thick fur afforded him, was assailed by both the owners of the nest, one of which, making a dash at the "darkie's" head, struck his talons so firmly into the wool, that he was unable to extricate them, and there stuck fast, until the astonished plunderer had reached the foot of the tree. We shall not answer for the truthfulness of this anecdote, although there is nothing improbable about it; for certain it is that these birds defend their nests with courage and fury, and we know of more than one instance of persons being severely wounded who made the attempt to rob them. The ospreys, as already stated, feed exclusively on fish. They are not known to prey upon birds or quadrupeds of any kind, even when deprived of their customary food, as they sometimes are for days, on account of the lakes and rivers, in which they expected to find it, being frozen over to a later season than usual. Other birds, as the purple grakles, often build among the sticks of the osprey's nest, and rear their young without being meddled with by this generous bird. This is an important point of difference between the osprey and other kinds of hawks; and there is a peculiarity of structure about the feet and legs of the osprey, that points to the nature of his food and his mode of procuring it. His legs are disproportionately long and strong. They are without feathers nearly to the knees. The feet and toes are also very long, and the soles are covered with thick, hard scales, like the teeth of a rasp, which enable the bird to hold securely his slippery prey. The claws, too, are long, and curved into semicircles, with points upon them almost as sharp as needles. I have stated that an incident occurred to our party that illustrated some of the habits of this interesting bird. It was upon the afternoon of a Saturday, after they had fixed their camp to remain for the following day. They had landed upon a point or promontory that ran out into the river, and from which they commanded a view of a fine stretch of water. Near where they had placed their tent was the nest of an osprey, in the forks of a large poplar. The tree, as usual, was dead, and the young were plainly visible over the edge of the nest. They appeared to be full-grown and feathered; but it is a peculiarity of the young ospreys that they will remain in the nest, and be fed by the parent birds, until long after they might be considered able to shift for themselves. It is even asserted that the latter become impatient at length, and drive the young ones out of the nest by beating them with their wings; but that for a considerable time afterwards they continue to feed them--most likely until the young birds learn to capture their finny prey for themselves. This Lucien gave as a popular statement, but did not vouch for its truth. It was not long, however, before both he and his companions witnessed its complete verification. The old birds, after the arrival of the voyageurs upon the promontory, had remained for some time around the nest, and at intervals had shot down to where the party was, uttering loud screams, and making the air whizz with the strokes of their wings. Seeing that there was no intention of disturbing them, they at length desisted from these demonstrations, and sat for a good while quietly upon the edge of their nest. Then first one, and shortly after the other, flew out, and commenced sailing in circles, at the height of an hundred feet or so above the water. Nothing could be more graceful than their flight. Now they would poise themselves a moment in the air, then turn their bodies as if on a pivot, and glide off in another direction. All these motions were carried on with the most perfect ease, and as if without the slightest aid from the wings. Again they would come to a pause, holding themselves fixed in mid-air by a gentle flapping, and appearing to scrutinise some object below. Perhaps it was a fish; but it was either too large a one, or not the species most relished, or maybe it had sunk to too great a depth to be easily taken. Again they sail around; one of them suddenly arrests its flight, and, like a stone projected from a sling, shoots down to the water. Before reaching the surface, however, the fish, whose quick eye has detected the coming enemy, has gone to the dark bottom, and concealed himself; and the osprey, suddenly checking himself by his wings and the spread of his full tail, mounts again, and re-commences his curvilinear flight. After this had gone on for some time, one of the birds--the larger one, and therefore the female--was seen to leave off hunting, and return to the nest. There she sat only for a few seconds, when, to the astonishment of the boys, she began to strike her wings against the young ones, as if she was endeavouring to force them from the nest. This was just what she designed doing. Perhaps her late unsuccessful attempt to get them a fish had led her to a train of reflections, and sharpened her determination to make them shift for themselves. However that may be, in a few moments she succeeded in driving them up to the edge, and then, by half pushing, and half beating them with her wings, one after the other--two of them there were--was seen to take wing, and soar away out over the lake. At this moment, the male shot down upon the water, and then rose again into the air, bearing a fish, head-foremost, in his talons. He flew directly towards one of the young, and meeting it as it hovered in the air, turned suddenly over, and held out the fish to it. The latter clutched it with as much ease as if it had been accustomed to the thing for years, and then turning away, carried the fish to a neighbouring tree, and commenced devouring it. The action had been perceived by the other youngster, who followed after, and alighted upon the same branch, with the intention of sharing in the meal. In a few minutes, the best part of the fish was eaten up, and both, rising from the branch, flew back to their nest. There they were met by the parents, and welcomed with a loud squeaking, that was intended, no doubt, to congratulate them upon the success of their first "fly." CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE OSPREY AND HIS TYRANT. After remaining for some time on the nest along with the others, the old male again resolved to "go a-fishing," and with this intent he shot out from the tree, and commenced wheeling above the water. The boys, having nothing better to engage them, sat watching his motions, while they freely conversed about his habits and other points in his natural history. Lucien informed them that the osprey is a bird common to both Continents, and that it is often seen upon the shores of the Mediterranean, pursuing the finny tribes there, just as it does in America. In some parts of Italy it is called the "leaden eagle," because its sudden heavy plunge upon the water is fancied to resemble the falling of a piece of lead. While they were discoursing, the osprey was seen to dip once or twice towards the surface of the water, and then suddenly check himself, and mount upward again. These manoeuvres were no doubt caused by the fish which he intended to "hook" having suddenly shifted their quarters. Most probably experience had taught them wisdom, and they knew the osprey as their most terrible enemy. But they were not to escape him at all times. As the boys watched the bird, he was seen to poise himself for an instant in the air, then suddenly closing his wings, he shot vertically downward. So rapid was his descent, that the eye could only trace it like a bolt of lightning. There was a sharp whizzing sound in the air--a plash was heard--then the smooth bosom of the water was seen to break, and the white spray rose several feet above the surface. For an instant the bird was no longer seen. He was underneath, and the place of his descent was marked by a patch of foam. Only a single moment was he out of sight. The next he emerged, and a few strokes of his broad wing carried him into the air, while a large fish was seen griped in his claws. As the voyageurs had before noticed, the fish was carried head-foremost, and this led them to the conclusion that in striking his prey beneath the water the osprey follows it and aims his blow from behind. After mounting a short distance the bird paused for a moment in the air, and gave himself a shake, precisely as a dog would do after coming out of water. He then directed his flight, now somewhat slow and heavy, toward the nest. On reaching the tree, however, there appeared to be some mismanagement. The fish caught among the branches as he flew inward. Perhaps the presence of the camp had distracted his attention, and rendered him less careful. At all events, the prey was seen to drop from his talons; and bounding from branch to branch, went tumbling down to the bottom of the tree. Nothing could be more opportune than this, for Francois had not been able to get a "nibble" during the whole day, and a fresh fish for dinner was very desirable to all. Francois and Basil had both started to their feet, in order to secure the fish before the osprey should pounce down and pick it up; but Lucien assured them that they, need be in no hurry about that, as the bird would not touch it again after he had once let it fall. Hearing this, they took their time about it, and walked leisurely up to the tree, where they found the fish lying. After taking it up they were fain to escape from the spot, for the effluvium arising from a mass of other fish that lay in a decomposed state around the tree was more than any delicate pair of nostrils could endure. The one they had secured proved to be a very fine salmon of not less than six pounds weight, and therefore much heavier than the bird itself! The track of the osprey's talons was deeply marked; and by the direction in which the creature was scored, it was evident the bird had seized it from behind. The old hawks made a considerable noise while the fish was being carried away; but they soon gave up their squealing, and, once more hovering out over the river, sailed about with their eyes bent upon the water below. "What a number of fish they must kill!" said Francois. "They don't appear to have much difficulty about it. I should think they get as much as they can eat. See! there again! Another, I declare!" As Francois spake the male osprey was seen to shoot down as before, and this time, although he appeared scarcely to dip his foot in the water, rose up with a fish in his talons. "They have sometimes others to provide for besides themselves," remarked Lucien. "For instance, the bald eagle--" Lucien was interrupted by a cackling scream, which was at once recognised as that of the very bird whose name had just escaped his lips. All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it came-- which was from the opposite side of the river--and there, just in the act of launching itself from the top of a tall tree, was the great enemy of the osprey--the white-headed eagle himself! "Now a chase!" cried Francois, "yonder comes the big robber!" With some excitement of feeling, the whole party watched the movements of the birds. A few strokes of the eagle's wing brought him near; but the osprey had already heard his scream, and knowing it was no use carrying the fish to his nest, turned away from it, and rose spirally upward, in the hope of escaping in that direction. The eagle followed, beating the air with his broad pinions, as he soared after. Close behind him went the female osprey, uttering wild screams, flapping her wings against his very beak, and endeavouring to distract his attention from the chase. It was to no purpose, however, as the eagle full well knew her object, and disregarding her impotent attempts, kept on in steady flight after her mate. This continued until the birds had reached a high elevation, and the ospreys, from their less bulk, were nearly out of sight. But the voyageurs could see that the eagle was on the point of overtaking the one that carried the fish. Presently, a glittering object dropped down from the heavens, and fell with a plunge upon the water. It was the fish, and almost at the same instant was heard the "whish!" of the eagle, as the great bird shot after it. Before reaching the surface, however, his white tail and wings were seen to spread suddenly, checking his downward course; and then, with a scream of disappointment, he flew off in a horizontal direction, and alit upon the same tree from which he had taken his departure. In a minute after the ospreys came shooting down, in a diagonal line, to their nest; and, having arrived there, a loud and apparently angry consultation was carried on for some time, in which the young birds bore as noisy a part as either of their parents. "It's a wonder," said Lucien, "the eagle missed the fish--he rarely does. The impetus which he can give his body enables him to overtake a falling object before it can reach the earth. Perhaps the female osprey was in his way, and hindered him." "But why did he not pick it up in the water?" demanded Francois. "Because it went to the bottom, and he could not reach it--that's clear." It was Basil who made answer, and the reason he assigned was the true one. "It's too bad," said Francois, "that the osprey, not half so big a bird, must support this great robber-tyrant by his industry." "It's no worse than among our own kind," interposed Basil. "See how the white man makes the black one work for him here in America. That, however, is the _few_ toiling for the _million_. In Europe the case is reversed. There, in every country, you see the million toiling for the few--toiling to support an oligarchy in luxurious ease, or a monarch in barbaric splendour." "But why do they do so? the fools!" asked Francois, somewhat angrily. "Because they know no better. That oligarchy, and those monarchs, have taken precious care to educate and train them to the belief that such is the _natural_ state of man. They furnish them with school-books, which are filled with beautiful sophisms--all tending to inculcate principles of endurance of wrong, and reverence for their wrongers. They fill their rude throats with hurrah songs that paint false patriotism in glowing colours, making loyalty--no matter to whatsoever despot--the greatest of virtues, and revolution the greatest of crimes; they studiously divide their subjects into several creeds, and then, playing upon the worst of all passions--the passion of religious bigotry--easily prevent their misguided helots from uniting upon any point which would give them a real reform. Ah! it is a terrible game which the present rulers of Europe are playing!" It was Basil who gave utterance to these sentiments, for the young republican of Louisiana had already begun to think strongly on political subjects. No doubt Basil would one day be an M.C. "The bald eagles have been much blamed for their treatment of the ospreys, but," said Lucien, "perhaps they have more reason for levying their tax than at first appears. It has been asked: Why they do not capture the fish themselves? Now, I apprehend, that there is a _natural_ reason why they do not. As you have seen, the fish are not always caught upon the surface. The osprey has often to plunge beneath the water in the pursuit, and Nature has gifted him with power to do so, which, if I am not mistaken, she has denied to the eagles. The latter are therefore compelled, in some measure, to depend upon the former for a supply. But the eagles sometimes do catch the fish themselves, when the water is sufficiently shallow, or when their prey comes near enough to the surface to enable them to seize it." "Do they ever kill the ospreys?" inquired Francois. "I think not," replied Lucien; "that would be `killing the goose,' etcetera. They know the value of their tax-payers too well to get rid of them in that way. A band of ospreys, in a place where there happens to be many of them together, have been known to unite and drive the eagles off. That, I suppose, must be looked upon in the light of a successful _revolution_." The conversation was here interrupted by another incident. The ospreys had again gone out fishing, and, at this moment, one of them was seen to pounce down and take a fish from the water. It was a large fish, and, as the bird flew heavily upward, the eagle again left its perch, and gave chase. This time the osprey was overtaken before it had got two hundred yards into the air, and seeing it was no use attempting to carry off the prey, it opened its claws and let it drop. The eagle turned suddenly, poised himself a moment, and then shot after the falling fish. Before the latter had got near the ground, he overtook and secured it in his talons. Then, arresting his own flight by the sudden spread of his tail, he winged his way silently across the river, and disappeared among the trees upon the opposite side. The osprey, taking the thing as a matter of course, again descended to the proper elevation, and betook himself to his work. Perhaps he grinned a little like many another royal tax-payer, but he knew the tax had to be paid all the same, and he said nothing. An incident soon after occurred that astonished and puzzled our party not a little. The female osprey, that all this time seemed to have had but poor success in her fishing, was now seen to descend with a rush, and plunge deeply into the wave. The spray rose in a little cloud over the spot, and all sat watching with eager eyes to witness the result. What was their astonishment when, after waiting many seconds, the bird still remained under water! Minutes passed, and still she did not come up. _She came up no more_! The foam she had made in her descent floated away--the bosom of the water was smooth as glass--not a ripple disturbed its surface. They could have seen the smallest object for a hundred yards or more around the spot where she had disappeared. It was impossible she could have emerged without them seeing her. Where, then, had she gone? This, as I have said, puzzled the whole party; and formed a subject of conjecture and conversation for the rest of that day, and also upon the next. Even Lucien was unable to solve the mystery. It was a point in the natural history of the osprey unknown to him. Could she have drowned herself? Had some great fish, the "gar pike," or some such creature, got hold of and swallowed her? Had she dashed her head against a rock, or become entangled in weeds at the bottom of the river? All these questions were put, and various solutions of the problem were offered. The true one was not thought of, until accident revealed it. It was Saturday when the incident occurred. The party, of course, remained all next day at the place. They heard almost continually the cry of the bereaved bird, who most likely knew no more than they what had become of his mate. On Monday our travellers re-embarked and continued down-stream. About a mile below, as they were paddling along, their attention was drawn to a singular object floating upon the water. They brought the canoe alongside it. It was a large fish, a sturgeon, floating dead, with a bird beside it, also dead! On turning both over, what was their astonishment to see that the talons of the bird were firmly fixed in the back of the fish! It was the _female osprey_! This explained all. She had struck a fish too heavy for her strength, and being unable to clear her claws again, had been drawn under the water and had perished along with her victim! CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE VOYAGE INTERRUPTED. About ten days' rapid travelling down the Elk River brought our party into the Athabasca Lake--sometimes called the "Lake of the Hills." This is another of those great bodies of fresh water that lie between the primitive rocks of the "Barren Grounds," and the more fertile limestone deposit upon the west. It is nearly two hundred miles long from west to east, and is only fifteen miles in breadth, but in some places it is so narrow and full of islands that it looks more like a broad river than a lake. Its shores and many of its islands are thickly wooded, particularly upon the southern and western edges; and the eye of the traveller is delighted with many a beautiful vista as he passes along. But our voyageurs took little heed of these things. A gloom had come over their spirits, for one of their party had taken ill, and was suffering from a painful and dangerous disease--an intermittent fever. It was Lucien--he that was beloved by all of them. He had been complaining for several days--even while admiring the fair scenery of the romantic Elk--but every day he had been getting worse, until, on their arrival at the lake, he declared himself no longer able to travel. It became necessary, therefore, to suspend their journey; and choosing a place for their camp, they made arrangements to remain until Lucien should recover. They built a small log-hut for the invalid, and did everything to make him as comfortable as possible. The best skins were spread for his couch; and cooling drinks were brewed for him from roots, fruits, and berries, in the way he had already taught his companions to prepare them. Every day Francois went forth with his gun, and returned with a pair of young pigeons, or a wood-partridge, or a brace of the beautiful ruffed grouse; and out of these he would make delicate soups, which he was the better able to do as they had procured salt, pepper, and other ingredients, at the Fort. They had also brought with them a stock of tea--the real China tea--and sugar; and as the quantity of both was but small, this luxurious beverage was made exclusively for Lucien, and was found by him exceedingly beneficial during his illness. To the great joy of all the invalid was at length restored to health, and the canoe being once more launched and freighted, they continued their journey. They coasted along the shores of the lake, and entered the Great Slave River, which runs from the Athabasca into the Great Slave Lake. They soon came to the mouth of another large river, called the Peace. This runs into the Great Slave a short distance below Lake Athabasca, and, strange to say, the sources of the Peace River lie upon the _western_ side of the Rocky Mountains, so that this stream actually runs across the mountain-chain! It passes through the mountains in a succession of deep gorges, which are terrible to behold. On both sides dizzy cliffs and snow-capped peaks rise thousands of feet above its rocky bed, and the scenery is cold and desolate. Its head-waters interlock with those of several streams that run into the Pacific; so that, had our voyageurs wished to travel to the shores of that ocean, they might have done so in their birch-bark canoe nearly the whole of the way. But this was not their design at present, so they passed the _debouchure_ of the Peace, and kept on for the Great Slave Lake. They were still upon the same water as the Elk, for the Great Slave is only another name for that part of the river lying between the two lakes--Athabasca and Great Slave. Of course the river had now become much larger by the influx of the Peace, and they were travelling upon the bosom of a magnificent stream, with varied scenery upon its banks. They were not so happy, however, as when descending the Elk--not but that they were all in good health, for Lucien had grown quite strong again. No, it was not any want of health that rendered them less cheerful. It was the prospect before them--the prospect of coming winter, which they now felt certain would arrive before they had got to the end of their journey. The delay of nearly a month, occasioned by Lucien's illness, had deranged all their calculations; and they had no longer any hope of being able to finish their voyage in what remained of the short summer. The ice would soon make its appearance; the lakes and rivers would be frozen up; they could no longer navigate them in their canoe. To travel afoot would be a most laborious undertaking, as well as perilous in an extreme degree. In this way it is only possible to carry a very small quantity of provisions--for the traveller is compelled to load himself with skin-clothing in order to keep out the cold. The chances of procuring game by the way in that season are precarious, and not to be depended upon. Most of the birds and many of the quadrupeds migrate to more southern regions; and those that remain are shy and rare. Besides, great snow-storms are to be encountered, in which the traveller is in danger of getting "smoored." The earth is buried under a deep covering of snow, and to pass over this while soft is difficult, and at times quite impossible. All these circumstances were known to our young voyageurs--to Norman better than any of them--and of course the prospect was a cheerless one--much more so than those unacquainted with the winter of these dreary regions would be willing to believe. It was the month of August, near its end, when they reached the Great Slave Lake, in the latitude of 62 degrees. The days had now become very short, and their journeys grew short in proportion. They already experienced weather as cold as an English winter. There were slight frosts at night--though not yet enough to cover the water with ice--and the midday hours were hot, sometimes too hot to be comfortable. But this only caused them to feel the cold the more sensibly when evening set in; and all their robes and skins were necessary to keep them warm during the night. The Great Slave Lake, like the Athabasca, is very long and very narrow. It extends full 260 miles from east to west, but at its widest part is not over thirty, and in some places much less. Along its northern shores lies the edge of the "Barren Grounds," and there nothing meets the eye but bleak and naked hills of primitive rock. On its southern side the geology is entirely of a different character. There the limestone prevails, and scarcely anything that deserves the name of hill is to be seen. There are fine forests too, in which poplars, pines, and birches, are the principal trees. The lake is filled with islands, many of which are wholly or partially covered with timber of these kinds, and willows also are abundant. There are fish of several species in its waters, which are in many places of great depth--sixty fathoms deep--and in some of the islands, and around the wooded shores, game exists in abundance in the summer season. Even in winter it is not scarce, but then it is difficult to follow it on account of the deep snow. Many of the animals, too, at this season become torpid, and are of course hidden in caves and hollow trees, and even in the snow itself, where no one can find them. Notwithstanding all this, our voyageurs knew that it would be the best place for them to make their winter camp. They saw that to complete their journey during that season would be impossible. Even had it been a month earlier it would have been a difficult undertaking. In a few days winter would be upon them. They would have to stop somewhere. There was no place where they could so safely stay as by the lake. One thing they would have there, which might not be found so plenty elsewhere, that was wood for their fire; and this was an inducement to remain by the lake. Having made up their minds, therefore, to encamp on some part of it, they looked from day to day for a place that would be most suitable, still continuing their journey towards its western end. As yet no place appeared to their liking, and as the lake near its western point trends away towards the south, Norman proposed that they should follow the shore no longer, but strike across to a promontory on the northern shore of the lake, known as "Slave Point." This promontory is of the limestone formation, and as Norman had heard, is well wooded, and stocked with game. Even buffaloes are found there. It is, in fact, the farthest point to the north-east that these animals range, and this presents us with a curious fact. It is the farthest point that the limestone deposit extends in that direction. Beyond that, to the east and north, lie the primitive rocks of the Barren Grounds, into which the buffaloes never stray. Thus we observe the connexion that exists between the _fauna_ of a country and its geological character. Of course they all agreed to Norman's proposal. The canoe was, therefore, headed for the open waters; and, after a hard day's paddling--for there was a head-wind--the voyageurs landed upon a small wooded island, about halfway over the lake, where they encamped for the night, intending next day to cross the remaining part. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. FISHING UNDER THE ICE. On awaking next morning, to their great surprise, they saw that the _lake was frozen over_! They had almost anticipated as much, for the night was one of the coldest they had yet experienced--so cold that one and all of them had slept but badly. As yet the ice was thin, but so much the worse. It was thick enough to prevent them from using the canoe, but too thin to bear their weight, and they now saw that they were _prisoners upon the island_! It was not without some feelings of alarm that they made this discovery; but their fears were allayed by reflecting, that they could remain upon the island until the ice either thawed away or became strong enough to bear them, and then they could cross upon it to the northern shore. With this consolation, therefore, they set about making their temporary quarters upon the island as snug as circumstances would permit. Their apprehensions, however, began to return again, when several days had passed over, and the ice neither grew any thinner nor any thicker, but seemed to remain at a standstill. In the early part of the morning it was almost strong enough to bear them; but during the day the sun melted it, until it was little better than a scum over the surface of the water. The alarm of our voyageurs increased. Their provisions were nearly out. There was no game on the islet--not so much as a bird--for they had beaten every bush, and found nothing. Once or twice they thought of launching their canoe and breaking a way for it through the ice. But they knew that this proceeding would be one of much labour as well as danger. The islet was full ten miles from the shore, and they would therefore have to break the ice for ten miles. Moreover, to stand up in a bark canoe, so as to get at the work, would be a difficult task. It could not be accomplished without endangering the equilibrium of the vessel, and indeed without upsetting it altogether. Even to lean forward in the bow would be a perilous experiment; and under these considerations the idea of breaking a way was abandoned. But their provisions were at length entirely exhausted, and what was to be done? The ice was still too weak to carry them. Near the shore it might have been strong enough, but farther out lay the danger. There they knew it was thinner, for it had not frozen over until a later period. It would have been madness to have risked it yet. On the other hand, they were starving, or likely to starve from hunger, by staying where they were. There was nothing eatable on the island. What was to be done? In the water were fish--they doubted not that--but how were they to catch them? They had tried them with hook and line, letting the hook through a hole in the ice; but at that late season the fish would not take a bait, and although they kept several continually set, and "looked" them most regularly and assiduously, not a "tail" was taken. They were about to adopt the desperate expedient, now more difficult than ever, of breaking their way through the ice, when, all at once, it occurred to Norman, that, if they could not coax the fish to take a bait, they might succeed better with a net, and capture them against their will. This idea would have been plausible enough, had there been a net; but there was no net on that islet, nor perhaps within an hundred miles of it. The absence of a net might have been an obstacle to those who are ever ready to despair; but such an obstacle never occurred to our courageous boys. They had two _parchment_ skins of the caribou which they had lately killed, and out of these Norman proposed to make a net. He would soon do it, he said, if the others would set to work and cut the deerskins into thongs fine enough for the purpose. Two of them, therefore, Basil and Lucien, took out their knives, and went briskly to work; while Francois assisted Norman in twining the thongs, and afterwards held them, while the latter wove and knotted them into meshes. In a few hours both the skins were cut into fine strips, and worked up; and a net was produced nearly six yards in length by at least two in width. It was rude enough, to be sure, but perhaps it would do its work as well as if it had been twined out of silk. At all events, it was soon to have a trial--for the moment it was finished the sinkers were attached to it, and it was carried down to the edge of the water. The three "Southerners" had never seen a net set under ice--for in their country ice is an uncommon thing, and indeed never freezes of sufficient thickness to carry the weight of a man. They were therefore very curious to know how the thing was to be done. They could not conceive how the net was to be stretched under the ice, in such a manner as to catch the fish. Norman, however, knew all about it. He had seen the Indians, and had set many a one himself. It was no new thing for him, and he set about it at once. He first crept out upon the ice to the distance of about twenty or thirty yards from the shore. He proceeded cautiously, as the ice creaked under him. Having arrived at the place where he intended to set the net, he knelt down, and with his knife cut several holes in the ice, at the distance of about six feet from each other, and all in one line. He had already provided himself with a straight sapling of more than six feet in length, to one end of which he had attached a cord. The other end of this cord was tied to the net, at one of its corners. He now thrust the sapling through the first hole he had made, and then guided it so as to pass directly under the second. At this hole he took a fresh hold of the stick, and passed it along to the next, and so on to the last, where he pulled it out again, and of course along with it the string. The net was now drawn into the first hole, and by means of the cord already received through, was pulled out to its full length. The sinkers, of course, fell down in the water, and drew it into a vertical position. At both its upper corners the net was made fast above the ice, and was now "set." Nothing more could be done until the fish came into it of their own accord, when it could be drawn out upon the ice by means of the cord attached; and, of course, by the same means could easily be returned to its place, and set again. All of them now went back to the fire, and with hungry looks sat around it, waiting the result. They had made up their minds, should no fish be caught, to get once more into the canoe and attempt breaking their way to the shore. Summoning all their patience, therefore, they waited for nearly two hours, without examining the net. Then Norman and Basil crawled back upon the ice, to see what fortune had done for them. They approached the spot, and, with their hearts thumping against their ribs, untied the knot, and commenced hauling out. "It certainly feels heavy," said Basil, as he net was being drawn. "Hurrah!" he shouted, "Something kicks, hurrah!" and with the second "hurrah!" a beautiful fish was pulled up through the hole, and landed upon the ice. A loud "hurrah" was uttered in response by Lucien and Francois--who, fearing the ice might not bear so many, had remained upon the shore. A yard or two more of the net was cleared, and a second fish still larger than the former was greeted with a general "hurrah!" The two fish were now taken out--as these were all that had been caught--and the net was once more carefully set. Basil and Norman came back to the shore--Norman to receive quite a shower of compliments from his companions. The fish--the largest of which weighed nearly five pounds-- proved to be trout; and it was not long before their quality was put to the proof. All declared they had never eaten so fine trout in their lives; but when the condition of their appetites is taken into account, we may infer that there was, perhaps, a little exaggeration in this statement. If hunger really makes good sauce, our voyageurs had the best of sauce with their fish, as each of them was as hungry as a half-famished wolf. They felt quite relieved, as far as present appetite went, but they were still uneasy for the future. Should they not succeed in taking more fish--and it was by no means certain they should succeed--they would be no better off than ever. Their anxiety, however, was soon removed. Their second "haul" proved even more successful than the first--as five fish, weighing together not less than twenty pounds, were pulled up. This supply would enable them to hold out for a long time, but they had not much longer to remain on the islet. Upon that very night there was one of those severe frosts known only in high latitudes, and the ice upon the lake became nearly a foot in thickness. They had no longer any fear of its breaking under their weight; and taking their canoe with all their "traps," they set out to cross over upon the ice. In a few hours they reached the shore of the lake, near the end of the promontory, where they chose a spot, and encamped. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. AN ODD ALARM. The first thing our voyageurs did after choosing a suitable situation, was to build a log-hut. Being young backwoodsmen this was but a trifle to them. All four of them knew how to handle an axe with dexterity. The logs were soon cut and notched, and a small cabin was put up, and roofed with split clap-boards. With the stones that lay near the shore of the lake they built a chimney. It was but a rude structure, but it drew admirably. Clay was wanted to "chink" the cabin, but that could not be had, as the ground was hard frozen, and it was quite impossible to make either clay or mud. Even hot water poured out would freeze into ice in a few minutes. This was a serious want--for in such a cold climate even the smallest hole in the walls will keep a house uncomfortable, and to fill the interstices between the logs, so as to make them air-tight, some soft substance was necessary. Grass was suggested, and Lucien went off in search of it. After a while he returned with an armful of half-withered grass, which all agreed would be the very thing; and a large quantity was soon collected, as it grew plentifully at a short distance from the cabin. They now set to work to stuff it into the chinks; when, to their astonishment, they found that this grass had a beautiful smell, quite as powerful and as pleasant as that of mint or thyme! When a small quantity of it was flung into the fire it filled the cabin with a fragrance as agreeable as the costliest perfumes. It was the "scented grass," which grows in great profusion in many parts of the Hudson's Bay territory, and out of which the Indians often make their beds, burning it also upon the fire to enjoy its aromatic perfume. For the first day or two, at their new abode, the travellers had lived altogether on fish. They had, of course, brought their net with them from the island, and had set it near the shore in the same way as before. They had captured as many as they wanted, and, strange to say, at one haul they found no less than five different species in the net! One kind, a white fish, the _Coregonus albus_ of naturalists, but which is named "tittameg" by the fur-traders, they caught in great plenty. This fish is found in nearly all the lakes and rivers of the Hudson's Bay territory, and is much prized both by whites and Indians for its delicate flavour. At some of the trading posts it often forms, for weeks together, the only food which the residents can obtain; and they are quite satisfied when they can get enough of it. The tittameg is not a large fish; the largest attain to the weight of about eight pounds. There was another and still smaller species, which, from its colour, the voyageurs call the "poisson bleu," or blue fish. It is the _Coregonus signifer_ of ichthyologists. It is a species of grayling, and frequents sharp-running water, where it will leap at the fly like a trout. Several kinds of trout also inhabit the Great Slave Lake, and some of these attain to the enormous weight of eighty pounds! A few were caught, but none of so gigantic proportions as this. Pike were also taken in the net, and a species of burbot (_Gadus lota_). This last is one of the most voracious of the finny tribe, and preys upon all others that it is able to swallow. It devours whole quantities of cray-fish, until its stomach becomes crammed to such a degree as to distort the shape of its whole body. When this kind was drawn out, it was treated very rudely by the boys--because its flesh was known to be extremely unsavoury, and none of them cared to eat it. Marengo, however, had no such scruples, and he was wont to make several hearty meals each day upon the rejected burbot. A fish diet exclusively was not the thing; and as our party soon grew tired of it, the hunter Basil shouldered his rifle, and strode off into the woods in search of game. The others remained working upon the cabin, which was still far from being finished. Basil kept along the edge of the lake in an easterly direction. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, when he came upon a dry gravelly ridge, which was thickly covered with a species of pine-trees that resembled the Scotch fir (_Pinus sylvestris_). These trees were not over forty feet in height, with very thick trunks and long flexible branches. No other trees grew among them, for it is the nature of this pine--which was the "scrub" or grey pine (_Pinus Banksiana)_ to monopolise the ground wherever it grows. As Basil passed on, he noticed that many of the trees were completely "barked," particularly on the branches; and small pieces of the bark lay scattered over the ground, as though it had been peeled off and gnawed by some animal. He was walking quietly on and thinking what creature could have made such a wreck, when he came to a place where the ground was covered with fine sand or dust. In this, to his astonishment, he observed what he supposed to be the tracks of human feet! They were not those of a man, but small tracks, resembling the footsteps of a child of three or four years of age. He was about stooping down to examine them more closely, when a voice sounded in his ears exactly like the cry of a child! This brought him suddenly to an erect attitude again, and he looked all round to discover who or what had uttered that strange cry. He could see no one--child or man--and strange, too, for he had a clear view through the tree-trunks for several hundred yards around. He was filled with curiosity, not unmixed with alarm; and, stepping forward a few paces, he was about to bend down and examine the tracks a second time, when the singular cry again startled him. This time it was louder than before, as if he was closer to whatever had uttered it, but Basil now perceived that it proceeded from above him. The creature from which it came was certainly not upon the ground, but high up among the tops of the trees. He looked up, and there, in the fork of one of the pines, he perceived a singular and hideous-looking animal--such as he had never before seen. It was of a brown colour, about the size of a terrier-dog, with thick shaggy hair, and clumped up in the fork of the tree--so that its head and feet were scarcely distinguishable. Its odd appearance, as well as the peculiar cry which it had uttered, would have alarmed many a one of less courage than our young hunter, and Basil was at first, as he afterwards confessed, "slightly flurried;" but a moment's reflection told him what the animal was--one of the most innocent and inoffensive of God's creatures--the Canada porcupine. It was this, then, that had barked the scrub-pines--for they are its favourite food; and it was its track-- which in reality very much resembles that of a child--that Basil had seen in the sand. The first thought of the young hunter was to throw up his rifle, and send a bullet through the ungainly animal; which, instead of making any effort to escape, remained almost motionless, uttering, at intervals, its child-like screams. Basil, however, reflected that the report of his rifle would frighten any large game that might chance to be near; and as the porcupine was hardly worth a shot, he concluded, upon reflection, it would be better to leave it alone. He knew--for he had heard Lucien say so--that he would find the porcupine at any time, were it a week, or even a month after--for these creatures remain sometimes a whole winter in the same grove. He resolved, therefore, should no other game turn up, to return for it; and, shouldering his rifle again, he continued his course through the woods. As he proceeded, the timber became thinner. The scrub-pines gave place to poplar-trees, with here and there an undergrowth of willows. The trees stood far apart, and the willows grew only in clumps or "islands," so that the view was nearly open for many hundred yards around. Basil walked on with all the silence and watchfulness of a true "still" hunter--for, among backwoodsmen, this species of hunting is so called. He ascended a low hill, and keeping a tree in front of him, looked cautiously over its crest. Before him, and stretching from the bottom of the hill, was a level tract of considerable extent. It was bounded on one side by the edge of the lake, and on all the others by thin woods, similar to those through which the hunter had been for some time travelling. Here and there, over the plain, there stood trees, far apart from each other, and in nowise intercepting the view for a mile or more. The ground was clear of underwood, except along the immediate edge of the lake, which was fringed by a thicket of willows. As Basil looked over the hill, he espied a small group of animals near the interior border of the willows. He had never seen animals of the same species before, but the genus was easily told. The tall antlered horns, that rose upon the head of one of them, showed that they were deer of some kind; and the immense size of the creature that bore them, together with his ungainly form, his long legs, and ass-like ears, his huge head with its overhanging lip, his short neck with its standing mane, and, above all, the broad palmation of the horns themselves, left Basil without any doubt upon his mind that the animals before him were moose-deer--the largest, and perhaps the most awkward, of all the deer kind. The one with the antlers was the male or bull-moose. The others were the female and her two calves of the preceding year. The latter were still but half-grown, and, like the female, were without the "branching horns" that adorned the head of the old bull. They were all of a dark-brown colour--looking blackish in the distance--but the large one was darker than any of the others. Basil's heart beat high, for he had often heard of the great moose, but now saw it for the first time. In his own country it is not found, as it is peculiarly a creature of the cold regions, and ranges no farther to the south than the northern edge of the United States territory. To the north it is met with as far as timber grows--even to the shores of the Polar Sea! Naturalists are not certain, whether or not it be the same animal with the elk (_Cervus alces_) of Europe. Certainly the two are but little, if anything, different; but the name "elk" has been given in America to quite another and smaller species of deer--the wapiti (_Cervus Canadensis_). The moose takes its name from its Indian appellation, "moosoa," or "wood-eater;" and this name is very appropriate, as the animal lives mostly upon the leaves and twigs of trees. In fact, its structure--like that of the camelopard--is such that it finds great difficulty in reaching grass, or any other herbage, except where the latter chances to be very tall, or grows upon the declivity of a very steep hill. When it wishes to feed upon grass, the moose usually seeks it in such situations; and it may often be seen browsing up the side of a hill, with its legs spread widely on both sides of its neck. But its favourite food is found at a more convenient height, and consists of the young shoots of many species of trees. It prefers those of the poplar, the birch-tree, and willows, and one kind of these last, the red willow, is its particular favourite. The "striped" maple (_Acer striatum_) is also much relished by the moose-- hence the name "moose-wood," by which this tree is known among the hunters. It loves also the common water-lilies (_Nympha_); and in summer it may be seen wading out into lakes, and plucking up their succulent leaves. It takes to the water also for other purposes--to cool its body, and rid itself of several species of gnats and mosquitoes that at this season torment it exceedingly. At such times it is more easily approached; and the Indians hunt it in their canoes, and kill it in the water, both with spears and arrows. They never find the moose, however, in large numbers--for it is a solitary animal, and only associates in pairs during one part of the year, and in families at another season--as Basil now found it. In winter the Indians track it through the snow, following it upon snow-shoes. These give them the advantage of skimming along the surface, while the moose plunges through the deep drift, and is therefore impeded in its flight. Notwithstanding, it will frequently escape from the hunter, after a _chase of several days' duration_! Sometimes, in deep snow, a dozen or more of these animals will be found in one place, where they have got accidentally together. The snow will be trodden down until the place appears as if enclosed by a wall. This the hunters term a "moose-pound," and when found in such situations the moose are easily approached and surrounded--when a general _battue_ takes place, in which few or none of the animals are allowed to escape. I have said that Basil's heart beat high at the sight of the moose. He was very desirous of killing one--partly on account of the novelty of the thing, and partly because he and his companions at the camp were anxious for a change of diet. Moose-meat was the very thing; and he knew that if he could return to camp with a few pieces of this strung over his gun, he would receive a double welcome. He was well aware that the flesh of the moose was of the most savoury and delicate kind, and that the long pendulous upper lip is one of the "tit-bits" of the fur countries. Moreover, the fine hide would be an acceptable addition to their stock, as it is the best of all deerskins for mocassins, as well as snow-shoes--articles which Basil knew would soon be needed. For these reasons he was unusually desirous of killing one of the moose. He knew it would be difficult to approach them. He had heard that they were shyest at that very season--the beginning of winter--and indeed such is the case. No deer is so difficult to get a shot at as a moose in early winter. In summer it is not so--as then the mosquitoes torment these animals to such a degree that they pay less heed to other enemies, and the hunter can more easily approach them. In winter they are always on the alert. Their sense of smell--as well as of sight and hearing--is acute to an extreme degree, and they are cunning besides. They can scent an enemy a long distance off--if the wind be in their favour--and the snapping of a twig, or the slightest rustle of the leaves, is sufficient to start them off. In their journeyings through the snow, when they wish to rest themselves, they make a sort of _detour_, and, coming back, lie down near the track which they have already passed over. This gives them an opportunity of hearing any enemy that may be following upon their trail, and also of making off in a side-direction, while the latter will be looking steadfastly ahead for them. Basil had heard of all these tricks of the moose--for many an old moose-hunter had poured his tale into Basil's ear. He proceeded, therefore, with all due caution. He first buried his hand in his game-bag, and after a little groping brought out a downy feather which had chanced to be there. This he placed lightly upon the muzzle of his rifle, and having gently elevated the piece above his head, watched the feather. After a moment, the breeze carried it off, and Basil noted the direction it took. This is called, in hunter phrase, "tossing the feather," and gave Basil the exact direction of the wind--an important knowledge in the present case. To Basil's gratification he saw that it was blowing down the lake, and nearly towards himself. He was not exactly to leeward of the moose; but, what was better still, the willows that fringed the lake were, for he could see them bending from the deer, as the breeze blew freshly. He knew he could easily get among the willows; and as they were not yet quite leafless, and, moreover, were interspersed with tall reed-grass, they formed a tolerable cover under which he might make his approach. Without losing time, then, he made for the willows, and placing them between himself and the game, commenced "approaching" along the shore of the lake. He had a full half-hour's creeping--at one time upon his hands and knees--at another, crawling flat upon his breast like a gigantic lizard, and now and then, at favourable spots, walking in a bent attitude. A full half-hour was he, and much pain and patience did it cost him, before getting within shot. But Basil was a hunter, and knew both how to endure the pain and practise the patience--virtues that, in hunting as well as in many other occupations, usually meet with their reward. And Basil was likely to meet with his, for on parting the leaves, and looking cautiously through, he saw that he had arrived at the right spot. Within fifty yards of him he saw the high shoulders of the bull-moose and his great flat antlers towering over the tops of the willows, among the leaves of which the snout of the animal was buried. He also caught a glimpse of parts of the other three beyond; but he thought only of the bull, and it was upon him that he kept his eyes fixed. Basil did not think of the quality of the meat, else he would have selected either the cow or one of the calves. Had it been buffaloes he would certainly have done so; but as he had never killed a moose, he was determined to slay the leader of the herd. Indeed, had he wished to shoot one of the others, it might not have been so easy, as they were farther off, and he could only see the tops of their shoulders over the willows. Neither did the bull offer a fair mark. He stood face to face with the hunter, and Basil fancied that a shot on the frontal bone might not kill him. He knew it would not kill a buffalo. There was only one other part at which he could aim--the fore-shoulder; and after waiting some moments for the animal to give him a fairer chance, he took aim at this and fired. He heard a loud cracking of hoofs, as the cow and calves shambled off over the plain, but he saw that the bull was not with them. He was down behind the willows. No doubt he was dead. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. ENCOUNTER WITH A MOOSE. What was a rare thing for Basil to do, he rushed forward without reloading his gun. A few springs brought him into the open ground, and in presence of the game. To his astonishment, the bull was not dead, nor down neither, but only upon his knees--of course wounded. Basil saw the "crease" of the bullet along the neck of the animal as he drew near. It was only by a quick glance that he saw this, for as soon as the bull saw him he rose to his full height--his eyes flashing like a tiger's-- and setting his antlers in a forward position, sprang upon the hunter! Basil leaped aside to avoid the encounter; and in the first rush was successful, but the animal turned suddenly, and, coming up a second time, raised his fore-feet high in the air, and struck forward with his long-pointed hoofs. Basil attempted to defend himself with his rifle, but the piece was struck out of his hand in an instant. Once more avoiding the forward rush of the infuriated beast, the young hunter looked around for some object to save him. A tree fell under his eye, and he ran towards it with all his speed. The moose followed close upon his heels, and he had just time to reach the tree and get around its trunk, when the animal brushed past, tearing the bark with his sharp antlers. Basil now slipped round the trunk, and when the moose again turned himself the two were on opposite sides of the tree! The beast, however, rushed up, and struck the tree furiously first with his brow antlers, and then with his hoofs, uttering loud snorts, and at intervals a shrill whistling sound that was terrible to hear. The disappointment which the enraged animal felt, at seeing his enemy thus escape him, seemed to have added to his rage; and he now vented his spite upon the tree, until the trunk, to the height of six feet, was completely stripped of its bark. While this was going on, Basil remained behind the tree, "dodging" round as the moose manoeuvred, and taking care always to have the animal on the opposite side. To have got into a safer situation he would have climbed the tree; but it happened to be a poplar, without a branch for many feet from the ground, and of too great a girth to be "embraced." He could do nothing, therefore, but remain upon the ground, and keep the tree-trunk between himself and the bull. For nearly an hour this lasted, the moose now remaining at rest for a few minutes, and then making fresh onsets that seemed to abate nothing in their fury. His rage appeared to be implacable, and his vengeance as tenacious as that of a tiger or any other beast of prey. The wound which the hunter had given him was no doubt painful, and kept his resentment from cooling. Unfortunately, it was not a mortal wound, as Basil had every opportunity of seeing. The bullet had hit the fore-shoulder; but, after tearing along the skin, had glanced off without injuring the bone. It had only enraged the bull, without crippling him in the least degree. Basil began to dread the result. He was becoming faint with fatigue as well as hunger. When would he be relieved? When would the fierce brute feel inclined to leave him? These were questions which the hunter put to himself repeatedly, without being able to divine an answer. He had heard of hunters being killed by wounded moose. He had heard that these creatures will remain for days watching a person whom they may have "treed." He could not stand it for days. He would drop down with fatigue, and then the bull would gore and trample him at pleasure. Would they be able to trace him from the camp? They would not think of that before nightfall. They would not think of him as "lost" before that time; and then they could not follow his trail in the darkness, nor even in the light--for the ground was hard as a rock, and he had made no footmarks. Marengo might trace him. The dog had been left at the camp, as Basil preferred "still-hunting" without him. But in his present situation the hunter's apprehensions were stronger than his hopes. Even Marengo might be baffled in lifting the scent. The trail was an exceedingly devious one, for Basil had meandered round the sides of the hill in search of game. Deer or other animals might have since crossed it, which might mislead the hound. It would be cold at night, and much colder next morning. There were many chances that no relief might reach him from the camp. Impressed with this conviction, Basil began to feel serious alarm. Not despair, however--he was not the boy to despair. His mind only grew more alive to the necessity for action. He looked around to discover some means of escape. His gun lay not a hundred yards off. Could he only get hold of the piece, and return safely to the tree again, he could there load it and put at end to the scene at once. But to reach the gun was impossible. The moose would bound after and overtake him to a certainty. The idea of getting the gun was abandoned. In the opposite direction to that in which the gun lay, Basil perceived that there were other trees. The nearest was but a dozen yards from him; and others, again, grew at about the same distance from that one, and from each other. Basil now conceived the idea of escaping to the nearest, and from that to the next, and by this means getting back into the thick forest. Once there, he believed that he would be the better able to effect his escape, and perhaps reach the camp by dodging from tree to tree. He could beat the moose for a dozen yards--getting a little the start of him--and this he hoped to be able to do. Should he fail in his short race, however--should his foot slip--the alternative was fearful. _It was no other than death_! He knew that, but it did not change his resolution to make the attempt. He only waited for the animal to work round between him and the tree towards which he intended to run. You will wonder that he did not prefer to have the moose on the other side. But he did not, for this reason--had the bull been there, he could have sprung after him at the first start; whereas, when heading the other way, Basil believed he could brush close past, and gain an advantage, as the unwieldy brute, taken by surprise, would require some time in turning himself to give chase. The opportunity at length arrived; and nerving himself for the race, the hunter sprang past the moose, brushing the very tips of its antlers. He ran without either stopping or even looking back, until he had reached the tree, and sheltered himself behind its trunk. The moose had followed, and arrived but the moment after, snorting and whistling furiously. Enraged at the _ruse_, it attacked this tree, as it had the other, with hoof and horns; and Basil nimbly evaded both by keeping on the opposite side, as before. In a few minutes he prepared himself for a second rush, and once more started. A third tree was reached in safety--and then a fourth, and a fifth, and many others, in a similar manner--the moose all the while following in hot pursuit. Basil had begun to hope that in this way he would get off, when, to his chagrin, he saw that an open space still intervened between him and the thick woods, upon which there were only a few trees, and those so small that not one of them would have sheltered him. This tract was full two hundred yards in width, and extended all along the edge of the thick forest. He dared not cross it. The moose would overtake him before he could get half the way; and he was obliged to give up the idea of making the attempt. As he stood behind the last tree he had reached, he saw that it branched, and the lowest branches grew but a little above his head. He could easily climb it, and at once resolved to do so. He would there be safe for the time, and could at least rest himself, for he was now weak with fatigue. He, therefore, stretched up his hands, and, laying hold of a branch, swung himself up into the tree. Then climbing up a little higher, he sat down on one of the forks. The moose appeared as furious as ever; and ran round the tree, now striking it with his horns, and then rearing upon his hind-legs, and pouncing against the trunk with his hoofs. At times his snout was so close to Basil, that the latter could almost touch it; and he had even drawn his hunting-knife, and reached down with the intent of giving the creature a stab. This last action led to a train of thought, and Basil seemed suddenly to adopt some new resolution. Leaving the fork where he had perched himself, he climbed higher up the tree; and, selecting one of the longest and straightest branches, commenced cutting it off close to the trunk. This was soon effected; and then, drawing it along his knee, he trimmed off all the twigs and tops until the branch became a straight pole, like a spear-handle. Along one end of this he laid the handle of his knife; and with thongs, which he had already cut out of the strap of his bullet-pouch, he spliced the knife and pole together. This gave him a formidable weapon--for the knife was a "bowie," and had a long blade, with a point like a rapier. He was not slow in using it. Descending again to the lowermost limbs, he commenced making demonstrations, in order to bring the moose within reach. This he very soon succeeded in doing; and the animal ran forward and reared up against the tree. Before it could get upon its four legs again, Basil had thrust it in the neck, giving full force to the blow. The blood rushed forth in a thick stream, as the jugular vein had been cut by the keen blade; and the huge brute was seen to totter in its steps, and then fall with a dull heavy sound to the earth. In a few moments the hunter had the satisfaction of perceiving that it was quite dead. Basil now dropped out of the tree, and walking back to where his rifle lay, took up the piece and carefully reloaded it. He then returned to the moose, and opening the great jaws of the animal, gagged them with a stick. He next unspliced his knife, took off the gristly lips, and cut out the tongue. These he placed in his game-bag, and shouldering his rifle, was about to depart; when some new idea caused him to halt, put down his gun, and again unsheath his knife. Once more approaching the carcass, he made an incision near the kidneys; and having inserted his hand, drew forth what appeared to be a part of the intestines. It was the bladder. He then looked around as if in search of something. Presently his eye rested upon some tall reed-grass that was growing near. This was just what he wanted, and, pulling up one of the stems, he cut and fashioned it into a pipe. With this the moose-bladder was blown out to its full dimensions, and tied at the neck by a piece of thong. The other end of the thong was fastened to one of the branches of the tree above, so that the bladder dangled within a few feet of the carcass of the moose, dancing about with the lightest breath of wind. All these precautions Basil had taken to keep the wolves from devouring the moose--for it was his intention to return and butcher it, as soon as he could get help. When he had hung the bladder to his liking, he put up his knife again; and, once more shouldering his rifle, walked off. On reaching the camp--which he did shortly after--the tongue of the moose was broiled without delay, and, after making a delicious meal of it, the whole party went off for the remainder of the meat. They found it all quite safe; although, had it not been for the bladder, not much of it would have been there--as no less than a dozen great gaunt wolves were seen lurking about, and these would have eaten it up in the shortest possible time. The bladder, however, had kept them off; for, strange to say, these creatures, who are as cunning as foxes, and can hardly be trapped, can yet be deceived and frightened by such a simple thing as a bladder dangling from a branch. The moose proved to be one of the largest of his kind. His height was quite equal to that of a horse; and his horns, flattened out to the breadth of shovels, weighed over sixty pounds. His carcass was not less than fifteen hundred pounds weight; and our voyageurs had to make two journeys to convey the meat to their camp. On the last journey, Francois brought the porcupine as well--having found it on the very same tree where Basil had left it! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. LIFE IN A LOG-HUT. The log-hut was finished on the 1st of September, and not a day too soon; for on that very day the winter set in with full severity. A heavy fall of snow came down in the night; and next morning, when our voyageurs looked abroad, the ground was covered to the depth of a foot, or more; and the ice upon the lake was also white. Walking through the great wreaths now became very difficult; and the next thing to be done was the making of "snow-shoes." Snow-shoes are an invention of the Indians; and, in the winter of the Arctic regions of America, are an article almost as indispensable as clothing itself. Without them, travelling afoot would be impossible. In these countries, as already stated, the snow often covers the ground to the depth of many feet; and remains without any considerable diminution for six, and, in some years, eight or nine months. At times, it is frozen hard enough on the surface to bear a man without the snow-shoes; but oftener on account of thaws and fresh falls, it becomes quite soft, and at such times travelling over it is both difficult and dangerous. To avoid both the difficulty and the danger, the Indians make use of this _very_ singular sort of foot-wear--called "snow-shoes" by the English, and "raquets" by the Canadian voyageurs. They are used by all the Indian tribes of the Hudson's Bay territory; and were it not for them these people would be confined to one place for months together, and could not follow the deer or other game. As almost all savages are improvident, and none more so than the North American Indians, were they prevented for a season from going out to hunt, whole tribes would starve. Indeed, many individuals of them perish with hunger as it is; and the life of all these Indians is nothing more than one continued struggle for food enough to sustain them. In summer they are often in the midst of plenty; slaughtering deer and buffalo by hundreds, taking out only the tongues, and recklessly leaving the flesh to the wolves! In winter the very same Indians may be seen without a pound of meat in their encampment--the lives of themselves and their families depending upon the success of a single day's hunt! But let us return to the snow-shoes. Let us see what they are, and learn how they are made. Any boy who has snared sparrows in snow-time, has, no doubt, done so by tying his snares upon a hoop netted across with twine or other small cord. Now, if he will conceive his hoop bent into an oblong shape-- something like what the figure of a boat turned on its mouth would make in snow--and if he will also fancy the netting to consist of thongs of twisted deer-hide woven somewhat closely together, he will get a very good idea of an Indian snow-shoe. It is usually from three to four feet long, by about a foot wide at the middle part, from which it tapers gently to a point, both at the heel and toe. The frame, as I have said, is like the hoop of a boy's bird-snare. It is made of light, tough wood, and, of course, carefully bent and polished with the knife. The slender branches of the "scrub-pine" (_Pinus Banksiana_) are esteemed excellent for this purpose, as their wood is light, flexible and tough in its fibres. This is also a favourite tree, where it grows, to make tent-poles, canoe-timbers, and other implements required by the Indians; and these people use so much of it for their arrows, that it has received from the Canadian voyageurs the name of _bois de fleche_ (arrow-wood). Well, then, the frame of the snow-shoes being bent to its proper shape, two transverse bars are placed across near the middle, and several inches from each other. They are for the foot to rest upon, as well as to give strength to the whole structure. These being made fast, the netting is woven on, and extends over the whole frame, with the exception of a little space in front of the bars where the ball of the foot is to rest. This space is left free of netting, in order to allow play to the toes while walking. The mesh-work is made of thongs usually cut from the parchment-skin of a deer, and twisted. Sometimes twisted intestines are used, and the netting exactly resembles that seen in "racquets" for ball play. The snow-shoe, when finished, is simply fastened upon the foot by means of straps or thongs; and a pair of them thus placed, will present a surface to the snow of nearly six square feet--more, if required, by making them larger. But this is enough to sustain the heaviest man upon the softest snow, and an Indian thus "shod" will skim over the surface like a skater. The shoes used by all tribes of Indians are not alike in shape. There are fashions and fancies in this respect. Some are made--as among the Chippewa Indians--with one side of the frame nearly straight; and these, of course, will not do for either foot, but are "rights and lefts." Generally, however, the shape is such that the snow-shoe will fit either foot. The snow-shoes having now become a necessary thing, our young voyageurs set about making a complete set for the whole party--that is, no less than four pairs. Norman was the "shoemaker," and Norman knew how. He could splice the frames, and work in the netting, equal to an Indian squaw. Of course all the others assisted him. Lucien cut the moose-skin into fine regular strips; Basil waded off through the snow, and procured the frames from the wood of the scrub-pine-trees where he had encountered the porcupine; and then he and Francois trimmed them with their knives, and sweated them in the hot ashes until they became dry, and ready for the hands of the "shoemaker." This work occupied them several days, and then each had a pair of shoes fitted to his size and weight. The next consideration was, to lay in a stock of meat. The moose had furnished them with enough for present use, but that would not last long, as there was no bread nor anything else to eat with it. Persons in their situation require a great deal of meat to sustain them, much more than those who live in great cities, who eat a variety of substances, and drink many kinds of drinks. The healthy voyageur is rarely without a keen appetite; and meat by itself is a food that speedily digests, and makes way for a fresh meal; so that the ration usually allowed to the _employes_ of the fur companies would appear large enough to supply the table of several families. For instance, in some parts of the Hudson's Bay territory, the voyageur is allowed eight pounds of buffalo-meat _per diem_! And yet it is all eaten by him, and sometimes deemed barely sufficient. A single deer, therefore, or even a buffalo, lasts a party of voyageurs for a very short time, since they have no other substance, such as bread or vegetables, to help it out. It was necessary, then, that our travellers should use all their diligence in laying up a stock of dried meat, before the winter became too cold for them to hunt. There was another consideration--their clothing. They all had clothing sufficient for such weather as they had yet experienced; but that would never do for the winter of the Great Slave Lake, and they knew it. Many deer must be killed, and many hides dressed, before they could make a full set of clothing for all, as well as a set of deerskin blankets, which would be much needed. As soon as the snow-shoes were finished, therefore, Basil and Norman went out each day upon long hunting expeditions, from which they rarely returned before nightfall. Sometimes they brought with them a deer, of the caribou or reindeer species, and the "woodland" variety, which were plenty at this place. They only carried to camp the best parts with the skin, as the flesh of the woodland caribou is not much esteemed. It is larger than the other kind--the "Barren Ground caribou," weighing about one hundred and fifty pounds; but both its venison and hide are of inferior quality to those of the latter species. Sometimes our hunters killed smaller game; and on several occasions they returned without having emptied their guns at all. But there was one day that made up for several--one grand day when they were extremely successful, and on which they killed a whole herd of moose, consisting of five individuals--the old bull, a spike buck--that is, a young buck, whose horns had not yet got antlers upon them--the cow, and two calves. These they had tracked and followed for a long distance, and had succeeded, at length, in running into a valley where the snow was exceedingly deep, and where the moose became entangled. There had been a shower of rain the day before that had melted the surface of the snow; and this had again frozen into an icy crust, upon which the deer lacerated their ankles at every plunge, leaving a track of blood behind them as they ran. Under these circumstances they were easily trailed, and Basil and Norman, skimming along upon their snow-shoes, soon came up with them, and shot first one and then another, until the whole herd were stretched in the valley. They then butchered them, and hung the hides and quarters upon high branches, so as to secure them from wolves and wolverenes. When the job was finished, the whole place looked like a great slaughter-yard! Next day a rude sledge was constructed; and the voyageurs, returning in full force, transported the meat to camp. Huge fires were kindled outside the hut, and several days were spent in cutting up and drying the flesh. Had our travellers been certain that the frost would have continued all winter, this would not have been necessary--since the meat was already frozen as hard as a brick. But they knew that a sudden thaw would spoil it; and, as there was plenty of good firewood on the spot, they were not going to run the risk of losing it in that way. They had now enough provision to last them for months; and hunting became no longer necessary, except to obtain fresh meat--which was, of course, preferable to the dry stock. Hunting, also, gave them exercise and amusement--both of which were necessary to their health; for to remain idle and inactive in a situation such as that in which they were placed is the worst possible plan, and is sure to engender both sickness and _ennui_. Indeed, the last grew upon them, notwithstanding all the pains they took to prevent it. There were days on which the cold was so extreme, that they could not put their noses out of the door without the danger of having them frost-bitten--although each had now a complete suit of deerskin clothing, made by Lucien, the "tailor" of the party. Upon such days they were fain to remain shut up in their hut; and, seated around their huge log-fire, they passed the time in cleaning their guns, mending their nets, stitching their clothes, and such-like employments. These days were far from being their dullest; for, what with the varied and scientific knowledge of Lucien, which he took pleasure in imparting to his companions--what with the practical experience of Norman amid scenes of Arctic life, and the many "voyageur tales" he could tell--what with Francois' merry jokes and _bon mots_-- and what with Basil's _talent for listening_--not the least important element in a good _conversazione_,--our _quartette_ of young voyageurs found their indoor days anything but dull. This was all well enough for a while. For a month or two they bore their odd kind of life cheerfully enough; but the prospect of nearly six months more of it began to appal them, when they reflected upon it; and they soon found themselves longing for a change. Hunting adventures, that at other times would have interested them, now occurred without creating any excitement; and the whole routine of their employments seemed monotonous. Nearly all of them were boys of an active character of mind; and most of them were old enough to reason about the value of time. Their idea of such a long isolation from civilised life, and, above all, the being debarred from following any useful pursuit, began to impress some of them forcibly. Others, as Francois, could not be contented for a very great stretch of time with any sort of life; so that all of them began to sigh for a change. One day, while conversing upon this theme, a bold proposal was made by Basil. It was, that they should "strike camp," and continue their journey. This proposal took the others by surprise, but they were all just in the frame of mind to entertain and discuss it; and a long consultation was held upon the point. Francois chimed in with the proposal at once; while Lucien, more cautious, did not exactly oppose, but rather offered the reasons that were against it, and pointed out the perils of the undertaking. Norman, of course, was appealed to--all of them looking to him as one whose advice, upon that question at least, was more valuable than their own. Norman admitted the dangers pointed out by Lucien, but believed that they might overcome them by a proper caution. On the whole, Norman approved of the plan, and it was at length adopted. Perhaps Norman's habitual prudence was to some extent influenced on this occasion by the very natural desire he had of returning to what he considered his home. He had now been absent nearly two years, and was desirous of once more seeing his father and his old companions at the Fort. There was another feeling that influenced nearly all of them: that was _ambition_. They knew that to make such a journey would be something of a feat, and they wished to have the credit of performing it. To minds like that of Basil, even the danger had something attractive in it. It was resolved then to break up the encampment, and continue their journey. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. TRAVELLING ON SNOW-SHOES. Once their resolution was taken, they lost but little time in making preparations to carry it out. Most of the articles required for such a journey were already in their hands. They had the proper dresses-- snow-shoes, skin-blankets, and gloves. They had prepared for themselves sets of "snow spectacles." These were made out of red cedar-wood. Each pair consisted of two small thin pieces, that covered the eyes, joined together and fastened on by thongs of buckskin. In each piece an oblong slit served for the eye-hole, through which the eye looked without being dazzled by the snow. Without this, or some like contrivance, travelling in the Arctic regions is painful to the eyes, and the traveller often loses his sight. Indeed, one of the most common infirmities of both the Indians and Esquimaux of these parts is blindness or soreness of the eyes, caused by the reflexion of the sunbeams from the crystals of the frozen snow. Norman was aware of this, and had made the spectacles to guard against this peril. Out of their spare skins they had made a small tent. This was to be carried along by Marengo in a light sledge, which they had long since constructed, and taught the dog to draw. Nothing else remained but to pack their provisions in the smallest bulk possible, and this was done, according to the custom of the country, by making "pemmican." The dry meat was first pounded until it became a powder; it was then put into small skin bags, made for the purpose, and the hot melted fat was poured in and well mixed with it. This soon froze hard, and the mixture--that resembled "potted meat,"--was now ready for use, and would keep for an indefinite time without the least danger of spoiling. Buffalo-beef, moose-meat, or venison of any sort, thus prepared, is called "_pemmican_," and is more portable in this shape than any other. Besides no further cooking is required--an important consideration upon those vast prairie deserts, where firewood is seldom to be procured without the trouble of carrying it a great distance. Norman, who was the maker of the pemmican, had produced a superior article upon this occasion. Besides the pounded meat and fat, he had mixed another ingredient with it, which rendered it a most delicious food. This third ingredient was a small purple-coloured berry--of which we have already spoken--not unlike the whortleberry, but sweeter and of a higher flavour. It grows through most of the Northern regions of America; and in some places, as upon the Red River and the Elk, the bushes that produce it are seen in great plenty. When in flower, they appear almost white, so thickly are they covered with blossoms. The leaves are small, and generally of an oval shape; but there are several varieties of the bush, some of them having the dimensions and form of trees, of twenty-five feet in height. The berries have received different names in different parts of America. They are known as "shadberries", "June-berries", "service-berries," and by the Canadian voyageurs they are called "le poire." Even the botanists have given them a great variety of names, as _pyrus, mespilus, aronia, crataegus_, and _amelanchier_. No matter which may be the best name, it is enough to know that these little berries are delicious to eat when fresh, and when dried, after the manner of currants, are excellent to mix in puddings, as well as in pemmican. Previous to the setting in of winter, our voyageurs had collected a large bagful upon the banks of the Elk, which they had dried and stored away--expecting to stand in need of them for this very purpose. They now came into use, and enabled Norman to make his pemmican of the very choicest quality. Five bags of it were put up, each weighing over thirty pounds. One of these was to be drawn upon the sledge, along with the tent, the axe, and a few other articles. The rest were to be carried by the voyageurs themselves--each shouldering one, which, along with their guns and accoutrements, would be load enough. These arrangements being at length complete, the party bid adieu to their log-hut--gave a parting look to their little canoe, which still rested by the door--and then, shouldering their guns and bags of pemmican, set out over the frozen surface of the snow. Of course before starting they had decided upon the route they were to take. This decision, however, had not been arrived at until after much discussion. Lucien advised that they should follow the shore of the lake until they should reach the Mackenzie River--which of course was now frozen up. Its channel, he argued, would then guide them; and, in case their provisions should run short, they would be more likely to find game upon its banks than elsewhere, as these were wooded almost to the sea--in consequence of its head-waters rising in southern latitudes, and carrying with them a warmer climate. There was plausibility in Lucien's argument, combined with much prudence. Norman, however, advised a contrary course. He said that they would have to make a considerable journey westward before reaching the place where the Mackenzie River flows out of the lake; and, moreover, he knew that the river itself was very crooked--in some places winding about in great curves, whose ends come near meeting each other. Should they keep the course of the river, Norman believed it would almost double their journey. A much shorter route, he said, would be obtained by striking across the country in a north-westerly direction, so as to reach the Mackenzie near where another great stream--the River of the Mountains--empties into it from the west. This would certainly be a more direct route, and they would avoid the windings of the river channel. Norman's reasoning prevailed. Basil and Francois readily agreed to his plan, and Lucien at length also gave his assent, but with some reluctance. Norman knew nothing whatever of the route he was advising them to take. His former journeys up and down the Mackenzie had been made in summer, and of course he had travelled by canoe, in company with the traders and voyageurs. He only knew that to strike across the country would be the shorter way. But "the shortest way is not always the nearest," says the proverb; and although Lucien remembered this prudent maxim, the others did not give it a thought. Before the end of their journey they received a practical lesson of its wisdom--a lesson they were not likely to forget. But they knew not what was before them, and they started off in high spirits. Their first three or four days' journeys were without any event worth being chronicled. They travelled full twenty miles each day. The Southerners had become quite skilful in the management of their snow-shoes, and they skimmed along upon the icy crust at the rate of three or four miles an hour. Marengo and his sledge gave them very little trouble. There was full sixty pounds weight upon it; but to the huge dog this was a mere bagatelle, and he pulled it after him without any great strain. His harness was neatly made of moose-skin, and consisted of a collar with a back strap and traces--the traces meeting behind, where they were attached to the head of the sledge. No head-gear was necessary, as Marengo needed not to be either led or driven. The sledge consisted of two or three light planks of smooth wood, laid alongside each other, and held together by transverse bands. In front it turned up with a circular sweep, so as not to "plough" the snow; and at the top of this curved part the traces were adjusted. The load was, of course, carefully packed and tied, so that the overturning of the vehicle did no damage whatever, and it could be easily righted again. Marengo required no one to guide him, but followed quietly in the tracks of the snow-shoes, and thus avoided the trees, rocks, and other inequalities. If a rabbit or other creature started up, Marengo knew better than to go galloping after it; he felt that he had a more important duty to perform than to throw away his time upon rabbit-hunting. Each night a spot was chosen for the camp by the side of some lake or stream, where wood could be obtained for their fire. Water was got by breaking a hole in the ice, and the little tent was always set up in a sheltered situation. Upon the fifth day after leaving the log-hut the woods began to grow thinner and more straggling; and towards night of the same day they found themselves travelling through a country, where the timber only grew here and there in small clumps, and the individual trees were small and stunted. Next day still less timber was seen upon their route; and when camping-time came, they were obliged to halt at a spot where nothing but willows could be procured for their fire. They had, in fact, arrived upon the edge of that vast wilderness, the Barren Grounds, which stretches in all its wild desolation along the Northern half of the American continent, (from the Great Slave Lake even to the shores of the Arctic Sea on the north, and to those of Hudson's Bay on the east). This territory bears an appropriate name, for, perhaps, upon the whole surface of the earth there is no tract more barren or desolate--not even the Sahara of Africa. Both are deserts of immense extent, equally difficult to cross, and equally dangerous to the traveller. On both the traveller often perishes, but from different causes. On the Sahara it is _thirst_ that kills; upon the Barren Grounds _hunger_ is more frequently the destroyer. In the latter there is but little to be feared on the score of water. That exists in great plenty; or where it is not found, snow supplies its place. But there is water everywhere. Hill succeeds hill, bleak, rocky, and bare. Everywhere granite, gneiss, or other primitive rocks, show themselves. No vegetation covers the steep declivities of the hills, except the moss and lichen upon the rocks, a few willows upon the banks of streams, the dwarf birch-tree (_Betula nana_), or the scrub-pines, rising only to the height of a few inches, and often straggling over the earth like vines. Every hill has its valley, and every valley its lake--dark, and deep, and silent--in winter scarce to be distinguished under the snow-covered ice. The prospect in every direction exhibits a surface of rocks, or bleak hills, half covered with snow. The traveller looks around and sees no life. He listens and hears no sound. The world appears dead and wrapped in its cold winding-sheet! Amidst just such scenes did our voyageurs find themselves on the seventh day after parting from the lake. They had heard of the Barren Grounds,--had heard many fearful stories of the sufferings of travellers who had attempted to cross them; but the description had fallen far short of the actual reality. None of them could believe in the difficulties to be encountered, and the desolateness of the scene they were to witness, until now that they found themselves in its midst; and, as they proceeded on their journey, getting farther and farther from the wooded region, their apprehensions, already aroused by the wild aspect of the country, grew stronger and stronger. They began to entertain serious fears, for they knew not how far the barren tract extended along their route. On calculation they found they had provisions enough to last them for a month. That in some measure restored their confidence; but even then, they could not help giving way to serious reflections. Should they get lost or retarded in their course by mountains, or other obstacles, it might take them longer than a month to reach some place where game was to be met with. Each day, as they advanced, they found the country more hilly and difficult. Precipices often bounded the valleys, lying directly across their track; and as these could not be scaled, it was necessary to make long _detours_ to pass them, so that some days they actually advanced less than five miles upon their journey. Notwithstanding these impediments, they might still have got over the Barren Grounds without further suffering than the fatigue and necessary exposure to cold; but at this time an incident occurred, that not only frustrated all their calculations, but placed them in imminent danger of perishing. CHAPTER THIRTY. THE BARREN GROUNDS. The Barren Grounds are not entirely destitute of animal life. Even in winter--when they are almost covered with snow, and you would suppose that no living creature could procure subsistence upon them--even then they have their denizens; and, strange to say, there are many animals that choose them for their home. There is no part of the earth's surface so sterile but that some animated being can find a living upon it, and such a being Nature adapts to its peculiar situation. For instance, there are animals that prefer the very desert itself, and would not thrive were you to place them in a country of mild climate and fertile soil. In our own species this peculiarity is also found--as the Esquimaux would not be happy were you to transplant him from his icy hut amidst the snows of the Arctic regions, and give him a palace under the genial skies of Italy. Among other creatures that remain all winter upon the Barren Grounds, are the wolves. How they exist there is almost a question of the naturalists. It is true they prey upon other animals found at times in the same district; but wolves have been met with where not the slightest traces of other living creatures could be seen! There is no animal more generally distributed over the earth's surface than the wolf. He exists in nearly every country, and most likely has at one time existed in all. In America there are wolves in its three zones. They are met with from Cape Horn to the farthest point northward that man has reached. They are common in the tropical forests of Mexico and South America. They range over the great prairies of the temperate zones of both divisions of the continent, and in the colder regions of the Hudson's Bay territory they are among the best known of wild animals. They frequent the mountains, they gallop over the plains, they skulk through the valleys, they dwell everywhere--everywhere the wolf seems equally at home. In North America two very different kinds are known. One is the "prairie" or "barking" wolf, which we have already met with and described. The other species is the "common" or "large" wolf; but it is not decided among naturalists that there are not several distinct species of the latter. At all events, there are several varieties of it--distinguished from each other in size, colour, and even to some extent in form. The habits of all, however, appear to be similar, and it is a question, whether any of these varieties be _permanent_ or only _accidental_. Some of them, it is well-known, are accidental--as wolves differing in colour have been found in the same litter--but late explorers, of the countries around and beyond the Rocky Mountains, have discovered one or two kinds that appear to be specifically distinct from the common wolf of America--one of them, the "dusky wolf," being much larger. This last is said to resemble the wolf of Europe (the Pyrenean wolf, _Canis lupus_) more than the other American wolves do--for there is a considerable difference between the wolves of the two continents. Those of the Northern regions of America have shorter ears, a broader snout and forehead, and are of a stouter make, than the European wolves. Their fur, too, is finer, denser, and longer; their tails more bushy and fox-like; and their feet broader. The European wolf, on the contrary, is characterised by a gaunt appearance, a pointed snout, long jaws, high ears, long legs, and feet very narrow. It is possible, notwithstanding these points of difference, that both may be of the same species, the difference arising from a want of similitude in the circumstances by which they are surrounded. For instance, the dense wool of the Hudson's Bay wolf may be accounted for by the fact of its colder habitat, and its broader feet may be the result of its having to run much upon the surface of the snow. The writer of this little book believes that this peculiar adaptation of Nature--which may be observed in all her kingdoms--may explain the difference that exists between the wolves of the Northern parts of America and those of the South of Europe. He believes, moreover, that those of the Southern parts of the American continent approximate more nearly to the Pyrenean wolves, as he has seen in the tropical forests of Mexico some that possessed all that "gaunt" form and "sneaking" aspect that characterise the latter. It would be interesting to inquire whether the wolves of Siberia and Lapland, inhabiting a similar climate to that of the Northern parts of America, do not possess the same peculiarities as the North American kind--a point which naturalists have not yet considered, and which you, my boy reader, may some day find both amusement and instruction in determining for yourself. With regard to colour the wolves of both continents exhibit many varieties. In North America there are more than half-a-dozen colours of them, all receiving different names. There is the "grey wolf," the "white," the "brown," the "dusky," the "pied," and the "black." These trivial names will give a good enough idea of the colours of each kind, but there are even varieties in their markings. "Yellow" wolves, too, have been seen, and "red" ones, and some of a "cream colour." Of all these the grey wolf is the most common, and is _par excellence the wolf_; but there are districts in which individuals of other colours predominate. Wolves purely black are plenty in many parts, and white wolves are often seen in large packs. Even those of the same colour differ in size, and that to a considerable extent. And, what is also strange, large wolves will be found in one district of country, while much smaller ones _of the same colour and species_ inhabit another. The largest in size of American wolves are about six feet in length, the tail included; and about three feet in height, measuring to the tips of the standing fur. The tail is usually about one-third of the whole length. The habits of the American wolf are pretty much like those of his European cousin. He is a beast of prey, devouring all the smaller animals he can lay hold of. He pursues and overtakes the deer, and often runs down the fox and makes a meal of it. He will kill and eat Indian dogs, although these are so near his own species that the one is often taken for the other. But this is not all, for he will even eat his own kind, on a pinch. He is as cunning as the fox himself, and as cowardly; but at times, when impelled by hunger, he becomes bolder, and has been known to attack man. Instances of this kind, however, are rare. The American wolves burrow, and, like the fox, have several entrances to their holes. A litter of young wolves numbers five puppies, but as many as eight are often produced at one birth. During their journey through the Barren Grounds our voyageurs had frequently observed wolves. They were mostly grey ones, and of great size, for they were travelling through a district where the very largest kind is found. At times they saw a party of five or six together; and these appeared to be following upon their trail--as each night, when they came barking about the camp, our travellers recognised some of them as having been seen before. They had made no attempt to shoot any of them--partly because they did not want either their skins or flesh, and partly because their ammunition had been reduced to a small quantity, and they did not wish to spend it unnecessarily. The wolves, therefore, were allowed to approach very near the camp, and howl as much as they liked--which they usually did throughout the livelong night. What they found to allure them after our travellers, the latter could not make out; as they had not shot an animal of any kind since leaving the lake, and scarcely a scrap of anything was ever left behind them. Perhaps the wolves were _living upon hope_. One evening our travellers had made their camp on the side of a ridge-- which they had just crossed--and under the shelter of some rough rocks. There was no wood in the neighbourhood wherewith to make a fire; but they had scraped the snow from the place over which their tent was pitched, and under it their skins were spread upon the ground. As the tent was a very small one, Marengo's sledge, with the utensils and pemmican bags, was always left outside close by the opening. Marengo himself slept there, and that was considered sufficient to secure all these things from wolves, or any other creatures that might be prowling about. On the evening in question, the sledge was in its usual place--the dog having been taken from it--and as our voyageurs had not yet had their supper, the pemmican bags were lying loosely about, one or two of them being open. There was a small rivulet at the foot of the ridge--some two hundred paces distant--and Basil and Francois had gone down to it to get water. One of them took the axe to break the ice with, while the other carried a vessel. On arriving near the bank of the rivulet, the attention of the boys was attracted to a singular appearance upon the snow. A fresh shower had fallen that morning, and the surface was still soft, and very smooth. Upon this they observed double lines of little dots, running in different directions, which, upon close inspection, appeared to be the tracks of some animal. At first, Basil and Francois could hardly believe them to be such, the tracks were so very small. They had never seen so small ones before--those of a mouse being quite double the size. But when they looked more closely at them, the boys could distinguish the marks of five little toes with claws upon them, which left no doubt upon their minds that some living creature, and that a very diminutive one, must have passed over the spot. Indeed, had the snow not been both fine-grained and soft, the feet of such a creature could not have made any impression upon it. The boys stopped and looked around, thinking they might see the animal itself. There was a wide circle of snow around them, and its surface was smooth and level; but not a speck upon it betrayed the presence of any creature. "Perhaps it was a bird," said Francois, "and has taken flight." "I think not," rejoined Basil. "They are not the tracks of a bird. It is some animal that has gone under the snow, I fancy." "But I see no hole," said Francois, "where even a beetle could have gone down. Let us look for one." At Francois' suggestion, they walked on following one of the dotted lines. Presently they came to a place, where a stalk of long grass stood up through the snow--its seedless panicle just appearing above the surface. Round this stalk a little hole had been formed--partly by the melting of the snow, and partly by the action of the wind upon the panicle--and into this hole the tracks led. It was evident that the animal, whatever it was, must have gone down the culm of the grass in making its descent from the surface of the snow! They now observed another track going from the hole in an opposite direction, which showed that the creature had climbed up in the same way. Curious to know what it might have been, the boys hailed Lucien and Norman, telling them to come down. These, followed by Marengo, soon arrived upon the spot. When Lucien saw the tracks, he pronounced them at once to be those of the little shrew-mouse (_Sorex parvus_), the smallest of all the quadrupeds of America. Several of them had evidently been out upon the snow--as there were other dotted lines--and the tops of many stalks of grass were seen above the surface, each of which had formed a little hole around it, by which the mice were enabled to get up and down. Norman, who had seen these little animals before, cautioned his companions to remain quiet awhile, and perhaps some of them might come to the surface. They all stopped therefore, and stood some time without moving, or speaking to one another. Presently, a little head not much bigger than a pea was seen peeping up, and then a body followed, which in size did not exceed that of a large gooseberry! To this a tail was suspended, just one inch in length, of a square shape, and tapering from root to point, like that of any other mouse. The little creature was covered with a close smooth fur, of a clove-brown colour above, but more yellowish upon the belly and sides; and was certainly, as it sat upon the even surface of the snow, the most diminutive and oddest-looking quadruped that any of the party had ever beheld. They were just whispering to one another what means they should use to capture it, when Marengo, whom Basil had been holding quiet, all at once uttered a loud bay; and, springing out of the hands of his master, galloped off towards the camp. All of them looked after, wondering what had started the dog; but his strange behaviour was at once explained, and to their consternation. Around the tent, and close to its entrance, several large wolves were seen. They were leaping about hurriedly, and worrying some objects that lay upon the ground. What these objects were was too plain. They were _the bags of pemmican_! Part of their contents was seen strewed over the snow, and part was already in the stomachs of the wolves. The boys uttered a simultaneous shout, and ran forward. Marengo was by this time among the wolves, and had set fiercely upon one of them. Had his masters not been at hand, the fierce brutes would soon have settled the account with Marengo. But the former were now close by, and the wolves, seeing them, ran off; but, to the consternation of the boys, each of them carried off a bag of the pemmican in his mouth with as much lightness and speed as if nothing encumbered them! "We are lost!" cried Norman, in a voice of terror. "Our provisions are gone!--all gone!" It was true. The next moment the wolves disappeared over the summit of the ridge; and although each of the boys had seized his gun, and ran after, the pursuit proved an idle one. Not a wolf was overtaken. Scarce a scrap of the pemmican had been left--only some fragments that had been gnawed by the ravenous brutes, and scattered over the snow. That night our travellers went to bed supperless; and, what with hunger, and the depression of spirits caused by this incident, one and all of them kept awake nearly the whole of the night. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE ROCK-TRIPE. They left their skin-couch at an early hour, close after daybreak. Hunger and anxiety drove them out of their tent. Not a morsel of anything for breakfast! They looked abroad over the country, in order, if possible, to descry some living creature. None could be seen-- nothing but the wilderness waste of snow, with here and there the side of a steep hill, or a rock showing cold and bleak. Even the wolves that had robbed them were no longer to be seen, as if these creatures knew that they had got all that was worth having, and had now taken themselves off to hunt for plunder elsewhere. The situation of our travellers was really one of extreme peril, although it may be difficult for you, young reader, to conceive why it should be so. They, however, knew it well. They knew that they might travel for days through that inhospitable region, without falling in with anything that would make a single meal for them. But less time than that would suffice to starve them all. Already they felt the pangs of hunger--for they had not eaten since their breakfast of the preceding day, the wolves having interrupted their preparations for dinner. It was of no use remaining where they were; so, striking their tent once more, they travelled forward. It was but poor consolation to them that they travelled much lighter than before. They had nothing to carry but their guns, and these they had got ready for work--so that their journey partook somewhat of the character of a hunting excursion. They did not even follow a direct course, but occasionally turned to one side or the other, wherever a clump of willows, or any other roughness on the ground, looked like it might be the shelter of game. But during that whole day--although they travelled from near sunrise to sunset--not a living thing was seen; and for the second night they went supperless to bed. A man will bear hunger for many days--some more, some less--without actually dying of it; but at no period will his sufferings be greater than during the third or fourth day. He will grow more feeble afterwards, but the pain which he endures will not be greater. On the third day the sufferings of our party were extreme. They began to chew pieces of their skin-tent and blankets; but although this took the sharp edge off their appetites, it added nothing to their strength; and they still craved for food, and grew feebler. To use a poetical phrase, Marengo now became the "cynosure of every eye." Marengo was not very fat. The sledge and short rations had thinned him down, and his ribs could be easily traced. Although the boys, and Basil in particular, would have suffered much before sacrificing him, yet starvation will reconcile a man to part with his best friend. In spite of their friendship for Marengo, his masters could not help scanning him from time to time with hungry looks. Marengo was an old dog, and, no doubt, as tough as a piece of tan-leather; but their appetites were made up for anything. It was near midday. They had started early, as on the day before. They were trudging wearily along, and making but little progress. Marengo was struggling with his sledge, feeble as any of the party. Basil saw that the eyes of his companions were from time to time bent upon the dog; and though none of them said anything, he understood the thoughts that were passing within them. He knew that none of them wished to propose it--as Basil was the real master of Marengo--but their glances were sufficiently intelligible to him. He looked at the downcast countenance of the once merry Francois,--at the serious air of Norman-- at the wan cheek and sunken eye of Lucien, whom Basil dearly loved. He hesitated no longer. His duty to his companions at once overcame his affection for his faithful dog. "We must kill him!" said he, suddenly stopping, and pointing to Marengo. The rest halted. "I fear there's no help for it," said Norman, turning his face in every direction, and sweeping the surface of the snow with hopeless glances. Francois also assented to the proposal. "Let us make a condition," suggested Lucien; "I for one could walk five miles farther." And as Lucien said this, he made an effort to stand erect, and look strong and brave; but Basil knew it was an effort of _generosity_. "No," said he,--"no, dear Luce. You are done up. We must kill the dog!" "Nonsense, Basil, you mistake," replied the other; "I assure you I am far from being done up. I could go much farther yet. Stay!" continued he, pointing ahead; "you see yonder rocks? They are about three miles off, I should think. They lie directly in our course. Well, now, let us agree to this condition. Let us give poor Marengo a chance for his life. If we find nothing before reaching those rocks, why then--" And Lucien, seeing Marengo gazing up in his face, left the sentence unfinished. The poor brute looked up at all of them as though he understood every word that they were saying; and his mute appeal, had it been necessary, would not have been thrown away. But it did not require that to get him the proposed respite. All agreed willingly with Lucien's proposition; and, shouldering their pieces, the party moved on. Lucien had purposely understated the distance to the rocks. It was five, instead of three miles; and some of them made it full ten, as they were determined Marengo should have the benefit of every chance. They deployed like skirmishers; and not a brake or brush that lay to the right or left of the path but was visited and beaten by one or other of them. Their diligence was to no purpose. After two hours' weary work, they arrived among the rocks, having seen not a trace of either quadruped or bird. "Come!" cried Lucien in his now feeble voice, still trying to look cheerful, "we must pass through them. There is a chance yet. Let him have fair play. The rocks were to be the limit, but it was not stated what part of them. Let us pass through to the other side--they do not extend far." Encouraged by the words of Lucien, the party entered among the rocks, moving on separate paths. They had gone only a few paces, when a shout from Norman caused the rest to look to him for an explanation. No animal was in sight. Had he seen any? No; but something that gratified him certainly, for his voice and manner expressed it. "What is it?" inquired the others, all speaking at the same time. "_Tripe de roche_!" answered he. "_Tripe de roche_?" "Yes," replied Norman, "look there!" and he pointed to one of the rocks directly ahead of them, at the same time moving forward to it. The others hastened up after. On reaching the rock, they saw what Norman had meant by the words _tripe de roche_ (rock-tripe). It was a black, hard, crumply substance, that nearly covered the surface of the rock, and was evidently of a vegetable nature. Lucien knew what it was as well as Norman, and joy had expressed itself upon his pale cheeks at the sight. As for Basil and Francois they only stood waiting an explanation, and wondering what value a quantity of "rock moss," as they deemed it, could be to persons in their condition. Lucien soon informed them that it was not a "moss," but a "lichen," and of that celebrated species which will sustain human life. It was the _Gyrophora_. Norman confirmed Lucien's statement, and furthermore affirmed, that not only the Indians and Esquimaux, but also parties of voyageurs, had often subsisted upon it for days, when they would otherwise have starved. There are many species,--not less than five or six. All of them possess nutritive properties, but only one is a palatable food--the _Gyrophora vellea_ of botanists. Unfortunately, this was not the sort which our voyageurs had happened upon, as it grows only upon rocks shaded by woods, and is rarely met with in the open barrens. The one, however, which Norman had discovered was the "next best," and they were all glad at finding even that. The first thing to be thought of was to collect it, and all four set to peeling and scraping it from the rocks. The next thought was to make it ready for eating. Here a new difficulty stared them in the face. The _tripe de roche_ had to be boiled,--it could not be eaten else,--and where was the fire? where was the wood to make one? Not a stick was to be seen. They had not met with a tree during all that day's journey! They were now as badly off as ever. The _tripe de roche_ would be of no more use to them than so much dry grass. What could they do with it? In the midst of their suspense, one of them thought of the sledge-- Marengo's sledge. That would make a fire, but a very small one. It might do to cook a single meal. Even that was better than none. Marengo was not going to object to the arrangement. He looked quite willing to part with the sledge. But a few hours before, it came near being used to cook Marengo himself. He was not aware of that, perhaps, but no matter. All agreed that the sledge must be broken up, and converted into firewood. They were about taking it to pieces, and had already "unhitched" Marengo from it, when Basil, who had walked to the other side of the rocky jumble, cried back to them to desist. He had espied some willows at no great distance. Out of these a fire could be made. The sledge, therefore, was let alone for the present. Basil and Francois immediately started for the willows, while Norman and Lucien remained upon the spot to prepare the "tripe" for the pot. In a short time the former parties returned with two large bundles of willows, and the fire was kindled. The _tripe de roche_, with some snow--for there was no water near--was put into the pot, and the latter hung over the blaze. After boiling for nearly an hour, the lichen became reduced to a soft gummy pulp, and Norman thickened the mess to his taste by putting in more snow, or more of the "tripe," as it seemed to require it. The pot was then taken from the fire, and all four greedily ate of its contents. It was far from being palatable, and had a clammy "feel" in the mouth, something like sago; but none of the party was in any way either dainty or fastidious just at that time, and they soon consumed all that had been cooked. It did not satisfy the appetite, though it filled the stomach, and made their situation less painful to bear. Norman informed them that it was much better when cooked with a little meat, so as to make broth. This Norman's companions could easily credit, but where was the meat to come from? The Indians prefer the _tripe de roche_ when prepared along with the roe of fish, or when boiled in fish liquor. Our weary voyageurs resolved to remain among the rocks for that night at least; and with this intent they put up their little tent. They did not kindle any fire, as the willows were scarce, and there would be barely enough to make one or two more boilings of the rock-tripe. They spread their skins within the tent, and creeping in, kept one another as warm as they could until morning. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. THE POLAR HARE AND GREAT SNOWY OWL. Of course hunger kept them from sleeping late. They were up and out of the tent by an early hour. Their fire was re-kindled, and they were making preparations for a fresh pot of rock-tripe, when they were startled by the note of a well-known bird. On looking up, they beheld seated upon the point of a rock the creature itself, which was the "cinereous crow" (_Garrulus Canadensis_), or, as it is better known, the "whiskey Jack." The latter name it receives from the voyageurs, on account of the resemblance of its Indian appellation, "whiskae-shaw-neesh," to the words "whiskey John." Although sometimes called the "cinereous crow," the bird is a true jay. It is one of the most inelegant of the genus, being of a dull grey colour, and not particularly graceful in its form. Its plumage, moreover, does not consist of webbed feathers, but rather more resembles hair; nor does its voice make up for the plainness of its appearance, as is the case with some birds. On the contrary, the voice of "whiskey Jack" is plaintive and squeaking, though he is something of a mocker in his way, and frequently imitates the notes of other birds. He is one of those creatures that frequent the habitations of man, and there is not a fur post, or fort, in all the Hudson's Bay territory, where "whiskey Jack" is not familiarly known. He is far from being a favourite, however, as, like his near relative the magpie, he is a great thief, and will follow the marten-trapper all day while baiting his traps, perching upon a tree until the bait is set, and then pouncing down, and carrying it off. He frequently pilfers small articles from the forts and encampments, and is so bold as to enter the tents, and seize food out of any vessel that may contain it. Notwithstanding all this, he is a favourite with the traveller through these inhospitable regions. No matter how barren the spot where the voyageur may make his camp, his tent will hardly be pitched, before he receives a visit from "whiskey Jack," who comes, of course, to pick up any crumbs that may fall. His company, therefore, in a region where all other wild creatures shun the society of man, endears him to the lonely traveller. At many of their camps our voyageurs had met with this singular bird, and were always glad to receive him as a friend. They were now doubly delighted to see him, but this delight arose from no friendly feelings. Their guest was at once doomed to die. Francois had taken up his gun, and in the next moment would have brought him down, had he not been checked by Norman. Not that Norman intended to plead for his life, but Norman's eye had caught sight of another "whiskey Jack,"--which was hopping among the rocks at some distance--and fearing that Francois' shot might frighten it away, had hindered him from firing. It was Norman's design to get both. The second "whiskey Jack," or, perhaps, it was the whiskey "Jill," soon drew near; and both were now seen to hop from rock to rock, and then upon the top of the tent, and _one of them actually settled_ upon the edge of the pot, as it hung over the fire, and quietly looking into it, appeared to scrutinise its contents! The boys could not think of any way of getting the birds, except by Francois' gun; and it was at length agreed that Francois should do his best. He was sure of one of them, at least; so telling the others to get behind him, he fired at the more distant one where it sat upon the tent, and took the other on the wing. Both shots were successful. The two jays fell, and were soon divested of their soft, silky, hair-like plumage, and dropped into the boiling pot. They did not weigh together more than about six or seven ounces; but even that was accounted something under present circumstances; and, with the _tripe de roche_, a much better breakfast was made than they had anticipated. No more of the lichen could be found. The rocks were all searched, but only a few patches--not enough for another full meal--could be obtained. The travellers had no other resource, therefore, but to continue on, and passing through the rocky ground, they once more embarked upon the wilderness of snow. During that whole day not a living creature gladdened their eyes. They saw nothing that was eatable--fish, flesh, fowl, or vegetable. Not even a bit of rock-tripe--in these parts the last resource of starving men-- could be met with. They encamped in a plain, where not a tree stood-- not even a rock to shelter them. Next morning a consultation was held. Marengo was again the subject of their thoughts and conversation. Should they kill him on the spot or go a little farther? That was the question. Lucien, as before, interposed in his favour. There was a high hill many miles off, and in their proper course. "Let us first reach yonder hill," proposed Lucien. "If nothing is found before that, then we must part with Marengo." The proposal was agreed to, and, striking their tent, they again set out. It was a toilsome long way to that hill--feeble and weary as they all were--but they reached it without having observed the slightest trace of animal life. "Up the hill!" cried Lucien, beckoning to the others, and cheering them with his weak voice, "Up the hill!" On they went, up the steep declivity--Marengo toiling on after them. The dog looked downcast and despairing. He really appeared to know the conditions that had been made for his life. His masters, as they crept upward, looked sharply before them. Every tuft that appeared above the snow was scrutinised, and every inch of the ground, as it came into view, was examined. At length they crossed the escarpment of the hill, and stood upon the summit. They gazed forward with disappointed feelings. The hill-top was a sort of table plain, of about three hundred yards in diameter. It was covered with snow, nearly a foot in depth. A few heads of withered grass were seen above the surface, but not enough to subdue the uniform white that prevailed all over. There was no creature upon it; that was evident. A bird as big as a sparrow, or a quadruped as large as a shrew-mouse, could have been seen upon any part of it. A single glance satisfied all of them that no living thing was there. They halted without proceeding farther. Some of them could not have gone another mile, and all of them were tottering in their tracks. Marengo had arrived upon the summit, and stood a little to one side, with the sledge behind him. "_You_ must do it!" said Basil, speaking to Norman in a hoarse voice, and turning his head away. Lucien and Francois stepped aside at the same time, and stood as if looking down the hill. The countenances of all three betokened extreme sorrow. There was a tear in Basil's eye that he was trying to wipe away with his sleeve. The sharp click of Norman's gun was heard behind them, and they were all waiting for the report, when, at that moment, a dark shadow passing over the white declivity arrested their attention! It was the shadow of a bird upon the wing. The simultaneous exclamation of all three stayed Norman's finger--already pressing upon the trigger--and the latter, turning round, saw that they were regarding some object in the air. It was a bird of great size--almost as large as an eagle, but with the plumage of a swan. It was white all over--both body and wings--white as the snow over which it was sailing. Norman knew the bird at a glance. Its thick short neck and large head--its broad-spreading wings, of milky whiteness, were not to be mistaken. It was the "great snowy owl" of the Arctic regions. Its appearance suddenly changed the aspect of affairs. Norman let the butt of his rifle fall to the ground, and stood, like the rest, watching the bird in its flight. The snowy owl (_Strix nyctea_) is, perhaps, the most beautiful, as it is one of the most powerful birds of its genus--of which there are more than a dozen in North America. It is a bird of the Polar regions--even the most remote--and in the dead of winter it is found within the Arctic circle, on both Continents--although at the same season it also wanders farther south. It dwells upon the Barren Grounds as well as in wooded districts. In the former it squats upon the snow, where its peculiar colour often prevents it from being noticed by the passing hunter. Nature has furnished it with every protection from the cold. Its plumage is thick, closely matted, and downy, and it is feathered to the very eyes--so that its legs appear as large as those of a good-sized dog. The bill, too, is completely hidden under a mass of feathers that cover its face, and not even a point of its whole body is exposed. The owl is usually looked upon as a night-bird, and in Southern latitudes it is rarely seen by day; but the owls of the Northern regions differ from their congeners in this respect. They hunt by day, even during the bright hours of noon. Were it not so, how could they exist in the midst of an Arctic summer, when the days are months in duration? Here we have another example of the manner in which Nature trains her wild creatures to adapt themselves to their situation. At least a dozen species of owls frequent the territory of the Hudson's Bay Company--the largest of which is the cinereous owl, whose wings have a spread of nearly five feet. Some species migrate south on the approach of winter; while several, as the snowy owl, remain to prey upon the ptarmigan, the hares, and other small quadrupeds, who, like themselves, choose that dreary region for their winter home. Our travellers, as I have said, stood watching the owl as it soared silently through the heavens. Francois had thrown his gun across his left arm, in hopes he might get a shot at it; but the bird--a shy one at all times--kept away out of range; and, after circling once or twice over the hill, uttered a loud cry and flew off. Its cry resembled the moan of a human being in distress; and its effect upon the minds of our travellers, in the state they then were, was far from being pleasant. They watched the bird with despairing looks, until it was lost against the white background of a snow-covered hill. They had noticed that the owl appeared to be just taking flight when they first saw it. It must have risen up from the hill upon which they were; and they once more ran their eyes along the level summit, curious to know where it had been perched that they had not seen it. No doubt, reflected they, it had been near enough, but its colour had rendered it undistinguishable from the snow. "What a pity!" exclaimed Francois. While making these reflections, and sweeping their glances around, an object caught their eyes that caused some of them to ejaculate and suddenly raise their guns. This object was near the centre of the summit table, and at first sight appeared to be only a lump of snow; but upon closer inspection, two little round spots of a dark colour, and above these two elongated black marks, could be seen. Looking steadily, the eye at length traced the outlines of an animal, that sat in a crouching attitude. The round spots were its eyes, and the black marks above them were tips of a pair of very long ears. All the rest of its body was covered with a soft white fur, hardly to be distinguished from the snow upon which it rested. The form and colour of the animal, but more especially its long erect ears, made it easy for them to tell what it was. All of them saw it was a hare. "Hush!" continued Norman, as soon as he saw it, "keep still all of you-- leave it to me." "What shall we do?" demanded Basil. "Can we not assist you?" "No," was the reply, uttered in a whisper, "stay where you are. Keep the dog quiet. I'll manage puss, if the owl hasn't scared her too badly. That scream has started her out of her form. I'm certain she wasn't that way before. Maybe she'll sit it out. Lucky the sun's high--don't move a step. Have the dog ready, but hold him tight, and keep a sharp look out if she bolts." After giving these instructions, that were all uttered quickly and in an under tone, Norman moved off, with his gun carried across his arm. He did not move in the direction of the hare, but rather as if he was going from her. His course, however, bent gradually into a circle of which the hare was the centre--the diameter being the full breadth of the summit level, which was about three hundred yards. In this circle he walked round and round, keeping his eye fixed upon the crouching animal. When he had nearly completed one circumference, he began to shorten the diameter--so that the curve which he was now following was a spiral one, and gradually drawing nearer to the hare. The latter kept watching him as he moved--curiosity evidently mingling with her fears. Fortunately, as Norman had said, the sun was nearly in the vertex of the heavens, and his own body cast very little shadow upon the snow. Had it been otherwise, the hare would have been frightened at the moving shadow, and would have sprung out of her form, before he could have got within range. When he had made some four or five circuits, Norman moved slower and slower, and then stopped nearly opposite to where the others were. These stood watching him with beating hearts, for they knew that the life of Marengo, and perhaps their own as well, depended on the shot. Norman had chosen his place, so that in case the hare bolted, she might run towards them, and give them the chance of a flying shot. His gun was already at his shoulder--his finger rested on the trigger, and the boys were expecting the report, when again the shadow of a bird flitted over the snow, a loud human-like scream sounded in their ears, and the hare was seen to spring up, and stretch her long legs in flight. At the same instant the great snowy owl was observed wheeling above, and threatening to pounce upon the fleeing animal! The hare ran in a side-direction, but it brought her as she passed within range of the party by the sledge. The owl kept above her as she ran. A dozen leaps was all the hare ever made. A loud crack was heard, and she was seen to spring up and fall back upon the snow, dead as a doornail. Like an echo another crack followed--a wild scream rang through the air, and the great white owl fell fluttering to the earth. The reports were not of a rifle. They were the louder detonations of a shot-gun. All eyes were turned towards Francois, who, like a little god, stood enveloped in a halo of blue smoke. Francois was the hero of the hour. Marengo rushed forward and seized the struggling owl, that snapped its bill at him like a watch-man's rattle. But Marengo did not care for that; and seizing its head in his teeth, gave it a crunch that at once put an end to its flapping. Marengo was reprieved, and he seemed to know it, as he bounded over the snow, waving his tail, and barking like a young fool. They all ran up to the hare, which proved to be the "Polar hare" (_Lepus glacialis_), and one of the largest of its species--not less than fifteen pounds in weight. Its fur, soft and white like swan-down, was stained with red blood. It was not quite dead. Its little heart yet beat faintly, and the light of life was still shining from its beautiful honey-coloured eyes. Both it and the owl were taken up and carried to the sledge, which was once more attached to Marengo, as the party intended to go forward and halt under the shelter of the hill. "There must be some wood in this quarter," remarked Norman: "I never knew this sort of hare far from timber." "True," said Lucien, "the Polar hare feeds upon willows, arbutus, and the Labrador tea-plant. Some of these kinds must be near." While they were speaking, they had reached the brow of the hill, on the opposite side from where they had ascended. On looking into the valley below, to their great joy they beheld some clumps of willows, and good-sized trees of poplar, birch, and spruce-pine (_Pinus alba_), and passing down the hill, the travellers soon stood in their midst. Presently was heard the chipping sound of an axe and crash of falling timber, and in a few moments after a column of smoke was seen soaring up out of the valley, and curling cheerfully towards the bright blue sky. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE JUMPING MOUSE AND THE ERMINE. Large as the hare was, she would have made but a meal for our four hungry voyageurs, had they eaten at will. By Lucien's advice, however, they restrained themselves, and half of her was left for supper, when the "cook" promised to make them hare-soup. The head, feet, and other spare bits, fell to Marengo's share. The owl, whose flesh was almost as white as its plumage, and, as Norman well knew, most delicate eating, was reserved for to-morrow's breakfast. They had pitched their tent with the intention of remaining at that place all night, and continuing their journey next day; but, as it still wanted several hours of sunset, and the strength of all was considerably recruited, they resolved to hunt about the neighbourhood as long as they had light. It was of great importance that they should procure more game. The owl would make but a spare breakfast, and after that where was the next meal to come from? They had had a temporary relief, and while their strength lasted, they must use every effort to procure a further supply. The valley in which their new camp was placed looked well for game. It was a sort of oasis in the Barren Grounds. There was a lake and a considerable skirting of timber around it--consisting, as we have said, of willows, poplars, spruce-pine, and dwarf birch-trees (_Betula nana_). The Alpine arbutus, whose berries are the food of many species of animals, also grew upon the side of the hills; and the Labrador tea-plant (_Ledum palustre_) was found upon the low ground around the lake. The leaves of this last is a favourite food of the Polar hare, and our voyageurs had no doubt but that there were many of these animals in the neighbourhood. Indeed, they had better evidence than conjecture, for they saw numerous hare-tracks in the snow. There were tracks of other animals too, for it is a well-known fact that where one kind exists, at least two or three others will be found in the same habitat--all being connected together by a "chain of destruction." A singular illustration of this was afforded to Lucien, who remained at the camp while the rest went out hunting. He had gathered some of the leaves of the Labrador tea, and was drying them over the coals, intending to cheer his comrades with a cup of this beverage after supper. The hare-soup was boiling, and the "cook" sat listening to the cheerful sounds that issued from the pot--now and then taking off the lid to examine its savoury contents, and give them a stir. He would then direct his attention to the tea-leaves that were parching in the frying-pan; and, having shifted them a little, felt himself at liberty to look about for a minute or two. On one of these occasions, while glancing up, his attention was attracted to an object which appeared upon the snow at a short distance from where he sat. A wreath of snow, that had formed under the shelter of the hill, extended all around its base, presenting a steep front in every direction. This front was only two or three feet in height; but the top surface of the wreath was many yards wide--in fact, it extended back until it became blended with the slope of the hill. It was smooth and nearly level, but the hill above was steep, and somewhat rough and rocky. The steep front of the wreath came down within half-a-dozen paces of the fire where Lucien was seated; and it was upon the top or scarpment of it that the object appeared that had drawn his attention. It was a small creature, but it was in motion, and thus had caught his eye. A single glance showed him that the little animal was a mouse, but of a somewhat singular species. It was about the size of the common mouse, but quite different in colour. The upper half of its body was of a light mahogany tint, while the lower half, including the legs and feet, were of a milky whiteness. It was, in fact, the "white-footed mouse" (_Mus leucopus_), one of the most beautiful of its kind. Here and there above the surface of the snow protruded the tops of arbutus-trees; and the little creature was passing from one of these to the other, in search, no doubt, of the berries that remain upon these trees all the winter. Sometimes it ran from point to point like any other mouse, but now and then it would rear itself on its hind-legs, and leap several feet at a single bound! In this it evidently assisted itself by pressing its tail--in which it possesses muscular power-- against the snow. This peculiar mode of progression has obtained for it the name of the "jumping mouse," and among the Indians "deer"-mouse, because its leap reminds them of the bounding spring of the deer. But there are still other species of "jumping mice" in America that possess this power to a greater degree even than the _Mus leucopus_. Lucien watched its motions without attempting to interfere with it, until it had got nearly out of sight. He did not desire to do injury to the little creature, nor was he curious to obtain it, as he had already met with many specimens, and examined them to his satisfaction. He had ceased to think of it, and would, perhaps, never have thought of it again, but, upon turning his eyes in the opposite direction, he observed another animal upon the snow. This creature had a far different aspect from the mouse. Its body was nearly a foot in length, although not much thicker than that of the other! Its legs were short, but strong, and its forehead broad and arched convexly. It had a tail more than half the length of the body, hairy, and tapering like that of a cat. Its form was the well-known form of the weasel, and it was, in fact, a species of weasel. It was the celebrated _ermine (Mustela erminea_), celebrated for its soft and beautiful fur, so long prized as an ornament for the robes of the rich. It was white all over, with the exception of its tail; and that, for about an inch or so at the tip, was covered with black silky hair. On some parts of the body, too, the white was tinged with a primrose yellow; but this tinge is not found in all animals of this species, as some individuals are pure white. Of course it was now in its winter "robes;" but in the summer it changes to a colour that does not differ much from that of the common weasel. When Lucien first saw it, it was running along the top of the wreath, and coming from the same direction from which the mouse had come. Now and then it paused awhile, and then ran on again. Lucien observed that it kept its nose to the ground, and as it drew nearer he saw that it was following on the same path which the other had taken. To his astonishment he perceived that it was _trailing the mouse_! Wherever the latter had doubled or made a _detour_, the ermine followed the track; and where the mouse had given one of its long leaps, there the ermine would stop, and, after beating about until it struck the trail again, would resume its onward course at a gallop. Its manoeuvres were exactly like those of a hound upon the fresh trail of a fox! Lucien now looked abroad to discover the mouse. It was still in sight far off upon the snow, and, as Lucien could see, busily gnawing at the arbutus, quite unconscious that its _greatest_ enemy was so near. I say greatest enemy, for the _Mus leucopus_ is the _natural_ prey of the _Mustela erminea_. The mouse was soon made aware of the dangerous proximity, but not until the ermine had got within a few feet of it. When it perceived the latter it shrunk, at first, among the leaves of the arbutus; but seeing there would be no protection there--as the other was still springing forward to seize it--it leaped up, and endeavoured to escape by flight. Its flight appeared to be in alternate jumps and runs, but the chase was not a long one. The ermine was as active as a cat, and, after a few skips, its claws were struck into the mouse. There was a short, slender squeak, and then a "crunch," like the cracking of a hazel-nut. This last sound was produced by the teeth of the ermine breaking through the skull of its victim. CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. THE ARCTIC FOX AND WHITE WOLF. Lucien turned round to get hold of his rifle, intending to punish the ermine, although the little creature, in doing what it did, had only obeyed a law of nature. But the boy had also another design in killing it: he wished to compare it with some ermines he had seen while travelling upon Lake Winnipeg, which, as he thought, were much larger-- one that he had caught having measured more than a foot in length, without including the tail. He wished, also, to make some comparison between it and the common weasel; for in its _winter dress_, in the snowy regions, the latter very much resembles the ermine; and, indeed, the trappers make no distinction between them. With these ideas Lucien had grasped his gun, and was raising himself to creep a little nearer, when his eye was arrested by the motions of another creature coming along the top of the wreath. This last was a snow-white animal, with long, shaggy fur, sharp-pointed snout, erect ears, and bushy tail. Its aspect was fox-like, and its movements and attitudes had all that semblance of cunning and caution so characteristic of these animals. Well might it, for it _was_ a fox--the beautiful white fox of the Arctic regions. It is commonly supposed that there are but two or three kinds of foxes in America; and that these are only varieties of the European species. This is an erroneous idea, as there are nearly a dozen varieties existing in North America, although they may be referred to a less number of species. There is the Arctic fox, which is confined to the cold Northern regions, and which in winter is white. The "sooty fox" is a variety of the "Arctic," distinguished from it only by its colour, which is of a uniform blackish brown. The "American fox" (_Vulpes fulvus_), or, as it is commonly called, the "red fox," has been long supposed to be the same as the European red fox. This is erroneous. They differ in many points; and, what is somewhat curious, these points of difference are similar to those that exist between the European and American wolves, as already given. The "cross fox" is supposed by the Indians and some naturalists to be only a variety of the last. It derives its name from its having two dark stripes crossing each other upon the shoulders. Its fur from this circumstance, and perhaps because the animal is scarce, is more prized than that of the red variety. When a single skin of the latter is worth only fifteen shillings, one of the cross fox will bring as much as five guineas. Another variety of the red fox, and a much more rare one, is the "black," or "silver" fox. The skins of these command six times the price of any other furs found in America, with the exception of the sea-otter. The animal itself is so rare that only a few fall into the hands of the Hudson's Bay Company in a season; and Mr Nicholay, the celebrated London furrier, asserts that a single skin will fetch from ten to forty guineas, according to quality. A remarkable cloak, or pelisse, belonging to the Emperor of Russia, and made out of the skins of silver-foxes, was exhibited in the Great London Exposition of 1851. It was made entirely from the neck-part of the skins--the only part of the silver-fox which is pure black. This cloak was valued at 3400 pounds; though Mr Nicholay considers this an exaggerated estimate, and states its true value to be not over 1000 pounds. George the Fourth had a lining of black fox-skins worth 1000 pounds. The "grey fox" is a more southern species than any already described. Its proper home is the temperate zone covered by the United States; although it extends its range into the southern parts of Canada. In the United States it is the most common kind, although in that district there is also a "red fox," different from the _Vulpes fulvus_ already noticed; and which, no doubt, is the red fox of Europe, introduced by the early colonists of America. Still another species, the smallest and perhaps the most interesting of any, is the "kit fox." This little creature is an inhabitant of the prairies, where it makes its burrows far from any wood. It is extremely shy, and the swiftest animal in the prairie country--outrunning even the antelope! When Lucien saw the fox he thought no more of the ermine, but drew back and crouched down, in hopes he might get a shot at the larger animal. He knew well that the flesh of the Arctic fox is highly esteemed as food, particularly by persons situated as he and his companions were, and he hoped to be able to add it to their larder. When first seen it was coming towards him, though not in a direct line. It was engaged in hunting, and, with its nose to the snow, was running in zig-zag lines, "quartering" the ground like a pointer dog. Presently it struck the trail of the ermine, and with a yelp of satisfaction followed it. This of course brought it close past where Lucien was; but, notwithstanding his eagerness to fire, it moved so rapidly along the trail that he was unable to take sight upon it. It did not halt for a moment; and, as Lucien's gun was a rifle, he knew that a flying shot would be an uncertain one. In the belief, therefore, that the fox would stop soon--at all events when it came up with the ermine--he restrained himself from firing, and waited. It ran on, still keeping the track of the ermine. The latter, hitherto busy with his own prey, did not see the fox until it was itself seen, when, dropping the half-eaten mouse, it reared up on its hindquarters like a squirrel or a monkey, at the same time spitting as spitefully as any other weasel could have done. In a moment, however, it changed its tactics--for the open jaws of the fox were within a few paces of it--and after making a short quick run along the surface, it threw up its hindquarters, and plunged head-foremost into the snow! The fox sprang forward, and flinging his brush high in air, shot after like an arrow! Both had now disappeared from Lucien's sight. For a moment the surface of the snow was disturbed above the spot where they had gone down, but the next moment all was still, and no evidence existed that a living creature had been there, except the tracks, and the break the two creatures had made in going down. Lucien ran forward until he was within a few yards of the place, and stood watching the hole, with his rifle ready--thinking that the fox, at least, would soon come up again. He had waited for nearly five minutes, looking steadily at this point, when his eye was attracted by a movement under the snow, at a considerable distance, quite fifty paces, from where he stood. The frozen crust was seen to upheave; and, the next moment, the head of the fox, and afterwards his whole body, appeared above the surface. Lucien saw that the ermine lay transversely between his jaws, and was quite dead! He was about to fire, but the fox, suddenly perceiving him, shot off like an arrow, carrying his prey along with him. He was soon out of reach, and Lucien, seeing that he had lost his chance, was about to return to the fire, when, all at once, the fox was observed to stop, turn suddenly in his tracks, and run off in a new direction! Lucien looked beyond to ascertain the cause of this strange manoeuvre. That was soon ascertained. Coming down from among the rocks was a large animal--five times the fox's size--but in other respects not unlike him. It was also of a snow-white colour, with long hair, bushy tail, and short erect ears, but its aspect was not to be mistaken. It was the great _white wolf_. When Lucien first saw this new-comer, the latter had just espied the fox, and was about stretching out into a gallop towards him. The fox, _watching backwards_ as he ran, had not seen the wolf, until the latter was within a few springs of him; and now when he had turned, and both were in full chase, there was not over twenty yards between them. The direction in which they ran would bring them near to Lucien; and so they came, and passed him--neither of them seeming to heed his presence. They had not got many yards farther, before Lucien perceived that the wolf was fast closing on the fox, and would soon capture him. Believing he would then stop, so as to offer him a fairer chance for a shot, Lucien followed. The wolf, however, had noticed him coming after, and although the next moment he closed his great jaws upon the fox, he did not pause for a single instant, but, lifting the latter clear up from the ground, ran on without the slightest apparent diminution of speed! Reynard was seen to struggle and kick, while he squeaked like a shot puppy; but his cries each moment grew feebler, and his struggles soon came to an end. The wolf held him transversely in his jaws--just as he himself but the moment before had carried the ermine. Lucien saw there was no use in following them, as the wolf ran on with his prey. With some disappointment, therefore, he was about to return to the fire, where, to add to his mortification, he knew he would find his tea-leaves parched to a cinder. He lingered a moment, however, with his eyes still fixed upon the departing wolf that was just about to disappear over the crest of a ridge. The fox was still in his jaws, but no longer struggling. Reynard looked limber and dead, as his legs swung loosely on both sides of the wolf's head. Lucien at that moment saw the latter suddenly stop in his career, and then drop down upon the surface of the snow as if dead! He fell with his victim in his jaws, and lay half doubled up, and quite still. This strange action would have been a difficult thing for Lucien to explain, but, almost at the same instant in which he observed it, a puff of blue smoke shot up over the ridge, and quickly following was heard the sharp crack of a rifle. Then a head with its cap of raccoon skin appeared above the snow, and Lucien, recognising the face of Basil, ran forward to meet him. Both soon stood over the body of the dead wolf, wondering at what they saw; but Basil, far more than Lucien--for the latter already knew the circumstances of that strange scene of death. First there was the great gaunt body of the wolf stretched along the snow, and quite dead. Crossways in his mouth was the fox, just as he had been carried off; and across the jaws of the latter, lay the long worm-like body of the ermine, still retaining between its teeth the half-devoured remains of the white-footed mouse! A very chain of destroyers! These creatures died as they had lived, preying one upon the other! Of all four the little mouse alone was an innocent victim. The other three, though morally guilty by the laws of man, yet were only acting in obedience to the laws of Nature and necessity. Man himself obeys a similar law, as Basil had just shown. Philosophise as we will, we cannot comprehend why it is so--why Nature requires the sacrifice of one of her creatures for the sustenance of another. But although we cannot understand the cause, we must not condemn the fact as it exists; nor must we suppose, as some do, that the destruction of God's creatures for our necessities constitutes a crime. They who think so, and who, in consistency with their doctrines, confine themselves to what they term "vegetable" food, are at best but shallow reasoners. They have not studied Nature very closely, else would they know that every time they pluck up a parsnip, or draw their blade across the leaf of a lettuce, they cause pain and death! How much pain we cannot tell; but that the plant feels, as well as the animal, we can clearly _prove_. Probably it feels less, and it may be each kind of plant differs from others in the amount, according to its higher or lower organism. Probably its amount of pleasure--its capability of enjoyment--is in a direct proportion to the pain which it endures; and it is highly probable that this double line of ratios runs in an ascending scale throughout the vegetable kingdom, gradually joining on to what is more strictly termed the "animal." But these mysteries of life, my young friend, will be interesting studies for you when your mind becomes matured. Perhaps it may be your fortune to unravel some of them, for the benefit of your fellow-men. I feel satisfied that you will not only be a student of Nature, but one of her great teachers; you will far surpass the author of this little book in your knowledge of Nature's laws; but it will always be a happiness to him to reflect, that, when far advanced upon the highway of science, you will look back to him as one you had passed upon the road, and who _pointed you to the path_. Though Basil had shot the wolf, it was plain that it was not the first nor yet the second time he had discharged his rifle since leaving the camp. From his game-bag protruded the curving claws and wing-tips of a great bird. In one hand he carried a white hare--not the Polar hare-- but a much smaller kind, also an inhabitant of these snowy regions; and over his shoulders was slung a fierce-looking creature, the great wild-cat or lynx of America (_Lynx Canadensis_). The bird in his bag was the golden eagle (_Aquila chrysaetos_), one of the few feathered creatures that brave the fierce winter of a northern climate, and does not migrate, like its congeners the "white-head" and the osprey, to more southern regions. Basil had returned alone--for the three, Basil, Norman, and Francois, had taken different directions at setting cut. This they had done, in order to have as great a number of chances as possible of finding the game. Norman came in a few minutes after, bearing a whole deer upon his shoulders--a glad sight that was--and, a short interval having passed, Francois's "hurrah" sounded upon their ears, and Francois himself was seen coming up the valley loaded like a little donkey with two bunches of large snow-white birds. The camp now exhibited a cheering sight. Such a variety was never seen even in the larder of a palace kitchen. The ground was strewed with animals like a dead menagerie. There were no less than a dozen kinds upon it! The hare-soup was now quite ready, and was accordingly served up by Lucien in the best style. Lucien had dried a fresh "grist" of the tea-leaves, and a cheering cup followed; and then the party all sat around their log-fire, while each of them detailed the history of his experience since parting with the others. Francois was the first to relate what had befallen him. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE JERFALCON AND THE WHITE GROUSE. "Mine," began Francois, "was a bird-adventure, as you all see--though what kind of birds I've shot I can't tell. One of them's a hawk, I'm sure; but it's a _white_ hawk, and that I never saw before. The rest, I suppose, are _white_ partridges. Everything appears to be white here. What are they, Luce?" "You are right about this first," answered Lucien, taking up one of the birds which Francois had brought back with him, and which was white all but a few spots of clove-brown upon its back. "This is a hawk, as you may tell, by its appearance, or rather I should say a `falcon,' for you must know there is a difference." "What difference?" demanded Francois, with some eagerness of manner. "Why the principal difference is the formation of their beaks or bills. The bills of the true falcons are stronger, and have a notch in the lower mandible answering to a tooth in the upper one. Their nostrils, too, are differently formed. But another point of distinction is found in their habits. Both feed on warm-blooded animals, and neither will eat carrion. In this respect the hawks and falcons are alike. Both take their prey upon the wing; but herein lies the difference. The hawks capture it by skimming along horizontally or obliquely, and picking it up as they pass; whereas the true falcons `pounce' down upon it from above, and in a line nearly vertical." "Then this must be a true falcon," interrupted Francois, "for I saw the gentleman do that very thing; and beautifully he did it, too." "It is a falcon," continued Lucien; "and of the many species of hawks which inhabit North America--over twenty in all--it is one of the boldest and handsomest. I don't wonder you never saw it before; for it is truly a bird of the Northern regions, and does not come so far south as the territory of the United States, much less into Louisiana. It is found in North Europe, Greenland, and Iceland, and has been seen as far north on both continents as human beings have travelled. It is known by the name of `jerfalcon,' or `gyrfalcon,' but its zoological name is _Falco Islandicus_." "The Indians here," interposed Norman, "call it by a name that means `winter bird,' or `winterer'--I suppose, because it is one of the few that stay in these parts all the year round, and is therefore often noticed by them in winter time. The traders sometimes call it the `speckled partridge-hawk,' for there are some of them more spotted than this one is." "True," said Lucien; "the young ones are nearly of a brown colour, and they first become spotted or mottled after a year or two. They are several years old before they get the white plumage, and very few individuals are seen of a pure white all over, though there are some without a spot. "Yes," continued the naturalist, "it is the jerfalcon; and those other birds which you call `white partridges,' are the _very_ creatures upon which it preys. So _you_ have killed both the tyrant and his victims. They are not partridges though, but grouse--that species known as `willow-grouse' (_Tetrao saliceti_)." And as Lucien said this, he began to handle the birds, which were of a beautiful white all over, with the exception of the tail-feathers. These last were pitch-black. "Ho!" exclaimed Lucien, in some surprise, "you have two kinds here! Were they all together when you shot them?" "No," answered Francois; "one I shot along with the hawk out in the open ground. All the others I killed upon a tree in a piece of woods that I fell in with. There's no difference between them that I can see." "But I can," said Lucien, "although I acknowledge they all look very much alike. Both are feathered to the toes--both have the black feathers in the tail--and the bills of both are black; but if you observe closely, this kind--the willow-grouse--has the bill much stronger and less flattened. Besides, it is a larger bird than the other, which is the `rock-grouse' (_Tetrao rupestris_). Both are sometimes, though erroneously, called `ptarmigan;' but they are not the true ptarmigan (_Tetrao mutus_)--such as exist in North Europe--though these last are also to be met with in the Northern parts of America. The ptarmigan are somewhat larger than either of these kinds, but in other respects differ but little from them. "The habits of the `rock' and `willow' grouse are very similar. They are both birds of the snowy regions, and are found as far north as has been explored. The willow-grouse in winter keep more among the trees, and are oftener met with in wooded countries; whereas the others like best to live in the open ground, and, from your statement, it appears you found each kind in its favourite haunt." "Just so," said Francois. "After leaving here, I kept down the valley, and was just crossing an open piece of high ground, when I espied the white hawk, or falcon as you call it, hovering in the air as I'd often seen hawks do. Well, I stopped and hid behind a rock, thinking I might have a chance to put a few drops into him. All at once he appeared to stand still in the air, and, then closing his wings, shot down like an arrow. Just then I heard a loud `_whur-r-r_,' and up started a whole covey of white partridges--grouse, I should say--the same as this you call the `rock-grouse.' I saw that the hawk had missed the whole of them, and I marked them as they flew off. They pitched about a hundred yards or so, and then went plunge under the snow--every one of them making a hole for itself just like where one had poked their foot in! I guess, boys, this looked funny enough. I thought I would be sure to get a shot at some of these grouse as they came out again; so I walked straight up to the holes they had made, and stood waiting. I still saw the hawk hovering in the air, about an hundred yards ahead of me. "I was considering whether I ought to go farther on, and tramp the birds out of the snow; for I believed, of course, they were still under the place where the holes were. All at once I noticed a movement on the crust of the snow right under where the hawk was flying, and then that individual shot down to the spot, and disappeared under the snow! At the same instant, the crust broke in several places, and up came the grouse one after another, and whirred off out of sight, without giving me any sort of a chance. The hawk, however, had not come up yet; and I ran forward, determined to take him as soon as he should make his appearance. When I had got within shooting distance, up he fluttered to the surface, and--what do you think?--he had one of the grouse struggling in his claws! I let him have the right barrel, and both he and grousy were knocked dead as a couple of door-nails! "I thought I might fall in with the others again; and kept on in the direction they had taken, which brought me at last to a piece of woodland consisting of birches and willow-trees. As I was walking along the edge of this, I noticed one of the willows, at some distance off, covered with great white things, that at first I took for flakes of snow; but then I thought it curious that none of the other trees had the same upon them. As I came a little nearer, I noticed one of the things moving, and then I saw they were birds, and very like the same I had just seen, and was then in search of. So I crept in among the trees; and, after some dodging, got within beautiful shooting distance, and gave them both barrels. There, you see the result!" Here Francois triumphantly pointed to the pile of birds, which in all, with the jerfalcon, counted four brace and a half. One was the rock-grouse, which the falcon had itself killed, and the others were willow-grouse, as Lucien had stated. Francois now remained silent, while Basil related his day's adventure. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. THE HARE, THE LYNX, AND THE GOLDEN EAGLE. "Frank," began he, "has called his a `bird-adventure.' I might give mine somewhat of the same title, for there was a bird mixed up with it-- the noblest of all birds--the eagle. But you shall hear it. "On leaving the camp, I went, as you all know, up the valley. After travelling for a quarter of a mile or so, I came upon a wide open bottom, where there were some scattered willows and clumps of dwarf birch-trees. As Luce had told me that such are the favourite food of the American hare, or, as we call it in Louisiana, `rabbit,' I looked out for the sign of one, and, sure enough, I soon came upon a track, which I knew to be that of `puss.' It was fresh enough, and I followed it. It kept me meandering about for a long while, till at last I saw that it took a straight course for some thick brushwood, with two or three low birches growing out of it. As I made sure of finding the game there, I crept forward _very_ quietly, holding Marengo in the leash. But the hare was not in the brush; and, after tramping all through it, I again noticed the track where she had gone out on the opposite side. I was about starting forth to follow it, when all at once an odd-looking creature made its appearance right before me. It was that fellow there!" And Basil pointed to the lynx. "I thought at first sight," continued he, "it was our Louisiana wild-cat or bay lynx, as Luce calls it, for it is very like our cat; but I saw it was nearly twice as big, and more greyish in the fur. Well, when I first sighted the creature, it was about an hundred yards off. It hadn't seen me, though, for it was not running away, but skulking along slowly--nearly crosswise to the course of the hare's track--and looking in a different direction to that in which I was. I was well screened behind the bushes, and that, no doubt, prevented it from noticing me. At first I thought of running forward, and setting Marengo after it. Then I determined on staying where I was, and watching it a while. Perhaps it may come to a stop, reflected I, and let me creep within shot. I remained, therefore, crouching among the bushes, and kept the dog at my feet. "As I continued to watch the cat, I saw that, instead of following a straight line, it was moving in a circle! "The diameter of this circle was not over an hundred yards; and in a very short while the animal had got once round the circumference, and came back to where I had first seen it. It did not stop there, but continued on, though not in its old tracks. It still walked in a circle, but a much smaller one than before. Both, however, had a common centre; and, as I noticed that the animal kept its eyes constantly turned towards the centre, I felt satisfied that in that place would be found the cause of its strange manoeuvring. I looked to the centre. At first I could see nothing--at least nothing that might be supposed to attract the cat. There was a very small bush of willows, but they were thin. I could see distinctly through them, and there was no creature there, either in the bush or around it. The snow lay white up to the roots of the willows, and I thought that a mouse could hardly have found shelter among them, without my seeing it from where I stood. Still I could not explain the odd actions of the lynx, upon any other principle than that it was in the pursuit of game; and I looked again, and carefully examined every inch of the ground as my eyes passed over it. This time I discovered what the animal was after. Close in to the willows appeared two little parallel streaks of a dark colour, just rising above the surface of the snow. I should not have noticed them had there not been two of them, and these slanting in the same direction. They had caught my eyes before, but I had taken them for the points of broken willows. I now saw that they were the ears of some animal, and I thought that once or twice they moved slightly while I was regarding them. After looking at them steadily for a time, I made out the shape of a little head underneath. It was white, but there was a round dark spot in the middle, which I knew to be an eye. There was no body to be seen. That was under the snow, but it was plain enough that what I saw was the head of a hare. At first I supposed it to be a Polar hare--such as we had just killed--but the tracks I had followed were not those of the Polar hare. Then I remembered that the `rabbit' of the United States also turns white in the winter of the Northern regions. This, then, must be the American rabbit, thought I. "Of course my reflections did not occupy all the time I have taken in describing them. Only a moment or so. All the while the lynx was moving round and round the circle, but still getting nearer to the hare that appeared eagerly to watch it. I remembered how Norman had manoeuvred to get within shot of the Polar hare; and I now saw the very same _ruse_ being practised by a dumb creature, that is supposed to have no other guide than instinct. But I had seen the `bay lynx' of Louisiana do some `dodges' as cunning as that,--such as claying his feet to make the hounds lose the scent, and, after running backwards and forwards upon a fallen log, leap into the tops of trees, and get off in that way. Believing that his Northern cousin was just as artful as himself," (here Basil looked significantly at the "Captain,") "I did not so much wonder at the performance I now witnessed. Nevertheless, I felt a great curiosity to see it out. But for this curiosity I could have shot the lynx every time he passed me on the nearer edge of the circle. Round and round he went, then, until he was not twenty feet from the hare, that, strange to say, seemed to regard this the worst of her enemies more with wonder than fear. The lynx at length stopped suddenly, brought his four feet close together, arched his back like an angry cat, and then with one immense bound, sprang forward upon his victim. The hare had only time to leap out of her form, and the second spring of the lynx brought him right upon the top of her. I could hear the child-like scream which the American rabbit always utters when thus seized; but the cloud of snow-spray raised above the spot prevented me for a while from seeing either lynx or hare. The scream was stifled in a moment, and when the snow-spray cleared off, I saw that the lynx held the hare under his paws, and that `puss' was quite dead. "I was considering how I might best steal up within shooting distance, when, all at once, I heard another scream of a very different sort. At the same time a dark shadow passed over the snow. I looked up, and there, within fifty yards of the ground, a great big bird was wheeling about. I knew it to be an eagle from its shape; and at first I fancied it was a young one of the white-headed kind--for, as you are aware, these do not have either the white head or tail until they are several years old. Its immense size, however, showed that it could not be one of these. It must be the great `_golden' eagle_ of the Rocky Mountains, thought I. "When I first noticed it, I fancied that it had been after the rabbit; and, seeing the latter pounced upon by another preying creature, had uttered its scream at being thus disappointed of its prey. I expected, therefore, to see it fly off. To my astonishment it broke suddenly out of the circles in which it had been so gracefully wheeling, and, with another scream wilder than before, darted down towards the lynx! "The latter, on hearing the first cry of the eagle, had started, dropped his prey, and looked up. In the eagle he evidently recognised an antagonist, for his back suddenly became arched, his fur bristled up, his short tail moved quickly from side to side, and he stood with glaring eyes, and claws ready to receive the attack. "As the eagle came down, its legs and claws were thrown forward, and I could then tell it was not a bald eagle, nor the great `Washington eagle,' nor yet a fishing eagle of any sort, which both of these are. The fishing eagles, as Lucien had told me, _have always naked legs_, while those of the true eagles are more feathered. So were his, but beyond the feathers I could see his great curved talons, as he struck forward at the lynx. He evidently touched and wounded the animal, but the wound only served to make it more angry; and I could hear it purring and spitting like a tom-cat, only far louder. The eagle again mounted back into the air, but soon wheeled round and shot down a second time. This time the lynx sprang forward to meet it, and I could hear the concussion of their bodies as they came together. I think the eagle must have been crippled, so that it could not fly up again, for the fight from that time was carried on upon the ground. The lynx seemed anxious to grasp some part of his antagonist's body--and at times I thought he had succeeded--but then he was beaten off again by the bird, that fought furiously with wings, beak, and talons. The lynx now appeared to be the attacking party, as I saw him repeatedly spring forward at the eagle, while the latter always received him upon its claws, lying with its back upon the snow. Both fur and feathers flew in every direction, and sometimes the combatants were so covered with the snow-spray that I could see neither of them. "I watched the conflict for several minutes, until it occurred to me, that my best time to get near enough for a shot was just while they were in the thick of it, and not likely to heed me. I therefore moved silently out of the bushes; and, keeping Marengo in the string, crept forward. I had but the one bullet to give them, and with that I could not shoot both; but I knew that the quadruped was eatable, and, as I was not sure about the bird, I very easily made choice, and shot the lynx. To my surprise the eagle did not fly _off_, and I now saw that one of its wings was disabled! He was still strong enough, however, to scratch Marengo severely before the latter could master him. As to the lynx, he had been roughly handled. His skin was torn in several places, and one of his eyes, as you see, regularly `gouged out.'" Here Basil ended his narration; and after an interval, during which some fresh wood was chopped and thrown upon the fire, Norman, in turn, commenced relating what had befallen him. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. THE "ALARM BIRD" AND THE CARIBOU. "There wasn't much `adventure' in my day's sport," said he, "though I might call it a `bird-adventure' too, for if it hadn't been for a bird I shouldn't have had it. I shot a deer--that's all. But maybe it would be curious for you to know how I came to find the animal, so I'll tell you. "The first thing I did after leaving here was to climb the hill yonder,"--here Norman pointed to a long hill that sloped up from the opposite shore of the lake, and which was the direction he had taken, as Basil and Francois had gone right and left. "I saw neither bird, beast, nor track, until I had reached the top of the hill. There I got a good view of the country ahead. I saw it was very rocky, without a stick of timber, and did not look very promising for game. `It's no use going that way,' I says to myself; `I'll keep along the ridge, above where Frank's gone. He may drive some varmint out of the hollow, and I'll get a crack at it, as it comes over the hill.' "I was about to turn to the left when I heard the skreek of a bird away ahead of me. I looked in that direction; and, sure enough, saw one wheeling about in the air, right above the rocky jumble with which the country was covered. "Now it's a mighty curious bird that I saw. It's a sort of an owl, but, I should say myself, there's a sprinkling of the hawk in it--for it's as much like the one as the other." "No doubt," interrupted Lucien, "it was one of the day owls of these Northern regions, some of which approach very near to the hawks, both in shape and habits. This peculiarity arises from the fact of the long summer day--of weeks in duration--within the Arctic circle, requiring them to hunt for their prey, just as hawks do; and therefore Nature has gifted them with certain peculiarities that make them resemble these birds. They want the very broad faces and large tufted heads of the true owls; besides the ears, which in the latter are remarkable for their size, and also for being operculated, or with lids, in the former are not much larger than in other birds of prey. The small hawk-owl (_Strix funerea_), which is altogether a Northern bird, is one of this kind." "Very well," continued Norman, "what you say may be very true, cousin Luce; I only know that the bird I am speaking about is a mighty curious little creature. It ain't bigger than a pigeon, and is of a mottled-brown colour; but what I call it curious for is this:--Whenever it sees any creature passing from place to place, it mounts up into the air, and hovers above them, keeping up a constant screeching, like the squalling of a child--and that's anything but agreeable. It does so, not only in the neighbourhood of its nest--like the plover and some other birds--but it will sometimes follow a travelling party for hours together, and for miles across the country. From this circumstance the Indians of these parts call it the `alarm bird,' or `bird of warning,' because it often makes them aware of the approach either of their enemies or of strangers. Sometimes it alarms and startles the game, while the hunter is crawling up to it; and I have known it to bother myself for a while of a day, when I was after grouse. It's a great favourite with the Indians though--as it often guides them to deer, or musk-oxen, by its flying and screaming above where these animals are feeding. "Just in the same way it guided me. I knew, from the movements of the bird, that there must be something among the rocks. I couldn't tell what, but I hoped it would turn out to be some creature that was eatable; so I changed my intention, and struck out for the place where it was. "It was a good half-mile from the hill, and it cost me considerable clambering over the rocks, before I reached the ground. I thought to get near enough to see what it was, without drawing the bird upon myself, and I crouched from hummock to hummock; but the sharp-eyed creature caught sight of me, and came screeching over my head. I kept on without noticing it; but as I was obliged to go round some large rocks, I lost the direction, and soon found myself wandering back into my own trail. I could do nothing, therefore, until the bird should leave me, and fly back to whatever had first set it a-going. In order that it might do so, I crept in under a big stone that jutted out, and lay quiet a bit, watching it. It soon flew off, and commenced wheeling about in the air, not more than three hundred yards from where I lay. This time I took good bearings, and then went on. I did not care for the bird to guide me any longer, for I observed there was an open spot ahead, and I was sure that there I would see something. And sure enough I did. On peeping round the end of a rock, I spied a herd of about fifty deer. They were reindeer, of course, as there are no others upon the `Barren Grounds,' and I saw they were all does--for at this season the bucks keep altogether in the woods. Some of them were pawing the snow to get at the moss, while others were standing by the rocks, and tearing off the lichens with their teeth. It so happened that I had the wind of them, else they would have scented me and made off, for I was within a hundred yards of the nearest. I was not afraid of their taking fright, so long as they could only see part of my body--for these deer are so stupid, or rather so curious, that almost anything will draw them within shot. Knowing this, I practised a trick that had often helped me before; and that was to move the barrel of my gun, up and down, with the same sort of motion as the deer make with their horns, when rubbing their necks against a rock or tree. If I'd had a set of antlers, it would have been all the better; but the other answered well enough. It happened the animals were not very wild, as, likely, they hadn't been hunted for a good while. I bellowed at the same time,--for I know how to imitate their call--and, in less than a minute's time, I got several of them within range. Then I took aim, and knocked one over, and the rest ran off. That," said Norman, "ended my adventure--unless you call the carrying a good hundred pounds weight of deer-meat all the way back to camp part of it. If so, I can assure you that it was by far the most unpleasant part." Here Norman finished his narration, and a conversation was carried on upon the subject of reindeer, or, as these animals are termed, in America, "caribou." Lucien said that the reindeer (_Cervus tarandus_) is found in the Northern regions of Europe and Asia as well as in America, but that there were several varieties of them, and perhaps there were different species. Those of Lapland are most celebrated, because they not only draw sledges, but also furnish food, clothing, and many other commodities for their owners. In the north of Asia, the Tungusians have a much larger sort, which they ride upon; and the Koreki, who dwell upon the borders of Kamschatka, possess vast herds of reindeer--some rich individuals owning as many as ten or twenty thousand! It is not certain that the reindeer of America is exactly the same as either of the kinds mentioned; and indeed in America itself there are two very distinct kinds--perhaps a third. Two kinds are well-known, that differ from each other in size, and also in habits. One is the "Barren Ground caribou," and the other, the "Woodland caribou." The former is one of the smallest of the deer kind--the bucks weighing little over one hundred pounds. As its name implies, it frequents the Barren Grounds, although in winter it also seeks the shelter of wooded tracts. Upon the Barren Grounds, and the desolate shores and islands of the Arctic Sea, it is the only kind of deer found, except at one or two points, as the mouth of the Mackenzie River--which happens to be a wooded country, and there the moose also is met with. Nature seems to have gifted the Barren Ground caribou with such tastes and habits, that a fertile country and a genial clime would not be a pleasant home for it. It seems adapted to the bleak, sterile countries in which it dwells, and where its favourite food--the mosses and lichens--is found. In the short summer of the Arctic regions, it ranges still farther north; and its traces have been found wherever the Northern navigators have gone. It must remain among the icy islands of the Arctic Sea until winter be considerably advanced, or until the sea is so frozen as to allow it to get back to the shores of the continent. The "Woodland caribou" is a larger variety--a Woodland doe being about as big as a Barren Ground buck--although the horns of the latter species are larger and more branching than those of the former. The Woodland kind are found around the shores of Hudson's Bay, and in other wooded tracts that lie in the southern parts of the fur countries--into which the Barren Ground caribou never penetrates. They also migrate annually, but, strange to say, their spring migrations are southward, while, at the same season, their cousins of the Barren Grounds are making their way northward to the shores of the Arctic Sea. This is a very singular difference in their habits, and along with their difference in bulk, form, etcetera, entitles them to be ranked as separate species of deer. The flesh of the Woodland caribou is not esteemed so good an article of food as that of the other; and, as it inhabits a district where many large animals are found, it is not considered of so much importance in the economy of human life. The "Barren Ground caribou," on the other hand, is an indispensable animal to various tribes of Indians, as well as to the Esquimaux. Without it, these people would be unable to dwell where they do; and although they have not domesticated it, and trained it to draught, like the Laplanders, it forms their main source of subsistence, and there is no part of its body which they do not turn to some useful purpose. Of its horns they form their fish-spears and hooks, and, previous to the introduction of iron by the Europeans, their ice-chisels and various other utensils. Their scraping or currying knives are made from the split shin-bones. The skins make their clothing, tent-covers, beds, and blankets. The raw-hide, cleared of the hair and cut into thongs, serves for snares, bow-strings, net-lines, and every other sort of ropes. The finer thongs make netting for snow-shoes--an indispensable article to these people--and of these thongs fish-nets are also woven; while the tendons of the muscles, when split, serve for fine sewing-thread. Besides these uses, the flesh of the caribou is the food of many tribes, Indians and Esquimaux, for most of the year; and, indeed, it may be looked upon as their staple article of subsistence. There is hardly any part of it (even the horns, when soft) that is not eaten and relished by them. Were it not for the immense herds of these creatures that roam over the country, they would soon be exterminated--for they are easily approached, and the Indians have very little difficulty, during the summer season, in killing as many as they please. Norman next gave a description of the various modes of hunting the caribou practised by the Indians and Esquimaux; such as driving them into a pound, snaring them, decoying and shooting them with arrows, and also a singular way which the Esquimaux have of taking them in a pit-trap built in the snow. "The sides of the trap," said he, "are built of slabs of snow, cut as if to make a snow-house. An inclined plane of snow leads to the entrance of the pit, which is about five feet deep, and large enough within to hold several deer. The exterior of the trap is banked up on all sides with snow; but so steep are these sides left, that the deer can only get up by the inclined plane which leads to the entrance. A great slab of snow is then placed over the mouth of the pit, and revolves on two axles of wood. This slab will carry the deer until it has passed the line of the axles, when its weight overbalances one side, and the animal is precipitated into the pit. The slab then comes back into a horizontal position as before, and is ready to receive another deer. The animals are attracted by moss and lichens placed for them on the opposite side of the trap--in such a way that they cannot be reached without crossing the slab. In this sort of trap several deer are frequently caught during a single day." Norman knew another mode of hunting practised by the Esquimaux, and proposed that the party should proceed in search of the herd upon the following day; when, should they succeed in finding the deer, he would show them how the thing was done: and he had no doubt of their being able to make a good hunt of it. All agreed to this proposal, as it would be of great importance to them to kill a large number of these animals. It is true they had now provision enough to serve for several days--but there were perhaps months, not days, to be provided for. They believed that they could not be far from the wooded countries near the banks of the Mackenzie, as some kinds of the animal they had met with were only to be found near timber during the winter season. But what of that? Even on the banks of the great river itself they might not succeed in procuring game. They resolved, therefore, to track the herd of deer which Norman had seen; and for this purpose they agreed to make a stay of some days at their present camp. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. A BATTLE WITH WOLVES. Next morning they were up by early daybreak. The days were now only a few hours in length, for it was mid-winter, and they were but three or four degrees south of the Arctic circle. Of course they would require all the day for the intended hunt of the caribou, as they might have to follow the track of the herd for many miles before coming up with the animals. Lucien was to remain by the camp, as it would never do to leave the animals they had already lulled without some guard. To have hung them on the trees, would have put them out of the reach of both wolves and foxes; but the lynx and wolverene are both tree-climbers, and could easily have got at them there. They had reason to believe there were wolverenes about; for these fierce and destructive beasts are found in every part of the fur countries--wherever there exist other animals upon which they can prey. Eagles, hawks, and owls, moreover, would have picked the partridges from the branches of the trees without difficulty. One proposed burying them in the snow; but Norman assured them that the Arctic foxes could scent them out, and dig them up in a few minutes. Then it was suggested to cover them under a pile of stones, as there were plenty of these lying about. To this Norman also objected, saying that the wolverene could pull off any stones they were able to pile upon them--as this creature in its fore-legs possesses more than the strength of a man. Besides, it was not unlikely that one of the great brown bears,--a species entirely different from either the black or grizzly bears, and which is only met with on the Barren Grounds--might come ranging that way; and he could soon toss over any stone-heap they might build. On the whole it was better that one of the four should remain by the camp; and Lucien, who cared less about hunting than any of them, willingly agreed to be the one. Their arrangements were soon completed, and the three hunters set out. They did not go straight towards the place where Norman had found the deer upon the preceding day, but took a cross-cut over the hills. This was by Norman's advice, who guided himself by the wind--which had not changed since the previous day. He knew that the caribou in feeding always travel _against_ the wind; and he expected therefore to find them somewhere in the direction from which it was blowing. Following a course, which angled with that of the wind, they kept on, expecting soon to strike the trail of the herd. Meanwhile Lucien, left to himself, was not idle. He had to prepare the flesh of the different animals, so as to render it fit to be carried along. Nothing was required farther than to skin and cut them up. Neither salting nor drying was necessary, for the flesh of one and all had got frozen as stiff as a stone, and in this way it would keep during the whole winter. The wolf was skinned with the others, but this was because his fine skin was wanted. His flesh was not intended to be eaten--although only a day or two before any one of the party would have been glad of such a meal. Not only the Indians, but the voyageurs and fur-traders, while journeying through these inhospitable wilds, are often but too delighted to get a dinner of wolf-meat. The ermine and the little mouse were the only other creatures of the collection that were deemed uneatable. As to the Arctic fox and the lynx, the flesh of both these creatures is highly esteemed, and is white and tender, almost as much so as the hares upon which they feed. The snowy owl too, the jerfalcon, and the eagle, were looked upon as part of the larder--the flesh of all being almost as good as that of the grouse. Had it been a fishing eagle--such as the bald-head--the case would have been different, for these last, on account of their peculiar food, taste rank and disagreeable. But there was no danger of their falling in with a fishing eagle at that place. These can only exist where there is _open_ water. Hence the cause of their annual migrations to the southward, when the lakes and rivers of the fur countries become covered with their winter ice. Though Lucien remained quietly at the camp he was not without adventures to keep him from wearying. While he was singeing his grouse his eye happened to fall upon the shadow of a bird passing over the snow. On looking up he saw a very large bird, nearly as big as an eagle, flying softly about in wide circles. It was of a mottled-brown colour; but its short neck and great round head told the naturalist at a glance that it was a bird of the owl genus. It was the largest of the kind that Lucien had ever seen, and was, in fact, the largest known in America--the "great cinereous owl" (_Strix cinerea_). Now and then it would alight upon a rock or tree, at the distance of an hundred yards or so from the camp; where it would watch the operations of Lucien, evidently inclined to help him in dissecting some of the animals. Whenever he took up his gun and tried to approach within shot, it would rise into the air again, always keeping out of range. Lucien was provoked at this--for he wished, as a naturalist, to examine the bird, and for this purpose to kill it, of course; but the owl seemed determined that he should do no such thing. At length, however, Lucien resolved upon a plan to decoy the creature within shot. Taking up one of the grouse, he flung it out upon the snow some thirty yards from the fire. No sooner had he done so, than the owl, at sight of the tempting morsel, left aside both its shyness and prudence, and sailed gently forward; then, hovering for a moment over the ground, hooked the grouse upon its claws, and was about to carry it off, when a bullet from Lucien's rifle, just in the "nick of time," put a stop to its further flight, and dropped the creature dead upon the snow. Lucien picked it up and brought it to the camp, where he passed some time in making notes upon its size, colour, and other peculiarities. The owl measured exactly two feet in length from the point of the bill to the end of the tail; and its "alar spread," as naturalists term it, was full five feet in extent. It was of a clove-brown colour, beautifully mottled with white, and its bill and eyes were of a bright gamboge yellow. Like all of its tribe that winter in the Arctic wilds, it was feathered to the toes. Lucien reflected that this species lives more in the woods than the "great snowy owl," and, as he had heard, is never found far out on the Barren Grounds during winter. This fact, therefore, was a pleasant one to reflect upon, for it confirmed the testimony which the travellers had already obtained from several of the other creatures they had killed--that is to say, that they must be in the neighbourhood of some timbered country. Lucien had hardly finished his examination of the owl when he was called upon to witness another incident of a much more exciting nature. A hill, as already mentioned, or rather a ridge, rose up from the opposite shore of the lake by which the camp was pitched. The declivity of this hill fronted the lake, and sloped gradually back from the edge of the water. Its whole face was smooth and treeless, covered with a layer of pure snow. The camp commanded a full view of it up to its very crest. As Lucien was sitting quietly by the fire a singular sound, or rather continuation of sounds, fell upon his ear. It somewhat resembled the baying of hounds at a distance; and at first he was inclined to believe that it was Marengo on a view-hunt after the deer. On listening more attentively, however, he observed that the sounds came from more than one animal; and also, that they bore more resemblance to the howling of wolves than the deep-toned bay of a bloodhound. This, in fact, it was; for the next moment a caribou shot up over the crest of the hill, and was seen stretching at full gallop down the smooth declivity in the direction of the lake. Not twenty paces in its rear followed a string of howling animals, evidently in pursuit of it. There were a dozen of them in all, and they were running exactly like hounds upon the "view holloa." Lucien saw at a glance they were wolves. Most of them were dappled-grey and white, while some were of a pure white colour. Any one of them was nearly as large as the caribou itself; for in these parts-- around Great Slave Lake--the wolf grows to his largest size. The caribou gained upon them as it bounded down the slope of the hill. It was evidently making for the lake, believing, no doubt, that the black ice upon its surface was water, and that in that element it would have the advantage of its pursuers, for the caribou is a splendid swimmer. Nearly all deer when hunted take to the water--to throw off the dogs, or escape from men--and to this habit the reindeer makes no exception. Down the hill swept the chase, Lucien having a full view both of pursuers and pursued. The deer ran boldly. It seemed to have gathered fresh confidence at sight of the lake, while the same object caused its pursuers a feeling of disappointment. They knew they were no match for a caribou in the water, as no doubt many a one had escaped them in that element. It is not likely, however, that they made reflections of this sort. There was but little time. From the moment of their appearance upon the crest of the hill till the chase arrived at the edge of the lake, was but a few seconds. On reaching the shore the caribou made no stop; but bounded forward in the same way as if it had been springing upon water. Most likely it expected to hear a plunge; but, instead of that, its hoofs came down upon the hard ice; and, by the impulse thus given, the animal shot out with the velocity of a skater. Strange to say, it still kept its feet; but, now seemingly overcome by surprise, and knowing the advantage its pursuers would have over it upon the slippery ice, it began to plunge and flounder, and once or twice came to its knees. The hungry pursuers appeared to recognise their advantage at once, for their howling opened with a fresh burst, and they quickened their pace. Their sharp claws enabled them to gallop over the ice at top speed; and one large brute that led the pack soon came up with the deer, sprang upon it, and bit it in the flank. This brought the deer upon its haunches, and at once put an end to the chase. The animal was hardly down upon the ice, when the foremost wolves coming up precipitated themselves upon its body, and began to devour it. It was about the middle of the lake where the caribou had been overtaken. At the time it first reached the ice, Lucien had laid hold of his rifle and run forward in order to meet the animal halfway, and, if possible, get a shot at it. Now that the creature was killed, he continued on with the design of driving off the wolves, and securing the carcass of the deer for himself. He kept along the ice until he was within less than twenty yards of the pack, when, seeing that the fierce brutes had torn the deer to pieces, and perceiving, moreover, that they exhibited no fear of himself, he began to think he might be in danger by advancing any nearer. Perhaps a shot from his rifle would scatter them, and without further reflection he raised the piece, and fired. One of the wolves kicked over upon the ice, and lay quite dead; but the others, to Lucien's great surprise, instead of being frightened off, immediately sprang upon their dead companion, and commenced tearing and devouring it, just as they had done the deer! The sight filled Lucien with alarm; which was increased at seeing several of the wolves--that had been beaten by the others from the quarry--commence making demonstrations towards himself! Lucien now trembled for his safety, and no wonder. He was near the middle of the lake upon slippery ice. To attempt running back to the camp would be hazardous; the wolves could overtake him before he had got halfway, and he felt certain that any signs of fear on his part would be the signal for the fierce brutes to assail him. For some moments he was irresolute how to act. He had commenced loading his gun, but his fingers were numbed with the cold, and it was a good while before he could get the piece ready for a second fire. He succeeded at length. He did not fire then, but resolved to keep the charge for a more desperate crisis. Could he but reach the camp there were trees near it, and one of these he might climb. This was his only hope, in case the wolves attacked him, and he knew it was. Instead of turning and running for this point, he began to back for it stealthily and with caution, keeping his front all the while towards the wolves, and his eyes fixed upon them. He had not got many yards, when he perceived to his horror, that the whole pack were in motion, and _coming after him_! It was a terrible sight, and Lucien, seeing that by retreating he only drew them on, stopped and held his rifle in a threatening attitude. The wolves were now within twenty yards of him; but, instead of moving any longer directly towards him, they broke into two lines, swept past on opposite sides of him, and then circling round, met each other in his rear. _His retreat was cut off_! He now stood upon the ice with the fierce wolves forming a ring around him, whose diameter was not the six lengths of his gun, and _every_ moment growing shorter and shorter. The prospect was appalling. It would have caused the stoutest heart to quail, and Lucien's was terrified. He shouted at the top of his voice. He fired his rifle at the nearest. The brute fell, but the others showed no symptoms of fear; they only grew more furious. Lucien clubbed his gun--the last resort in such cases--and laid around him with all his might; but he was in danger of slipping upon the ice, and his efforts were feeble. Once down he never would have risen again, for his fierce assailants would have sprung upon him like tigers. As it was, he felt but little hope. He believed himself lost. The teeth of the ferocious monsters gleamed under his eyes. He was growing weaker and weaker, yet still he battled on, and swept his gun around him with the energy of despair. Such a struggle could not have continued much longer. Lucien's fate would have been sealed in a very few minutes more, had not relief arrived in some shape or other. But it did come. A loud shout was heard upon the hill; and Lucien, glancing suddenly towards it, saw several forms rushing downward to the lake! It was the hunting party returned, and in a moment more they were crossing the ice to his rescue. Lucien gaining confidence fought with fresh vigour. The wolves busy in their attack had either not heard or were regardless of the new-comers; but the "crack, crack" of the guns--repeated no less than four times--and then the nearer reports of pistols, made a speedy impression upon the brutes, and in a short while half their number were seen tumbling and kicking upon the ice. The rest, uttering their hideous howls, took to flight, and soon disappeared from the valley; and Lucien, half dead with fatigue, staggered into the arms of his deliverers. No less than seven of the wolves were killed in the affray--two of which Lucien had shot himself. One or two were only wounded, but so badly, that they could not get away; and these were handed over to the tender mercies of Marengo, who amused himself for some time after by worrying them to death. The hunting party had made a good day of it. They had fallen in with the caribou, and had killed three of them. These they were bringing to camp, but had dropped them upon the hill, on perceiving the perilous position of Lucien. They now went back, and having carried the deer to their camping-place, were soon engaged in the pleasant occupation of eating a savoury dinner. Lucien soon recovered from his fright and fatigue, and amused his companions by giving an account of the adventures that had befallen him in their absence. CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. END OF THE "VOYAGE." Our party remained several days at this place, until they had made a fresh stock of "pemmican" from the flesh of the caribou, several more of which they succeeded in killing; and then, arranging everything anew, and taking with them such skins as they wanted, they continued their journey. They had two days' hard travelling through a rocky mountainous country, where they could not find a stick of wood to cook their meals with, and were exposed to cold more than at any other place. Both Francois and Lucien had their faces frost-bitten; but they were cured by Norman, who prevented them from going near a fire until he had well rubbed the parts with soft snow. The rocks through which they passed were in many places covered with the _tripe de roche (Gyrophora_) of several species; but our voyageurs cared nothing about it so long as their pemmican lasted, and of that each of them had nearly as much as he could carry. In the most dreary part of the mountains they chanced upon a herd of those curious animals, the musk-oxen, and shot one of them; but the meat tasted so rank, and smelt so strongly of musk, that the whole of it was left to the wolves, foxes, and other preying creatures of these parts. On the third day, after leaving their camp by the lake, a pleasant prospect opened before them. It was the valley of the Mackenzie, stretching to the west, and extending north and south as far as the eye could reach, covered with forests of pine and poplar, and other large trees. Of course the landscape was a winter one, as the river was bound up in ice, and the trees themselves were half-white with frozen snow; but after the dreary scenery of the Barren Grounds, even this appeared warm and summer-like. There was no longer any danger they should be without a good fire to cook their dinners, or warm themselves at, and a wooded country offers a better prospect of game. The sight, therefore, of a great forest was cheering; and our travellers, in high spirits, planted their tent upon the banks of the great Northern river. They had still many hundred miles to go before arriving at their destination; but they determined to continue their journey without much delay, following the river as a guide. No more "near cuts" were to be taken in future. They had learned, from their recent experience, that "the shortest way across is sometimes the longest way round," and they resolved to profit by the lesson. I hope, boy reader, you too will remember it. After reaching the Mackenzie the voyageurs halted one day, and upon the next commenced their journey down-stream. Sometimes they kept upon the bank, but at times, for a change, they travelled upon the ice of the river. There was no danger of its giving way under them, for it was more than a foot in thickness, and would have supported a loaded waggon and horses, without even cracking. They were now drawing near the Arctic circle, and the days grew shorter and shorter as they advanced. But this did not much interfere with their travelling. The long nights of the Polar regions are not like those of more Southern latitudes. They are sometimes so clear, that one may read the smallest print. What with the coruscations of the aurora borealis, and the cheerful gleaming of the Northern constellations, one may travel without difficulty throughout the livelong night. I am sure, my young friend, you have made good use of your globes, and need not be told that the length of both nights and days, as you approach the pole, depends upon two things--the latitude of the place, and the season of the year; and were you to spend a whole year _leaning against the pole itself_, (!) you would _live but one day and one night_--each of them six months in length. But no doubt you know all these things without my telling you of them, and you are impatient to hear not about that, but whether the young voyageurs safely reached the end of their journey. That question I answer briefly at once--they did. Some distance below the point where they had struck the Mackenzie, they fell in with a winter encampment of Dog-rib Indians. Some of these people had been to the Fort to trade; and Norman being known to them, he and his Southern cousins were received with much hospitality. All their wants were provided for, as far as it lay in the power of these poor people to do; but the most valuable thing obtained from the Indians was a full set of dogs and dog-sledges for the whole party. These were furnished by the chief, upon the understanding that he should be paid for them on his next visit to the Fort. Although the reindeer of North America are not trained to the sledge by the Esquimaux and Indians, several kinds of dogs are; and a single pair of these faithful creatures will draw a full-grown man at a rate that exceeds almost every other mode of travelling--steam excepted. When our voyageurs, therefore, flung away their snow-shoes, and, wrapped in their skin cloaks, seated themselves snugly in their dog-sledges, the five hundred miles that separated them from the Fort were soon reduced to nothing; and one afternoon, four small sledges, each carrying a "young voyageur," with a large bloodhound galloping in the rear, were seen driving up to the stockade fence surrounding the Fort. Before they had quite reached the gate, there was a general rush of trappers, traders, voyageurs, _coureurs-des-bois_, and other _employes_, to reach them; and the next moment they were lost in the midst of the people who crowded out of the Fort to welcome them. This was their hour of happiness and joy. To me there is an hour of regret, and I hope, boy reader, to you as well--the hour of our parting with the "Young _Voyageurs_." THE END. 
63205	----	available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustration. See 63205-h.htm or 63205-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/63205/63205-h/63205-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/63205/63205-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/boystripacrosspl00presrich [Illustration] A BOY'S TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS. by LAURA PRESTON, Author of "Youth's History of California." New York: A. Roman & Company, Publishers. San Francisco: 417 and 419 Montgomery Street. 1868. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1868, by A. Roman & Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States For the Southern District of New York. TO LOUIS AND MARY, THE ELDEST OF A BEVY OF NEPHEWS AND NIECES, THIS LITTLE WORK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, WITH THE HOPE THAT AS IT HAS ALREADY RECEIVED THEIR FAVORABLE CRITICISM, IT MAY MEET THAT OF ALL YOUTHFUL LOVERS OF ADVENTURE. San Francisco, _June, 1868_. A BOY'S TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS. BY LAURA PRESTON. CHAPTER I. In the village of W----, in western Missouri, lived Mrs. Loring and her son Guy, a little boy about ten years old. They were very poor, for though Mr. Loring, during his life time was considered rich, and his wife and child had always lived comfortably, after his death, which occurred when Guy was about eight years old, they found that there were so many people to whom Mr. Loring owed money, that when the debts were paid there was but little left for the widow and her only child. That would not have been so bad had they had friends able or willing to assist them, but Mrs. Loring found that most of her friends had gone with her wealth, which, I am sorry to say, is apt to be the case the world over. As I have said, when Mrs. Loring became a widow she was both poor and friendless, she was also very delicate. She had never worked in her life, and although she attempted to do so, in order to support herself and little Guy, she found it almost impossible to earn enough to supply them with food. She opened a little school, but could get only a few scholars, and they paid her so little that she was obliged also to take in sewing. This displeased the parents of her pupils and they took away their children, saying "she could not do two things at once." This happened early in winter when they needed money far more than at any other season. But though Mrs. Loring sewed a great deal during that long, dreary winter, she was paid so little that both young Guy and herself often felt the pangs of cold and hunger. Perhaps they need not have done so, if Mrs. Loring had told the village people plainly that she was suffering, for I am sure they would have given her food. But she was far too proud to beg or to allow her son to do so. She had no objection that he should work, for toil is honorable--but in the winter there was little a boy of ten could do, and although Guy was very industrious it was not often he could obtain employment. So they every day grew poorer, for although they had no money their clothing and scanty furniture did not know it, and wore out much quicker than that of rich people seems to do. Yet through all the trials of the long winter Mrs. Loring did not despair; she had faith to believe that God was bringing her sorrows upon her for the best, and would remove them in his own good time. This, she would often say to Guy when she saw him look sad, and he would glance up brightly with the reply, "I am sure it is for the best, mother. You have always been so good I am sure God will not let you suffer long. I think we shall do very well when the Spring comes. We shall not need a fire then, or suffer for the want of warm clothing and I shall be able to go out in the fields to work, and shall earn so much money that you will not have to sew so much, and get that horrid pain in your chest." But when the Spring came Guy did not find it so easy to get work as he had fancied it would be, for there were a great many strong, rough boys that would do twice as much work in the day as one who had never been used to work, and the farmers would employ them, of course. So poor Guy grew almost disheartened, and his mother with privation and anxiety, fell very sick. Although afraid she would die she would not allow Guy to call any of the village people in, for she felt that they had treated her very unkindly and could not bear that they should see how very poor she was. She however told Guy he could go for a doctor, and he did so, calling in one that he had heard often visited the poor and charged them nothing. This good man whose name was Langley, went to Mrs. Loring's, and soon saw both how indigent and how ill the poor woman was. He was very kind and gave her medicines and such food as she could take, although it hurt her pride most bitterly to accept them. He also gave Guy, some work to do, and he was beginning to hope that his mother was getting well, and that better days were coming, when going home one evening from his work he found his mother crying most bitterly. He was in great distress at this, and begged her to tell him what had happened. At first she refused to do so, but at last said:-- "Perhaps, Guy, it is best for me to tell you all, for if trouble must come, it is best to be prepared for it. Sit here on the bed beside me, and I will try to tell you:" She then told him that Doctor Langley had been there that afternoon, and had told her very gently, but firmly, that she was in a consumption and would die. "Unless," she added, "I could leave this part of the country. With an entire change of food and air, he told me that I might live many years. But you know, my dear boy, it is impossible for me to have that, so I must make up my mind to die. That would not be so hard to do if it were not for leaving you alone in this uncharitable world." Poor Mrs. Loring who had been vainly striving to suppress her emotions, burst into tears, and Guy who was dreadfully shocked and alarmed, cried with her. It seemed so dreadful to him that his mother should die when a change of air and freedom from anxiety might save her. He thought of it very sadly for many days, but could see no way of saving his mother. He watched her very closely, and although she seemed to gain a little strength as the days grew warmer, and even sat up, and tried to sew, he was not deceived into thinking she would get well, for the doctor had told him she never would, though for the summer she might appear quite strong. He was walking slowly and sadly through the street one day, thinking of this, when he heard two gentlemen who were walking before him, speak of California. "Is it true," said one, "that Harwood is going there?" "Yes," said the other, "he thinks he can better his condition by doing so." "Do you know what steamer he will leave on?" asked the first speaker. "He is not going by steamer," replied the second, "as Aggie is quite delicate, he has decided to go across the plains." "Ah! indeed. When do they start?" "As soon as possible. Mrs. Harwood told me to-day, that the chief thing they were waiting for, was a servant. Aggie needs so much of her care that she must have a nurse for the baby, and she says it seems impossible to induce a suitable person to go. Of course she doesn't want a coarse, uneducated servant, but some one she can trust, and who will also be a companion for herself during the long journey." The gentlemen passed on, and Guy heard no more, but he stood quite still in the street, and with a throbbing heart, thought, "Oh! if my mother could go across the plains, it would cure her. Oh! if Mrs. Harwood would but take her as a nurse. I know she is weak, but she could take care of a little baby on the plains much better than she can bend over that hard sewing here, and besides I could help her. Oh! if Mrs. Harwood would only take her. I'll find out where she lives, and ask her to do so." He had gained the desired information and was on his way to Mrs. Harwood's house before he remembered that his mother might not consent to go if Mrs. Harwood was willing to take her. He knew she was very proud, and had been a rich lady herself once, and would probably shrink in horror from becoming a servant. His own pride for a moment revolted against it, but his good sense came to his aid, and told him it was better to be a servant than die. He went on a little farther, and then questioned himself whether it would not be better to go first and tell his mother about it, and ask her consent to speak to Mrs. Harwood. But it was a long way back, and as he greatly feared his mother would not allow him to come, and would probably be much hurt at his suggesting such a thing, he determined to act for once without her knowledge, and without further reflection walked boldly up to Mrs. Harwood's door. It was open, and when he knocked some one called to him to come in. He did so, although for a moment he felt inclined to run away. There was a lady in the room, and four children--two large boys, a delicate looking girl about five years old, and a baby boy who was sitting on the floor playing with a kitten, but who stopped and stared at Guy as he entered. The other children did the same, and Guy was beginning to feel very timid and uncomfortable, when the lady asked who he wished to see. He told her Mrs. Harwood, and the eldest boy said, "That's ma's name, isn't it, ma? What do you want of ma? say!" Guy said nothing to the rude boy, but told Mrs. Harwood what he had heard on the street. "It is true," she said kindly, "I do want a nurse. Has some one sent you here to apply for the place?" "No, ma'am," he replied, "no one sent me, but--but--I came--of myself--because--I thought--my--mother--might--perhaps suit you." "Why, that is a strange thing for a little boy to do!" exclaimed Mrs. Harwood. "Hullo, Gus," cried the boy that had before spoken, "here's a friend of mine; guess he's the original Young America, 'stead of me!" "George, be silent," said his mother, very sternly. "Now, child," she continued, turning again to Guy, "you may tell me how you ever thought of doing so strange a thing as applying for a place for your mother, unless she told you to do so. Is she unkind to you? Do you want her to leave you?" "Oh, no, she is very, very kind," said Guy, earnestly, "and I wouldn't be parted from her for the world." He then forgot all his fears, and eagerly told the lady how sick his mother had been, and how sure he was that the trip across the plains would cure her, and, above all, told how good and kind she was; "she nursed me," he concluded, very earnestly, "and you see what a big boy I am!" Mrs. Harwood smiled so kindly that he was almost certain she would take his mother; but his heart fell, when she said: "I am very sorry that your mother is sick, but I don't think I can take her with me; and besides, Mr. Harwood would not like to have another boy to take care of." "But I will take care of myself," cried Guy, "and help a great deal about the wagons. Oh, ma'am, if you would only take me, I would light the fires when you stopped to camp, and get water, and do a great many things, and my mother would do a great deal too." Mrs. Harwood shook her head, and poor Guy felt so downcast that he was greatly inclined to cry. The boys laughed, but the little girl looked very sorry, and said to him: "Don't look so sad; perhaps mamma will yet take your mother, and I will take you. I want you to go. You look good and kind, and wouldn't let George tease me." "That I wouldn't," said Guy, looking pityingly upon the frail little creature, and wondering how any one could think of being unkind to her. "What is your name?" asked the little one. "Guy," he replied, and the boys burst into a laugh. "Oh, let us take him with us, ma," cried George, "it would be such capital fun to have a 'guy' with us all the time, to make us laugh. Oh, ma, do let him go." "Yes, mamma, do let him go," said little Aggie, taking her brother's petition quite in earnest. "I am sure he could tell me lots of pretty stories, and you wouldn't have to tell me 'Bluebeard' and 'Cinderella,' until you were tired of telling, and I of hearing them." Now Mrs. Harwood was very fond of her children, and always liked to indulge them, if she possibly could, especially her little, delicate Agnes. She thought to herself, as she saw them together, that he might, in reality, be very useful during the trip, especially as Agnes had taken so great a fancy to him; so she decided, instead of sending him away, as she had first intended, to keep him a short time, and if he proved as good a boy as he appeared, to go with him to his mother and see what she could do for her. Accordingly, she told Guy to stay with the children for an hour, while she thought of the matter. He did so, and as she watched him closely, she saw, with surprise, that he amused Agnes by his lively stories, the baby by his antics, and was successful not only in preventing Gus and George from quarreling, but in keeping friendly with them himself. "This boy is very amiable and intelligent," she said to herself, "and as he loves her so well, it is likely his mother has the same good qualities. I will go around to see her, and if she is well enough to travel, and is the sort of person I imagine, I will certainly try to take her with me." She sent Guy home with a promise to that effect, and in great delight he rushed into the house, and told his mother what he had done. At first she was quite angry, and Guy felt very wretchedly over his impulsive conduct; but when he told her how kind the lady was, and how light her duties would probably be, she felt almost as anxious as Guy himself, that Mrs. Harwood should find her strong and agreeable enough to take the place. Mr. and Mrs. Harwood came the next day, and were much pleased with Mrs. Loring, and perhaps more so with Guy, though they did not say so. The doctor came in while they were there, and was delighted with the project, assuring Mrs. Loring that the trip would greatly benefit her, and privately telling Mr. and Mrs. Harwood what a good woman she was, and how willing she was to do any thing honorable for the support of herself and her little boy. So they decided to take her. "We will give you ten dollars a month," said they, "so you will not be quite penniless when you get to California." Mrs. Loring thanked them most heartily, and Guy felt as if all the riches of the world had been showered down upon them. "You look like an energetic little fellow," said Mr. Harwood to Guy, as they were going away, "and I hope you will continue to be one, else I shall leave you on the plains. Remember, I'll have no laggards in my train." Guy promised most earnestly to be as alert and industrious as could be desired, and full of good intentions and delightful hopes, went back to his mother to talk of what might happen during their TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS. CHAPTER II. How quickly the next two weeks of Guy Loring's life flew by. He was busy and therefore had no time to notice how often his mother sighed deeply when he talked of the free, joyous life they should lead on the plains. There seemed to her little prospect of freedom or pleasure in becoming a servant; yet she said but little about it to Guy as she did not wish to dampen the ardor of his feelings, fearing that the stern reality of an emigrant's life would soon throw a cloud over his blissful hopes. Even Guy himself sometimes felt half inclined to repent his impulsiveness, for George Harwood constantly reminded him of it by calling him "Young America" and asking him if he had no other servants to hire out. Guy bore all these taunts very quietly, and even laughed at them, and made himself so useful and agreeable to every one, that on the morning of the start from W----, Mr. Harwood was heard to say he would as soon be without one of his best men as little Guy Loring. It was a beautiful morning in May, 1855, upon which Mr. Harwood's train left W----. Guy was amazed at the number of people, of horses and wagons, and at the preparations that had been made for the journey. Besides Mr. Harwood's family there was that of his cousin, Mr. Frazer; five young men from St. Louis, and another with his two sisters from W----. Guy could not but wonder that so many people should travel together, for he thought it would have been much pleasanter for each family to be alone, until he heard that there were a great many Indians upon the plains who often robbed, and sometimes murdered small parties of travelers. As the long train of wagons and cattle moved along the narrow streets of the quiet village, Guy thought of all he had read of the caravans that used to cross the desert sands of Arabia. "Doesn't it remind you of them:" he said, after mentioning his thoughts to George Harwood who was standing near. "Not a bit" he replied with a laugh. "Those great, strong, covered wagons don't look much like the queer old caravans did I guess, and neither the mules or oxen are like camels, besides the drivers haven't any turbans on their heads, and the people altogether look much more like Christians than Arabs." Guy was quite abashed, and not daring to make any other comparisons, asked Gus to tell him the name of the owner of each wagon as it passed. "The first was father's," he answered readily, "the next two cousin James Frazer's. The next one belongs to William Graham, and his two sisters, the next two to the young men from St. Louis, and the other six are baggage wagons." Guy could ask nothing more as Mr. Harwood called to him to help them in driving some unruly oxen that were in the rear of the train. Next he was ordered to run back to the village for some article that had been forgotten, next to carry water to the teamsters, then to run with messages from one person to another until he was so tired, he thoroughly envied George and Gus their comfortable seats in one of the baggage wagons, and was delighted at last to hear the signal to halt. Although they had been traveling all day they were but a few miles from the village, and the people in spite of the wearisome labors of the day scarcely realized that they had begun a long and perilous journey. To most of them it seemed like a picnic party, but to poor little Guy, it seemed a very tiresome one as he assisted in taking a small cooking-stove from Mr. Harwood's baggage wagon. As soon as it was set up, in the open air, at a short distance from the wagons, he was ordered to make a fire. There was a quantity of dry wood at hand, and soon he had the satisfaction of seeing a cheerful blaze. Asking Gus to take care that it did not go out, he took a kettle from the wagon and went to the spring for water. Every person was too busy to notice whether Gus watched the fire or not. Some were building fires for themselves, some unhitching the horses from the traces, unyoking the oxen, and giving them water and feed. Guy thought he had never beheld so busy a scene as he came back with the water, hoping that his fire was burning brightly. Alas! not a spark was to be seen, Gus had gone with George to see the cows milked, and poor Guy had to build the fire over again. Although he was very tired he would have gone to work cheerfully enough, had not Mrs. Harwood, who was wishing to warm some milk for the baby reprimanded him severely for his negligence. He thought the fire would never burn, and was almost ready to cry with vexation and fatigue. Indeed two great tears did gather in his eyes, and roll slowly over his cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but was not quick enough to prevent George Harwood who had returned from milking, from seeing them. "Hullo!" he cried, catching Guy by the ears and holding back his head that everybody might see his face, "here is 'Young America' boo-hoo-ing, making a reg'lar 'guy' of himself sure enough. Has somebody stepped on his poor 'ittle toe?" he added with mock tenderness, as if he was talking to a little child; "never mind, hold up your head, or you'll put the fire out with your tears; just see how they make it fizzle: why, how salt they must be!" Guy had the good sense neither to get angry, or to cry, at this raillery, although he found it hard to abstain from doing both. But he remembered in time that his mother had told him the only way to silence George was to take no notice of him. "Guy," said Mrs. Harwood, who had just come from the wagon, with some meat to be cooked for supper, "I want you to go to your mother, and amuse Aggie." He went joyfully as he had not seen his mother since morning. He uttered an exclamation of surprise when he entered the wagon in which she was seated, it was so different from what he had imagined it. It was covered with thick oil-cloth, which was quite impervious to rain; on the floor was a carpet, over head a curious sort of rack that held all manner of useful things, guns, fishing poles and lines, game bags, baskets of fruit, sewing materials, books; and even glass-ware and crockery. Guy thought he had never seen so many things packed in so small a space. There were at the rear of the wagon and along the sides, divans, or cushioned benches, made of pine boxes covered with cloth and padded, so that they made very comfortable seats or beds. As Guy saw no sheets or blankets upon the divans, he was at a loss to know how the sleepers would keep warm, until his mother raised the cushioned lid of one of the boxes, and showed him a quantity of coverlets and blankets, packed tightly therein. There was a large, round lamp suspended from the center of the wagon, and as Guy looked at his mother's cheerful surroundings he could not but wonder that she sighed when he spoke of the dark, lonesome lodgings they had left, until he suddenly remembered that she had been nursing the heavy, fretful baby, and trying to amuse Aggie all the day. Poor little Aggie was looking very sad, and often said she was very tired of the dull wagon, and was cold, too. Guy told her of the bright camp-fires that were burning beside the wagons, and asked her to go out with him to see them, for although he was very tired and would gladly have rested in the wagon, he was willing to weary himself much more if he could do anything to please the sickly little girl. "Oh I should like to go very much," cried Aggie eagerly, "Go and ask ma if I can! It will be such fun to see the fires burning and all the people standing around them." Mrs. Harwood was willing for Guy to take Aggie out, if he would be careful of her, and so he went back and told the anxious little girl. "Ah! but I am afraid you won't take care of me," she exclaimed hastily. "No body but mamma takes care of me. George and Gus always lets me fall, and then I cry because I am hurt, and then papa whips them, and I cry harder than ever because _they_ are hurt." "But we will have no hurting or crying this time," replied Guy as he helped Aggie out of the wagon, thinking what a tenderhearted girl she must be to cry to see George Harwood whipped, he was sure that he should not, "for," said Guy to himself, "we should never cry over what we think will do people good." How busy all the people seemed to be as Guy, with Aggie by his side walked among them. Both were greatly pleased at the novel scene presented to their view. Two cooking stoves were sending up from their black pipes thick spirals of smoke, while half a dozen clouds of the same arose from as many fires, around which were gathered men and women busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. Tea and coffee were steaming, beefsteaks broiling, slices of bacon sputtering in the frying pans, each and every article sending forth most appetizing odors. Aggie was anxious to see how her father's baggage wagons were arranged and where they stood. They proved to be the very best of the train, but they were so interested in all they saw and heard that they did not appear long in reaching them. "What a nice time we shall have on the Plains," exclaimed Aggie. "I shall want you to take me out among the wagons every night. I never thought such great, lumbering things could look so pretty. I thought the cloth coverings so coarse and yellow this morning, and now by the blaze of the fires they appear like banks of snow." So she talked on until Guy had led her past the fires, the groups were busy and cheerful people, the lowing cattle and the tired horses and mules which were quietly munching their fodder and corn, until they reached the baggage wagons. In one of them they found a lamp burning, and by its light they saw how closely it was packed. There were barrels of beef, pork, sugar, flour, and many other articles which were requisite for a long journey. There were boxes too, of tea, coffee, rice, crackers and many other edibles, and in one corner, quite apart from these a number of flasks of powder. There were also several guns, some spades and other tools, and a great many things which Guy and Aggie thought useless, but proved very valuable at a later time. "I wonder what papa brought so many guns for?" said little Aggie. "And all the others have them too. I should think they would be afraid to sleep in a wagon with so many guns and so much powder in it." "Men should not be afraid of anything," said Guy very bravely, "and at any rate not of guns and powder, for with them they can guard their lives and property from the Indians." "The Indians!" cried Aggie opening her eyes very wide with fright and surprise. "Are there Indians on the Plains?" "Yes. But don't be frightened," replied Guy. "They shall not harm you, and perhaps we may not see any." "Oh, I hope we shan't. Let us go back to mother, it is getting dark, and I'm so frightened. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" Aggie's alarm rather amused Guy, but he soothed her very kindly and told her he would take her to her mother, and they had just left the wagon, when a terrible figure, wrapped in a buffalo robe, and brandishing in his hand a small hatchet, jumped with an awful yell into the path before them. Poor Aggie caught Guy's arm and screaming with terror begged him to save her from the Indian. For a moment Guy himself was startled, then as the monster came nearer he jumped forward, wrested the hatchet from its grasp, and with hands neither slow nor gentle, tore the buffalo robe aside and administered some hearty cuffs to the crest-fallen George Harwood. "Let me go," he said piteously. "Don't you see who I am? I'll tell my father, so I will." "You are a fine Indian," said Guy, contemptuously, "just able to frighten little girls." "I can whip you," exclaimed George, as he saw Guy was preparing to lead Aggie to her mother. "Just come on!" "No," said Guy, who had already proved the cowardice of his opponent, "I am quite willing always to protect my master's daughter from Indians, but not to fight his sons." "Bravely spoken my little man," exclaimed Mr. Harwood, who had approached them unperceived. "He's a coward," whimpered George, "he struck me!" "I saw all that passed," replied Mr. Harwood, "and I wonder that he acted so well. I shall make him from henceforth Aggie's especial defender, and he can strike whoever molests her, whether it be an Indian or any one else." George walked sullenly away, and Mr. Harwood, Aggie and Guy turned toward the camp-fires, and passing three or four, reached that of their own party. At some little distance from it was spread a tablecloth covered with plates, dishes of bread, vegetables and meat, cups of steaming coffee, and other articles. On the grass around this lowly table the family were seated, all cheerful and all by the labors of the day blessed with an appetite that rendered their first meal in camp perfectly delicious. But for Guy, a dreary hour followed the supper, there were dishes to wash, water to fetch, and fires to pile high with wood. Guy almost envied his mother the task of rocking the baby to sleep, yet was glad that he was able to do the harder work which would otherwise have fallen on her hands. It was quite late when all his work was done, and he was able to sit for a few moments by the camp-fire. He had just begun to tell Aggie of "Jack, the Giant Killer's" wonderful exploits, when Mr. Harwood rang a large bell, and all the people left their fires and congregated about his. Mr. Harwood then stood up with a book in his hand and told them in a few words what a long and perilous journey they had undertaken, and asked them to join with him in entreating God's blessing upon them. He then read a short chapter from the bible and all knelt down while he offered up a prayer for guidance and protection. Aggie whispered to Guy, as she bade him "good-night," that after that prayer she should not be afraid of the Indians, and went very contentedly to her mother's wagon, while Guy followed Gus and George to the one in which they were to sleep. They were all too weary to talk, and wrapping their blankets around them lay down, and Gus and George were soon fast asleep. Guy lay awake some time, looking out at the bright fires--the sleeping cattle, the long row of wagons, seeing in fancy far beyond the wide expanse of prairies, the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and at last in his peaceful sleep, the golden land of California. CHAPTER III. It seemed to Guy but a few short moments before he was aroused from sleep by the voice of Mr. Harwood, calling to him to light the fire in the stove. He started up, for a moment, thinking himself in the poor lodging at W----, and wondering why his mother had called him so early. But the sight of the closely packed wagon, and his sleeping companions, immediately recalled to his remembrance his new position and its many duties. He hurriedly left the wagon, but as it was still quite dark to his sleepy eyes, he had to wait a few moments and look cautiously around, before he could decide which way to turn his steps. The first objects he saw, were the camp-fires, which were smouldering slowly away as if the gray dawn that was peeping over the hills was putting them to shame. He thought to himself "I am the first up," but on going forward a few steps, found himself mistaken, several of the men were moving briskly about, rousing the lazy horses and oxen, or building fires. "I shall have to be quick," thought Guy, "or I shall be the last instead of the first!" and he went to work with such ardor that he had a fire in the stove, and the kettle boiling over it before any one came to cook breakfast. He was glad to see that his mother was the first to leave Mr. Harwood's wagon, for he wanted to have a chat with her alone, but his pleasure was soon turned to sorrow when he saw how weary she looked. He feared, at first, that she was ill, but she told him that the baby had passed a restless night and kept her awake. Poor Mrs. Loring could not take up her new life as readily as Guy, and even while she encouraged him always to look upon the bright side, she very often saw only the dark herself. But no one could long remain dull or unhappy that beautiful spring morning. The dawn grew brighter as the fires died away, and at last the sun extinguished them altogether by the glory of his presence, as he rose above the distant hills. Guy thought he had never beheld so lovely a scene. There was the busy, noisy camp before him, and beyond it the calm beauty of freshly budding forests, standing forth in bold relief from the blue sky which bore on its bosom the golden sphere whence emanate all light and heat, God's gifts that make our earth so lovely and so fruitful. Those were Guy's thoughts as he moved about, willingly assisting his mother, and the two young girls who, with their brother had left W---- to seek their fortunes in the far West. Guy pitied them very much for they were unused to work and had at that time a great deal to do. So when he went to the spring for water, he brought also a pailful for them, and when he had a leisure moment, he did any little chores for them that he could. He had not noticed them much the night before, but that morning he became quite well acquainted with them; discovered that the elder was called Amy, and the younger Carrie, and that they were both very pleasant, and appreciative of all little acts of kindness. Before the sun was an hour high, the breakfast had been partaked of, the camp furniture replaced in the wagons and the train put in motion. Slowly and steadily the well-trained mules and the patient oxen wended their way towards the Missouri River, and so for nearly two weeks the march was kept up with no incident occurring to break its monotony, save the daily excitement of breaking camp at noon and after a tiresome walk of a dozen miles or more, building the watch fires at night, and talking over the events of the day. I think had it not been for Aggie, Guy would often have fallen to sleep as soon as he joined the circle round the fire, for he was generally greatly wearied by the labors of the day. Every one found something for Guy to do, and as he never shirked his work as many boys do, be found but little time for rest, and none for play. So, as I have said, he was usually so tired at night that he would certainly have fallen asleep as soon as he gained a quiet nook by the fire, but for little Aggie, who never failed to take a seat close beside him and ask for a story. So with the little girl on one side, Gus on the other, and George seated where he could hear without appearing to listen, Guy would tell them all the wonderful tales he had ever read, and many beside that were never printed or even known before. Those hours spent around the glowing fires, were happy ones to the children. Even George, when he looked up at the countless stars looking down upon them from the vast expanse of heaven, was quieted and seldom annoyed either Guy or his eager listeners by his ill-timed jests or practical jokes. "I wish," said little Aggie one evening, when she was sitting by the fire with her curly head resting on Guy's arms, "that you would tell me where all the pretty sparks go when they fly upward." "Why, they die and fall to the earth again," exclaimed George, laughing. "I don't think they do," replied Aggie, "I think the fire-flies catch them and carry them away under their wings." "And hang them for lamps in butterflies' houses," suggested Guy. "Oh yes," cried Aggie, clapping her hand in delight. "Do tell us about them, Guy! I am sure you can!" So Guy told her about the wonderful bowers in the centre of large roses where the butterflies rest at night, of the great parlor in the middle of all, whose walls are of the palest rose and whose ceiling is upheld by pillars of gold, and of the bed chambers on either hand with their crimson hangings and their atmosphere of odors so sweet that the very butterflies sometimes become intoxicated with its deliciousness, and sleep until the rude sun opens their chamber doors and dries the dew-drops upon their wings. And he told them too, how the butterflies gave a ball one night. All the rose parlors were opened and at each door two fire-flies stood, each with a glowing spark of flame to light the gay revellers to the feast. For a long time they patiently stood watching the dancers, and recounting to each other the origin of the tiny lamps they held. "I," said one, "caught the last gleam from a widow's hearth, and left her and her children to freeze; but I couldn't help that for my Lady Golden Wing told me to bring the brightest light to-night." "Yet you are scarcely seen," replied his companion, "and 'tis right your flame should be dull, for the cruelty you showed toward the poor widow, I caught my light from a rich man's fire and injured no one, and that is how my lamp burns brighter than yours." "At any rate I have the comfort of knowing mine is as bright as that of some others here." "Nay even mine is brighter than yours," cried a fly from a neighboring rose. "I would scorn to get my light as you did yours. I caught mine from the tip of a match with which a little servant-maid was lighting a fire for her sick mistress. It was the last match in the house too, and it made me laugh till I ached to hear how mistress and maid groaned over my fun." "You cannot say much of my cruelty when you think of your own," commented the first, "nor need you wonder that your lamp is dull. But look at the light at my Lord Spangle Down's door, it is the most glorious of them all, and held by poor little Jetty Back! Jetty Back! Jetty Back, where did you light your lamp to-night?" "I took the spark from a shingle roof, beneath which lay four little children asleep," she modestly answered. "It was a fierce, red spark, as you still may see, and it threatened to burn the dry roof and the old walls, and the children too. So I caught it up and bore it away, and the children sleep in safety while I shine gloriously here." "And so," concluded Guy, "a good deed will shine, and glow, ages after evil and cruel ones are forgotten." "That is a pretty story," said Aggie, contentedly, "and I am going to bed now to dream all night of the good fly, and her fadeless lamp. Good-night, dear Guy, don't forget that pretty story, for you must tell it again to-morrow." CHAPTER IV. But on the morrow neither the story of the fire-flies or any other was told, for late in the afternoon they arrived at Fort Leavenworth, which is situated on the western border of Missouri, and was then the last white settlement that travelers saw for many hundreds of miles. All felt very sad the next morning when the train proceeded on its way. Many of them thought they were leaving civilization and its blessings forever behind, and as they looked toward the vast prairie of the West they remembered with a shudder how many had found a grave beneath its tall grass. But there was no delaying or turning back then, and so they slowly continued their way, pausing but once to give a farewell cheer for the flag that floated from the fort, and to look at their rifles and say, "We are ready for whatever may come!" To Guy it seemed impossible that any one could long remain sad in the beautiful country they were entering upon. As far as the eye could reach lay a vast expanse of prairie, upon which the sunbeams lay like golden halo, making the long, rich grass of one uniform tint of pale green. Then a gentle breeze would come and ruffle the surface of this vast sea of vegetation, and immediately a hundred shades, varying from the deepest green to the lightest gold, would dance up and down each separate blade, producing the most wonderful chaos of colors. A great variety of the most lovely and delicate flowers, too, nestled beneath the grass, and sent forth sweet odors to refresh the traveler as he passed. Guy gathered them by handsful and gave them to Aggie, who wove them into long wreaths which she hung around the wagon, when she declared it looked like a fairy bower. At midday they stopped to rest. The mules and oxen were turned out to graze on the luxuriant grass, and a small party of the men rode a short distance from camp in search of game. Guy would have greatly liked to accompany them, but as Mr. Harwood did not tell him to do so, he remained contentedly behind, assisting his mother to take care of the baby, and anxiously wondering when she would become strong and well, for she still looked as pale and weak as when they left W----. He was speaking to his mother of this and hearing very thankfully her assurance that she felt better, if she did not look so, when Gus and George came up to him, and rapidly told him that their father had gone to the hunt and had left his powder flask behind and that their mother said he was to take it to them. "But he is on horseback," said Guy, "and I should never be able to walk fast enough to overtake him. I'll go and speak to Mrs. Harwood about it." "Indeed you won't!" exclaimed George, "she says you are not to bother her, but to go at once. You will be sure to meet papa, because he said they would not go farther than that little belt of cotton-wood trees which you see over there." "Why, he did not go that way at all," cried Guy in astonishment. "He left the camp on the other side." "Well, I know that," returned George, "but they were going toward that belt of trees, anyway. Didn't papa tell mamma so, Mrs. Loring?" "Hallo! where has she gone to?" "She went into the wagon before you began to speak to me," said Guy, not very well pleased with the cunning look in George's face. "Oh, did she? All right! Here, take the flask and hurry along, or mamma will give it to you for lagging so. I wish I could go with you and see the hunt." Guy was so fearful that he would do so whether he had permission or not, that he hurried away without farther thought, and was soon quite alone on the great prairie. I think he would not have gone so fast had he heard George's exultant laugh as he turned to Gus with the remark, "Isn't it jolly he's gone, but if you tell that I sent him away, I'll break your bones." Gus had a very high regard for his bones,--perhaps rather more than for the truth,--for he promised very readily to say nothing of what had passed, and indeed thought it an excellent joke, and laughed heartily. Meanwhile Guy walked on in the direction George had pointed out to him, wondering as he forced his way through the tall grass, how Mr. Harwood could consider it enough of importance to send him with it. He walked a long distance without finding any traces of Mr. Harwood and his party, and looking back saw that the wagons appeared as mere specks above the grass. For a moment he felt inclined to turn back, but he remembered that his mother had told him always to finish anything he undertook to accomplish, and so stepped briskly forward quite determined to find Mr. Harwood if it was at all possible to do so. It was a long time before he looked back again for he did not like to be tempted to return, and when he did so he was startled to find that the wagons had entirely disappeared. In great affright he looked north, east, west and south, but all in vain. At first he ran wildly about, uttering broken ejaculations of alarm, then he sat down and burst into tears, it was so dreadful to be on that vast prairie alone. He soon grew calm for his tears relieved his overcharged heart. He arose and looked carefully around, and for the first time noticed that the trees which had seemed but a short distance from the camp, looked as far off as ever. "It is plain," said he to himself, "that those trees are at a great distance. Of course, Mr. Harwood could calculate their distance though I could not, and would certainly never have ventured so far to hunt. George must have been mistaken." Then he wondered that the flask he had so long carried in his hand had not oppressed him by its weight. With many misgivings he opened it, and found that he had been most basely, cruelly deceived. The flask was empty. I think it is not surprising that Guy was very angry, and made some very foolish vows as to how he would "serve George out" if he ever gained the camp again. Ah! yes, if he ever gained it! But the question was how he was to do so, for the long prairie grass quite covered the tracks he had made and he was uncertain from what point he had come, and there was nothing in that great solitude to indicate it. Oh, how Guy wished that the tall grass, which he had thought so beautiful, was level with the earth, "Then I should be able to see the wagons," he thought, "but they have now moved on into some slight hollow, and I may never see them more." Oh! how bitterly he reproached himself for his foolish trustfulness in George Harwood, and again for ever having persuaded his mother to undertake such a perilous journey. For even then he thought more of his mother's sorrow than his own danger, saying again and again: "I shall be lost, and my mother's heart will break. Oh, my dear, dear mother?" "Well, well!" he exclaimed aloud, after spending a few moments in such sad reflections, "it is no use for me to stand here. There is one thing certain, I can meet nothing worse than death on this prairie if I go back, and if I stay here it will certainly come to me, so I will try to make for the wagons, and if I fail I shall know it is not for the want of energy." So he forced his way again through the rank grass, this time with his back to the belt of trees, though he knew that they were growing by the side of water, for which he was eagerly wishing, for the sun was very hot, and as he had taken nothing since morning he was fast becoming faint with hunger and thirst. At last the air grew cooler and a slight breeze sprang up, but although it refreshed Guy's weary body, it brought nothing but anguish to his mind, for he knew that the sun was setting. In despair he lifted his voice and halloed wildly, crying for help from God and man, but no answer came, while still the sky grew a deeper blue, the sun a more glorious scarlet, till at last when it had gained its utmost magnificence, it suddenly dropped beneath the prairie, the green grass grew darker and darker, and at last lay like a black pall around poor Guy, as he stood alone in the awful solitude. CHAPTER V. For a time poor Guy sat upon the ground helpless, and hopeless, listening intently to the rustling movements of the numerous small animals, that wandered about seeking food; fearing to move, lest he should encounter a prairie wolf, or some other ferocious beast, and equally afraid to remain still, lest they should scent him there. There was but one thing he could do, he felt then, and that was to put his trust in God, and entreat His guidance and protection. So, in the agony of his terror, he prostrated himself upon the ground, and offered up his petitions. The very act of praying comforted him, and when he lifted up his eyes, he was rejoiced to see a few bright stars shining in the sky. "I think the moon will rise in about an hour," thought Guy, looking eagerly around, with a faint hope that she might even then be peering above the horizon; and truly, like a far off flame of fire, she seemed to hang above the prairie grass. With great joy Guy waited for her to rise higher, and throw her glorious light across the wild, but she appeared almost motionless; and in much amazement at the singular phenomenon, he involuntarily walked rapidly toward the cause of his surprise, looking intently at it still. Suddenly he paused, and burst into a fit of laughter, exclaiming rapturously; "It is no moon; it is a camp fire! There! I can count one, two, three, of them, They are the fires of our own camp. Hurrah!" In his excitement, he ran eagerly forward, shouting and laughing, but was suddenly tripped by the thick grass and thrown headlong. As he was quite severely hurt, he walked on much more soberly, but still at a brisk pace, towards the steadily brightening fires. The moon he had so anxiously looked for, gave no indication of her presence in the heavens, and so Guy's progress was much retarded for the want of light, for the stars were often overwhelmed by great banks of clouds, and gave but a feeble ray at best. "It is becoming very cold," thought Guy as he shivered in the rising wind, "I fear there is going to be a storm; Oh, what will become of me if it finds me here!" Suddenly he paused, thinking for a moment that he heard shouting at a distance, but he listened for a long time, and heard no more, and continued his walk slowly and wearily, quite unable to repress his fast falling tears. He was so very tired, so hungry, and so cold, it was with the utmost difficulty he could force his way through the coarse grass. Very often too he was startled by some prowling animal, and thought with horror of all the tales he had read of boys being torn to pieces by wild beasts. He especially remembered one he had read in an old primer, of little Harry who was eaten by lions for saying "I won't" to his mother. He was thankful to know, that there were no lions on the prairies, and that he had never said "I won't," to his mother, but he very much feared he had said things just as bad, and that prairie wolves, or even a stray bear, might be lying in wait to devour him for it. Just as he had reached this stage of his reflections, he fancied he heard some animal in pursuit of him. Without pausing even for an instant to listen, he set off at full speed toward the still glowing fires, till his precipitate flight was arrested by some obstacle, over which he fell, reaching the ground with a shock that almost stunned him. As soon as he recovered his senses, he attempted to rise, but to his dismay, found that he could not stand. A sudden twinge of pain in his right ankle prostrated him, as quickly as if he had been shot. He thought at first that his leg was broken, but after a careful examination, came to the conclusion that his ankle was sprained, but even a broken leg would not have been a greater misfortune then, for he was unable to walk, and was suffering the most excruciating pain. I think no one can imagine what poor Guy suffered, for the rest of that long night. There he lay helpless, in sight of the camp fires, but quite unable to reach them or to give any indications of his whereabouts to his friends. There he lay dying with pain, and hunger, and cold, yet suffering more in mind, than from all of these bodily evils, because he knew that his mother must know of his absence from the camp, and was wildly bemoaning the loss of her only child. The long wished-for moon at length arose, hours after Guy had expected her, but too soon he thought when she made her appearance, for the camp fires grew dim beneath her rays, and he had to strain his aching eyes to see them at all. But he had not long to bemoan her presence, and to say, that she hid the light of home from him, for she soon plunged into a great bank of clouds; a fearful blast of wind swept by, and Guy was drenched with rain. Oh, it was terrible, that passing storm! Short as it was, it appeared to Guy to last for hours, long after it had passed over him, he heard it wildly sweeping on, but as it grew fainter, and fainter, the calmness that came upon the night overpowered him, and he fell into a troubled sleep. It seemed but a short time before he again awoke, yet the grey dawn was struggling in the east, and the little birds were hopping from blade to blade of the wet grass twittering cheerily as if to thank God for the refreshing rain. Poor Guy saw all this as if in a dream. He fancied he had been transformed into an icicle, and that some one had built a fire at his head, and was slowly melting him. He had no idea where he was, and talked constantly to his mother, whom he fancied was beside him, entreating her to put out the fire that was consuming him. Suddenly he heard his name called, and realizing his position, and springing to his feet, in spite of his wounded limb, halloed loudly, waving his white handkerchief and signaling frantically to a horseman that appeared in the distance. For a few dreadful moments he was unheard, and unseen, then a shout of joy, answered his screams, and the horseman galloped rapidly toward him, and in a few minutes the poor boy lay fainting, but saved, in the arms of James Graham! CHAPTER VI. Guy knew no more for many hours. When he regained his senses, he found himself in Mrs. Harwood's wagon lying upon one of the divans. His mother was bending anxiously over him, and burst into a flood of joyful tears when she saw that he recognized her. Nothing could exceed Guy's joy at seeing her again though with traces of deep anxiety upon her face. Indeed, so delighted was he at his escape from death, that he was inclined to regard every one with favor! Even George Harwood, who a few days after his return to the camp, came to him, according to his father's instructions, to confess his unkindness and to ask pardon for the pain he had caused him. "I just thought I would send you off on a fool's errand," said he, "but I never thought you would go so far, and frighten us nearly to death, and most kill yourself. I was so scared when you didn't come back I didn't know what to do. Father missed you, but thought you were somewhere about the wagons, and I dared not tell him you were not; but Gus turned coward during the afternoon, and told that I had sent you away--and _then_ didn't I catch it?" and George grimaced most dolefully, pointing to poor Guy's sprained ankle, and declaring that the pain of that was nothing to what he had had in his back for days past. Mrs. Loring came in then, and sent him away, as Guy had been ill with fever ever since his night's exposure, and could bear but little excitement. It was nearly two weeks before he could rise, and they had even then to carry him from place to place, because he could not bear his weight upon his wounded limb. It fretted him sorely when they camped at night, to see how hard she must have worked while he lay ill; yet he could but perceive that she looked better and stronger than she had done since his father's death, and joyfully felt that the excitement and toil of a journey across the plains would restore his mother to health, whatever might be the effect upon him. How kind they all were to him during the time he was slowly regaining his health and strength. Aggie sat by him constantly, in her childish way telling him of the wonders she daily saw, or coaxing him to tell her some pretty tale. Mrs. Harwood always smiled upon him when she passed, and Amy and Carrie Graham often asked him to their wagon, and lent him books, or talked to him of the home they had left, and that which they hoped to find. All the men missed Guy so much, he had always been so useful and good-natured. Mr. Harwood daily said, that there should be a jubilee in camp when Guy got well again. But he recovered so gradually that he took his old place in the train by almost imperceptible degrees, and was at the end of a month as active as ever. They were then on the borders of the Rio Platte, or Nebraska River, in the country of the Pawnee Indians. They were about to leave behind them the vast, luxuriant prairie, and enter upon what may more properly be called the plains. Guy was not sorry to see the thick grass become thinner and thinner, for he remembered that amid its clustering blades he had nearly lost his life, and therefore looked with much complacency upon the broad, shallow river, along which their course lay; the sandy loam beneath their feet, and the sand hills that arose like great billows of earth, rolling in regular succession over the level surface. George and Gus thought the country most dreary and wretched, and would scarcely believe Guy, when he told them of a desert called Sahara, that had not even a blade of grass upon it, save an occasional oasis, many miles apart, and which were often sought for, by the weary traveler, as he had himself sought the camp, during his terrible night on the prairie. "It can't be worse than this," they eagerly contended, "I don't believe even Indians live here." But they were soon convinced to the contrary, for a few days afterwards Guy startled them by the exclamation "see the Indians! There are the Indians coming!" George very boldly told them to "come on," but Gus went close to Guy, and declared that such mere specks as they saw in the distance couldn't be Indians; yet was suddenly most anxious to know whether they were cannibals, and if so, whether he looked a tempting morsel or not. Guy could not help laughing at his questions, although he himself felt quite uneasy at the approach of the wild hunters of the prairies, which were seen rapidly drawing near to them. The men in the train formed a closer circle about the wagons, and hastily inspected their rifles, while Mr. Harwood gave them instructions how to proceed in case of an attack. That, however, he did not greatly apprehend, as they soon perceived the Indians were but a small party of middle-aged, or old men, and squaws, and it is seldom such a party attempts to molest any number of travelers. However, Mr. Harwood thought it best to keep them at a safe distance, and when they approached within a hundred yards of the train, suddenly commanded them to halt by raising his right hand with the palm in front, and waving it backward and forward several times. They, upon this, stopped their horses, and consulted together a few moments, then fell into a posture indicative of rest. Then, Mr. Harwood raised his hand again and moved it slowly from right to left. This they understood to mean "who are you?" One of the oldest of them immediately replied by placing a hand on each side of the forehead, with two fingers pointing to the front, to represent the narrow, sharp ears of a wolf. "They are Pawnees," said Mr. Harwood. "Ah! there is the chief making signs that they wish to talk with us." A long conversation by means of signs, in the use of which the prairie Indians are very expert, was then carried on between Mr. Harwood and the old chief. Remembering his promise to Aggie, to protect her from the Indians, Guy went to Mrs. Harwood's wagon to assure her there was no danger, and that he would remain near, and then took a stand behind the wagon where he could see and hear all that passed. He was soon joined by George and Gus, for Guy was always so calm and collected that they felt quite safe near him, though he was no stronger or older than themselves. They all watched the Indians with much interest, and were surprised to see that instead of being giants, as accounts of their cruel and wonderful deeds had led them to expect, they were of medium height. In place of the horrible face, and the flaming eyes they had pictured, they saw the countenances of these Indians were intelligent, and although of course of a bright copper hue, were in some instances quite handsome. The hair of the men was very long, and streamed like black pennants, upon the wind. Their arms, shoulders, and breasts were quite naked, and their dress consisted only of deer skin, with a cloth wound around the lower part of the body. One or two were covered with buffalo robes, of which every warrior carries one, in which he wraps himself when cold. Guy thought that the men as they sat proudly upon their beautiful horses, holding in their hands long bows made of the tough wood of the osage orange, which is as supple as elastic, looked very noble and fine. Their bows were about eight feet long and were wound around with the sinews of deer, and strung with a cord of the same. The arrows were about twenty inches long, of flexible wood, with a triangular point of iron at one end, and two feathers intersecting each other at right angles, at the opposite extremity. This description Guy quoted to his companions, from a book he had once read, and they saw at once how perfectly true it was. While they were astonished at the appearance of the men, they were much diverted at that of the women. They were very short and ugly; each had her hair cut short, and they were dressed the same as the men with the addition of a skirt of dressed deer skin. Their faces were tattooed in the most uncouth devices, and altogether they appeared quite hideous, as they sat upon their horses, in the same position as the men, regarding with much interest the movements of their chief who had been made to understand that he might come alone to the train. At first, he seemed doubtful about the propriety of such an act, but his wish for gain soon overcame his caution, and he rode up to Mr. Harwood, making many signs and protestations of friendship, which were returned most graciously. After a long series of compliments had passed between them, the old chief gave Mr. Harwood to understand that his people were hungry and needed sugar, corn, and many other things. Mr. Harwood replied by saying there were many deer upon the prairie, which they could kill, that they themselves had but little provision but would give them some beads, and bright paints, in token of the good feeling of the whites toward them. At that the old man was delighted, for the Indians are very fond of beads and all kinds of ornaments, and of paints, with which they daub their faces and arms in the most grotesque manner, upon any grand occasion. But the old chief disdained to exhibit any satisfaction, and smoked the pipe, that had been offered him, in the most indifferent manner while the presents were being procured from the wagons. When the old man had entered the camp, George and Gus thought it prudent to retreat to their mother's wagon, from whence, they could look out and see all that was going on. Aggie, on the contrary was so anxious to have a nearer view of the Indians, when she found them so much less terrible than she had imagined, that she begged her mother to allow her to stand with Guy outside the wagon, and after some little hesitation, Mrs. Harwood permitted her to do so. When Guy lifted the little girl from the wagon, the savage gave a grunt of surprise, and gazed for a long time upon her with such evident admiration that Guy was greatly afraid he would take a fancy to carry her off. But Aggie, herself entertained no such fears, and after looking at the old man curiously for some little time, approached him slowly and examined his strange dress, the circular shield covered with buffalo hide that was strapped on his left arm, and the formidable war-club that lay at his side. It was made of a stone, about two pounds in weight, round which a withe of elastic wood was bound, being held in its place by a groove which had been formerly cut in the stone. The two ends of the withe formed a handle about fourteen inches long, and were bound together with strips of buffalo hide, which rendered it strong and firm, totally preventing it from either splitting down, or breaking when used, as no doubt it often was, with great force, upon the heads of unfortunate enemies. The old chief allowed Aggie to examine all those things with the greatest good nature, and when she touched his quiver of arrows, and asked him to give her one, he grunted assent; so she took the prettiest one, and after admiring it for some time, nodded and smiled, and walked toward Guy with the prize in her hand. But immediately the Indian darted to his feet, frowning with anger, and sprang toward the frightened child. Mr. Harwood and most of the men believed for the moment that he was indeed about to attempt to carry her off, and with loud voices bade him stand back, and levelled their rifles upon him, to enforce obedience. The old man raised his hand, and immediately the whole force on the prairie commenced galloping toward them. "Aggie give him his arrow!" cried Guy at this juncture, "he misunderstood you; he thinks you have stolen his arrows! Give it to him." She did so, the old man released her, and she fled to the wagon like a frightened deer. With a few expressive gestures Guy explained to the Indian the mistake that had been made, and at the same time it became evident to Mr. Harwood and his party. The chief signaled to his party to retire, and in less time than it has taken to describe it, peace was restored; whereas but for Guy's presence of mind a terrible battle might have followed Aggie's innocent freak. But, notwithstanding that peace had been restored, they were all glad when the chief took up his presents and went back to his motley followers, and even more so, when they put their horses to their utmost speed, and returned to their lodges; where no doubt they gave to their tribe an astounding account of the adventure of their chief in the camp of the white man. CHAPTER VII. For some time after the encounter with the Indians, which happily ended so peacefully, the train moved on without meeting with any adventures. George and Gus thought the days passed very drearily, and longed for some excitement, but Guy was altogether too busy to feel dull. Mrs. Harwood's baby was quite sick, and as Mrs. Loring's time was fully taken up in attending to him, Guy had double work to do. You would be surprised if I should tell you half that he did. Of all the fires he built; the oxen he fed; the water he carried, and even the breakfasts and suppers he helped to cook. And he did it all in the best manner of which he was capable too. Although the first biscuits he made were heavy, the next were light as down, for he inquired into the cause of his failure and rectified it, and by doing that in every case he soon learned to do perfectly all that he undertook. Most children would have thought the life of constant toil which Guy led very wretched indeed; but he did not, for he had daily the gratification of perceiving that the great object of their journey across the plains was being gradually accomplished; his mother's health was slowly becoming strengthened, by every step they took toward the snowy mountains, beyond which lay the fruitful valleys in which they hoped to find a home. But, as the days passed by, they greatly feared that one of their number would never reach there; the baby boy grew worse. The cooling breezes that brought health to his weakly sister, seemed fraught with death for the lately blooming boy. Guy was greatly saddened by the sufferings of the child, and by the grief of its parents, and shuddered when he saw the bones of animals which lay by thousands bleaching upon the desert, and once was filled with horror on coming across a human skull, which the prairie wolves had dragged from some shallow grave, and separated far from its kindred bones. The idea that the body of the poor little baby should meet such a fate, filled him with sorrow, and although it had always seemed to him a natural and peaceful thing that the temple of clay should rest under its native dust, after the flight of the soul, he thought that the Indian mode of sepulture, of which they saw examples every day, by far the best. Very often they saw a curious object in the distance, and two of the party, riding forward to examine it, would report an Indian place of burial. Guy had himself gone forward once and found, to his surprise, two forked poles, some six or eight feet high, supporting something wrapped in a blanket. This something was a dead Indian, who in this strange position, with his weapons in his hands, was waiting his summons to the "happy hunting grounds." On his return to the train, Guy hastened to find Aggie, to tell her of what he had seen. She was listening very attentively, when George ran up, exclaiming: "Look at the rats! there are thousands of rats on the plains!" Aggie looked in the direction indicated by her brother, and crying: "Oh, the dreadful rats," was about to run away, when Guy stopped her, telling her, laughingly, that they were the wonderful little prairie dogs, of which they had heard so much. Truly enough when she gained courage to look at the little animals, she saw that although they at first sight resembled rats, on closer inspection they appeared even more like squirrels. The children were greatly entertained by watching their quick, active movements, as they darted about through the low grass. A very busy community they appeared to be, and with plenty to gossip about. To Aggie's delight Guy pretended to translate their quick, chirruping barks into our own language. Some he said were telling how a monster rattlesnake had come to visit them without any invitation, and that the only food he would eat, was the youngest and fattest of their families; and that their constant intruders, the owls, had the same carnivorous tastes, besides which they rendered themselves particularly disagreeable, by standing in the doors and staring at every dog that went by, and even preventing the entrance of visitors, to the great distress of all the belles and beaux in town. All this may have been very true, for the excited little creatures talked so continuously that I am sure they must have had some grievance, and the children thought it must be the owls that stood solemnly at the entrance of many of the burrows. They did not see the rattlesnakes, so even Aggie somewhat doubted the tales of their ferocity, which Guy said the little prairie dogs related. But although these little creatures were such chatterers, they appeared very industrious, for many hillocks of sand indicated where their homes were burrowed. Each little hole was occupied by a pair of dogs, one of which was often seen perched on the apex like a sentinel. But like many other sentinels, they appeared on the watch for danger, not to combat, but to avoid it, for they darted like a flash into their holes whenever a lean, prowling wolf stalked near them, or even a prairie hen flew by. "I wish you would tell us a story about prairie dogs," said Aggie to Guy, that evening when they were gathered around the camp-fire. "I am afraid it is impossible for me to do that," he replied, "for very little seems to be known about them. Naturalists have never paid much attention to them, curious as they are." "But the Indians must know something about them," said Gus. "Yes, I suppose so," returned Guy, "for before the white man came to annoy them, they had nothing to do but to watch animals and learn their habits, that they might know which were fit for food, and which was the easiest way of killing them. Ah, yes, now that I have been thinking about it, I do remember a story that the Indians tell about the prairie dogs!" "Oh tell it!" cried Aggie, eagerly; Gus seconded the request, and even George drew nearer, for Guy had a great reputation as story teller in the camp. "It is rather a long tale," said he, "but the Indians say, a true one. It happened years and years ago when each animal understood the language of all others, and men conversed with them as readily as with themselves. "In those days each tribe had its sorcerers, or wise men, who pretended to cure not only all diseases but to control the destinies of men. They were accordingly held in great veneration by their simple-minded dupes, as are their few descendants, which even at this day practice in a lesser degree the arts of their forefathers. "Well, it happened that when these men were more powerful among the tribes than the chiefs themselves, that they combined together to wrest from the hands of these the commands that they held, in order that they might hold the people both in bodily and mental subjection. There had for a long time existed a tradition among them, that when a daughter of a chief--an only child,--should love a brave of an unfriendly tribe, they would have power to change her into a flower or animal, and unless the brave should find the means within ten moons, or months, to break the enchantment, she would die, and with her every chieftain and his family. Accordingly these wicked sorcerers found constant pretexts for involving the tribes in war, especially if they supposed that the only daughter of a chieftain loved a brave of another tribe; but for many years all their arts were in vain, for the Indians were so passionate and revengeful that immediately an affront was given or received, violent hatred vanquished love, and the chiefs and their families were saved. "The sorcerers were almost in despair of ever obtaining the entire authority they craved, when it came to pass that two rival tribes met upon the plains, and as was usual in such cases, a battle was fought. The Ohoolee tribe were victorious, and killed many of the Gheelees and also took many of them prisoners. Among the latter, was the only daughter of the chief Sartahnah, the beautiful Mahdrusa. "Great was the consternation of her tribe, for this maiden was held more precious by them than a hundred braves. She was more graceful than the fairest flower that grew upon the prairie; her hair was longer than the grass by the riverside and blacker than the night; her eyes were like those of the young fawn, and her voice was sweeter than a breeze laden with the song of birds. There was not a chieftain or brave of the Gheelee's but would have laid down his life for her, and great was the grief and shame that befell them when she was taken captive by the Ohoolees. "From that day there was continual war waged between the two tribes. The Ohoolees acted on the defensive, the Gheelees on the offensive. Never a week passed but that a party of braves went forth to attempt the rescue of the beautiful Mahdrusa from the lodges of the enemy. The chief, her father, to increase if possible the zeal of the braves promised her hand to him who should deliver her. There was great rejoicing when this was made known, for all loved Mahdrusa, though she cared for none. Her rescue was attempted with a thousand times more eagerness than before, and one day Anoctah, the bravest of all the Gheelees, led her in triumph to her father's wigwam and demanded his reward. "Mahdrusa heard him with dismay, and clasping her father's knees, sank down before him, and entreated him to give Anoctah some other treasure. "The old chief told her that was impossible, and Mahdrusa wept so loudly that the whole tribe gathered about the lodge and asked what had befallen the beautiful daughter of Sartahnah. But she would say nothing, yet wept continually, so that the sorcerers said the spirit of the rivers was within her, and that they alone, could deliver her from it. "Now these men had reasoned together over her strange malady, and said, 'She mourns so much over her betrothal to Anoctah because she loves a brave of an unfriendly tribe. Let us then take her from her father, and place her in the great medicine lodge where we can work our enchantments upon her, and make ourselves rulers of all the tribes.' "So in the night they took her from her father's wigwam into the great medicine lodge, which was hung about with the herbs they used in their incantations, and had in the centre a great heap of stones, within which was a fire burning. "Beside these stones, which were kept constantly hot, they made Mahdrusa sit down, and while she still wept, her tears fell upon the stones, and a great vapor arose, which the sorcerers condensed upon clay vessels into drops of water as pure as crystal, and with them and the herbs that hung around, made a decoction so powerful that when they had forced Mahdrusa to drink it, she lost all power and reason, and her spirit lay passive in the hands of her tormentors. "'We will take it from her body,' said they, 'and place it where no brave will ever discover it. "'Let it fly to the centre of the wild rose,' said one. But the others demurred, saying her lover would certainly seek it there. "'Better hide it under the thick skin of the buffalo,' said another. "'No!' they answered, 'the brave that Mahdrusa loves must be a fearless hunter, therefore his arrow would bring her forth.' "In short, they talked of every flower and beast on the prairie, but found in all some fault, until the most cunning of all mentioned the prairie dogs. 'No one would look for her in their miserable holes,' said he, 'and they are such chatterers that the magpies, themselves, would not have patience to listen to them.' "So it was agreed that her spirit should dwell as a prairie dog, and before long out sprang one from a reeking cauldron of herbs, and they took it to the holes of the prairie dogs and left it there, placing beside it a terrible serpent, that all others might be afraid to approach it, and an owl at the door, as a sentinel that would stand looking patiently for an enemy both night and day, and never breathe to the gossips around her the tale of the princess that was prisoned within. "And that was how the rattlesnake and owl became sharers in the homes of the prairie dogs, and it was with these awful companions that the spirit of Mahdrusa spent many weary days. Meanwhile her body lay in the medicine lodge of her people, and the sorcerers said that her soul had ascended to the stars, where, in ten moons, she would be purified from her sin and return to her body, or that it would die, and moulder away. "This news soon spread over the prairies, but the brave that Mahdrusa loved would not believe it. He knew the wicked desires of the sorcerers, and believed that she was a flower on the prairie, and that he was appointed to rescue her. "So he went forth and cut down every flower that he found, and he toiled so ceaselessly that before two moons had passed not a blossom remained, and still he found not his beautiful Mahdrusa. Then he made a strong bow, and arrows that could not miss the mark, and he slew the beasts of the prairie by hundreds, yet he could not find his love. And so nine moons passed by, and Mahdrusa was still in her horrible captivity, and the brave that sought her was bowed down as if by years, with the weight of his sorrow, and his body was so steeped in the blood of the animals he had slain that he was redder than clay, and his descendants continue so to this very time. All the beasts of the prairie had he slain in his terrible anger, and all the people had fled to the mountains for food, thither he thought he would follow them, and he sat down upon a ridge of sand, to strengthen his bow, and sharpen his arrows, when, lo! quite unmindful of him, a thousand little creatures he had fancied too insignificant to notice, sprang forth from their holes, and gathered in groups for their daily gossip. "They angered him so greatly by their chatter that he placed an arrow on his bow to fire amongst them, when his hand was stayed by hearing a curious tale that a gay young dog was telling. "'She lives next to my mother's lodge,' said he, 'and the poor thing never appears either to eat or drink. I took her a delicate slice of cactus myself, but I dropped it in a terrible fright, for a great serpent darted towards me, and an owl sprang forward and devoured my youngest brother before he had time to utter a squeak.' "The brave rejoiced when he heard these words, and springing up, went in search of the captive prairie dog. Many weary days he sought in vain. He asked of her whereabouts from every insect he met, but none could give him any information, and the prairie dogs, under the spell of the sorcerers, were silent--on that topic, at least. "There was but a day left in which he could act. Almost in despair, he wandered about the prairie dog town, vainly looking for his love. "At last he remembered that a queer old woman whom he had met, while hunting one day, had told him that she was his guardian fairy, and had given him two little pieces of stone which he was to strike together if ever he was in great trouble, and she would appear and help him. "He had taken but little notice of the old woman at the time, supposing her to be a conjurer or evil worker, and he had dropped the little stones into his pouch, where they had long lain forgotten. Without daring to hope that they would be of any use, he took them out, and struck them together. A tiny spark of fire fell from them upon some dry grass at his feet, a flame sprang up, and lo! out of it stepped the old woman he sought. "'So you have called me at last!' said she, 'what is it that I shall do?' "'Lead me, kind fairy, to the hiding place of the beautiful Mahdrusa,' he replied "So she went before him to a part of the prairie that, in all his wanderings, he had not visited. But, strangely enough, before his feet the grass turned into briars, through which he only with the greatest difficulty could force his way. Every timid hare became a wolf, each gentle fawn a raging buffalo, but the brave went on undaunted, brandishing his war-club, and keeping his formidable foes at bay. Never for a moment did he allow fear to gain possession of him for he knew if he did he should be lost. It was only faith and courage that could carry him safely through that enchanted ground. "'Stop!' cried the fairy, when he had passed unscathed through a thousand dangers. 'Mahdrusa is before you!' "But before he could look for her, the owl flew like a fierce hawk in his face, and pecked at his eyes, and the rattlesnake sprang upon him burying its deadly fangs into his arm. The brave almost lost his courage then, but he heard Mahdrusa, though in the voice of a prairie dog, entreating him to save her. He caught the serpent in his hands, and seizing its jaws, tore it asunder, and wrapped its writhing body around his wound, while at the same moment the fairy called up a terrible wind that blew the owl far away, and to the arms of the young warrior, the little prairie dog that held the soul of Mahdrusa. "So was half the task of the lover accomplished; yet all his toil would be in vain if he could not before the moon set that night place her soul in the body it had before tenanted. But he was many leagues from the lodge in which it lay, and he knew that by his own power he could not hope to reach it in time, so he called upon the good fairy again, and she turned a rabbit into a fleet courser that bore the lover and the enchanted maiden, over the prairie with the swiftness of wind. "The moon was but a few inches, it appeared, above the horizon, when they reached the lodge. By command of the sorcerers all the people had returned from the mountains to see whether the spirit of Mahdrusa would come from the stars, or her body, which all this time had lain as if in a deep sleep, take upon itself the signs of death. All were gathered in the great lodge. The cauldron of herbs from which the enchanted prairie dog had emerged was boiling over the fire, and around it the sorcerers were standing. Before them lay the body of the beautiful Mahdrusa, and beside it stood her father and Anoctah. "Into the lodge, into the midst of all the people, the young brave sprang! The warriors of the Gheelees raised their war clubs when they saw one of the hated Ohoolees, but the young brave cried, 'strike me not, for I bear the soul of Mahdrusa!" "Then they all fell back and Anoctah said, 'Restore it to her body, and she shall be thine, if she loves thee better than me.' "But the sorcerers sprang upon him, and tried to tear the little prairie dog from his bosom, but the fairy cried:-- "'Hold her with thy right hand into the cauldron and she shall be saved!' "So he broke away from the sorcerers and plunged the enchanted one into the boiling cauldron, unheeding the agony he suffered or the cries of the little animal he held, and in a moment the moon plunged beneath the horizon; Mahdrusa arose from her long sleep; the sorcerers fell into the boiling cauldron and were consumed; and all the people shouted for joy, and with one accord cried that the Ohoolees should from henceforth be their brothers, and the young brave who had rescued Mahdrusa, their chieftain, when her father was called to the happy hunting grounds. "The next day the marriage of the young brave and Mahdrusa was celebrated with great splendor. And, behold, after the ceremony was over, a beautiful young maiden stood in the place where the old woman had been. "'I too was enchanted by those wicked sorcerers, and condemned to wear the form of an old woman until I should make two young hearts perfectly happy. I have completed my task to-day.' "Then Anoctah who had been very sorrowful, looked up, and seeing the beautiful maiden, forgot his love for Mahdrusa, and entreated the stranger to be his wife. "She loved him well and consented, and thus made a third heart joyful as those of the young Ohoolee brave and his beautiful Mahdrusa." "And they lived happily together all their lives," quoted Aggie, from the fairy tales she had heard, "Why, Guy, that was a long story," she added yawning, "and it has made me so sleepy I shall go to bed. Good-night!" "Good-night," returned Guy, not very well pleased that she should be so sleepy, and fearing that his story must have been very stupid as well as long. Perhaps it was because of this, that he sat down by the fire again when she was gone instead of going to bed as he usually did, and it was from sitting there that he got into trouble on the following day, and to tell you what his trouble was shall be the duty of the next chapter. CHAPTER VIII. "I say," said George, slapping Guy on the shoulder, the moment after his father bade them "good-night" and went to his wagon, telling them to go to theirs, "I say, I have got the best thing to tell you, and we'll have the greatest fun, if you don't turn sneak and try to get out of it." "I'm not likely to turn sneak!" retorted Guy very indignant that he should be thought capable of such a thing. "What are we to have such fun at? I don't think you will find that I shall shirk it." Now, Guy never would have said that without knowing what George's fun was to be, had he not been vexed at Aggie's cool reception of his story, and at some other things that had happened through the day. He was in a very restless, dissatisfied temper, and, as many other boys do under those circumstances, he felt like doing any wild thing that was suggested to him, without inquiring whether it was right or wrong. George saw that, and, greatly delighted, said: "I told Gus I didn't believe you would back out, and we will have such a jolly time! You know there are numbers of antelopes on the plains here, and I heard James Graham say this morning, that there would be sure to be a great many of them go down to that little creek to drink just as soon as the moon rose." "Well," said Guy, wondering greatly what the herd of antelopes had to do with their fun. "Well," returned George, "I have been reading a book that tells all about hunting them. That was what I was doing when pa thought me so studious to-day, and I found out how to hunt them at night, and it's just as easy as can be. You have only to creep up to them silently, and you can shoot them down by dozens." "Like partridges?" commented Guy, in a tone of doubt. "You needn't laugh at what I say," returned George. "You can ask Gus if it isn't so, and if you don't believe him, I'll show you the book." "Oh! I believe it all, of course!" said Guy, hastily; "but I don't see what difference it makes to us, for we have nothing to hunt antelopes with." "There are plenty of guns in the wagon," said George, in a low voice, "and I don't see why we shouldn't use them." Guy was greatly startled at this speech, for Mr. Harwood had told all the boys never to touch one of the guns. He reminded George of that, but he only laughed, and began a glowing account of the glorious time they would have in creeping toward the creek, in the moonlight, and shooting down the antelopes as they bent their heads to drink. Guy's imagination was highly excited by George's words, and from being the most unwilling, he became the most anxious that the midnight hunt should be attempted, quite forgetting Mr. Harwood's commands in thinking of the triumph they might have in the morning, in exhibiting two or three dead antelopes. He readily assented to George's proposition, that they should then proceed to the wagon, and choose their guns. No inducements or threats, even to the breaking of his bones, would induce Gus to touch one. "Then," said George, "you shall carry this small hatchet, and a knife, so that we shall be able to cut the horns and tails off the antelopes that we can't bring home with us. I don't suppose we shall be able to carry more than one apiece." After securing their guns, they left the camp very cautiously, each one going a different way, and all meeting at a point about a quarter of a mile from the camp, on the banks of the little stream, where they expected the antelopes would come to drink. They stayed there in silence for some time, for Guy, remembering his former experience on the prairie, was afraid to venture for even a moment out of sight of the camp-fires. But at last they all became so impatient at remaining so still and seeing nothing, that they ventured, very cautiously, a little farther up the stream. Guy took the lead, and very often would stop, and motion to his companions to do likewise, whenever he fancied he heard any noise. Thus two very tiresome hours passed away, and Gus was very crossly protesting against staying any longer, when Guy motioned him very eagerly to be still, and with great triumph pointed to a number of animals that, one by one, very slowly and cautiously, were going down to the water to drink. They were very slender and graceful, about the size of a small deer, and covered with coarse, wiry hair, and bearing upon their small, well-formed heads a pair of branching horns. They descended to the water, without exhibiting any signs of suspicion or fear, for the boys, quite by accident, had got to the leeward of them--that is, where the wind would not pass from them to the antelopes, and give to the keen animals notice of their presence. "Now," whispered Guy, excitedly, "wait until you see them stoop their heads to drink, and then fire at them! Now--ready!" Both boys raised their guns and fired. There was a terrible concussion. Both were thrown flat upon their backs, with the idea that their heads, or at least their noses, were shot off, and away stampeded the antelopes, as fast as their slender legs would carry them. Gus began to howl and cry most wildly, believing that his brother and Guy were both killed. They, however, soon convinced him that they were both alive, by rising, each declaring his nose was broken, and pointing to the flowing blood as proof of it. George was terribly enraged, chiefly at the gun, which he declared had "kicked" him. Guy, on his part, was very much vexed with George, for having brought him on such a profitless adventure; but though he was suffering very much from his rashness, the whole thing appeared to him so ridiculous, that he laughed long and heartily. "I believe you would laugh if you were dying," grumbled George, as they stood together by the side of the creek, washing their face. "Pretty figures we shall make to-morrow, sha'n't we? And pa will give it to you to-morrow, too, for taking the guns." "You told me to do it!" retorted Guy, sullenly, but quite alarmed at the thought of Mr. Harwood's impending wrath, as well as angry at himself for having done anything to incur it. George answered him very rudely, and then followed a quarrel between the two, which was at last brought to an abrupt termination by a terrible scream from Gus. They looked toward him, and saw, with horror, an immense panther, but a short distance off, making ready for a spring. The boys were transfixed with horror, as they saw his glaring eyes fixed upon them. They saw him crouch like an immense cat, preparing to spring upon its prey. They saw a sudden flash of fire before their eyes, heard the report of a gun, and, with as much fear as joy, beheld the terrible monster spring high into the air, and fall to the ground, tearing up the ground with its claws, and foaming at the mouth, in agony. Another shot ended its struggles and its life together. The boys uttered cries of joy for their delivery from the terrible death with which the panther had threatened one, or perhaps even all, of them; but they were very much frightened to see that their deliverer was Mr. Harwood. He looked at them very sternly and said-- "You may be very thankful that I heard the reports of your guns and came in search of you, or your disobedience might have been punished most fearfully." With great sorrow and shame they felt that his words were true, as they stood beside the dead panther, and looked at his long claws, and the firm white teeth in his large mouth. Gus burst into tears, and said he knew the horrible creature was making straight for him, and eagerly assured his father that he would never disobey him again in his life. George and Guy were quite ready to make the same promise, but Mr. Harwood looked so stern that they dared not speak to him, and Guy felt utterly wretched when, instead of scolding him, Mr. Harwood looked at him very sorrowfully, and said: "I am disappointed in you, Guy! I thought I could trust you." "The next thing, I heard the reports of the guns, and immediately surmised where you were. I was so anxious about you, that I would not call one of the others, but came immediately in pursuit of you, and it is well that I did." "How was the baby, when you left?" asked the conscience-stricken Guy. "Dying," returned Mr. Harwood, emphatically. Guy waited to hear no more, but darted forward, reaching the camp some minutes before his companions. He saw that several in the train were up, and some called after him, asking where he had been. Without stopping to answer them, he ran on to Mrs. Harwood's wagon, and seeing it all alight within, sprang to the front, and hastily putting the canvas door aside, asked how the baby was. His mother came over to him, crying and wringing her hands-- "Oh, Guy!" she cried, "where have you been? How wicked you were to leave us so, when the baby was dying!" Guy knew not what to say--he had no excuse to offer, for he never thought of putting the blame on George. He, therefore, kept silent, and in a most miserable state of mind, followed Mr. Harwood and his sons to the camp. Gus kept close to his father all the way, crying out every minute or two that he saw another panther, and at last asking how it was that their absence from camp was discovered. "The baby was very ill," answered Mr. Harwood, gravely. "He was in convulsions, and your mother wanted to put him in a hot bath. I went to call Guy to help us, and then found you were gone." "And what did you do then?" asked Gus. "Oh, mother!" he cried, "is he dead!" "Yes," she answered. "He died while you were laughing and sporting. I should think you would never enjoy yourself again, while you can remember that." Guy looked at the little babe, lying dead on its mother's lap, and thought, indeed, that he never should be happy again. Aggie added to his distress by looking at him sternly, with her widely-opened eyes, and crying: "Go away, you bad, bad boy! I will never love you again." "And Mr. Harwood will never trust me," thought Guy, bitterly, as he left the wagon, and passed Mr. Harwood and his sons, who were about to enter it. Guy slept but very little that night; in the first place, his bruised face was very painful, and he was, besides, haunted by the remembrance of Mr. Harwood's reproachful glance, when he had said he had been deceived in him; and he wondered if he would carry into execution the threat he had made before they left home, and greatly feared that he would, for he felt that he had been quite disobedient, and seemingly ungrateful enough, to be left alone on the prairie. The train did not move on as early the next morning as usual, for the poor little baby was buried upon the banks of the little stream where the boys had so nearly lost their lives. Guy thought he had never witnessed so sad a scene as when they laid the beautiful baby, that looked as pure and sweet as a white lily, in the rough coffin that some of the young men had hastily made, and carried him to a lonely spot, that perhaps no feet had ever trod before, and, breathing a prayer over him, left him to his long sleep, far from the place of his birth, or that for which his kindred were bound, and where never a tear would be dropped above him, or a sigh breathed. Guy's only comfort was, and, perhaps, too, that of the poor baby's father and mother, that he could not be quite alone, even when they left him, for God would watch over him; and he could not but rejoice that they had not been forced to leave him in the shifting sands of the desert, but that a green tree bent over him, and grass would spring above the sod in which he lay. Poor little Aggie was quite brokenhearted at the loss of her poor little playfellow, and, quite forgetting her anger went to Guy for comfort. After he had said all he could to cheer her, he told her of his own troubles, and how sincerely sorry he was, for having disobeyed her father. Aggie listened very attentively, and at last said: "Perhaps papa will forgive you. I know he will, if you go to him and tell him how sorry you are, and promise him you will never be so wild and disobedient again." "That I will," said Guy readily. "I would do anything to merit his kindness once more." But it was several days before Guy could summon courage to speak to Mr. Harwood, who treated him very coldly, seldom asking him to do anything, and never intrusting the care of even the slightest article to him. Guy every day grew more and more miserable, while Gus and George congratulated themselves upon their father's silence, and almost forgot that they had ever incurred his displeasure. "But, if the baby hadn't died, wouldn't he have 'whaled' us, though!" ejaculated George, one day. Guy was shocked and surprised to hear him speak so lightly, and, without more ado, left him, and going to Mr. Harwood, told him how grieved he was for his disobedience, and begged him to forgive him, and restore him to his confidence again. "I will forgive you, Guy," said Mr. Harwood, kindly; "but I cannot place any trust in you again, until you show yourself worthy of it. "I will show myself worthy!" exclaimed Guy, firmly. "I will, indeed, Mr. Harwood, and at the same time show my gratitude for your kindness." And scarcely a week passed before Guy fulfilled his promise. CHAPTER IX. "I believe it is snowing over yonder," cried Aggie to Guy one day, pointing to the west, where, truly enough, as far as the eye could reach, the earth appeared perfectly white. "It does look like snow," returned Guy, looking intently in the direction she indicated, "but it is now June, and we certainly ought not to encounter such a fall as that appears to be, besides, there is a perfect glare of sunshine there! Ah, I have it! That is not snow, but alkali!" "What is alkali?" asked Aggie. "Is it cold! Will it melt?" "I don't know," answered Guy, "let us ask Mr. Graham, he will be able to tell us all about it." So that very evening when the train stopped to encamp for the night, they waited until Mr. Graham had finished his work, and Guy had done all that was required of him, and then went to the camp-fire of the Grahams. They were very warmly welcomed, for both Guy and Aggie were great favorites of them all, and after they were all quietly seated, Guy pointed to the desert of alkali that shone like crystal beneath the beams of the moon, and asked Mr. Graham if he could tell them of what it was composed, and how it came there. "Of the last I can say nothing," returned Mr. Graham, "except that it was placed there by an all-wise Creator for some good purpose. The substance itself is a sulphate of soda, and is generally found near sulphur, and soda springs. A fall of rain usually brings it forth from the earth it impregnates in great quantities, and it looks very beautiful. The white particles often assume the most delicate shapes, like flakes of snow for instance, or most delicate leaves, and ferns." "I shall be very glad when we get there," said Aggie, "I shall think we are passing a winter in fairy lands." "Then I am afraid you will think it a very disagreeable winter," returned Mr. Graham, laughing. "Why?" asked Aggie, opening wide her eyes in astonishment. "Is it cold there? I thought that the sun shone as warmly there as it does here." "So it does," replied Mr. Graham. "It will not be of the weather that you will complain, but of what you call the beautiful snow." "Ah! yes, perhaps the glare will hurt my eyes." "I think it very likely, Aggie," said Amy Graham, "but my brother was not thinking of that, but of something much worse. These alkali salts are very poisonous, and often kill people if they are partaken of even slightly." "Indeed!" ejaculated Aggie and Guy at once. "I'll never touch them!" continued the latter, "and I am so sorry I can't, because I thought it would be so nice to eat some, as if it was snow." "I should never think of eating it," said Guy. "And I think Aggie would not when she had once seen what kind of a substance it is," said Mr. Graham, "for it looks much more like powdered washing-soda than snow, and tastes more like it too." "Then I am sure I wouldn't take enough even to make my mouth taste badly!" exclaimed Aggie, with a gesture of disgust. "I thought the same at one time," said Mr. Graham, "yet it was only a very short time afterwards that I was nearly killed by partaking of it." "How?" cried both the children, eagerly. "Do tell us about it, Mr. Graham." "Certainly I will," he answered, kindly. "I believe I have told you before that this is not the first time I have been across the plains. I made my first trip before gold was discovered in California, and when few people thought of going there. "There was then no well defined route such as we have been following, and when we reached the alkali desert we lost trace of any road, and had to depend entirely upon our reasoning powers for guidance." "Hadn't you any compass?" asked Guy. "Certainly," replied Mr. Graham, "but as we were rather uncertain which direction we ought to take, it was not of much use to us. Before a week was over, both ourselves and the cattle were quite worn down with our tiresome march across the glaring, blinding desert. Our condition daily grew worse, for all sickened, and suffered dreadfully for want of water, for there was none to be found but that which was impregnated with soda. Many of the people drank it, and became very sick; the weary oxen quaffed it from the little pools, formed by the rain, by the wayside, and daily two or three died, and we were compelled to leave them to bleach as white as the alkali around them. For my part, I drank no water for days; enduring the agonies of thirst in silence, and praying that we might soon find relief. One day, one of my comrades died, he had borne the torture attending abstinence as long as possible, and then had drank to repletion, and been poisoned. There had been a heavy shower, and he had been quite unable to resist the temptation it offered. Two days after, it rained again, and I was almost as imprudent as my friend had been, and was immediately taken so ill that I feared I should share his resting-place. I never shall forget how rejoiced I was when we got into a pure atmosphere and healthy soil again, but it was weeks, yes, even months, before the effects of my poisoned draught passed entirely away." "Dear me," cried Aggie, in dismay, "are there no June springs in the alkali desert! Oh, dear! dear! just think of having come so far just to be poisoned!" "We will see that you do not drink after a shower," said Mr. Graham, laughing. "But even the little birds could do that here. And indeed there will be no necessity for you to do so, as several springs have been discovered since the time I spoke of." "I wish you hadn't told me about it," said Aggie, sadly, "I shall think all the time of the poor creatures that have been poisoned. I don't like to hear of such dreadful things, even if they are true. I would a great deal rather hear a pretty story. Miss Carrie, won't you tell me one?" "My brother has told you of something that once happened to him," she replied, readily, "and now, if you like, I will relate a little adventure that befell me when I was a little girl." "Oh! that will be splendid, Miss Carrie. Do tell us all about it." "I must tell you, in the first place," began Miss Graham, when she had drawn Aggie nearer to her side, so that she should not lose one word she was about to say, "that I was not at all a good little girl at the time the event I am going to tell you of, took place, and you must not, therefore, be surprised to hear of any naughty actions I used to do. "My favorite ones were those by which I could frighten people. Nothing used to delight me so much as to tell ghost stories to my younger brothers and sisters and leave them without explaining them, when often the poor little creatures would become nearly convulsed with terror, and my mother would find great trouble in quieting them. I had often been scolded, and even whipped for my malicious mischief but all to no purpose, and at last no notice was taken of me, and I thought my father and mother had made up their mind to let me tell horrible stories until I was tired of them. My parents often went out in the evening to the theatre, or some party and on such occasions it was my usual practice to coax my brother Charlie, and sister Amy into the dining room with me, while the nurse put my youngest brother to bed. When I had, by dint of threats, and persuasions, got them into the room, I would make them sit by the fire suddenly put out the candles, and begin some dreadful story. Generally the nurse came in the middle of it and carried them away to bed, where they would cower under the blankets and tremble at every sound." "I know," interrupted Aggie, "I used to do that after George had told me stories. But did you believe what you used to tell them?" "'No, my love, although I have indeed told such horrible things, as even to awaken my own fears. Generally however, I laughed heartily at the idea of ghosts and said I should like to see one.' "'Oh don't say so,' said Amy, one night. 'What should we do if one should appear?' "'I do wish one would,' returned I, 'how you would run.' "Just then I heard a terrible crash, as if all the crockery and tinware upon the kitchen dressers had tumbled down. "'What can that be,' I cried in alarm. "'What?' asked my brother, very quietly. "'Are you deaf?' I retorted. 'Don't you hear that dreadful noise? There it is again. Oh, what shall I do?' "It was no wonder I was frightened for there sat my brother and sister as if they heard nothing, while every moment the noise grew louder. I had always thought myself a very brave girl before, but I shook with alarm at these unearthly sounds, and shrieked with terror when the door opened, and a terrible figure surrounded by blue flame entered the room. I pointed at it in speechless horror. It towered nearly to the ceiling and looked down upon me with eyes that glowed like coals. It held in its hand a whip made of snakes with which it menaced me. For a few seconds I could neither move nor speak, while my brother and sister laughed and talked as if nothing unusual was going on. I was convinced that this revelation from the spirit world was made to me alone, and I was overwhelmed by the fear that I was to be carried away bodily, to answer before the ghosts I had derided. The monster advanced toward me. With a shriek I bade it begone! it laid its death cold hand upon me and--" "'Oh, Miss Carry, don't tell any more.' "Oh, it was so horrible!" cried Aggie, clasping Guy's arm lightly. "Oh dear, dear, didn't you die with fright?" "It appears not," returned Miss Graham, laughing, "but I do not know but I should have done so, had not my brother James rushed into the room, caught hold of the supposed ghost and cried, 'there there, that will do Tom! Don't you see the poor child is nearly frightened to death.'" "So it wasn't a real ghost after all," exclaimed Aggie, in a tone of mingled disappointment and relief. "No, it was not a real ghost after all, but only a very good sham one, that was made up by my brother and cousin to frighten me out of my propensity of frightening others, and you may be sure it did so. I didn't think I ever afterwards told a ghost story of which I could not as readily give an explanation as of this." "But you frightened me though," said Aggie, drawing a long breath. "But you are not frightened now, darling?" "Why of course not Miss Carrie." "But do you know I think I would rather hear that pretty little story about the 'Christ-child,' that you told us a few evenings ago, or one of those little poems of which you know so many." "I do not think I can remember any to-night," said Miss Carrie, "but perhaps Amy can." "Please try dear Miss Amy," cried Aggie running to her, "Mr. Graham, and Miss Carrie have both told us a story, and now if you will repeat some pretty poetry it will be so nice." Miss Amy laughed pleasantly, and lifted Aggie on her lap. "My pet," she said, "yesterday I heard you ask your mother what she thought the prettiest thing in the world." "Oh, yes," cried Aggie, "and she couldn't decide. What do you think the prettiest Miss Amy? But then perhaps you are like mamma, you think there are, so many beautiful things in the world that you can't choose between them." "Yes," said Miss Amy sweetly though gravely, I have decided. "Now listen to me a few minutes and you shall know what is to me FAIREST AND BEST:" "There came a child to my side one day, And lightly she said with a laugh of mirth, 'Tell me of all things, now I pray, Which is the fairest to you upon earth? "'Is it the rose, with its breath of balm? Is it the gem of the diamond mine? Is it the shell, with its sea-song calm? Or the pearl, that low in the deep doth shine?' "I answered her, 'Though the rose is fair, Though the diamond gleams like a lesser sun; Oh, ne'er can _they_, e'en in thought compare, With my chosen beauty, my purest one. "'For mine, far sweeter than rose doth bloom, In our world of sorrow, of woe, and care; E'en light of the diamond seemeth gloom, To that halo divine that shineth where; "'My fairest thing upon all the earth, _A little child_ kneeleth down to pray, And sweeter than sound of ocean's mirth Are the heav'nly words, she doth meekly say. "'Yes, as I look on a kneeling child, Of those I think, whom our Saviour blest, And I know of all things fair and mild, The pure, young heart of a child is best.'" Little Aggie remained perfectly still for some moments after Miss Amy had finished. At last she lifted up her face, and kissed the young lady sweetly, and whispered, "Dear Miss Amy I will try to remember that. I am sure Mamma thinks the same as you do. Thank you for telling me. Good-night my dear Miss Amy. Good-night Miss Carrie, and Mr. Graham. We have had such a nice time haven't we Guy. Now we will go home." "Good-night, and good-night Mr. Graham, and Miss Carrie. Come, Guy, let us go home." So Guy arose and led the little girl toward the wagon she called "home," for to her little affectionate heart any where was home where her parents stayed. They were walking slowly past the baggage wagons when to his surprise, and affright Guy saw a puff of smoke, issue from the back part of the one in which he usually slept. He instantly remembered the powder, and with a cry dashed toward it, bidding Aggie run as far as possible from the danger. There was no water near, but he caught up a bag of flour, sprang into the wagon and dashed it upon the flames, then another, and another. Meanwhile his cries had brought every one to the spot, James Graham brought a pail of water and threw upon the already smothered flames, and immediately a great sputtering, and kicking was heard, and George Harwood sat up sleepily and demanded what they were pitching into him for. "Get up," said his father who was looking very pale and agitated, "Get up and thank this brave boy for having saved your life. If it had not been for him this powder would have exploded, and launched you, and we know not how many others into Eternity." George saw how great his danger had been, and with shame owned that he had brought it upon himself, by dropping fire from a pipe which he was endeavoring to learn to smoke, in express disobedience of his father's commands. He turned around to thank Guy for having risked his own life to save his, for that he had undoubtedly done by springing into the burning wagon, but found that like a true hero, he had gone to perform another duty, waiting neither for thanks or praises. But he got both, for as he lifted little Aggie into her mother's wagon, she kissed him and whispered "You good, brave boy, I am going to ask God to bless you all your life." CHAPTER X. "Well now, George," said Aggie the next morning, as they stood near the partially burned wagon and watched Mr. Harwood and his young men, as they hastily endeavored to repair the damage that had been done, "I should think you never would smoke again in your life." "I didn't smoke last night," retorted George, "I only tried to, and to try to smoke and to do it are two very different things, I can tell you," and George grimaced most comically at the remembrance of some very extraordinary sensations he had experienced, both before and after the fire. "If you don't believe me you can try it," he added, as Aggie looked at him thoughtfully. "I wasn't thinking of what you were saying," she replied, "but of what a horrible death Guy saved you from." "That's a fact," returned George, with much seriousness. "Guy ain't a bad sort after all!" "Not a bit of a Guy Fawkes about him," commented Gus. "He don't believe in blowing up folks with gunpowder." "Nor with words either," interrupted Aggie, "but who was Guy Fawkes, Gus?" "Oh, a man put a lot of gunpowder in the cellar of the English House of Congress." "Of Parliament," corrected George. "Of Parliament, then, it means all the same thing, and he intended when the King and all the members of Parliament were in the house to set fire to the powder and blow them all up. But they found out the plot just in time, and Guy was hung up; or had his head chopped of, I forget which." "Good for him" said George. "Hullo, here comes Guy, looking really frightened for once in his life! What is the matter, Guy?" But Guy made him no answer, but hurried on to Mr. Harwood and whispered a few words in his ear. "You don't say so!" he ejaculated with a startled look. "Whereabouts are they?" "Back of the camp, sir. Mr. Graham says he thinks they are after the cattle and horses. But they are to far off for us to see them plainly, and it was some time before I could make Mr. Graham believe they were Indians at all." "Indians!" exclaimed George and Gus, turning pale, and with out more ado, rushing from the spot, not only as they said "to tell mother," but to gain a place of safety. "Take Aggie to the wagon," said Mr. Harwood hastily, though he could not help smiling at the precipitate flight of his boys. "Be as quick as you can, and bring me my telescope." Guy did as he was bidden, but although so quickly that he did not even take time to say a few words of encouragement to Aggie. He found the telescope was little needed when he gave it into Mr. Harwood's hands. The Indians had drawn so close that their movements could be perfectly seen. "At least thirty young braves!" said Mr. Harwood anxiously. "A party of horse thieves no doubt! We shall have trouble!" "And all on account of this unfortunate delay!" exclaimed Mr. Graham. "We should have been on our way three hours ago, but for your son's carelessness." "That is very true. Yet we should scarcely have escaped the quick eyes of these wild savages." "We will try to save the oxen and horses from their hands at least!" cried a young man, turning to a group who had hastily armed themselves. In an incredible short space of time they had made a circle of the wagons, and within this barricade they placed the cattle, and stationed themselves at regular distances without the wagons. Mr. Harwood and Mr. Graham stood beside the wagon in which all the ladies had congregated, and with quiet, though great anxiety, waited for the attack to be commenced. They had no idea that it could be avoided for all Mr. Harwood's signals, during the formation of the barricade had been totally disregarded, and the savages in all the hideousness of paint and warlike decorations were riding rapidly around the camp in a gradually decreasing circle. "Guy, my boy, you had better go into our wagon," said Mr. Harwood, as Guy, with a favorite dog at his side, drew near to him. Guy looked him doubtfully a moment, and with visible reluctance proceeded to obey the direction which had been given him. Suddenly, however, he turned back and with an appealing look at Mr. Harwood said: "I wish you would give me a gun, sir, and let me stay here." "Do as you please," cried Mr. Harwood hastily, and Guy rushed to a wagon for the desired weapon, and back again to his place. Just then the Indians made a feint of going away. They retired slowly a little way, then suddenly wheeled, and galloped back towards the camp, discharging a volley of arrows as they came. Fortunately they injured no one, but the second fire was not so harmless, and was returned steadily by Mr. Harwood and his men from their rifles. But the Indians were too far off, and changed their positions too often to be affected by it. The firing continued in this manner for fifteen minutes or more. Two of Mr. Harwood's men were seriously wounded, and obliged to retire to the wagons, and the others were eagerly speaking of dividing into two parties, one of which was to remain to guard the camp, while the other sallied out to drive off the Indians. It seemed a mad undertaking, as Mr. Harwood said, to divide so small a force, and they were spared the necessity of doing so by the savages themselves, who enraged at the death of one of their number, and confident of success, rode boldly up to the very sides of the wagons, and with showers of arrows, and brandishing their war-clubs, uttering at the same time the most dreadful yells, endeavored to overcome the white men and gain possession of the animals, that snorting and plunging with terror at the unusual rounds of shouting and firing were striving vainly to break their bounds. Terrible was the struggle that ensued. For a few minutes the shrieks of the women and children, the shouts of the white men, the yells of the Indians, the reports of fire-arms, and the indescribable noises made by the frightened animals filled the air. Guy was almost stunned with the noise and bewildered by the confusion that prevailed. He never thought of firing his gun, and had no idea which party had the advantage, he, in fact, felt perfectly overwhelmed, not with fear, but horror, and quite regardless of his danger, remained an inactive spectator of the scene, until he beheld Mr. Harwood struggling violently with an Indian who had thrown himself from his horse in the excitement of the fight. Mr. Harwood was himself a muscular man, and the struggle between the two was terrible to witness. For a minute neither seemed to have the advantage, then the strong Indian got his arm across Mr. Harwood's breast and held him back, he raised his right hand in which glittered a long knife already stained with blood. Some unusual sound for a moment attracted the savage's attention, he glanced around. Guy seized the opportunity, raised his gun and fired. He was not knocked over by the shock, but the Indian was. Down he went, and Mr. Harwood with him, but only to remain there a moment. He sprang up and echoed the shout of triumph which was heard from the other side of the camp. The fight was ended; the Indians defeated, away they sped with lightning speed, bearing their wounded, among which was Mr. Harwood's special adversary, with them, and leaving their dead upon the ground. Of these there were two. But little notice was taken of them at first, for the members of the train were too busy attending to the wounded, and examining their own hurts, to think of Indians, unless it was to look occasionally to satisfy themselves that they were really gone, and that there was no farther trouble to be apprehended from them. "I wonder who it was that knocked that great fellow over that was holding me down," said Mr. Harwood, after he had embraced his family, and assured them that he was very little hurt. "I wish I knew who it was, I have somebody to thank for saving my life." "Here is the fellow!" cried Gus, catching Guy as he was about to jump from the wagon. "He has got one of your guns, too, and it was only a little while ago you told him not to touch them." "Guy!" exclaimed Mr. Harwood, "can it be possible that you fired that well-directed shot?" "I couldn't help it, sir, the ball seemed to know just where to go, and the gun to shoot of itself," returned Guy, with a slight laugh--a vain attempt to hide his emotion. Mr. Harwood made no effort to conceal his, and catching him in his arms embraced him warmly, as he exclaimed: "My dear boy, have I then my own life to thank you for, as well as that of my son? How shall I be able to repay you?" "Don't say any more," entreated Guy, who was being nearly suffocated by his mother, Mr. Harwood and the children, who were pulling him hither and thither to their heart's content. "Why didn't you shoot his head right off?" ask George, when the commotion had slightly subsided. "I would if I had had a gun, and been in your place." "But you weren't at all likely to be in his place or any other where arrows were flying," interrupted Gus, with a laugh, which quickly subsided into a smothered titter as George looked at him, with the remark: "You had better mind your bones." "I intend to," said Gus, coolly, "but you needn't glare at me so. You're not a Gorgon, I guess, and can't turn me into stone by a look." "I am very glad Guy didn't knock the Indian's head right off," interposed Aggie, anxious to prevent a quarrel between the two boys. "Aren't you glad of it, Guy, you wouldn't have liked to have killed him dead, would you?" "Oh no!" returned Guy, laughing. "It answered my purpose just to kill him a little. Indeed," he added, turning pale at the thought, "I hope the poor man will not die." "Don't trouble yourself about that," said Mr. Harwood, taking in his hand the gun which Guy had still retained, but then offered him, "you nobly did your duty, my boy, and though we will hope that the man will recover, we will not worry, because we cannot learn whether he does or not." "I say, the men are harnessing the teams," exclaimed George. "Let us go and pick up some of the arrows the Indians threw around so plentifully." "Yes," answered Guy, "and I'll bring you one, Aggie." "Stay," said Mr. Harwood, "Here, Guy, is a more fitting weapon for you. Take this gun, and though I hope you may never again be obliged to use it against a fellow-creature, I hope your shots will always be as well directed as that of to-day." "Whew!" ejaculated George, "don't I wish I had knocked that fellow over to-day! Guy, why don't you say thank you?" "He's like the little boy that would not say 'thank you' for a new jack-knife," laughed Gus, "he'd rather use the old 'un fust." In truth, Guy was so delighted with Mr. Harwood's words, and the gift that accompanied them, that he knew not what to say. To possess a gun, had long been his highest and most secret ambition, and to have one, really his own, in his hands, seemed, as he afterwards said, "far too good to be true." "Never mind the thanks," exclaimed Mr. Harwood, as Guy vainly tried to utter something, "we understand each other, though my debt is not paid yet. You can go now and look for arrows, if you like." But Guy thought but little of arrows, or even of his gun, for some minutes after he left the wagon, for just then four of the mules, who had not recovered from their fright, broke away from the men who were trying to quiet them, and galloped across the plains in the opposite direction to that the Indians had taken. Two young men immediately mounted the swiftest horses in the train and set off in pursuit, and a fine chase they had. Over an hour passed before they brought the refractory animals back, and an exciting time the boys had watching the race, and shouting and hurrahing when the foaming, panting creatures rushed into the camp, followed by their almost breathless pursuers. "But this isn't finding arrows!" said Guy, at last, suddenly remembering Aggie, and the promise he had made her. And, after the train was in motion, he found two beautiful arrows, and took them to her. She accepted them with delight, telling Guy she would keep them all her life, in remembrance of that eventful day. "And so you see," she added, addressing in fancy the cross old chief that had frightened her so terribly, "I have got one of your Indian arrows, after all, and I'll keep it too. My good Guy has got a gun now, and that's more than you have, and he knows how to use it, that's more than you will ever do." CHAPTER XI. Two weeks after the fight with the Indians, Guy was galloping across the gently rising hills, that denoted their approach to the Rocky Mountains, in quest of game. This was the first time he had had an opportunity offered him to try his gun, as they had seen no living creature upon the desert of alkali which they had occupied more than a week in crossing, and but few among the prickly pears and sage-brush that succeeded the poisonous salts. Of the effects of the latter, each member of the party had had some experience, and all, for weeks after, complained of sore lips, chapped hands, and other pains of a like nature. Guy was greatly troubled to find that little Aggie and his mother were the greatest sufferers. Indeed, the latter became so very ill that, for two or three days, Guy feared he should soon be motherless. Never had his heart been so heavy as during that time. It was a good thing for him that he was obliged to work additionally hard, else he might also have fallen ill from excessive grief. But, as it was, he had no time to give way to his feeling: there were his mother's duties and his own, to be performed by his hands alone; little Aggie to be amused, and his mother often to be cheered by some gay word, when he usually felt much more like uttering sad ones. I have mentioned before that Mrs. Loring, though a very good woman, was often inclined to look on the dark side of things, and so it sometimes happened that she led Guy to do the same, and he certainly did so steadily enough during the days his mother lay seriously ill, while he turned to the bright side instantly when she pronounced herself better, though he did not for a moment neglect to pay her the same attention as before. One morning, when she, for the first time, gathered strength and energy enough to sit up, Mr. Harwood entered the wagon, and laughingly told her that as she was so well, he should not let her have Guy to herself any longer, but should take him with them to hunt some deer that were feeding on the hills some distance away. Guy looked at his mother and hesitated, for though he desired, above all things, to take part in a deer hunt, he did not like to leave his sick mother, until she said: "Go, my child, you are looking pale and thin already, the excitement will do you good. It would never do for you to get sick, you know." And that was how Guy Loring happened to be galloping across the hills with Mr. Harwood and Mr. Graham, while George and Gus remained at the camp, enviously watching him. By some skillful manoeuvering, they managed to approach within gun-shot of the deer, of which there were five or six, brousing quietly. Guy was very much excited, and would have fired upon them had not Mr. Harwood told him not to do so until the last. Slowly, and with as much patience as they could command, they drew nearer and nearer the deer. Mr. Graham and Mr. Harwood raised their rifles to fire, when suddenly the whole herd of deer threw their heads in the air, looked around wildly, and bounded away with the speed of the wind. "What in the world could have startled them so?" exclaimed the gentlemen in surprise. Guy looked around in perfect dismay at having lost the chance of firing at a deer, and quickly exclaimed: "Oh, how provoking, it is the cattle. They have let the cattle loose." Mr. Graham uttered an exclamation of delight, "Was there ever such good luck before?" he cried, "Those are buffaloes! I had no idea we should find them here so early. Gallop back to the camp, Guy, and tell the Fraziers! Hurrah!" Scarcely less excited than Mr. Graham, Guy made a wide circuit of the spot where the herd of buffaloes, from twenty to thirty in number, were feeding, and galloped to the camp, where he found five or six young men, already armed and mounted for the chase. They hastily advised Guy to remain in camp, but as he had received no direction to do so from Mr. Harwood, he followed his inclinations, and returned with the young men to the spot where Mr. Graham and Mr. Harwood were anxiously awaiting them. All this time the buffaloes continued to feed without taking the least notice of the hunters. These after a short consultation, began to ride gently towards them. The animals remained so quiet that Guy had an opportunity to look at them carefully. He was surprised to find that they were not as large as elephants, but on the contrary about the size of a cow, which animal they closely resembled in the shape of their bodies, and limbs; but their hair, instead of being of the same length all over their body, grew in shaggy tufts upon the back and sides, and lengthened into a sweeping mane upon the neck. This adornment took from them the peaceful expression of the majority of our domestic cattle, and gave them instead the terrible one of the untamed lion. This effect was increased by the wild glare of their eyes. Guy did not at first notice their horns, which were small, and almost imbedded in their thick, woolly hair, but it did not need a second look to assure him that they could do a great deal of harm, if once called into service. The hunters approached the buffaloes in a semi-circle, Guy occupied a place near the circle by the side of Mr. Harwood, who unwilling to disappoint him by sending him back to the camp, had permitted him to stay. The whole party got within a hundred feet of the buffaloes before they were even discovered. Then an immense fellow who seemed the leader of the herd, began to bellow, and tear up the earth with his hoofs, and in a moment, the whole herd were coursing over the prairie at a pace, which Guy, when looking at their heavy bodies, had never imagined them capable of. "After them!" shouted Mr. Graham, and instantly the hunters spurred on their horses many of which were used to the sport, and in a few minutes Guy, who was poorly mounted was left some distance in the rear, while the foremost of the horsemen were at the very heels of the flying herd. The dust of the prairie began to rise from beneath their hoofs in clouds, through which Guy could indistinctly see the buffaloes dashing forward, one turning occasionally upon some audacious man who had fired upon him, who would then wheel his horse quickly and escape from the reach of the infuriated animal, which would continue its flight or fall to the earth, with a terrible bellow. Guy had witnessed three or four such falls, and in his excitement scarcely knowing what he did, went up to the foaming animal intending to put it out of its misery by a shot from his gun, when, suddenly, it rose to its feet, staggered forward, and ere Guy could wheel his frightened horse, plunged his horns into his breast, and buffalo, horse and rider rolled upon the plain together. Then succeeded a horrible moment, in which Guy felt himself crushed by his plunging horse, and heard the cries of the men, the bellowing of the wounded buffalo, the thunderlike noise of the retreating herd, and the sharp crack of half a dozen rifles. Then he felt himself lifted from the ground by Mr. Graham and Mr. Harwood, who exclaimed that it was a miracle that he was alive, and asked him if he wasn't killed, and then shouted out for somebody to go in pursuit of the horse, which was galloping away in the opposite direction to the buffaloes, which were suffered to depart without any further attempt being made to slaughter them. CHAPTER XII. Guy was surprised and delighted to find that his fool-hardy escapade had brought upon him no injury except a few bruises, which, however, did not prevent him from assisting the men to take into camp the carcasses of the three buffaloes they had slain. That proved a busy afternoon in the camp. The buffaloes were skinned, and their shaggy hides hung up in the sun to dry. Then the choicest parts of the bodies were cut up and salted, and the rest left to the hungry wolves, who are the natural enemies of the buffalo--one of which, when wounded, they will often follow, and harass to death. And what a splendid supper of buffalo steak they had. Guy fancied he never had tasted anything so delicious, though George, in his usual contradictory mood, declared he thought beef much nicer. But as no one paid any attention to him, his opinion had not much effect, and no one enjoyed the supper the less for it. As only a slight sketch of Guy's wonderful escape had been given by Harwood upon his return to camp, the children were anxious to hear a full account of it, and as soon as the dishes were washed, the fuel for the night brought in and Guy was at liberty to take his usual seat by the fire, they called upon him to tell them all about it. He did so in as few words as possible, for he felt as much ashamed of his discomfiture as an old hunter might have been likely to do. Aggie looked very serious after hearing the account of her favorite's danger. George laughed as he thought of the figure Guy must have cut when pitched from his horse over the back of the buffalo; and Gus with great earnestness asked him what he thought of at the time it all happened. "I saw and heard too much to think of anything," replied Guy, quite unable to repress a laugh at Gus' question and eager look, "the first thing I thought of when Mr. Graham took me from the ground was to clear the sand from my nose, eyes, and mouth. If you had seen me you would have fancied I had been burrowing in the dirt for a twelve month. After that I was very thankful that I escaped so well, and on the way home I recalled to mind almost everything I had ever read about buffaloes, and among other things a mode in which the Indians hunt them, and which is described in the adventures of Lewis and Clarke." "Who were Lewis and Clarke?" asked Gus. "Two men, who in the days of Washington and Jefferson, and chiefly by the aid of the latter, headed a party of men, who were the first to explore Oregon, and discover the rise of the Columbia and Missouri Rivers." "What fun they must have had," exclaimed George, "among the Indians that had never seen a white man before." "They were so constantly surrounded by dangers," said Guy, "that I guess they found the _fun_ rather scarce. But they had a great many exciting adventures among the Indians, and learned many of their strange habits." "Well, you were going to tell us about a way they had of hunting buffaloes," interrupted Gus. "How was it?" "Well, first they would find, either by accident or after a search, a herd of buffaloes, grazing on a plateau, perhaps three or four hundred feet above the river, for such are very often found a mile or more in length along the Columbia or Missouri Rivers, which abruptly terminate, forming a precipice so perfectly perpendicular that neither man or beast can gain a foothold on their sides. "Toward this precipice a young warrior wrapped in a buffalo robe, and crowned with the head and horns, decoys the game, while the others chase them forward, riding their swiftest horses, bearing their best arms, and uttering their wildest shouts. The whole herd maddened by the hunters, will usually follow the decoy--their fancied leader--when suddenly he will hide beneath some cliff, the buffaloes will rush on, seeing no danger ahead, or unable to check their headlong career, and thus very often a hundred or more will spring over the precipice, and be dashed to pieces on the rocks below." "Good!" cried George, excitedly. "And just think then what a good time the Indians have picking up the pieces," commented Gus, "I'd like to see them do it. Just think of two or three hundred Indians all at work together, jerking the meat, and shouting and dancing." "Ah, yes. That's all very well!" said Aggie, thoughtfully. "But I wouldn't like so much to be the decoy. Suppose he couldn't hide in time." "Sometimes he can't," said Guy, "and in that case he is trodden under foot by the herd, or carried with them over the precipice. I am like you, Aggie, I shouldn't like to be the decoy. It is bad enough to face one buffalo, and I have no wish to try a hundred." "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Aggie, "I should die with fright if I were to meet even one." "Oh! That's because you are nothing but a girl--but boys--!" George left his sentence unfinished, for of late he had become very careful of boasting before Guy, whom he knew was too well acquainted with him to be deceived by empty words. "Girls, or no girls!" exclaimed Aggie, a little angrily, "I learned those verses mamma gave us, to-day, while you don't know them at all!" "Verses are only made for girls!" answered George, contemptuously. "And for some boys," said Guy, "I for one like to hear them. What are yours about Aggie?" "Listen! They are about 'THE CHILDREN IN THE SKY.' "Little Allie, tired with roaming, Fell asleep one summer day; In the soft, and mellow gloaming, That the fairies haunt, they say. And, into her dream, there came then Fays, or Angels pure and fair, Filling all the lonesome glen With sweet music, rich and rare. "'Child!' they said, as slow around her One by one they floated on, 'Look into the clearer ether, Close beside the setting sun!' Then she looked, and lo! the cloudlets Parted back and showed her there, Myriad angels, sinless spirits Sporting in a garden fair. "Sporting, smiling, fondly twining, Round each other snow white arms; While a halo o'er them shining, Saved them from the night's alarms. Loud they sung in notes of gladness, Ever o'er the sweet refrain; 'Jesus loves us! we shall never Lose His tender care again." "'Here the flow'rets bloom forever; Here the sun of God doth shine; Here doth flow the crystal river, Giving all a life divine!' Then the peerless vision faded, And the fairies stole away; All the dell with gloom was shaded, Darkness 'round sweet Allie lay. "Then she woke from out her slumber, And she said--within her heart-- 'Shall I join that happy number? In their joyous song take part?' Then she prayed that God would lead her In the path to heaven above, And that she might dwell forever Blessed by Christ's redeeming love. "And before the year was over, God in love gave back reply,-- For He led the little rover, To the children in the sky." "That is a sweet little tale," said Guy, when Aggie had finished, "But it is almost a pity such a good little girl should die." "But the good little girls, in stories, always do die!" exclaimed George, "And that is why I don't like to hear about them. That's the reason, too, that I tease our Aggie so, I want to get her into a passion so she won't get too good and be spirited out of the world right away." They all laughed at this ingenious defense; and then as Guy declared himself very tired, and quite stiff and sore from the number of bruises upon his body, they soon separated for the night, and ere long all was still about the camp, except the fires that flickered and blazed, as if in derision of the calm night, and its heavy-eyed attendant--Sleep. CHAPTER XIV. The following Saturday night found the party encamped in the very bosom of the mountains, in one of the most lovely nooks upon the surface of the earth. As they looked around upon the verdant dell, and upon the snow-capped mountains that arose in the distance, all the arid plain they had passed,--the desert of alkali, and the hills of sand--seemed like a dream, so great was the contrast between them and Virginia Dale. Even George was enraptured, and when the children as usual gathered at evening around the fire, he declared that he would go no father but turn hermit, and hunt and fish for a living, in that lovely spot. "I wish I could stay with you," said Aggie, "but I shouldn't like to leave papa and mamma. But only look at the moon rising above that snowy peak; isn't it perfectly lovely?" "Watching the moon is all very well?" exclaimed Gus, "but I would much rather hear a good story. This is the very night for a story, and a sentimental one at that. Guy get your thinking-cap on, that's a good fellow!" "Oh yes, do!" assented Aggie. "I have had it tightly drawn over my ears the whole time I have been sitting here," answered Guy laughing, "and the result is that I have been thinking of a story the Indians tell about the first snow storm." "Oh yes! put it all off on the Indians!" cried Gus, "we all know what that means!" "Well, what do they say?" asked George, "that they thought it was salt, and put it into their soup, and were surprised to find that it made it watery--and nothing more?" "Now don't tease Guy," interrupted Aggie, "I want to know what the Indians really did say, and where the first fall of snow really was." "According to my authority," answered Guy, gravely, "it took place among these very mountains. Years, years ago, so many years that all remembrance of the time is now lost, and only vague reports of it remain, the snowy mountains we now see were covered with verdure, even more luxuriant than that which makes this vale so beautiful. The long leaves, and the shining silk of the corn waved in the breeze that softly played about the lofty summits, lovely flowers opened, and rich fruits ripened in the warm sunshine that ever fell upon them. The bounding deer came to the very doors of the wigwams that were so thickly placed that they seemed to form a vast city, and the very trout in the sparkling streams leaped into the hands of the happy people that inhabited this earthly paradise!" "Gracious, what a saving of fishing-tackle!" ejaculated George. Guy took no notice of this irreverent remark, but continued: "On the very summit of yonder peak, which seems to rise at least a thousand feet above its neighbors, and where the sun shone the warmest, the grains and fruits were most luxuriant, and the deer larger and tamer than in any other place, lived an old man, the chief of all the tribes that lived between the mountains and the great ocean in the far west. The oldest men amongst the Indians could not remember when he was young, and their great-grandfathers had told them that he was old when they were children. His beard was like silver, and his face bore the marks of that wisdom which can only come with age, yet his form was not bent, and his eyes were as strong as the eagle's, that soars up and looks in the face of the sun." "Wonderful man!" said Gus. "He was indeed wonderful, and the wisest man upon the earth; he knew all secrets of the land, and sea, and air, and from them he had gained the elixir that still kept the blood warm in his veins after the lapse of centuries, but he could not get from them contentment,--his soul at last wearied of the habit of clay it had worn so long, and he began a search for one worthy to be the inheritor of his wisdom, and the successor of his power, that he might lie down and be at rest. "He found one at length, but not among the young men of his tribe, among whom he sought long and patiently. The strength of mind, the purity of soul he desired, were found only in the person of a lovely girl, the daughter of one of the bravest warriors of the mountains. To her he gave the elixir of life, and instructed her in all the secrets he had gained. Lastly, he took off the robe he wore, and putting it upon her, led her out of the wigwam and declared her a priestess before all the people. Soon after the great magician became a decrepit old man, the weight of his years came upon him and he died, and his body was laid upon a burning pile and consumed to ashes, while all the people mourned around it. Then the priestess went to her wigwam on the high mountains and sat down and thought of the last words the dead man had said to her, 'Beware of him who reigneth at the northernmost part of the earth, for if thou showest weakness or any human passion he will have dominion over thee and all thy people.' But years passed on and no human feeling agitated her. She lived alone communing with spirits, and at sundry times appearing among the people to astonish them by her wisdom which as years advanced, become a thousand times more potent than had been that of the old magician. And as her wisdom increased so also did her beauty. Spirits came and took the ebony from her hair, and covered it with gold; they brought blue from the skies and prisoned it in her eyes; the white stars laid their light upon her face, and sunbeams rendered her smile so warm and tender that it gladdened all upon whom it fell. "As I have said, she was troubled by no human feeling; but alas! she inspired what she did not feel, for all the young braves worshipped her, not only as a priestess, but as a peerless maiden, and all their awe could not destroy their love. As she knew every thing, she was of course aware of their silent devotion, but she laughed in the solitude of her wigwam, and sang: 'Alstarnah must no passion own, That mortal e'er before hath known.' "And this she would sing over and over to herself, that she might keep the words of the magician in mind. But after the lapse of many years, she one day ceased to sing, for Alstarnah felt the most powerful of all human passions--she loved." "I'm glad of that!" ejaculated Gus, "just paid her out for keeping up that monotonous drone so long." "Oh! don't interrupt!" cried Aggie, impatiently, "who did she love, Guy?" "The young chief, Gervassen, who had come many thousand miles from the burning plains of the far south, to behold the renowned priestess of the mountains. As Alstarnah excelled all women in beauty and wisdom, so did he all men in beauty and strength. He was as tall and slender as the mountain pine, and his face was as fair to look upon as the great star that hung above the North King's palace. He came to the mountains with great pomp, for a thousand of his enemies pursued him, and he slew them all with the masses of rock that he hurled down upon them. See, there they lie now like mighty castles in ruins. "When the priestess, Alstarnah, saw this man she thought no more of the magician's words or of her own power, but gloried in the beauty that had been given her, and said, 'He will surely love me, for there is not upon all the earth a woman as fair.' "And her words were true, Gervassen did love her, and more bold than all the rest, entreated her to be his wife. With great joy she placed her hand in his, but at the moment she was about to speak, she felt an icy wind blow over her and a voice exclaim: 'Beware of the King of the North! Pity thy people!' "She fled to her wigwam in terror, and for days refused to admit the chieftain, who stood without pleading for an answer but at length she ventured to glance at him through a tiny hole in the buffalo hide that formed the walls of her tent, and in an instant all her love for her people and all fear of the warning voice vanished, and she promised to be Gervassen's bride. "Again came the icy wind and the voice, but so infatuated was she that they failed to turn her from her purpose, although her lover asked the meaning of them. She trembled as she told him that years before there had been a tremendous battle waged between the King of the North and the forces of the great magician. That the latter had finally triumphed, after a terrible struggle, and after yielding one important point to his enemy, which was, that if the magician or any of his successors yielded to human passion, the help of the spirits should be withdrawn from them, and their dominion and people left to the power of the terrible North King. "'It cannot be that he exists,' returned the warrior, 'else he would have endeavored to enter the land over which my tribe is scattered, and never, never has one of his subjects been seen or heard of upon it.' "In spite of all her wisdom, this reasoning of Gervassen convinced Alstarnah, who soon after stood up before all the people and bade them farewell, saying that she was going to dwell in the wigwam of the mighty chieftain, Gervassen. "Then she took her lover's hand and began the descent of the charmed mountain, followed by all her people, who were weeping and wailing, and entreating that she would come back to them. But still she went on, but only slowly, because of the great press of people around her; and suddenly an icy wind passed over them, and all fell to the earth shivering and terror-stricken, for they had never felt cold before, and they looked up to the mountain, and lo! upon the very summit, at the door of the deserted wigwam, stood a terrible figure, clothed in white, and having a face as white as his robes, and his hair was like the long crystals that hang from the roofs of caves that the water goes through, and his eyes were like two great diamonds, white, yet blazing like the sun. Over his head he waved a sceptre, and as fast as he waved, great flakes of whiteness came out of the clouds and covered all the mountain tops, and came nearer and nearer to the frightened people. "'It is the terrible North King,' they cried. 'See, he is throwing his arrows upon us.' "'I will return,' cried Alstarnah, filled with remorse. 'I will return and save my people.' "But once more she heard the voice as it wailed 'Too late! too late!' and the icy wind came and arrested her returning footsteps, for it chilled her to ice by the side of Gervassen, for whom she had dared so much. Then he and all the people were filled with still greater terror and turned to flee down the mountains, but the snow flakes--the deadly arrows of the North King, came faster and faster, falling before as well as behind them, clogging the feet and chilling the life-blood of the people Alstarnah had betrayed. "First, Gervassen fell, almost at the side of Alstarnah: then, one by one, all the rest of the people sank down and were buried by the soft, white snow, until at last not one remained to tell of the verdure that once crowned the mountains where the North King still reigns, or of the people he slew with terrible arrows of snow, like those he still loves to throw in derision upon any daring traveler that attempts to invade his dominions." "And that is the story of the first Snow Storm." "I'll tell you what, Guy," commented George, "You won't tell stories about facts, I know, but you make up for it when you have fancies to deal with." Guy laughed, saying, "He supposed there was no harm in that." And little Aggie said, as she bade him good-night, "I guess you will be forgiven even if there is, Guy. And I am sure I shall never look at these mountains or see snow again without thinking of your story." CHAPTER XV. For some time Aggie found no difficulty in keeping her word, for the train were obliged to pass over a part of the Rocky Mountains, and many a strange adventure they met upon the way. Those that had been over the route before said they got along remarkably well, while those to whom the experience was new, declared that with the breaking down of some wagons, the unloading of others, and letting them and goods they contained down the precipices by ropes, and the accidents attendant upon such work, they found the journey anything but delightful. The children enjoyed this part of the trip more than any other, for, with the exception of Guy, they had no more work to do, and had much more to interest and amuse them. But upon the whole they were rather glad when they got upon the level ground again, and especially so when they neared the shores of the great Salt Lake, and passed by the city that stands upon its shores. Mr. Harwood had intended to visit it, and spend three or four days in looking about the city and endeavoring to learn something about the manners and customs of the people that inhabited it, but several of the party were anxious to reach their destination, and for that and many other reasons they passed the dwelling place of the Mormons by. Although the children were greatly disappointed at not being able to go into the city, they could not help speaking and thinking with delight of the beautiful country they had passed over to reach it. "It seems to me," said Aggie one day when they stopped to rest, "that four seasons had wandered out of some years and lost themselves up among those mountains." "You're crazy!" said George contemptuously. "I think not," said Guy kindly, "but what could have put such a queer idea as that into your head, Aggie?" "Why you know," she said, "the grass was fresh and green there as if it was spring time, and yet very often while you were gathering buttercups to make me a chain, George and Gus would be pelting you with snow-balls, while the summer sun was shining upon us all the day long." "That's so," exclaimed George, "I should never have thought of it again. It's the queerest place I ever saw in my life, except this very great valley which we are in now. Papa says it is over three hundred miles from the Rocky Mountains to the Sierra Nevadas, yet although we haven't been out of sight of the first for more than a week, we shall see the tops of the others in a few days, and then, hurrah! we've only to cross them and we shall be in California! Won't that be glorious?" "Yes, I shall be glad," said Aggie, "for I was beginning to think as mamma said the other day, 'that we never should see a house again.' And won't you be glad, Guy, not to have to get up so early to make the fires in the morning, and to work so late at night, often after walking over the hot sands all day?" "I don't know," said Guy rather sadly, "You have all been very kind to me here, and though I have often worked very hard, I guess it won't be all play for _me_ in California." Little Aggie often thought of these words of Guy in the days that followed, as they drew nearer and nearer their destination, and each member of the company spoke of his or her hopes or prospects. She noticed that upon that Guy, as well as his mother, was always silent, and many, many hours she sat in the wagon puzzling her little head as to what would become of their favorite. She even spoke of it to Guy when they were alone together, but he seldom would say anything about it. He was not like some people that find comfort in talking over perplexing questions, and it certainly was a very perplexing question to him, how he was to support his mother in the strange country to which he had induced her to come, for though young, Guy was too wise to think that gold lay all over the land, and all that any one had to do was to stoop and pick it up, though many older than himself in the train still believed that old fable, which deceived many in the time of Cortez, over two hundred years before. But although Guy was so uncertain as to what his fate would be in California, he soon became as anxious to reach it as the rest, for nothing for many weeks occurred to break the monotony of their journey, and the only excitement they had at all was in looking out for Indians, which were said to be very plenty upon their route, and in being constantly pleasurably disappointed in not coming upon any. One day, indeed, they were greatly surprised by the descent of a terrific rain storm upon them, for they had never dreamed of encountering rain in that elevated region, where not even a drop of dew was found in the early morning. At the time it occurred a party from the train, among whom was Guy, were out hunting. They saw the black clouds rising above the mountains, but leisurely continued their way intent upon obtaining some game for supper, when, suddenly, a blast of wind swept down upon them, bringing with it torrents of water, as if, as Guy afterwards said, another deluge had come to sweep every living thing from the earth's surface. For a moment the horses stood still as if stunned, and their riders bent low over the saddles, then, suddenly wheeling, the animals turned their heads away from the furious blast, and in that position waited for it to expend its fury. Neither whip nor spur would induce them to move, though Mr. Harwood used both freely, being anxious to gain the camp and satisfy himself of the safety of his family. The horses chose the best position, according to the instinct which had been given them to escape from danger, and they maintained it until the fury of the storm was spent, and then obediently carried their riders to the camp, where they found two or three of the lighter wagons blown over, and a number of articles scattered hither and thither. All the people however were safe though greatly frightened. CHAPTER XVI. As George said, the great rain storm seemed to have come expressly to wash all interest out of their journey, for from that day until their arrival within sight of Carson River, within the Territory of Nevada, where a part of the company were to part from the main body, they saw but little to interest them. True they had passed over a wonderful country, but the alkali plains seemed small in comparison to the desert, over which they had passed some weeks before, and all the grandeur of the Sierra Nevada Mountains could not awaken in them one iota of the enthusiasm with which they had greeted the first glimpse of the snow-capped summits of the Rocky Mountains. In fact they were too weary of their long journey to look around them for enjoyment, but rather looked forward to it, when all deserts of alkali, of sand and sage-brush being past, they might by the rivers and in the peaceful vales of California find rest and plenty. As I have said before, all in the company but Guy and his mother had something to look forward to. Many of the young men were going to the placer diggings or the deep mines, and spoke exultantly of the rich harvest they would surely glean. Mr. Graham had a quartz mill in a very fine situation, and he was going to take charge of it, and his sisters were to keep house for him, while Mr. Frazer and Mr. Harwood had decided to purchase farms and settle upon them. The last night that all in the train were to encamp together, a large fire was built and all gathered around it to talk over their plans. Guy sat by Aggie's side and tried to talk to her, but he could not help listening to what was said, and that, with the knowledge that they were so near California--their journey's end,--made him feel so miserable that he walked away from the fire, and hid himself in a dark place, and cried as if his heart would break. What was he to do when compelled to leave these friends? Almost penniless where was he in that new, unsettled country to find a home for his mother. For himself he could provide, but what should he do for his mother? He had heard that work, hard work, was plenty; but his mother could not do hard work; it had nearly killed her before, and doubtless there were few children to be taught. What could he do with her? Where should he leave her, while he went to try his fortune? It never entered his head to ask any one to give her a home. He felt under unpayable obligations already to Mr. Harwood for bringing them so far upon their way, and treating them so kindly, therefore to ask him to do more, he thought would be the greatest presumption, so instead of asking help of any man, he asked it of God. He was still sitting with his head bowed on his knees, and the tears streaming down his cheeks, most earnestly praying, when, suddenly, a flash from the light of a lantern passed over him, and a voice exclaimed: "why, here you are, I have been searching for you for ever so long." It was one of the young men from St. Louis, with whom Guy had been on most excellent terms ever since they left W----. "Yes, it is I," he returned, rather reluctantly, for he was ashamed that he should have found him crying. "What is the matter, John?" he presently added. "The matter! why, don't you know we are to break up camp to-morrow, and one party go one way into California, and the other another! Now, which one are you going with, Guy?" "I don't know," he said, with difficulty repressing a sob, "one part of California is the same to me as another. I have no friends there, and, oh dear, I very much fear I ought not to have come at all." "Oh, don't say that," exclaimed John, cheerfully, "you just come along with me and my partners, we are going straight to the placer diggings, and we'll take care of you until you can do for yourself, which won't be long, you may be sure; I shouldn't wonder if you're as rich as Rothschild in a few years." Guy's eyes sparkled, but in a moment his countenance fell, and he faltered out,-- "But what is to become of mother,--I couldn't leave her alone in a strange country, her heart would break." "Sure enough, I never thought of her, but something might be done, she wouldn't break her heart, if she didn't starve." "Ah, but she might do both!" exclaimed Guy. "Indeed, I cannot leave her. We must live and strive together, John. I thank you for your offer, but I can't leave my mother." "You're a nobler fellow than the Spartan that let the wolf gnaw his vitals rather than cry out," replied the young man, "and though you won't join us, Guy, I don't doubt but you'll find good fortune somewhere." "Thank you," said Guy, and comforted by the young man's kind offer, though he could not accept it, he walked back to the fire, where he found only the Grahams and the Harwoods. "We have been talking about you, Guy," said Mr. Harwood. "Mr. Graham says he will give you a place in the mill if you will go with him." "That I will, sir!" cried Guy, joyfully, his heart bounding, then falling like lead as he added, "but my mother?" "I think she will consent," said Mr. Graham. "Oh, sir, it was not of that I was thinking, it was of what would become of her. Oh, sir, she is poor and friendless, and I couldn't think of leaving her alone." "I say then," said George, who had apparently been engaged in building castles in the air, or anything else rather than listening to the conversation, "I say, now that Guy isn't going with Mr. Graham, it's cold enough up there to kill his mother, make an icicle of her before Christmas, you know you said last night it was." "Is that true, sir?" asked Guy, turning to Mr. Graham. "Why, I can't say that your mother would be an icicle before Christmas," returned Mr. Graham, laughing, "but it certainly is far too cold and stormy there for a delicate woman." "Ah, then, sir!" returned Guy, very sadly, "I cannot go with you, I cannot leave my mother." "Hurrah!" cried George, turning a double somersault before the fire, and nearly into it. "What's the matter?" asked Guy, in astonishment. "Why, it means," said Mr. Harwood, "that if you will not leave your mother, you must stay with us, as she has consented to do. Much as I disliked to part with you, who have been so invaluable to me on the way, I did not like to ask you to remain with us while others were ready to offer you, in mines and mills, so much better opportunities of gaining money than I can upon my little farm. There, for some time at least, there will be more work than money, I guess. So now, Guy, you know your mother will, at any rate, have a home; Mr. Graham will give you much higher wages than I can." At that point, Aggie began to cry bitterly, saying, "Guy, you mustn't go away! who should I have to tell me stories?" "And, besides, my dog Jack can't smoke yet," interrupted Gus, "and you promised to teach him, and you've got to stay and do it." "That's so," said George. "I expect I shall burn the house down trying to smoke, if you don't. You see I haven't forgotten how you threw that flour and water on me in the burning wagon, yet, and you have to stay and let me have satisfaction for that!" "Yes, do stay," said Aggie, coaxingly. "I intend to," cried Guy, bursting out into a loud laugh to prevent himself from crying with joy at his good fortune. "Hasn't it nearly broken my heart to think of leaving you, Aggie, and Mr. and Mrs. Harwood, and all the rest? Indeed, I would rather be with you all, if you were as poor as--as--" "Job's turkey," suggested George. "Well, yes, or as I am myself, than be a prince without you." After which burst of eloquence Guy sat down, bringing a scream of dismay from Aggie, upon whom he had inadvertently seated himself. "Now that is all settled," said Mr. Harwood, dismissing the matter in his usual cool way, though one could see he was much gratified, "we will have prayers." He arose and rung the large bell and all the company gathered around him, as they had often done upon the plains and the mountains, and listened to the word of God. Then he spoke to them of what had passed, and gave his best wishes to each. All were much affected at his kindly words, and by the short prayer that followed. There were few dry eyes there as those that were to leave on the morrow bade farewell, and it was with deep grief Guy parted with his many friends. At daybreak next morning the final separation took place, a long train of waggons diverged to another path, leaving the families of Mr. Frazer and Mr. Harwood to take their way alone into California. CHAPTER XVII. A month later they were there, and not only there but settled upon fine farms adjoining each other. To be sure they had but very small dwellings to live in, but all were too much pleased with the green meadows, sloping down to the river's edge, and the beautiful forests that crowned the hills that lay in the background, to fret because the walls of their house were made of sun-dried mud instead of stone. They found too many things to be thankful for, to find time to complain of any, and although all things were very rough, and Mrs. Harwood and Mrs. Loring wondered a hundred times a day "what they should do," they finally decided, when everything in the little house was arranged to their satisfaction, that they should do very well indeed. "Yes, very well," said Mrs. Loring, for although she called herself a servant, and was paid as such, she did not feel degraded by it, for she knew she was earning an honest living, and was respected as a friend by her employers, while Guy was looked upon almost as a son. He took the same place with the children as that held in their trip across the plains. He worked for their father, and for them, and very hard too, sometimes, but he was still their playfellow, George's guide, Gus' friend, little Aggie's comforter, and singer of songs, and teller of stories to all. As I have said, he worked hard, for even with a kind, indulgent master, like Mr. Harwood, much is thrown upon the hands of a willing boy, so Guy found there was still fires to light in the morning, water to fetch, wood to chop and carry, cows to milk, and the plough to be followed. Sometimes he grew tired of the dull routine, and would wish himself at the diggings with the young men from St. Louis, and then with Mr. Graham, at the mill, but a glance at his mother, working over the hot stove, or washing at the spring, would render him content, for he would say, "She is happy with all her toil, while I am near, and shall I worry over a little extra work, when it keeps me with her?" And then away to his work he would go with renewed energy, and sometimes Mr. Harwood would give him a holiday which would quite revive his drooping spirits, and make him strong for weeks. Oh, what holidays these were! Off all the children would go to the woods, that in the afternoon were full of sunshine, so warm, so beautiful; the grass would look like shaded velvet beneath them, and the leaves would glance and quiver as if they were fairies frolicking in their best clothes. And such woods as these were, in which to gather wild plums and nuts, and then to lie in the shade and tell fairy stories. "The very trees seem to say them over to us," said Aggie, the first day they spent in the woods together. "I am sure there must be something in all these sweet sounds we hear." "Birds' songs," said George, contemptuously. "No," said Aggie, "something more. Tell us what it is, Guy, you can always tell what the birds and animals say, you even told us what the prairie dogs said, you know." Guy threw himself down on the green grass beside a little brook, and listened, with his eyes fixed on the yellow sands of the little stream. "The birds are telling me that there is gold in that sand," he said at length, "they tell me there is gold throughout all this wonderful country, in every rock and chasm, and there is one big fellow that is telling me how it all came there. Shall I repeat it over to you?" "Oh, yes, yes!" cried Aggie, in great glee. "And let us have no more preliminary fibs," said George, "you are the greatest fellow for them, you know, Guy." "Oh, p'shaw!" ejaculated Gus, impatient, "Let him go ahead!" "That's just what the birds say," replied Guy, throwing himself back on the grass, and smiling gravely. "That big fellow on the bough there tells me he is delighted; that he has at last found one that can understand his language, for he has heard so many ridiculous theories advanced by men with picks on their shoulders and books in their hands, as to what gold is, and how it came on the ground, that he has nearly burst his throat in trying to make them understand the truth, and has then been accused of making a 'senseless chatter.'" "'And all the time,' says he, 'their chatter was far more senseless than mine, and so they would think if they had heard all of us laugh over their conjectures about a matter we knew all about, for birds have legends as well as men, and there's none better remembered than that of the "Enchanted Yellow Men."' "Thousands of years ago they inhabited the finest portions of this land. They hunted the deer on a hundred hills, and bathed in all the streams of the mountains. Their tents were in every valley, and the tracks of their feet on every path. They were the most numerous and powerful people on all the earth, yet none could tell why they were feared, for they had never battled with their neighbors, or shown great courage in the chase. In reality, it was their color alone that inspired awe. They were of the hue of the sun at midday, and their long hair streamed upon the wind like the dead leaves of corn in autumn. From toe to crown they were pure, bright yellow,--as yellow as the buttercups in yonder field. "Ever were they looked upon with awe by their tawny brethren, who thought that the great Spirit had set the seal of his special love upon them, and had sent them forth as his chosen people. The yellow men believed the same, for everything they undertook, prospered. None of the surrounding tribes ever showed opposition to them. They could follow the game over any ground, and spear the fish in any stream they chose, so that hunger never entered their wigwams; and in course of time they became so puffed up with their good fortune that they called themselves 'gods,' and the neighboring tribes bowed and worshipped them. "Then the Great Spirit, who, from his home in the great mountains, had been watching their doings, grew very angry and threatened to destroy them all. But they were so beautiful to look upon, that he decided to try them once more and see if any good remained in them. Shortly after this a mighty tribe on the west of the yellow men, crossed over to the east, and took from a small, weak tribe that dwelt there all their lands, and drove them up to the barren mountains, where they could not find even so much as a herb to eat. "But they were very near the Great Spirit, and he heard all their woes, and he sent a messenger down to the yellow men bidding them arise, slay the invaders and restore the destitute to their homes again. But they would not, and all those upon the mountains died, and their curses came down, and rested upon the rich and powerful who had refused to help them, and upon the day that the last of the wanderers perished a voice was heard in the tents of the yellow men, and it said, 'As ye refused to leave your lands to aid your brethren, ye shall rest in the ground till strangers shall bear thee hence, and as ye have refused to toil, or bless in your life time, ye shall do both after death. Ye shall buy food for the poor, but yet shall the curses of the Great Spirit follow ye.' "And even as they listened to these terrible words, flames burst out of the mountains, and rushed over the valleys and plains. As it passed over them each was burnt to a shapeless mass. In thousands of places the earth opened and they sank into their graves. And there the yellow men, in their new forms, waited for thousands of years, and there many of them are waiting still for the pick of the miner to bring them forth into their new life, to curse the wicked and improvident, and to bless the poor and needy." "There! there! the bird has flown away!" said Aggie. "But he has answered the question that has been puzzling my head for a long, long time," said Guy. "And told us, too, that none of us should be inactive and the greater our power to help others the more we should exercise it." "That's so," said George, "and I suppose we are all like the 'yellow men,' a good deal puffed up with our own conceit. I'll tell you what, suppose we all enter into a contract to do all the good we can, and let Guy be the judge of our actions, for after all he is the one that first put it into my head to do _any_ good, you know." "Agreed," cried Aggie, while Gus said, "It was a jolly good idea." But Guy demurred about being judge, thinking with a good deal of shame that he was sometimes as inactive in a good cause as the "yellow men" themselves. So they sat in the woods talking the matter over until the last rays of the sun fell through the thick leaves and warned them home. Then they took their baskets and turned their faces homeward. Guy saying, "Well then, we are agreed all of us to begin the lives now, to which the 'yellow men' were doomed for their idleness and presumption. Henceforth we are to help the weak, oppose the proud and wicked, and strive to do good." "I will for one," said George, earnestly. "So will I," echoed Gus. "And so will I, with all my heart!" exclaimed little Aggie, just as they stepped out of the woods into the open field. "Only look," she added, glancing back, "a bird has followed us out of the woods. I do believe it is the one that told us the pretty story,--and, listen, to what he is singing, 'Good bye!' why, I even can interpret that, 'Good boy! good bye! Guy Loring! Guy, Good bye!'" +-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ 
63566	----	JACK MANLY. BY JAMES GRANT Price 2s. each, Fancy Boards. THE ROMANCE OF WAR. THE AIDE-DE-CAMP. THE SCOTTISH CAVALIERS. BOTHWELL. JANE SETON; OR, THE KING'S ADVOCATE. PHILIP ROLLO. LEGENDS OF THE BLACK WATCH. MARY OF LORRAINE. OLIVER ELLIS; OR, THE FUSILIERS. LUCY ARDEN; OR, HOLLYWOOD HALL. FRANK HILTON; OR, THE QUEEN'S OWN. THE YELLOW FRIGATE. HARRY OGILVIE; OR, THE BLACK DRAGOONS. ARTHUR BLANE. LAURA EVERINGHAM; OR, THE HIGHLANDERS OF GLENORA. THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD. LETTY HYDE'S LOVERS. THE CAVALIERS OF FORTUNE. SECOND TO NONE. THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE. THE PHANTOM REGIMENT. THE GIRL HE MARRIED. FIRST LOVE AND LAST LOVE. DICK RODNEY. THE WHITE COCKADE. THE KING'S OWN BORDERERS. LADY WEDDERBURN'S WISH. ONLY AN ENSIGN. JACK MANLY. THE ADVENTURES OF ROB ROY. THE QUEEN'S CADET. GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS. THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. JACK MANLY; His Adventures by Sea and Land. by JAMES GRANT, AUTHOR OF "THE ROMANCE OF WAR," "OLIVER ELLIS," ETC. ETC. LONDON: GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE. NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREET. LONDON: RAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. CONTENTS. CHAP. I. WHY I WENT TO SEA II. ADVENTURE IN A CASK III. THE NARROWS OF ST. JOHN IV. THE BRIG "LEDA" V. KIDD THE PIRATE VI. THE "BLACK SCHOONER" VII. THE CHASE VIII. OUR REVENGE SCHEMED IX. OUR REVENGE EXECUTED X. THE SEAL-FISHERS XI. COMBAT WITH A SEA-HORSE XII. ON AN ICEBEEG XIII. ON THE ICEBERG--THE MASSACRE AT HIERRO XIV. ESCAPE FROM THE ICEBERG XV. UNDER WEIGH ONCE MORE XVI. BESET WITHOUT HOPE XVII. THE DEATH-SHIP XVIII. LEAVES FROM THE LOG XIX. THE GRAVES ON THE STARBOARD BOW XX. ADRIFT ON THE DEAD FLOE XXI. CAPE FAREWELL XXII. THE MUSK-OX XXIII. THE FOUR BEARS XXIV. WOLMAR FYNBÖE XXV. ADIEU TO THE REGION OF ICE XXVI. A SHARK XXVII. THE FATAL VOYAGE OF THE HEER VAN ESTELL XXVIII. THE FATAL VOYAGE--HOW THEY CAST LOTS XXIX. ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE XXX. LOSS OF THE "LEDA" XXXI. THE CRY XXXII. THE TWELFTH DAY XXXIII. WHAT FOLLOWED XXXIV. THE SAILOR'S POST-OFFICE XXXV. MS. LEGEND OF EL CABO DOS TORMENTOS XXXVI. LEGEND CONTINUED--THE CATASTROPHE XXXVII. LEGEND CONCLUDED--THE SEQUEL XXXVIII. WE LAND IN AFRICA XXXIX. THE KING OF THE SNAKE RIVER XL. THE GABON CLIFF XLI. HOW THE CAPTAIN PERISHED XLII. AMOO XLIII. THE RESCUE OF HIS CHILD XLIV. THE GRATITUDE OF HIS WIFE XLV. FLIGHT XLVI. FLIGHT CONTINUED XLVII. THE WOOD OF THE DEVIL XLVIII. RETAKEN XLIX. THE CARAVAN L. WE REACH THE CAPITAL LI. AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW PLACE LII. HARTLY'S STORY LIII. THE FEMALE GUARDS LIV. ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE AGAIN LV. THE FORMOSA LVI. A PERILOUS JOURNEY LVII. PURSUIT AGAIN--CONCLUSION JACK MANLY. CHAPTER I. WHY I WENT TO SEA. It was the evening of the sixteenth of March. Exactly six months had elapsed since I left my father's snug villa at Peckham, with its walls shrouded by roses and honeysuckle; and now I found myself two thousand three hundred miles distant from it, in his agent's counting-room, in the dreary little town of St. John, in Newfoundland, writing in a huge ledger, and blowing my fingers from time to time, for snow more than ten feet deep covered all the desolate country, and the shipping in the harbour was imbedded in ice at least three feet in thickness; while the thermometer, at which I glanced pretty often, informed me that the mercury had sunk twelve degrees below the freezing point. While busily engrossing quintals of salted fish, by the thousand, barrels of Hamburg meal and Irish pork, chests of bohea, bales of shingles, kegs of gunpowder, caplin nets, anchors and cables, and Indian corn from the United States, with all the heterogeneous mass of everything which usually fill the stores of a wealthy merchant in that terra nova, I thought of the noisy world of London, from which I had been banished, or, as tutors and guardians phrased it, "sent to learn something of my father's business--_i.e._, practically to begin life as he had begun it;" and so I sighed impatiently over my monotonous task, while melting the congealed ink, from time to time, on the birchwood fire, and reverting to what March is in England, where we may watch the bursting of the new buds and early flowers; where the birds are heard in every sprouting hedge and tree, and as we inhale the fresh breeze of the morning, a new and unknown delight makes our pulses quicken and a glow of tenderness fill the heart--for then we see and feel, as some one says, "what we have seen and felt _only_ in _childhood and spring_." "Belay this scribbling business, Jack," said a hearty voice in my ear; "come, ship on board my brig, and have a cruise with me in the North Sea. I shall have all my hands aboard to-morrow." I looked up, threw away my pen, closed the gigantic ledger with a significant bang, and shook the hand of the speaker, who was my old friend and schoolfellow, Bob Hartly, whose face was as red as the keen frost of an American winter evening could make it, albeit he was buttoned to the throat in a thick, rough Flushing coat, and wore a cap with fur ear-covers tied under his chin--a monk-like hood much worn in these northern regions during the season of snow. "I don't think your cruise after seals and blubber will be a very lively affair, Bob," said I, rubbing my hands at the stove, on which he was knocking the ashes of his long Havannah. "Lively! if it is not more lively than this quill-driving work, may I never see London Bridge again, or take, 'Instead of pistol or a dagger, a Desperate leap down the falls of Niagara!'" "I am sick of this Cimmerian region!" said I, stamping with vexation at his jocular mood, when contrasted to my own surly one. "Cimmerian--ugh! that phrase reminds me of school-times, and how we used to blunder through Homer together, for he drew all his images of Pluto and Pandemonium from the dismal country of the Cimmerii. By Jove! I could give you a stave yet from Virgil or Ovid, hand over hand, on the same subject; but that would be paying Her Majesty's colony a poor compliment." "Well, Bob, I am sick of this place, in which evil fate, or rather bad luck, has buried me alive--this frozen little town of wood and tar, without outlet by sea or land in winter, without amusement, and, at this time, seemingly without life." "It forms a contrast to London, certainly," said Hartly, assisting himself, uninvited, to the contents of a case-bottle of Hollands which stood near; "but there is a mint of money to be made in it." "The first English folks who came here were reduced to such straits, we are told, that they killed and ate each other; and those who returned were such skeletons that their wives and mothers did not know them." Hartly laughed loudly, and said-- "But that was in the time of King Henry VIII., and people don't eat each other here now. But to resume what we were talking about----" "Old Uriah Skrew, my father's agent, and I are on the worst terms; he keeps a constant watch over me. I go from my desk to bed, and from bed to my desk--so passes my existence." "Why not slip your cable and run, then?" "Skrew being a partner in the firm," I continued, warming at the idea of my own rights and fancied wrongs, "cares for nothing but making money from the riches of the sea, and thinks only of cargoes of fish to be bartered in Lent, at Cadiz, for fruit and wine, oil, seals, and blubber; and really in this cold season----" "Ah, but summer is coming," interrupted Bob, drily. "Summer! How is the year divided here?" "Into nine months of winter and three of bad weather." "A pleasant prospect! If I were once again at Peckham----" "Well, Jack, I have a grudge at old Uriah Skrew, for, like a swab, he played me a scurvy trick about a cargo I had consigned to your father and him, from Cadiz, last year--a trick by which I lost all my profit and tonnage. "Likely enough; this ledger is Uriah's bible--and his God----" "Is gold! So I care not a jot if, for the mere sake of provoking him, I lend you a hand to give him the slip, for a few months at least. Ship with me to-morrow--as a volunteer, passenger, or whatever you please." "I shall," said I, throwing my pen resolutely into the fire. "Your hand on it! I like this. Get your warmest toggery sent on board; you'll need it all, I can tell you! I can give you a long gun, and bag for powder and slugs; and then, with a bowie-knife in your belt, a seal-skin cap with long flaps, and a stout pea-jacket, you will make as smart a seal fisher as ever sailed through the Narrows! By this time to-morrow you may be forty miles from your ledger, running through the North Sea with a flowing sheet. By Jove, I know a jolly old Esquimau who lives at Cape Desolation under an old whaleboat. He will be delighted to make your acquaintance, and give you a feed of sea weed and blubber that will make your mouth water, though we eat it when the mercury is frozen in the bulb." This cheerful prospect of Arctic hospitality might have persuaded me to remain where I was, but soured by the treatment I experienced from Mr. Skrew, who misrepresented my conduct and habits to my family at home, and tired of the monotony of his counting-room, I looked forward with eagerness to an anticipated escape. How little could I foresee the consequences of my impatience, folly, and wayward desire for rambling! Ere a month was past, I had repented in bitterness my boyish repugnance for steady application and industrious habits. My friend, Robert Hartly, who was eight years my senior, was master and owner of the _Leda_, a smart brig of two hundred and fifty tons register--a craft in which he had invested all his savings. Last year he had lost a wife and two children, whom he tenderly loved; he had come to St. John from Cadiz, missed a freight and been frozen-in, and now, with all a sailor's restlessness and dread of being idle, even for a month or two, he had resolved to sail for the spring seal fishery, as a change of scene, and a trip which he hoped would not prove unprofitable, as his vessel was one of a class far superior to those which usually venture into the region of ice, being well found, well manned, coppered to the bends, and, in short, the perfection of a British merchant brig. "By the bye," said he, "talking of powder and slugs, we may need both, for other purposes than shooting seals." "How?" I asked. "I mean if we came athwart the _Black Schooner_ which has been prowling and plundering about the coast for the last six weeks." "Are there more news of her?" "No; but here is a placard given to all shipmasters yesterday," said he, unfolding a paper surmounted by the royal arms, and running in the name of "His Excellency the Governor and Commander-in-Chief over the Island of Newfoundland and its Dependencies," offering 500_1._ to the crew of any ship that would capture "the vessel known as the _Black Schooner_," &c. "She is a queer craft," continued Hartly, "and said to be a slaver, bankrupt, and out of business; though Paul Reeves, my mate, maintains that she is the _Adventure_ galley. which sailed from London in the time of King William III., and that her crew are the ghosts of Kidd and his pirates; but ghosts don't steal beef and drink brandy." Hartly's father had been in the navy; thus he had received a good and thorough nautical education, but early in life had been left to work his way in the world; so he made the watery portion thereof his home and means of livelihood. He was a handsome, hardy, and cheerful young fellow, and the _beau idéal_ of a thorough British seaman. On the third finger of his left hand he wore a curious ring of base metal, graven with runes of strange figures. This was the gift of an old woman to whom he had rendered some service when in Iceland, and who had promised, that while he wore it, he could _never be drowned_; consequently Hartly was too much imbued with the superstition of his profession to part with it for a moment. "But how am I to elude old Skrew, and get on board," said I, after we had concluded all our arrangements, over a glass of hot brandy-punch, in Bob's lodgings in Water-street. "True--the brig lies frozen-in at the end of his wharf, the hatches are all locked, and the hands ashore." "If he sees me on board, there will be an end of our project, for I have no wish to quarrel with him in an unseemly manner; but merely to 'levant' quietly, leaving a letter to announce where I am gone, and when I may, perhaps, return." "All right--I have it! I'll send an empty cask to Skrew's store to-morrow. Paul Reeves, the mate, and Hammer, the carpenter, will head you up in it, and so you may be brought on board unknown to all save them--ay, under the very nose of old Uriah. Will that suit you?" "Delightfully!" said I, clapping my hands. The whole affair had the appearance of an adventure, and though there were a hundred ways by which I might have joined the brig, when the _cutting-out_ of the sealing fleet took place next day, like a young schoolboy--for in some respects I was little more--I accepted the strange proposal of going on board in a cask, and retired to bed, to dream of adventures on the high seas; for being young, healthy, and active, I could always have pleasant dreams without studying the art of procuring them--an art on which Dr. Franklin wrote so learnedly in the last century. CHAPTER II. ADVENTURE IN A CASK. On the next day (17th of March), when the fleet of adventurers departs for the spring seal fishery, the little seaport town of St. John's presents an unusual aspect of bustle and gaiety. On that anniversary, at least one hundred vessels, having on board three thousand seamen, batmen, and gunners, sail to seek their fortune in the ice-fields; but on the day I am about to describe, the number of craft and their crews far exceeded this. The day was clear and sunny, not a speck of cloud was in the sky, whose immensity of blue made the eye almost ache, while the intense brilliance of the snow, which covered the hills and the whole scenery, made them seem to vibrate in the sunshine, and caused a species of blindness, especially on entering any apartment, however large or well-lighted; for after being out of doors in that season and region for an hour or so, a house usually seems totally dark for a time. For some days previous there had been that species of drizzle which is termed locally "a silver thaw," thus, all the houses of the town, the roofs, walls, and chimneys; the trees, the shipping in the frozen harbour, every mast, yard, and inch of standing or running rigging, were thickly coated with clear ice, which sparkled like prisms in the sunshine, making them seem as if formed of transparent crystal. Then, there was a glittering in the frosty atmosphere, as if it was composed of minute particles, while the intensity of the cold made one feel as if a coarse file were being roughly applied to one's nose or cheekbones on facing the west, the point whence the wind came over the vast and snow-covered tracts of untrodden and unexplored country which stretch away for three hundred miles towards the Red Indian Lake and the Bay of Exploits. The keepers of stores and shops--who in St. John are usually dressed like seamen, in round jackets and glazed hats--with all idlers, were pouring through every avenue and thoroughfare, and spreading over the harbour. All the ships displayed their colours, and the sound of music, as bands perambulated the ice, rang upon the clear and ambient air, mingled with the musical jingle of the sleigh bells, as the more wealthy folks, muffled and shawled to the nose, galloped their horses with arrow-like speed from side to side of the harbour. The latter and the town (but especially the grog-shops) were crowded by the seal fishermen, who had come in from all parts of the coast, and bore bundles of clothing slung over their backs, each having his carefully selected club wherewith to smite the young seals on the head, and also to be used as a gaff or ice-hook. Many of these men were also armed with long sealing-guns, which are twice the size and weight of an ordinary musket, and resemble the huge, unwieldy gingals of the East Indians, having flintlocks of a clumsy fashion. They are generally loaded with coarse-grained powder and pieces of lead, termed _slugs_, to shoot the old seals, who frequently prove refractory, and dangerous when defending their young. Those fishers who are thus armed as gunners rank before the mere clubmen, and receive a small remuneration, or are remitted some of the "berth money" which is usually paid to the storekeeper or merchant who equips the vessel for the ice; "the outfitting," says one who is well-informed on these matters, "being always defrayed by the receipt of one-half the cargo of seals, the other half going to adventurers, with these and other deductions for extra supplies." But, as Captain Hartly fitted out his own vessel and shipped his own crew, gunners, and batmen at stipulated salaries, he expected to reap the whole profits of the expedition. In addition to the project I had in view, I was particularly anxious to witness the gaiety of this the only and yearly colonial gala day--the shipping of the crews, (who always proceed in procession along the ice,) with the cutting-out and departure of the sealers; but old Mr. Uriah Skrew, with his clean-shaven face and small cunning eyes, was in the counting-room betimes, and piled work upon me thick and fast, to anticipate any application for a day's leave. "May I not go out for an hour, sir, and see what is going on in the harbour?" I asked, gently. "No, sir," he replied, sharply; "such nonsense only leads to idleness--idleness to dissipation, and dissipation to ruin! That is the sliding-scale, young man----" "Oh! my good sir, you are too severe." "Severe! Mr. Jack Manly!----" "Well, sir?" "I have always been kind and indulgent to you." "Kind--hum." "Yes; more kind and indulgent than your father, my worthy partner, wishes--and more than he would be." "Query?" "What do you mean by 'query'?" he demanded in a bullying tone, for he intensely disliked me, fearing that I should soon be admitted into the firm. "Because I have my doubts on the subject, and your refusal to grant me leave to-day confirms my opinion of you, Mr. Skrew." "Very well; enough of this, not a word more, or by the first ship for Europe I will write what you'll wish had not been written. Not a word more." "I am mute as a fish." "Engross these papers--but, first, go to the store on the wharf, and tell the keeper to speak with me; and look sharp!" I put on my cap and left the counting-room, feeling assured that many a day would elapse ere I stood within it again, as I caught a glimpse of Paul Reeves, mate of the _Leda_, and two seamen, loitering outside; but near the window, wherein stood my desk, under the leaf of which I deposited a letter addressed to Mr. Skrew, informing him, in the parlance of Bob Hartly, that "I had slipped my cable and gone to sea." "Captain Hartly's friend, sir?" said the mate, touching his hat, and winking knowingly. "Yes." "All right, sir! here is the cask, step in, and Tom Hammer, our carpenter, and his mate, will head you up in it comfortably in less than a minute." "No one is near?" said I, anxiously glancing round the courtyard. "Not a soul, sir: in you go, on with the head, Tom, and be quick, for the ice channel is cutting fast to the fairway; the jib and foretopsail are loose, and the lashings all but cast off." The counting-room of Messrs. Manly and Skrew stood within a courtyard, which was entered by a gateway from Water-street; and from this court--which was formed by four large wooden stores, all pitched, tarred, and now coated with snow and ice--a path led down to the wharf, at the end of which, as at the end of all the others that jutted into the harbour, a mercantile flag was displayed from a mast. In this court were piles of old barrels, hampers, boxes, an anchor, a spare topmast or so, half buried under the usual white mantle, on which a flock of poor little snowbirds were hopping and twittering drearily. "Do you feel snug, sir?" inquired Paul Reeves, through the bunghole. "Yes; but please to lose no time in getting me through the crowd on the wharf, and on board the _Leda_" I replied, in a somewhat imploring tone of voice; for the cask, though a roomy one, was the reverse of comfortable, and already I longed to stretch myself. "The _Leda_ lies just outside the Bristol clipper." "She that was overhauled and plundered, and had three of her crew shot by the _Black Schooner_?" "Yes, sir," replied Reeves, as the two seamen hoisted up the cask; and I soon became aware by the clamour around me that I was being conveyed down to the wharf, where Mr. Skrew, in a full suit of Petersham and sables, was walking to and fro till his sledge arrived. "Hallo, what have you fellows got in the cask?" he demanded as I was borne past him. "Some of the captain's stores, sir," replied Reeves. "His grandmother's best featherbed," added the carpenter. "Very good," said Uriah, as I was deposited almost on his gouty toes. Men often stumbled against my cask, and swore at it or pushed it aside. Once a fellow seated himself on it, and kicked with his heels till I was nearly deranged, and the impulse to scare him by a shout became almost irrepressible. For a time, I dreaded that it might be tumbled off the wharf into the sludge and broken ice alongside! Ere long the wharf was cleared; I heard the clanking of the gates, as the keeper, by order of Mr. Skrew, locked them, doubtless to exclude me therefrom on this great gala day; and then followed the jangling of bells, as he stepped into his sledge, and departed upon the ice. Thus I was left to my own reflections on the solitary wharf. Before this, a great commotion had taken place at the extremity thereof, as the Bristol clipper by some mismanagement ran foul of the _Leda_, and the usual volleys of threats, oaths, and orders incident to such collisions in harbour were exchanged from the decks and rigging of both vessels, while, by using boat-hooks aloft and fenders below, the crew strove to keep the rigging clear and the hulls apart. Amid this unexpected hurly-burly, I was _forgotten_ in my cask! The wharf stood near the western extremity of the town, which lies along the basin of the harbour. The sounds in my vicinity seemed all to die away, as the crowd along the shore and upon the ice followed the ships, which in succession were warped along their ice-channels into the fairway, and each was greeted by a tremendous cheer as the sails fell, their head canvas filled, and they broke into blue water; but hours seemed to elapse, without a person coming near the horrible cask in which I was imprisoned, and the agonies I endured are beyond description! The sense of oppression and of being cramped amounted to intense bodily torture; thus a perspiration alternately burning hot and icy cold burst over me. The interior of this now detested prison seemed hot as a furnace; yet there was in my soul a deadly fear of perishing by cold, as I should assuredly do, if left all night on the locked wharf, in such a climate, with the thermometer at twelve degrees below the freezing point! How fruitlessly I repented me of the silly project of thus escaping, and alternately longed to be back again in Skrew's snug counting-room, or on board the departing brig--of being anywhere, instead of being thus "cabin'd, cribb'd, confin'd," and forgotten. A terror of being conveyed on board, and left, perhaps, in the hold--left undiscovered till dead of suffocation, gave me wild energy; madly I strove to kick or beat out the head of the cask; but my legs were powerless, as if suffering from paralysis, for my aching knees were wedged under my chin, and I might as well have attempted to escape from a block of adamant. Faintness and delirium were fast coming over me! I screamed like a madman; but my hoarse voice was lost in the hollow of the cask. Though a perspiration bathed all my aching limbs, my tongue clove to my palate, and soon became hot and dry. Starry lights seemed to flash and dance before me in the darkness; my brain reeled; then I gasped, as sense and pulsation ebbed together, and after enduring three hours (as I afterwards learned) of such agony as those who were confined in the stone chests of the Venetians, or in the iron cages which Louis XI. placed in the Bastille, alone could have known--I fainted. CHAPTER III. THE NARROWS OF ST. JOHN. On recovering, I found myself in the cabin of the _Leda_, with Captain Hartly hanging over me, and chafing my hands and temples, in anxiety and solicitude, with hartshorn and vinegar; for being a kind-hearted fellow, he was seriously alarmed. In these friendly offices he was ably assisted by Cuffy Snowball, his black cook, who burned several grey goose-quills under my nose, and who brought me a rummer full of brandy-punch steaming hot from the galley. On swallowing this, which they forced me to do at two draughts, I became considerably revived and invigorated. "Why did you leave me there, Hartly--it might have been, to die?" I asked, reproachfully. "I did not leave you, my dear boy, at least not a moment longer than we could help," he replied. "It cost us no small trouble to get clear of that lubberly barque. I wish the _Black Schooner_ had sunk her, when athwart her hawse! We had to clap on all hands to warping into the fairway, and once there, we had to keep constantly forging a-head, as other craft were crowding into the channel astern of us." "Then I was pretty near being left till the wharf-keeper came next morning. My heaven! I should have been stiff enough by that time!" "I sent Paul Reeves and Hans Peterkin to bring off the cask on a sledge, and you may imagine the fright we were in on finding you cramped up and lifeless as a pickled herring!" "Oh, Hartly," said I, "the torture I endured was frightful! I now repent of my undertaking, and wish myself back again." "Repent--bah! It has been a stupidly managed job, but it is over now, and there is an end of it. Take another sip of the hot brandy-and-water, and come on deck; we are abreast of the Crow's Nest now, and in ten minutes more will be in blue water; then hurrah for the ice-fields!" I followed him on deck, and found that we were, as he said, abreast of a high sugar-loaf shaped rock, crowned by a little battery named the Crow's Nest, and that around us a very exciting scene was passing. The _Leda_ was now in the fairway, or main channel, which was formed through the ice in the centre of the harbour, and into which there were cut more than fifty canals, or connecting links, along which the sealing ships were being warped from the various wharves at which they had been fitted out. All were gaily decked with their owners' private colours, and had their courses, or lower sails, cast loose, and were accompanied by crowds, who were conversing, laughing, and expressing their hopes of a successful fishery to the crews, whose voices rang cheerily as they tripped round the capstan or wrenched at the windlass, till they came abreast of the kedge anchor which was wedged in the ice; and then it was torn up, and carried off a-head towards the Narrows. when the cheering, warping, and tripping began anew. Thousands of persons, many of them on skates, covered all the glassy expanse of the frozen harbour, which from some points of view appears land-locked, so closely do the mountains of rock converge at its entrance; and hundreds of sledges (Mr. Uriah Skrew's among the number), with round Russian bells at their horses' collars, or on the circular iron rod above their ears, with the drivers muffled in furs, swept to and fro; while bands of music playing the air invariable on this occasion, "St. Patrick's Day," marched alongside of the departing fleet. Flags of every fashion--square, triangular, and swallow-tailed--were streaming everywhere; on the mastheads of the shipping, on the black-tarred mercantile stores, and on the dwellings of their owners--a passion for a display of bunting being one of the peculiarities of this our most northern colony in America. The aspect of its capital, which covers the northern slope of the harbour, is rather pretty, though the country beyond is nearly as wild and as dreary as when, in the words of Hakluyt--"in the yeere of our Lord 1497, John Cabot a Venetian, and his son Sebastian, with an English fleet from Bristol, discovered that land which no man had before attempted, on 24th June, about five of the clocke, early in the morning. That island which lieth out before the land, he called of _St. John_, as I think, because it was discovered upon the day of John the Baptist." During the brief summer, this harbour, the entrance of which is so narrow that two ships can scarcely pass in the dangerously deep mid-channel, is smooth as a mill-pond, and presents a lively scene, for there the smart Clyde-built clipper, the dark and battered Sunderland collier brig, the smart Yankee liner, with her gaudy stars and stripes, her snowy decks, and gear so taut; the Pomeranian, with her grass-green hull and fur-capped crew; the Dutch galliot, all brown varnish, and shaped like a half cheese, or like the old craft that bore the Crusaders to Palestine; the huge ship of Blackwall, redolent of guano, all blistered, rusted, and turned yellow by the sun of the fiery south; the sharp Spanish brig, which had run her cargo of slaves in South Carolina and escaped here, to go quietly home, with her brass nines hidden in the hold, and with fish in Lent for the pious at Cadiz or Oporto--during the brief season of summer, I say, all these had been here; but now when a snowy mantle covered the land, and black ice locked the harbour, its basin or bosom presented a very different scene. Floundering through sludge and water, a thousand of those men who are England's real pioneers in the Far West--Irish emigrants--in long boots, were cutting the thick ice with ponderous saws, and pushing the blocks under the solid mass on either side, to form a fairway or clear channel for the shipping; and this channel, though at least twenty feet broad, would certainly be frozen hard and fast ere morning dawned. On this occasion there passed out with us, as I have elsewhere stated, more than one hundred sail of sealing craft. There were brigs, brigantines, and schooners, ranging from fifty to two hundred and fifty tons, all following each other through the fairway, warping ahead, till beyond the Chain Rock, where they got into open water. Many of the smaller craft are miserably adapted for the dangers they have to encounter, and thus are frequently crushed or lost in the ice by being swept off among the floes and fields to the far north, from whence they never return. Some, I have observed, had only a box lined with fire-brick placed on edge, lashed aft the foremast, for a caboose, and an iron cauldron on three legs placed therein for boiling the wretched mess of old salt pork and doughballs which form the daily food of the crew, who, with such apparatus, would be unable to cook anything in foul weather or a heavy sea. The wind was southerly for a time, but gradually veered a little to the west as we neared the harbour mouth. After passing the Chain Rock, where a cable of Cyclopean aspect, that now lies a mass of rust thereon, was wont in times of war and alarm to be stretched across to the Pancake Rock to secure the harbour at night, we found ourselves in the deep water. With a loud cheer we brought the kedge anchor and hawser on board. Paul Reeves took the wheel; we sheeted home the foresail and gib, let fall the fore and main topsails, and brought the starboard tacks on board when we were clear of the Signal Hill, and the Dead Man's Bay--a dreary inlet of the sea--lay on our quarter. This hill is a stern and precipitous mountain of sandstone and slate-rock, nearly six hundred feet in height, with batteries that rise over each other in tiers, to the highest, which is named "The Queen's." Opposite, towers an equally abrupt mountain of similar height and aspect, having at its base a little promontory defended by Fort Amherst. The slender gut between is named the Narrows of St. John. The breeze came more and more round upon our quarter as we ran past Signal Hill, ploughing through a somewhat heavy surf; past the Sugar Loaf, and a little creek where, in the clear summer sea, I have seen the guns of an ancient and forgotten wreck lying like black dots on the smooth white sand many fathoms below; for in these regions, when a brilliant sun shines upon the ocean, its waters become transparent to a wondrous depth; thus giant corals, dusky weeds, and the snow-white bones of mighty fish, "With the rainbow hues of the sea-trees' bloom," may be seen distinctly at the depth of a hundred and fifty feet from the surface. There, too, I have seen the bright yellow sea anemone, with its long fibrous leaves, that close and shrink into the rocks from view when touched. Cape St. Francis, one of the eastern promontories of Avalon, was soon upon our beam; Cape Spear light had sunk into the waves astern, and night was coming down upon the wintry sea, when we hauled up a point or two to the north and west, and stood right away to the icy regions of the North; and that night merrily at supper we sang in the cabin-- "'Twas in the year of 'sixty-one, Of March the seventeenth day, That our gallant ship her anchor weighed And to the North seas bore away, Brave boys," &c. CHAPTER IV THE BRIG "LEDA." We had twenty-four hands on board; twelve of these were landsmen, being gunners and batmen, half agriculturists and half fishermen, who, at times, in summer, left their families to till the scanty soil, while they fished in open boats among the countless creeks and bays which indent the peninsula of Avalon; and now in winter, when all out-of-door operations were suspended, and the land was buried under fourteen feet of frozen snow--and when the sea, even to the distance of two hundred miles, would soon be bound with ice, they became seal-fishers; and, like others, had shipped in the little fleet which, on St. Patrick's Day, always departed from this Iro-American isle for the stormy seas that lash the Labrador. All these men were Irish and oft at sea; I have heard the poor fellows, when seated under the leech of the foresail, with the icy spray flying over them to leeward, singing the sweet or merry songs they had learned at their mothers' knee, in the brave old land they were fated never to see again--for the story of our crew is a sad one! We had a negro, who was our cook (of course), Cuffy Snowball--I never heard him named otherwise; and his adventures had been somewhat singular. Cuffy had been a warrior of Congo, and dwelt in a hut on the banks of the Zaire, where, by dint of "his spear and shaggy shield," he had amassed a wealth of baskets, gourds, carved calibashes, and wooden spoons from cowards who could not defend them. He could tell, with great simplicity, innumerable stories of his combats with other tribes, and with lions, leopards, buffaloes, crocodiles, and hippopotami; and in evidence of his prowess, he wore on his left arm a bracelet formed entirely of lions' teeth--which form a kind of "Order of Valour" in Congo. He had been very happy in his wigwam, till the daughter of a Chenoo or chief--a beautiful damsel, with her teeth painted blue and the bone of a shark through her nose--espied him one day, and desired to have him for her husband, as it is the right of these ladies to do. The chosen, of whom she becomes absolute mistress and proprietress, dare not refuse, so poor Cuffy was married to the Chenoo; there were great rejoicings, and three prisoners of war were devoured at the marriage-feast. But his sable fair one tired of him in a short time, and by certain artful means decoyed him one evening to the mouth of the Zaire, and there sold him into slavery. The slave-ship was wrecked; but Cuffy got ashore on the island of Jamaica, where he was very much surprised to see some of his countrymen, dressed and armed like white men, in coats of a red colour, with light blue trousers; so he enlisted as a soldier in one of her Majesty's West India Regiments. Ere long Cuffy was made a corporal; and though he ground his sharp teeth now and then when thinking of his wigwam in Congo, and the treacherous Chenoo his wife, he was very happy, for he had plenty of rice, yams, and sangaree, and as a corporal, carried his black snub nose very high indeed! From Jamaica his company was ordered to Trinidad, and the whole, a hundred in number, were shipped on board of a Yankee barque which had been freighted for the purpose. Her skipper, on seeing such a choice lot of tall and handsome young negroes, proposed to their captain (a reckless fellow, who was steeped to the lips in debt and all kinds of West Indian dissipation) to bear away for the Southern States of the Union, and there sell the whole as slaves. Singular as it may seem, the captain, who owed more money in Trinidad than he could ever hope to pay, accepted the proposal, and the soldiers of this company of H.M. West India Regiment, instead of garrisoning the isle where the "mother of the cocoa" blooms, were duly landed at Charleston in South Carolina, where they were all sold to the highest bidders. The skipper and captain put the money in their pockets, leaving the astonished lieutenant and ensign to get back to headquarters in Jamaica as they best could. Cuffy's new master proved a severe one, and under his lash he often sighed for the rice, yams, and his quiet duty as sentinel under a sunshade, or the high authority he could wield as corporal over Scipio, Sambo, or Julius Cæsar, in the days when he was the white man's comrade; but one day Cuffy lost his temper, and gave his master a tap on the head with a sugar-hoe! Then, without waiting to see whether or not he had killed him, he fled into the woods--crossed the Savannah river, and getting on board a British vessel became a sailor, and within one year thereafter, was shipped, as cook, on board the _Leda_. The rest of our crew were all steady and hardy men, and Paul Reeves, the senior mate, was the model of an English sailor. The wind had changed during the night; thus, when next day dawned, we were still in sight of Cape St. Francis--a snow-covered headland, which shone white and drearily, as the sun came up from the blue sea. Hartly expressed some impatience at our progress as we trod to and fro aft the mainmast in the clear, cold, bracing air of the morning, while the odour of a hot breakfast, which Cuffy was preparing, came in whiffs from the galley. "Never mind," said I; "the wind will soon change again--I can see by the clouds there are contrary currents overhead; and when once among the ice, we shall have great fun!" "Fun! I don't know much about that," said Hartly, who, like every seaman, was put in a sulky mood by a foul wind. "We shall have perils to encounter!" "Perils may be fun to one so young as you, Jack," said Hartly, pausing thoughtfully; "however, in our trade, I have ever found that peril and profit go together. Think over all we have read of what Parry, Ross, Scoresby, Franklin, and Kane underwent in those regions of ice and snow; and I do not remember the word _fun_ occurring once in their narratives." "Well," said I, abashed by his monitory tone, "we shall have excitement, at all events." "Both excitement and danger, I grant you," said he, as we resumed the usual quarter-deck step and trod to and fro again: "it is a well-paying speculation, a sealing expedition; and, by Jove! it would need to be so to compensate poor fellows for all they undergo in such a rigorous season, and in such seas as those which sweep round the frozen rocks and shores of Newfoundland and the drearier Labrador in the blustering month of March. Some crews are frozen in, far at sea, for months and months, till all perish of starvation; others are lost in detached parties on the ice-fields, in fogs, and are never found again. Some are swept out to sea on broken floes, or fall through holes in the ice, and are never more seen. Then the strongest ships are often crushed, as you would crush an egg upon an anvil, by the ice-fields, masses of which, perhaps a hundred miles in extent, are whirled, dashed, and split against each other by opposite currents, with a sound so frightful, that one might well imagine the last day was at hand, or that chaos had come again! Ah, we should have some profit, after encountering all that!" "I should think so," said I while glancing at my watch, and reflecting that Mr. Uriah Skrew would, about this time, find the farewell letter I had left for him on my desk in the counting-room. "But I do not say all this, Jack Manly, to cast you down," said Hartly, laughing; "for you will always be safe with me, as you know I never can be drowned, while wearing _this_ ring." "Do you really believe in it?" I inquired. "Why, I don't know, Jack; but I should not like to lose it now: we sailors have strange fancies at times, but, with all our alleged superstition, are, I cannot help thinking, more religious than you landsmen. One who finds his daily bread upon the waters, and is for ever struggling with the wild elements by night and day, must at times think solemnly of the mighty Hand and Will that fashioned them out of thin air." "But your ring?" "She who gave it me was a strange old woman, whom we called Mother Jensdochter--a kind of Norna of the Fitful Head, who lived, or for aught I know, lives still, in a hut at the base of Mount Hecla, in Iceland. I was wrecked there, when on a voyage in the _Princess_, of Hull, bound for Archangel, five years ago. This witch occupied a regular Icelandic hut. It was built of wreck and drift wood, caulked with moss and earth, roofed with rafters of whale-ribs covered with turf, and having in the centre a hole for a chimney. Her bed was a mere box of seaweed, feathers, and down; but I seldom saw any house of a better kind in Iceland." "Well?" "She used to sell fair winds or foul, blessings or maledictions, as the matter might be, to the fishermen of the fiords. She would give, as the simple folks believed, a fair wind that would carry a craft as far as Cape Horn without lifting tack or sheet; or a curse that would sink the _Royal Albert_ line-o'-battle ship, for a loaf of ground codfish, or a bottle of hockettle oil for the iron cruse that hung from her whalebone rafters; but she conceived a strong regard for me, because I had saved her miserable life in a snowstorm one night, and carried her in my arms--ugh! what a precious armful she was!--to her wigwam. She used to assure me that whenever there was a battle being fought anywhere in the world, the terrible mountain that overhung her dwelling vomited black ashes and stones; and then, as she sat at her door, with her long grey locks hanging over her fierce red eyes, she could see troops of infernal spirits carrying the souls of the damned, shrieking through the air, towards the flaming crater. The noise of the ice-floes dashed against the shore, she alleged to be the groans of others, who were doomed to endure excess of cold for eternity, even as those in Hecla were to endure excess of heat; and she had many other fancies wild enough to make a poor Jack Tar's hair stand up on end! "Near her hut stood a conical knoll, covered with fine green grass, and thence named the Groenbierg. There, she asserted, by putting an ear to the ground, she could hear the large-headed gnomes and little bandy-legged dwarfs, who dwelt in it, busy at work, fashioning trinkets and curiously carved goblets--especially at Yule, where the clink of their tiny hammers rang like chime-bells on little anvils; and the puff of their bellows and forge could be heard, with the jingle of gold and silver coins, and opening and shutting of quaintly-carved and iron-bound treasure-chests, which they were shoving to and fro, and hiding in the bowels of the mountain. She fell asleep there one evening, and dreamed that the Grcenbierg opened, and there came forth a little man in a red cloak and pair of puffy breeches, with a white beard the entire length of his body (that is, about two feet,) and he bestowed this ring upon her, with a promise that whoever wore it was free from all danger hereafter. He then vanished into a mole-track on the hill-side. Mother Jensdochter awoke, and found the ring upon her finger, where it remained, until, in a burst of gratitude, she bestowed it on me, with the comfortable assurance (I give you the yarn, Jack, for what it is worth) that I 'could never be drowned while it remained on my finger.' Hans Peterkin--forward there!" "Ay, ay, sir." "Brace those foreyards sharper up; set the fore and main staysails and foretopmast staysail; and keep her a point or so further off the land.--And now, Jack, come below, for Cuffy has gone down with the bacon and coffee, piping hot, too." Leaving Hans, the second mate, in charge of the deck, with orders to announce the slightest indication of a change of wind, we descended to breakfast with the appetites of hawks. On this morning only two of our sealing companions were visible, and these were at the far horizon to the eastward; so as we were forced by change of wind to hug the land, we soon lost sight of them, and, ere noonday, were alone upon the sea. CHAPTER V. KIDD THE PIRATE. We had scarcely lost sight of Cape St. Francis when the wind became light and variable, and one of those dense fogs peculiar to that region settled surely and slowly, densely and darkly, over land and sea. We shortened sail, and sent ahead the jolly-boat with four hands in her, to feel our way as it were; while Paul Reeves kept sounding ever and anon, for in that ocean of strong currents, with a slight wind from the eastward, and a shore of reefs and shoals upon our lee, every precaution was necessary. The raw cold of a fog upon a wintry sea in that latitude of ice and snow must be felt to be understood. The clear bracing frost, however intense, may be endured; but this chill and murky dampness made one intensely miserable. As we crept along, a strange sound reached us from time to time. "What is that?" I asked. "The voices of the penguins," replied Hartly--"the Baccalao birds. We are off that island; and their cries are as good as fog-guns to people situated as we are. See! the fog lights a bit; and now there is the land about two miles off, on the lee bow!" As he spoke, the dense bank of vapour which shrouded sea, land, and sky, parted for a few minutes; a gleam of brilliant sunshine fell upon the rough and precipitous rocks of the wild and desert isle named Baccalao, which, in summer and winter, are alike ever whitened by a species of guano, deposited there by the auks or penguins, which we could see hovering above them in countless myriads, uttering shrill cries while they soared, wheeled, and flew hither and thither, as if to warn us of our danger in being so near those treacherous reefs, which are a source of terror to mariners. Their dangers are only seen, however, by the daring egg-gatherers, who come from the mainland in summer, and sling themselves by ropes from the summit of the cliff, to rifle the nests; although these poor birds are specially under the protection of Government, by a proclamation, being sea-marks, or danger-signals (as we found them) in foul or foggy weather. With some interest I surveyed the stern cliffs of Baccalao, as they were the first land seen by Cabot, the Grand Pilot of England, after ploughing the mighty Atlantic in his little caravel; and he named them in his joy _La Prima Vista_, though a "vista" grim enough. "The shore is dark, dreary, and sterile," said I to Hartly. "Yes," said he, "but there are many strange stories of treasure being buried there by the pirates in old times." "Do you see that deep chasm in the rocks in the north end of the isle?" said Paul Reeves, lowering his voice impressively as he pointed to the land. "Yes, it seems quite black among the snow." "That is _not_ snow, but the deposit of the Baccalao birds," said the mate. "In the old buccaneering times, the pirates are said to have buried their treasure there; and a cask branded with the King's broad arrow, and the name _Adventure_, was once found in it. Now all the world knows that the _Adventure_ was the ship of the famous Captain Kidd, who cheated King William out of the finest craft in the English navy." "How?" said I. "Let us hear," added Hartly. "At a time when all the seas about the coasts of North and South America and the West India Islands were swarming with buccaneer craft, manned by desperadoes of every country, who made war upon all ships that sailed the ocean and were unable to resist them, the Government of King William III. selected a mariner of doubtful reputation, named Captain William Kidd, who volunteered to root out those sea-hawks, who persecuted the thrifty traders of New Amsterdam." "King William acted on the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief." "Exactly so, Jack," said Hartly, "for Kidd, though ostensibly a merchant-mariner, was something of a smuggler, and had done a little in the way of picarooning. He was always heard of in out-of-the-way places, departing on voyages no one knew whither, and coming from places never heard of before. Then he was always followed by a crew of well-armed, black-muzzled, drinking, swearing, tearing fellows, who were as flush of money as if they had been at the overhauling of Havannah. But go a-head, Paul." "Well," resumed the mate, "in 1695 Kidd sailed down Channel in the _Adventure_ galley, of forty-four guns, with a royal pennant flying, duly commissioned by King William to fight all buccaneers, and his crew were all selected by himself. But Master Kidd was barely off the Lizard when he hauled down the King's pennant, hoisted the skull and crossbones, and bore away for the East Indies. He burned two towns in Madeira, and after plundering and sinking every craft he could overmatch, reached the entrance of the Red Sea, where he captured a Queda merchantman, the cargo of which lined the pockets of himself and his followers to their complete satisfaction. "Queda is a town of Asia, situated on the western coast of the peninsula of Malacca; and so Kidd was cunning enough to attempt passing-off this capture as a crusade against the enemies of Christianity; but, unfortunately for him, the ship was commanded by a Scotchman, and people did not believe in crusaders under Orange William. "A year or two after this, he was cruising off the American coast, and in dread of the King's ships, which were all on the look-out for him, he ran north as far as Newfoundland, and was alleged to have buried on its coast all the treasure amassed on his long and rambling voyage; but _where_, no one could exactly say, until the old barrel head, marked _Adventure_, and bearing the King's broad arrow, found in yonder cavern, seemed to indicate Baccalao as being the place. Moreover, he is known to have run up Conception Bay in quest of the gold and silver rocks which Frobisher and Sir Humphrey Gilbert averred were to be seen there." "Rocks of gold and silver!" said I, incredulously. "They are only the fire-stones of the Red Indians, and emit sparks when struck together," said Hartly.[*] [*] They were the solid iron pyrites which deceived the early navigators who visited these barren shores. In the "List of H.M. Royal Navy for 1701," we find among the "fifth-rates, the _Adventure_, 120 men, 44 guns." "His treasure," continued the mate, "if he had any, was never found; though _he_ was, for Richard Coote, Earl of Bellamont, and Governor of New England, caught him one day in 1701, when swaggering about the streets of Boston, and sent him home to King William, who lost no time in hanging him. But he died as hard as he had lived, for the rope broke with his weight in Execution Dock, so he was reeved up again with a new one. "He was hung in chains on the banks of the Thames, but his body disappeared in the night, and the sailors in London declared that he could neither be hanged nor chained, as he had a _charmed_ life, having sold his poor soul to the devil. Be that as it may, on the _same night_, in 1701, my Lord Bellamont was found dead in his bed at Boston, and many affirmed that this event had some connexion with Kidd's mysterious disappearance from the gallows, as he was said to have been seen by some of his old shipmates near the dead Governor's house. "Fishermen when jigging or trawling off Baccalao in the clear moonlight nights, often saw a solitary man sitting on the rocks at the mouth of yonder cavern, but his figure always seemed to melt away into the moonshine when any one approached; so a story went abroad that the island was haunted by the ghost of a drowned man. However, a stout fellow, named Tom Spiller, who was rather bolder than the rest, and who lived alone at Breakheart Point, where he had a little hut and stage for drying the fish he caught, went off to the island one night, when there was little cloud and a bright moon. The sea was calm, for there was but a puff of wind off the land from time to time. "Tom Spiller was a brave and devil-may-care kind of fellow, whom I knew well, for he was an old man when I went to sea with him first as a boy, so I have often heard him tell the story without variation or leeway, or shaking out a new reef by way of a change. "On approaching the island, he saw the solitary figure sitting on the rocks at the mouth of the deep black chasm, motionless, with his head resting, as it were, sorrowfully on the palm of his right hand, and his eyes fixed apparently on the sea that rippled to his feet, though it boiled and roared in white foam over the reefs that lay a few fathoms off outside. "Tom steered his boat straight for the cave, and now, when the towering rocks of the desert isle were over his head, covered with thousands upon thousands of wild auks, screaming, whirling, and flapping their wings, as if to scare him away; when the deep black chasm in which the sea was gurgling and moaning yawned before him, and everything seemed so weird and wan in the pale moonlight, he _did_ feel queer, and more so when the solitary man, instead of melting into thin air as usual, turned his white face towards him, and arose, just as he let go the halyards, lowered the brown flapping sail, and running his boat into the cave, adroitly noosed a rope over a large stone to moor her, and stepped ashore. Tom's heart was beating wildly and strangely, for he was determined to discover whether this figure, which he had so often seen from the sea, and which had so invariably eluded his brother fishermen, was man, ghost, or devil. "He perceived that the stranger was clad in an old-fashioned dress, his coat having large metal buttons, broad pocket-flaps, and deep cuffs. He was ghastly pale, his glassy eyes glistened in the moonlight, and dark crimson blood was flowing from what appeared to be a pistol-shot in his left temple. "'What seek you here?' he asked, in a voice so hollow that the terrified fisherman, who now repented sorely of his rashness, knew not whether the sound came from the spectre's white lips, from the depth of the dreary chasm, or from the sea. 'Speak,' continued the figure, with mournful earnestness; 'what seek you?' "'To discover who and what you are,' said Tom. "'May you never be what I was, or what I am,' replied the other, sadly. "'But what are you?' "'A restless spirit.' "Tom's knees bent under him, for the pale eyes of that cold white visage seemed to pierce his soul. "'A wretched spirit--left here by a fiend to guard his ill-gotten spoil--so begone, I charge you.' "The fisherman shrank back on hearing these strange words, while the gloomy terrors of the scene--the screaming of the Baccalao birds that whirled in a cloud about him, the dashing of the waves upon the reef, and the mournful gurgle of the backwash within the vast cavern, with the weird glimpses of the moon as the white clouds sailed swiftly past her face--all combined to make this interview a dreadful one. "Suddenly there was a sound of oars to seaward, the spirit seemed to become excited, and clasped his thin white hands. "'See! see! he comes!' he exclaimed. 'Kidd the pirate! Kidd, my murderer! But he comes, blessed be God! to release me after a hundred years of restless watching and penance!' "For you must know that this occurred, as Tom Spiller told me, in 1801. "'Land ho!' cried a deep hoarse voice from the sea, while Spiller, overcome by terror, shrank behind a fragment of rock. "'Hilloa!' answered the spirit, in nautical fashion. "'Clouds and thunder! why the devil don't you show a light?' cried the strange voice, as a large barge full of men shot round a promontory, against which the waves were dashing in foam. On it came--on and on--at every stroke of the oars, till they were all triced up in true man-o'-war fashion as she sheered into the creek, and a man sprang on shore, uttering a tempest of oaths and maledictions. "Tom Spiller now fancied that they were all dressed in the fashion of a hundred years ago, with deep square-skirted coats, long flowing perriwigs, and little three-cocked hats, and that all were pale, silent, and spectral; in short, it was a boat manned by unquiet spirits! Strangely enough, he felt less afraid of them _all_ than of _one_, and continued to gaze at them like a person in a dream. "The man who sprang ashore was a short, squat fellow of ferocious aspect; his battered visage was covered with cuts and patches of black plaster; a hellish spark glittered in each of his eyes. He wore a coarse perriwig with long curls, a three-cocked hat, an old-fashioned blue coat, covered with tarnished lace, and brass buttons; he had also a pair of brass-barrelled Spanish pistols, and a hanger sustained by a broad belt. "_Two_ ropes were knotted round his neck, which was bare, and pieces of rusty chain were dangling at his wrists and ankles. Then the marrow froze in the bones of Tom Spiller, for he knew that he looked upon William Kidd, the pirate, who had been _twice_ hanged a hundred years before in Execution Dock. "'Now, you canting, cowardly lubber, why the henckers didn't you hang out a light?' he bellowed in a hoarse voice. "'I have been in the dark these hundred years,' replied the spirit, meekly. "'Likely enough; seas and thunder! you were the faintest-hearted fellow in the _Adventure_.' "'I suffered sorely at your hands since you captured the ship of Queda, of which I was captain, and made me a prisoner in yon galley.' "'Bah!' thundered Kidd. "'I have repented me of my sins in life,' said the spirit, mournfully. "''Sblood and plunder!' shouted the other, with a diabolical laugh; 'I shot you through the head, as a canting Scotsman, on this night one hundred years ago, and buried you here--you know for what purpose.' "'That my unquiet spirit might watch your buried treasure,' moaned the other. "'Right,' chuckled the pirate; 'I shot you as I would have done my lord the Earl of Bellamont, though he was Governor of New England and Admiral of all the seas about it, for that long-snouted Dutch lubber, William of Orange, who sent him to lord it over the Yankees.' "'I have waited and watched your treasure long, and now am anxious for the repose of the grave.' "On hearing this, Kidd and his boat's crew laughed, and gnashed their teeth; but a few there were who wept and wailed heavily, and the sound of their lamentation was fearful as it mingled with the chafing of the surge. "'I have some fine things stowed away here in Baccalao,' said Kidd; 'but I have some that are better still in the haunted Kaatskill Mountain, and at Tapaan Zee, up the Hudson.' "The spirit-watcher groaned. "'Since I saw you last, brother, I have been twice hanged and strung in chains on the banks of the Thames--ha! ha! at Gravesend Reach.' "'Hanged!' "'Yes, by all the devils in New Amsterdam!--HANGED! Hanged by order of him of pious, glorious, and immortal memory--by Orange Billy, who assassinated the De Witts in Holland, who murdered eighty men, women, and children in cold blood in Scotland; who abandoned his soldiers at Steinkirk; who boiled and burned women alive in London for coining a few brass halfpence; and who departed this life amid the prayers of canting hypocrites and lawn-sleeved parasites, on the 8th day of March, 1701! He roasts now, for some of his pranks, I can tell you! But heave a-head, brother! we must ship our cargo, and be off to-night for Cape Cod at New Amsterdam (or New York, as the folks call it now-a-days), ere the moon wanes or the tide falls. Where is the plunder?' "The sad spirit-watcher pointed to a place which seemed to have opened in the rocky cavern; and there Tom Spiller could see, by the beams of the moon, heaps of gold and silver vessels, sparkling jewels and trinkets, with veritable pyramids of gold and silver coins of every nation and of every size, piled up in confusion. "Bewildered by this sight, he permitted rather too much of his figure to be seen; for suddenly a yell of rage came from the spectre boat's crew; and Kidd, drawing one of the long brass pistols from his broad buff girdle, uttered a dreadful oath-- "'A spy!' he exclaimed; 'take _that_ and perish!' "He fired full at the head of Tom, who felt the ball pass through his brain like a red-hot arrow, and he sank upon the rocks--where he found himself lying stiff enough when he awoke next morning, and saw the Baccalao birds wheeling about in the sunshine." "So the whole affair was only a dream!" said I. "I cannot say," replied Reeves; "for strangely enough, an old Spanish pistol, with a strong smell of powder about it, and 'W. K.' on the butt, was lying on the rocks by his side. Tom lost no time, you may be assured, in jumping into his boat, and clapping on all sail to leave the island astern; but after that night the spirit was seen no more at the mouth of the cavern, for Kidd had come to release him, or to take away his treasure." "And Tom Spiller?" "Forsook his hut at Breakheart Point, and went to sea for many years: he felt unhappy, for the parsons say that folks always are so who have conversed with ghosts; but his mind dwelt for ever on the treasure in the cavern, and he never ceased to spin yarns about it, and express hopes that some, if not all that he saw, might yet remain. He returned to Breakheart Point about twenty years ago, an old and white-haired man; and one night, accompanied by three men armed with picks and shovels, sailed in search of the treasure; but they never reached the island, for a tempest came on and drove their boat to the northward. He tried to fetch Ragged Harbour, but was blown right across Conception Bay for more than thirty miles, and was drowned at La Cabo Bueno Vista, on a rock called, to this hour, Spiller's Point. "As for Captain Kidd, he has never been seen since, though some folks hereabout say he commands the _Black Schooner_, which has overhauled so many of our merchantmen and escaped the Queen's cruisers. So that is my yarn, Mr. Manly." "Steady, Paul, steady," said Hartly; "the fog has concealed your haunted island again." "Steady it is, sir; but we had better take a pull at these larboard tacks, otherwise we may not be able to clear the three rocks that lie to the northward of Baccalao; and I think we can hear the breakers already!" CHAPTER VI. THE BLACK SCHOONER. Long ere the mate's story was concluded, the dense fog--chilly, white, and drenching--had shrouded the dreary isle of Baccalao, and the voices of the penguins alone indicated its locality; but they became fainter, until we lost the sound altogether as we ran further to the north. Now a furious snow-storm came on; thick and fast the white flakes fell ceaselessly aslant through a dark-grey sky upon the winter sea (for in that region there is _no_ spring), covering the rigging, the decks, and storm-jackets of the watch, who shrank to leeward, while the wind, which blew keenly from the N.N.E., and thermometer, which had sunk very low, made me begin to reflect that there were more unpleasant places in the world than the counting-room of Mr. Uriah Skrew. This snow-storm continued for three or four days, during which the whole seamanship of Hartly, Reeves, and Hans Peterkin was required to prevent the _Leda_ being driven upon a lee shore. By chart and soundings they were constantly at work, to keep her off a land which was veiled in obscurity, for the wind was dead and strong against us; and frequently through the blinding snow, and grey hazy drift to leeward, we could hear the sullen booming of breakers, as they rolled in foam that froze upon the granite rocks and islets about Cape Freels. This foul weather lasted for several days, and weary of beating fruitlessly to windward, when the storm abated, and the sky became again blue and serene, we found ourselves under easy sail, at the rate of four knots an hour or so, passing the Twillingate Isles, which lie between the Bay of Exploits and the vast Bay of Notre Dame. They were covered with snow, and are desolate, bleak, and little known, as on that part of the coast there are only about one hundred and fifty inhabitants--poor people--who, after fishing for cod and salmon in summer, quit their wigwams in winter to live in the sheltered woods, or sail south towards St. John. And now we began to get ready our boats and guns, and with telescopes to sweep the snow-clad shore for seals, and the open sea for ice-floes. It was about the hour of six; the sun had just set, and the western sky was all a-blaze with fiery-coloured light, which tinged with roseate hues the waves that rolled upon the bleak and snow-clad shore. Captain Hartly took the wheel, and Reeves stood anxiously close by the binnacle, for we had to weather a long, sharp, and lofty promontory which abutted like a wall of rock into the ocean, and round which there eddied a swift and dangerous current. The wind, though now off the land, was too light to enable us to make headway against the stream. On the brig we had but little "way," and a general exclamation of satisfaction rose from the hitherto silent crew, when the _Leda_ _shaved_--as they phrased it--past the promontory, and we saw a deep cove of blue water opening beyond it; but lo! There lay at anchor a schooner--a long, low, sharply prowed and rakish-like craft--with her hull painted black as jet could be, and with a number of rough-looking fellows crowding along her gunwale. We were not three hundred yards apart. "Reeves, take the wheel," cried Hartly, in an excited voice. "The glass, Cuffy, the spy-glass!" he added with sharp energy, snatching from the hands of Snowball the telescope which usually hung on two hooks in the companion; "a row of ugly dogs they are that man her. By Heaven, she is the _Black Schooner_!" "The _Black Schooner_!" we all exclaimed with something of dismay in our varying tones; and I felt, that with Paul Reeves's grim legend about Captain Kidd fresh in our memory, we had some cause for alarm in meeting with this robber ship upon those solitary seas. "Are you sure, Hartly?" I asked. "Not a doubt of it! see, Reeves--she is a two-topsail schooner!" "What does that mean?" said I. "A brig without tops, in fact." A kind of growling cheer, mingled with wild and insolent halloing, rose from her crew on beholding us suddenly come round the abrupt promontory, from the brow of which a fringe of gigantic icicles overhung the sea. A commotion was instantly observable on deck; a man in authority sprang up the companion-ladder, and we heard him in a loud and clear voice ordering sail to be instantly made on the schooner as we altered our course. "Man the windlass-bars--up anchor--rouse it to the catheads with a will, my boys! Shake out everything fore and aft--every stitch that will draw. Stand by the jib and flying-jib halliards," he shouted. After a pause, during which we heard the clanking of the windlass pauls, as her anchor was started, and would soon be a-cockbill, and dangling by its ring, we heard his voice again. "Up with the jib and flying-jib now--sheets to starboard! Heave and away--presto! my Jack Spaniards. Stand by topgallant and topsail sheets and halliards. Bear a hand, you French devils! Well done, my Kentucky rowdies!" In less than three minutes the swelling of the jib and other head-sails, as well as the motion of the schooner when her bows fell round, proved that she was under weigh. These orders, which were obeyed with skilful alacrity, seemed to indicate alike the mixed character of her crew and the hostility of their intentions. "Ready a gun there forward! sheet home and hoist away, topsails and topgallant sails!" This alarming order, uttered in a loud voice, rang distinctly upon the clear frosty air, and, on the other hand, Captain Hartly was not slow in his preparations to avoid her. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "this is the very craft we have heard so much about, and for the capture of which the Governor offers 500_l_. I have no wish to be caught by these fellows--see, they are shaking out a couple of reefs in her fore and aft mainsail already! Hands make all sail--Reeves, set everything that will draw--square away the after yards." "Ay, ay, sir," said Reeves, jumping about and setting all the men to the yards, braces, and halliards; "port the smallest bit--keep her full--so--steady!" "Maldito los Inglesos renegades!" ("Curse the English runaways!") cried a Spaniard, shaking his clenched hands at us over her starboard bow. "Caramba!" cried another. "Sangbleu!" added a Frenchman, "stop hare--lie to--or it vill be ze vorser for you." "Will it, you rascally thief!" shouted Hartly, as his eyes flashed and his cheek glowed with excitement: "Manly, look alive, my lad! load all the double-barrelled rifles in the cabin. Snowball, get up the kegs of powder and slugs. We shall not be overhauled by a pirate without having a skirmish first." "Luckily for us the wind is off the land, and it freshens too," said Reeves: "we shall beat her when running before the wind; but she would come up with us hand over hand on a taut bowline. It was on a wind she overtook the Bristol clipper." In the red glow of the winter sunset, we saw the foam flying on each side of her sharp bows as the breeze freshened, and she rolled heavily from side to side; while the _Leda_, being square-rigged, had a greater spread of canvas, and caught more of the wind: thus, notwithstanding that our dangerous pursuer was built for sailing fast, as Paul Reeves foretold, she was no match for us, when running right before the wind. Our crew, half of whom were only poor seal-fishers, became very much excited; but inspired by the example of Hartly, Reeves, and myself, they proceeded to load all the sealing guns and muskets, lest the schooner might lower her boats to overtake us and attempt to board. The stern and confident order to get "ready a gun," was repeated more than once before we got beyond hearing; but as no gun was ever fired, we believed this to be a mere bravado to frighten us into shortening sail, till she might run alongside and board us, when a ruinous scene of plunder, if not of bloodshed, would be sure to ensue. "She sails with the speed of an arrow," said I, while carefully loading and capping my rifle. "This _Black Schooner_ was one of the craft employed in protecting the French fishery of Miquelon, on the south side of the island," said Hartly; "but her crew mutinied, shipped some runaways of all countries and colours, and turned slavers. These rascals have committed several outrages hereabouts by sea and land, but have always escaped our cruisers, as she alternately shows a British, French, and Yankee ensign, and runs all kinds of paint-strokes along her bends." On, on, we bore; and on, on, she came after us, with the still freshening breeze, the foam flying before her bows and ours; but ere long we were evidently half a mile apart. She was a handsome clipper-like craft of about two hundred tons' burthen, coppered to the bends; her lower masts were long and heavy, so as to carry fore and aft sails of immense spread upon a wind, with a square sail, top and topgallant sail aloft. "Massa Hartly--Massa Captain--look out!" exclaimed Cuffy Snowball, who had armed himself with a musket, and stood in soldier-fashion at "the ready," grinning over the taffrail at the rolling schooner. "Look out for what?" said Hans Peterkin. "Something make you all look white as de debbil." "What do you mean by _white_," asked the carpenter, "when we all know the devil is black?" "In my country him white, sare," replied Cuffy, angrily. "Then," said Hartly, to keep up the spirits of his crew by jesting, "what colour do you think he is, Cuffy?" "I tink him _blue_," replied the prudent negro; and then he added with a yell, "dere come something will make you look blue too, Massa!" As he spoke, a puff of white smoke rose from the bow of the _Black Schooner_; the report of a musket rang in the air, and a conical rifle-ball whistled past the ear of Hartly, and sank with a heavy _thud_ into the mainmast. CHAPTER VII. THE CHASE. Cuffy Snowball fired his musket at our pursuer, whether with or without effect we know not; but, in reply, a confused discharge of firearms followed, and the balls pattered among the rigging, and knocked little splinters from our spars and gunwale. "Now, my lads," said Hartly, "let fly at her with everything you have--sealing-guns and rifles!" This order was executed with alacrity. We had four good rifles and ten long-barrelled and wide-muzzled sealing-guns, each of which sent ten or twelve slugs of lead _whirring_ through the air at every discharge, and we blazed away right valiantly at the crowd of rascals in the schooner's bows; but so great was the distance between us, that I am certain our fire fell harmlessly into the sea--the rifle shots alone could have told with effect. On first deliberately levelling my rifle (a fine Enfield, presented to me by my father on leaving Peckham) at a man in the starboard bow of the pirate, a strange sensation came over me! I lowered my weapon and paused; but a shot that struck one of the davits at which the stern-boat hung, removed my momentary, and at that unpleasant crisis most unnecessary scruple. I levelled again--fired and reloaded, and without considering whether or not I had killed a man, continued to pepper away with all the coolness and precision of Cuffy Snowball, the ex-corporal of H.M. West India Regiment. "Run up our ensign, and let her rascally crew see it while there is light," said Hartly. "Paul Reeves, rig out the lower studding-sail booms forward, and bring aft those two carronades and the small anchor, to trim her more by the stern. Tom Hammer, see to this!" "Ay, ay, sir," was the ready response. The orders were promptly obeyed. The small anchor and two little guns, for which we unfortunately had only powder for signals, were brought aft; the sharp bows of the _Leda_ thus rode more easily over the water. The lower studding-sails were rapidly spread and hoisted up; and then we flew through the darkening sea till its water seemed to smoke alongside, and bubbled in snowy froth under the counter, leaving a long white wake, like that of a steamer, astern. Closely in this long wake followed our pursuer, with deadly pertinacity. It is impossible to convey in words any idea of the excitement of this chase--this flight and pursuit--this race of rivalry, of life and death! The daring ruffians who manned the schooner had committed several murders and robberies on sea and land. They had overhauled and rifled several merchant ships, carrying off compasses, charts, provisions, watches, money, and everything of value: thus, to have undergone such a ransacking at their hands--even if our lives were spared--would effectually have marred our expedition for that year. They were evidently well armed, for their rifle-balls flew thick and fast about us. The cracking report, and the _pingeing_ sound of the conical shot that followed every red flash which broke over the sharp bows of the schooner, added considerably to our anxiety to escape, and to our exasperation at being thus molested on the high seas, and within two hundred miles of where we had left one of her Majesty's sloops of war in the harbour of St. John, but frozen in, unfortunately. Though these missiles struck the brig's stern and rigging incessantly, we had only one man hit--an Irish seal-fisher, who had left a wife and family at Dead Man's Bay, to try his fortune with us in the North. A ball pierced his shoulder, smashing the collar-bone; and the poor fellow sank on the deck with a shrill cry of agony. A lad named Ridly had his cheek grazed by another shot. The dusk was fast increasing; but the red flush of the winter sunset yet lingered in the western sky; the snow-clad islets that stud the Bay of Exploits had assumed a dark purple hue, and the sea through which we were careering, northwest, towards the Bay of Notre Dame, wore a deep and sombre blue. Clearly defined against the dusky and ruddy sky, we could see the pursuing schooner, her tall slender spars swaying from side to side, with every stitch of snow-white canvas spread upon them; and she tore through the waves like a giant bird, swimming in the wake of dead water that ran like a long path astern of us. We had everything set aloft and alow; to her very trucks the _Leda_ was covered with swelling canvas, and she was a beautiful sight! The keen and anxious eyes of Hartly, who was at the wheel, scanned ever and anon the taut cordage, the bending masts, and then he would cast a fierce glance astern. "We are leaving her fast, sir," said Paul Reeves, confidently; "in another hour we shall be far enough apart to feel comfortable." "Bravo, my little _Leda_!" responded my friend; "she is trimmed and masted to perfection! You see, Jack, how a square-rigged craft has the advantage over even a sharp little serpent with a floating sheet, like that rascally schooner!" Her crew still continued to blaze at us with their rifles; but ere long the bullets fell far short, for we were now more than a thousand yards apart, and with cheers of derision we continued to surge through the darkening ocean. "If we had only possessed a few round-shot, we might have knocked some of their sticks away with these two useless carronades," said Hartly, as he now relinquished the wheel to Hans Peterkin, his second mate, and ordered glasses of grog to be served all round. "Corporal Cuffy, do you think you could have knocked her mainboom away, when the sea is so smooth?" "Like to knock all him brains out!" replied the Congo-man with a savage grin; for, inspired by some of his old African instincts, Snowball was the only person on board who regretted that we had not enjoyed a hand-to-hand conflict with these outlaws. But now the darkness of the descending night, together with the gathering clouds and haze, concealed the schooner from us. We extinguished all lights on board, and ere long when a red spark about seven miles astern indicated that she was still tracking us, Hartly took in his studding-sails, reduced the canvas on the brig, brought his larboard tacks on board, and bore up for Cape St. John, the boundary of the French shore, to land our wounded man, who was suffering great agony from his compound fracture, and with whom, as we had no medical officer, it would have been impossible to pursue our voyage. This rencontre, chase, and escape, formed a staple topic for conversation to all on board, and till the night was far advanced no one thought of turning in. When day broke we found ourselves close in shore, on the northern side of the great Bay of Notre Dame, with Cape St. John bearing about three miles off on our lee bow. We swept the sea with our glasses, but not a sail was visible in the offing, nor all along the snow-clad coast. Save Cuffy Snowball, all expressed their satisfaction at this; but we were not yet entirely done with our sable acquaintance, the _Black Schooner_. CHAPTER VIII. OUR REVENGE SCHEMED. We came to anchor, handed our topsails, but merely hauled up our courses, so as to be ready for sea at a moment's notice. We were in a little sheltered cove, abreast of a small village of wooden huts, surrounded by fences that were buried deep in the frozen snow. These huts, like all others in this wild terra nova, were built of fir-poles with the bark on, braced or pegged closely together, and having chimneys of rough stone built without mortar. Bark and sods formed the roofs, and all the crevices were carefully caulked with moss and mud. There, in a wretched and dreary region, dwelt--and, I presume, still dwell--a little Irish colony of fifty or sixty poor souls, who fished for cod in summer and seals in winter, each family herding together for warmth in the same apartment with their pigs, fowls, and the shaggy dogs which dragged in harness the stunted trees that formed their fuel, and which were cut in the adjacent bush--the desolate place which once formed the summer hunting-grounds of the extinct Red men of the island. Our anchoring in the cove was a great event--the entire population came forth to gaze and their dogs to bark at us. Though Newfoundland is larger than England and Wales together, it is indented by broad bays of deep water, which run for forty or fifty miles into the interior, and are but little known. On some of these solitary shores are little stations of Europeans, such as this we visited, so remote from all intercourse, and so secluded, that their reckoning of time has become confused as to days, months, and even years; thus Sunday is frequently held by them in the _middle_ of a week. To the care of these pioneers, or squatters, we consigned our wounded man. By the intensity of the frost mortification had commenced, so the poor fellow died a few days after being landed. We had scarcely conveyed him ashore, when a man arrived from the bush with a large tree, which he had cut down, and which his dogs had dragged easily over the snow (after it was denuded of its bark and branches) in the usual manner, by having their traces secured to his hatchet, which was wedged in the broad end of the log. He informed us that a schooner--by his description, our identical _Black Schooner_--was then at anchor under the lee of the Gull Island, about five miles distant; and added that the poor French people at La Scie complained bitterly of the rifling they had undergone at the hands of her crew, which consisted of forty well-armed desperadoes, of all nations, but principally English and Frenchmen. Here was startling intelligence! "Only five miles distant, say you?" reiterated Hartly. "Yes, sir; and you may see Gull Island from the mouth of our cove here." "You are sure she is a schooner?" "Yes, with masts raking well aft." "All black in the hull, with slender spars and double topsails?" "Sure as I now spake to yer honour," replied our informant, who was an Irish fisherman and squatter; "her crew have let go both anchors to make all snug, and gone in a gang to enjoy themselves, or rob--which you plaze--I suppose it's all one to them, at La Scie; bad luck to them, and may the devil fly away with them all!" "Are they all gone?" "All except six rapparees, whom I could count from the bush where I was hiding." "Six--left as a deck-watch, I suppose?" "Just so; yer honour's right again." "How long have you lived here?" I inquired, for his brogue was as strong as if he had only left his native Kerry yesterday. "I have lived here, plaze yer honor, five-and-forty years this last St. Patrick's Day, and have niver had an hour's illness, glory be to God!" "Five-and-forty years!" I reiterated, with a shudder, while surveying the snow-clad wilderness amid which the wigwams stood. "How far is La Scie from the Gull Island?" said Hartly, after a pause. "Six miles, capthin." "Then by Heaven I'll burn her to the water-edge, or sink her at her anchors!" exclaimed Hartly, who, with all the rapidity of his nature, at once conceived and prepared to execute a very daring scheme. While the quarter-boat was got ready, and four oars, with as many rifles loaded and capped, and a case of ammunition, were put into her, Hartly, with Paul Reeves, proceeded in the most simple and methodical manner to prepare their apparatus for burning the piratical schooner. He took a common ship-bucket, and secured an iron ring to the iron handle, for a purpose to be afterwards explained. He filled this bucket with pieces of rope and spun-yarn, well steeped in tar and grease, mixing them with rosin and gunpowder. They were nearly three hours in getting these combustibles prepared to their complete satisfaction; and so impatient were they to put their scheme in execution, that they would scarcely wait until dusk to make the attempt. But the moment the sun set, Hartly issued orders to Paul Reeves and Hans Peterkin to heave short on the anchor to get it apeak, to cast loose the topsails, and prepare the jib for hoisting; and while he started along the coast in the quarter-boat, to follow him under easy sail, keeping pretty well to windward of Gull Island, and out of sight of the schooner. If the night became obscure, on hearing the report of a rifle a blue light was to be burned on board the _Leda_, to indicate her whereabouts. While Paul Reeves got the brig under weigh, and, favoured by a very light breeze, crept slowly out of the cove, Bob Hartly, with Hammer the carpenter, Cuffy Snowball, and I, started in the sharp little quarter-boat, and aided by a current which there runs north to Cape St. John, pulled swiftly along the shore towards Gull Island, which lies beyond the extremity of the headland. CHAPTER IX. OUR REVENGE EXECUTED. The evening, as it deepened into night, was calm and beautiful: as yet the moon had not risen, but the sky was clear, with an intensity and purity of blue that can only be found in the icy north, and studded by ten thousand sparkling stars. Some of these were so bright as almost to cast our shadows on the smooth water as we stretched to our oars, and swept along the snow-white coast. The latter being nearly destitute of inhabitants, after we left the cove was voiceless, silent, and desolate. Not a light was visible, and no sounds broke the stillness save the booming of the surf on the rocks of Cape St. John, our own hard breathing, and the clatter of the oars in the rowlocks. Then (as that is a species of noise which the water conveys to a vast distance) we proceeded to muffle them by our handkerchiefs, and once more we stretched out vigorously. Notwithstanding the intensity of the cold, so invigorating was the exercise of rowing, and so full were our minds of excitement and of our project for destroying the pirate schooner, that we all felt in a glow of heat, and almost uttered a shout when, after pulling about three miles, on clearing the bluff Cape of St. John, on the flinty brow of which the spray was frozen white as it was dashed up by the sea, we saw the steep rocks of Gull Island; and at anchor, half a mile to leeward of it, the dark hull and tall spars of the _Black Schooner_! The increasing light at one part of the horizon showed that the moon would shortly be up, so we pulled with might and main to get close under the lee of the island, and out of the long brilliant track the Queen of Night would shortly send across the rippling ocean. "I might have brought an auger and bored a hole or two in her sheathing under water, and so have scuttled her quietly at her anchors," said the carpenter. "But that boring would have kept us alongside too long," said Hartly; "and the rascals might have got some of their plunder out before she went down; moreover, your auger would have made too much noise. But, hush! we are seen--two fellows are looking over her side!" "All her boats are gone," said I. "Yes, to La Scie, except one at the stern." "They are hailing us, sir," said Hammer. "Hush! I'll weather the ruffians yet," said Hartly. We spoke in whispers, while our hearts beat like lightning, as we knew not the issue of our attempt, or the moment we might be fired on from her deck. The schooner rode with both her anchors out, to make sure of her holding-ground in case a squall came suddenly on. Her canvas was neatly handed, her fore and aft foresail and boom mainsail were tightly brailed up, and her topgallant yards sent down. Though black and sombre, with nothing light about her save her copper, which shone brightly as burnished gold in the clear and starlit sea, she was a beautiful little vessel; and Hartly almost sighed on thinking that he was about to destroy instead of capturing her. "She is a lovely craft!" said he, "sharp at the bows as a needle below the water-line, clear at the counter, and coppered to the bends. What a glorious yacht she would make!" "In sheering alongside, take care, sir, they don't scuttle us--by a cold shot, or a large stone," said Hammer. "Well," replied Hartly, "my friend the Greenland witch said I should never drown; but that does not prevent me from being shot, or hung from the schooner's topsail yard." As we pulled round across her bows to starboard, keeping pretty well off, we were hailed again. "Boat--boat ahoy! what are you?" "Fishermen," replied Hartly. "From where?" "La Scie, where all your fellows are enjoying themselves." "Got any feesh?" asked a Frenchman. "No--not at this season." "Any zeels?" "Seals--no." "Then prenez-garde, messieurs." "Which means, in plain English, sheer off, d--n your eyes!" growled the first speaker; but by this time we were close under her starboard counter. "Sheer off, or it may be the worse for you!" "What the devil are you lubbers about under the counter?" exclaimed another; "Baptiste, hand me a musket----" "We have dropped an oar, and our boat has run foul of yours," replied Hartly; adding, in a whisper, "The gimlet, carpenter--quick, the gimlet!" In less time than I have taken to write these last half-dozen lines, Hartly had screwed the long gimlet into the vessel's side, under her counter, and hooked on the bucket, through the iron ring which he had secured to its handle, and there it hung close to the rudder and stern-post. By the swift application of a single lucifer-match he fired the touch-paper that was to light the carefully-prepared combustibles, the gathering flame of which shot upward from the bucket, and began at once to lick and flicker on the newly-painted planking of the schooner. "Shove off, and give way--for your lives, give way!" said Hartly, in a hoarse whisper. "Cut away stern-boat--let hims all burn--agh! agh!" grinned Cuffy, who, by a slash of the knife which hung at his neck, cut adrift the boat which was moored astern. We had not intended thus to destroy the retreat of the wretches on board, but the African was merciless to his enemies, and we had no time to repair his severity. "Give way," shouted Hartly, as soon as we were clear of her; "clap on dry nippers! By Jove! those lads of the knife and pistol will never come athwart the hawse of the _Leda_ again!" We had not pulled ten strokes from her, ere a flame seemed to play on the water beneath her counter! It spread rapidly between the rudder and sternpost, burning through outer and inner sheathing; penetrating the rudder-case, and reaching the cabin, which was unoccupied, as all the crew were ashore save the six already mentioned, whom we saw loitering amidships. One was provided with a musket, which no doubt he would have discharged at us, had we lingered another moment alongside. Suddenly they raised a shout; then we saw them rush aft, when they immediately discovered the vessel to be on fire, and that their only boat was adrift! He with the musket took a long aim at us, and fired; but as we were now three hundred yards from the schooner, and our boat was alternately rising and falling on the long rolling swell that heaved between Gull Island and Cape St. John, his shot fell far from us. By this time the schooner was hopelessly on fire; her whole quarter-deck, stern, and cabin, forward to the mainmast, were sheeted with red and roaring flame. It spread along the deck; it leaped up the well-greased masts like a fiery corkscrew, round the tarred rigging and over the handed canvas, till everything was in a blaze; the great fore and aft sails fell from their brails like fiery curtains; then we saw her two tall, slender spars, the long boom of her mainsail, her towering gaffs and topsail yards, all swaying to-and-fro, as the decks fell in and the shrouds sank smouldering into the sea. Then everything went to cinders fore and aft--aloft and alow! A lurid glare that outshone the light of the rising moon, overspread the calm blue sea, casting a ruddy glow upon our faces as we paused upon our oars, close to the island, where the weird illumination scared all the sea-birds; thus we heard the shrill scream of the wagel or great grey gull, as he rose with booming wings and flew to seek the darker waters of the offing or the frozen bluffs of Cape St. John, on which the thundering breakers as they reared their heads, gleamed in the double light of red and silver, like showers of diamonds and rubies. "Jack--see how she burns!" said Hartly: "there goes her mainmast crash into the sea--and now the foremast, a mass of whizzing sparks, with all its top-hamper! Pull for the island, till the brig comes abreast of it;" and then cheerily he sang-- "Haul away, pull away, pull, jolly boys! At the mercy of fortune we go, _We're in for it now_, and 'tis all folly, boys, To be faint or downhearted, yeho!" By this time the schooner was a mass of fire, and burnt down nearly to her bends. Through the flames we could see the blackened stumps of her timber-heads, standing in a row from stem to stern. Suddenly there was an explosion, and a mighty column of red and blue sparks and burning brands shot into mid air, arching over in every direction as they fell hissing into the sea. A quantity of powder had exploded on board! Just at that moment we beached our boat upon Gull Island, and ascended the rocks in haste to view the result of our handiwork. A great cloud of smoke was now settling over her, as the flames approached the water; and beyond this cloud we could see a little boat with some men in it, pulling in the direction of Cape St. John. Hartly was pleased on seeing this; for although he had resolved to destroy the schooner, his heart reproached him for leaving six of the pirates to perish in her. One, no doubt, had swum after their drifting boat, and brought her alongside in time to save his five shipmates; and then we laughed on thinking how cold his swim would be in the wintry waves, and of the baffled rage of the ruffians at La Scie, left there without a vessel or any means of escape from a desolate fishing-station, which in a week or two more would have, perhaps, three hundred miles of field-ice between it and the sea. A faint hurrah now came from seaward. We turned, and saw the smart and saucy _Leda_ with her foresail backed flat to the mast, and her maintopsail full and swelling--her straight sharp hull, and her taut rigging, in all its details, clearly and distinctly defined against the vast silver disc of the moon, which seemed to linger as it rose from the flat horizon of the distant offing. There was no need of showing lights on board the brig, as we could see each other distinctly, and also the burning pirate. No flame rose from her now; but a vast black pall of smoke enveloped all her hull. From the centre of this, there came a sound like a deep sob, as she filled and went down. Then when the smoky pall arose and melted into thin air, not a vestige could be seen of the _Black Schooner_! "And now, my lads, away for the brig," said Captain Hartly, as we descended from the highest part of the island to reach our boat, passing through deep snow, among thickets of dwarf firs and great juniper trees--over rocks covered with savin and frozen furze, where, in the short season of summer, the wild Indian tea called _wisha-capucoa_ grew plentifully, and where the beaver and the musk-rat had their holes. As we floundered down to the creek, a yell from Cuffy Snowball, who was behind, startled us all. A wild cariboo deer had rushed past him. How it came on the island puzzled us, for usually in winter these animals seek the forests of the interior, till the sun of the brief summer melts the snow, and enables them to browse on the scanty herbage of _the barrens_, as the cleared patches of moorland are named by the squatters. "If the Governor adheres to his proclamation, this night's work adds five hundred pounds to our profits," said Hartly, as the crew received us with hearty cheers; the headsails were filled, and we at once stood off the shore. Next morning, when day broke, we could see by our glasses a band of men assembled on the snow-covered summit of Cape St. John. These were evidently the outwitted crew of the schooner; so, hoisting the ensign at our gaff-peak, Paul Reeves dipped it to them thrice, ironically bidding them farewell, as we stood away to the eastward to make up for the time we had lost in being driven, by their attack and pursuit, so far out of the course our captain first intended to steer. CHAPTER X. THE SEAL-FISHERS. Some days after this event, we saw the dark blue of the sea flecked at the horizon by white spots. These increased in size as we approached, and proved to be the floes, or detached portions of a vast field of ice, coming down from Davis' Straits, and with them came masses of strange sea-weed, uprooted from the bottom of the ocean, as some writers aver, by the mighty tusk of the male narwhal when searching for food. We were soon amid the floes, and after passing through them, Paul Reeves from the fore-crosstrees announced that he could discern the field of ice, extending along the whole line of the horizon; and we soon became sensible of its vicinity by a very perceptible increase of the cold, which ere long became almost unbearable. But our seal-fishers prepared with alacrity for the great work of our little expedition, by getting up their wooden clubs, their long sealing-guns, and shot-pouches; their knives, sledges, and rue-raddies or collar-ropes, by which to drag the loads of skins to the brig, as they might have to pursue and slaughter the seals for some miles from where she would anchor by the outer edge of the ice. The inner, Hartly knew by his observations, partly rested on Wolf Island, off the coast of Labrador. On the detached floes, we saw a few seals like black dots; but on the ice nearing the brig they always disappeared. "There they go, souse into the water, tail up for old Greenland!" said Hans Peterkin. "Now, Cuffy, get your fiddle in order." "A fiddle!" said I; "for what?" "That you shall soon see, Jack," said Hartly. "Paul Reeves, get ready a gang with the ice-anchor and cable!" As we neared the scene of our operations, we passed ten or twelve gigantic icebergs, the bases of which were merged deep in the icy sea. Solemnly still, and intensely cold and pure they seem, to those who first behold these voiceless floating mountains, so terrible in their form and whiteness, the shades of which are blue. By a telescope, I perceived that some of them bore masses of gravel, frozen mud, and even enormous boulder-stones, torn from the shore--but from what shore? From unknown and untrodden lands beyond the Arctic Circle--shores where, perhaps, the last of Franklin's fated crew are lying unburied save by the eternal snow; and while I gazed on these floating islands, so awful in their aspect and solitude and so mysterious in their formation, there came to memory the oft-quoted words of the Psalmist, how "they who go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in great waters, see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep." No small care, skill, and seamanship were requisite to avoid those perilous "wonders;" but erelong we were close to the mighty field of ice which covered all the ocean to the far horizon--a white and desolate expanse, like a snow-covered moorland--varied only by the incessant hummocks, as those ridges of broken ice formed by the collision of ice-fields, are named; or by the wavy outline or sharp spiral pinnacles of bergs which were wedged in the floating mass, and seemed to form the crags and mountains of this white and desolate world of ice and snow. We considered it singular, that up to this time we had not seen a single ship bent on the same errand, either of those which sailed with us on St. Patrick's Day through the Narrows of St. John, or any of the steam sealers which leave the northern ports of Scotland about the same season of the year. Now the quarter-boat was lowered, and Paul Reeves with her crew took off the cable and ice-anchor, which is formed like a pick-axe; the courses were hauled up, the fore and aft mainsail brailed, the topsails and topgallant sails handed, and we warped close to the ice-field, fairly coming to anchor alongside its edge, just as we might have warped close to a quay or wharf. This was about ten in the morning of the 25th of March, and after receiving a glass of stiff rum-grog per man, the whole of our seal-fishers "landed," as they phrased it, on the ice, with all their apparatus, including Cuffy with his violin; and, after, three hearty hurrahs for Captain Hartly, proceeded in quest of their prey, scores of which were seen dotting the white ice-scape (if I may so term it) within the distance of a mile from the brig. Seals of every species live or consort in droves along those desolate shores where the bergs and ice-fields float; and they are often found basking in the rays of the sun. Thus, when falling asleep they easily become a prey, though, when reposing, the seal is cunning enough to open its large black eyes from time to time, to see whether all is quiet around it. The female produces two or three at a litter, and feeds them for a fortnight or so on the shore where she has brought them forth, suckling them in a position nearly upright, till the fattened cubs depart to see the Arctic world upon the ice-floes, and are old enough to search the waves for food. Armed with my double-barrelled rifle and a sheathed knife that dangled at my shot-belt, and well prepared to encounter the cold by a suit of the warmest clothing (Flushing lined with English blanket), I set out alone in quest of adventures, feeling a strange emotion of mingled alarm and delight on finding myself afoot upon that frozen sea. The intense purity and rarity of the atmosphere carried the voices of our scattered men to a vast distance. I could hear Cuffy vigorously scraping a hornpipe on his violin half a mile off; and thus won by the lyre of our sable Orpheus, the seals with their hairy paws (usually known as flippers), their round black heads, soft gleaming eyes, and spotted skins, from which the brine was dripping, began to appear in herds from subtle holes in the ice--holes through which I was frequently in terror of vanishing from mortal ken; and as these strange amphibious animals rolled upon the field, turning up their full round bellies, which reminded me of those of gorged swine, I could see their bodies steaming in the frosty sunshine, for being warm-blooded they emit at times a vapour. Seated on a sledge, under the lee of a hummock, Cuffy played vigorously; but how his black fingers could handle his instrument in such an atmosphere was beyond my comprehension, for though the glare of the noonday sun, as he shone through a cloudless sky, was almost blinding, the degree of cold was indescribable. Ere long Snowball had a numerous auditory, for music allures and fascinates these animals, as it does many others; we are told how "Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark, Will long pursue the minstrel's bark;" but the moment our treacherous musician replaced his violin in its canvas bag, an appalling scene of butchery began. The batmen rushed about as if a frenzy had seized them, striking the seals on their round bullet-like heads, knocking them over, stunned and motionless. Others followed, with long sharp knives, by _five_ slashes of which the expert hunter will denude the largest cub of his smooth glossy skin, to which the thick white fat adheres, and after being thus denuded, on more than one occasion I have seen the miserable animal, bared to its slender ribs, when stung, as it were, by the intense frost reaching its vitals, revive for a minute, and make efforts to crawl along the ice, or drop into the sea! The whole ice-field, which a moment before had been so white in its spotless and untrodden purity, now, within the radius of a mile, presented the aspect of a battle-field, strewn with gashed carcases and heaps of bloody skins that were steaming in the sunshine. Cuffy seemed in his element--in his glory! Flourishing his long knife, he uttered yells as if every seal he stripped had been the Chenoo wife who sold him into slavery, or the Yankee taskmaster whose whip had skinned _him_ more than once. This wholesale butchery sickened me. The attachment of the mother-seal to her offspring is very great; and here I saw a great hooded one carrying off a little wounded cub in her mouth toward the edge of the ice-field, where they dropped into the sea, escaping Cuffy, who pursued them. There are times when the mother turns fiercely with tusks and claws upon the destroyers of her young, and then the long gun with its charge of slugs is brought into action; for on the _old_ seals (Buffon avers that some of them live for more than a hundred years) the sturdiest batman's arm would swing the knotted club in vain. The membrane of the hooded seal can be drawn over the nose, and inflated, so as to protect the head like a helmet of gutta-percha. Leaving our people engaged in the work of slaughter, halloing, shouting, and encouraging each other, as they threw their bloody and greasy spoil upon little sledges, to be dragged by ropes alongside the brig, I proceeded over the hummocks in search of--I scarcely knew what. Our men seldom fired their guns, as shot destroys the skin, which, after the cargo is brought into port, has the fat or blubber carefully removed and placed in the great wooden tanks or vats of the oil-merchant; while the pelts are cleaned, spread, and, after having layers of coarse salt placed between them, are packed in bales for transport to other countries. CHAPTER XI. COMBAT WITH A SEA-HORSE. We continued to fish, or rather to hunt, the seals here with considerable success, warping the brig from day to day along the outer edge of the ice, between which and her side we placed strong and soft fenders; and the satisfaction of Hartly and his crew increased in proportion as the piles of pelt and blubber replaced in the hold the stone ballast which we had brought from the island of Newfoundland. I had shot a few refractory seals, but one evening, when the atmosphere was singularly clear, I rambled far along the ice-field, floundering and scrambling among the hummocks, in the hope of finding worthier game. I was accompanied by one of the crew, a smart and intelligent lad from North Shields, named Ridly, who was armed only with an ice-gaff. One who has been among the countless waves and ridges of a frozen sea can alone have an idea of the toil of travelling, even for a mile, on an ice-field. But on this vast floating waste we failed to discern anything worth powder and shot, and so, worn with our fruitless and desultory hunt, after wandering about for an hour or two, we turned our steps towards the brig, which still lay at anchor by the edge of the field, about three miles off, and the masts and yards of which formed the chief and sole feature in the flat and dreary prospect. The sun had set, but there was a dusky red flush in the sky which marked the place of his declension; and now the ice began to assume the cold green tints of salt water when frozen, as the shadows of night stole over the sky from the eastward like a crape mantle, and one by one the stars came out in the deep blue dome above us. Sliding, toiling, and scrambling on, we were endeavouring to reach the brig, when suddenly Ridly and I uttered a mutual exclamation of alarm, paused, and shrunk back. In our front we heard an astounding roar, as of an earthquake, and lo! between us and the brig--between us and our friends, our home upon the waters--there yawned a mighty fissure of zigzag form, that ran east and west, and was about fifteen or twenty feet wide, as the ice-field split under the influence of some atmospheric change! We stood and gazed blankly into each other's faces on beholding this terrible barrier to our progression, and fearing that the ice might yawn as suddenly under our feet. "Separated from all succour from the ship--alone upon the ice, and with night coming on, what will become of us?" said I, thinking aloud. "God only knows, sir," responded my companion; "but we must endeavour to reach the brig somehow." "There goes a lantern up to her mainmast-head," said I, as a light was hoisted swiftly by the ensign halliards. "The captain is showing a signal to indicate her whereabouts. He has heard the noise of the splitting ice." "If a fog should come on!" said I. "Don't think of it, sir," said my companion, hastily; "the night is as clear as if day were overhead. So let us find the end of this crack; it cannot be very far off." We proceeded westward for more than a mile, being compelled to make many detours to avoid falling into the water among the ragged floes or pieces of ice that lay along the margin of this zigzag fissure; but, as it extended far away beyond the range of our vision, and seemed to widen, we were compelled after long consideration, and suffering great anxiety, to retrace our steps and proceed eastward, in the hope of gaining the _east end_ of it, or at least of discovering a place so narrow that we might leap across without the danger of immersion, which, in such a season and at such an hour, would have been fatal, as our entire clothing would in an instant have become a casing of ice. To favour our efforts the moon now rose, ascending slowly from the edge of the vast plain of ice, and notwithstanding the peril of our situation, her beauty filled me with a glow of pleasure and hope. Far over that waste--so wide, so desolate, and mysterious--fell her flood of silver light, so bright in its intensity, and redoubled by reflection from the snow. It glittered on every rounded hummock and splintered berg, and formed strange fantastic figures in their cold green shadows, elsewhere making prisms that seemed like fairy crystals, or gemwork of rubies, emeralds, and silver. Clouds of fleecy whiteness came up with her from the sea, and as she _waded_ among them, I recalled the words of Sir Walter Scott:-- "There is something peculiarly pleasing to the imagination in contemplating the Queen of Night when she is wading, as the expression is, among the vapours which she has not the power to dispel, and which on their side are unable entirely to quench her lustre. It is the striking image of patient virtue calmly pursuing her path through good report and bad report, having that excellence in herself which ought to command all admiration; but bedimmed in the eyes of the world by suffering, by misfortune, and by calumny." While I felt something of the poetry of our situation and the beauty of the night, my more practical and prosaic companion was sensible only of the danger we ran, and after a minute reconnaissance, assured me, with an exclamation of joy, that the split in the ice was narrowing. We were then four miles from the brig, the crew of which had sent more lanterns aloft, and ever and anon burned a brilliant red or blue light, for Cuffy Snowball was a great pyrotechnist. "What is that?" said I, as a strange sound reached us. "I cannot tell," replied my comrade, as he toiled on, supporting himself with his ice-gaff; "I never heard it before, and don't like it at all, sir. I wish we were on board," he added, shuddering alike with cold and superstitious fear, as the sound came again and again from among the hummocks, and it was as weird and mournful to the ear as their aspect was to the eye. It was a strange _mooing_, and gradually swelled into a bellowing as we proceeded; thus it evidently came from the throat of a large animal--but what species of animal could it be in such a place? We were not left long in doubt, for on the centre of a narrow isthmus of ice, _over which lay our way to the ship_, as the fissure beyond it opened wider than elsewhere, sat a huge, dark monster of the deep, in which, on approaching it, I recognised (from pictures I had seen) a sea-horse, or walrus, which the reader must remember is _not_ a seal, but a ferocious animal that can defend itself and frequently destroys its assailants, and this one manifested not the slightest intention of making way for us. He was fearfully pre-Adamite, or antediluvian, in his proportions, being fully twenty feet in length, and having a pair of tusks thirty inches long protruding from the mass of quill-like bristles which covered (like a thick moustache and whiskers) his upper lips and cheeks. Grimly and ferociously he regarded us with his deep-set eyes, which glittered in the moonlight amid the square mass of his elephantine visage, and on beholding us, his hollow mooing turned into a species of grunting bark. Finding that he obstinately barred our way, and, moreover, seemed inclined to attack us, I levelled my rifle full at his grizzly front and fired, while Ridly rashly and fatally charged him in the smoke with his ice-gaff, which was armed with a sharp pike. My ball had pierced his great sloping shoulder, pricking him as a pin might have done, and serving only to incense him, for his bark changed to a mighty roar, and when the smoke cleared away, I saw poor Ridly, who had fallen, lying under one of his gigantic fore-flippers. The foam of rage was frothing on the bristles of the sea-horse, and with his two enormous tusks, which stood upward through them like two crooked sabre-blades, he was alternately rending the limbs and body of his assailant and then great fragments of ice, which he dashed into the water on each side of him. Ridly had only power to utter a faint cry, when he expired. Appalled by this sudden and terrible catastrophe, I reloaded my rifle, and full of mingled rage and fear--a combination which made me no longer feel the intensity of the cold--I fired again and again at the horrid front of the walrus; but every shot seemed only to redouble his wrath, and he continued to rend to pieces the clothes and body of Ridly, till in less than five minutes the ice around him was covered by the blood of his victim and that which gushed from his own wounds. Ridly's left leg he wrenched completely off, and cast into the sea. Rolling about in his wrath, and in his lubberly efforts to reach me, he at last fell into the water; I then rushed across the narrow isthmus where my poor companion lay. As I did so, the walrus made many ineffectual efforts to reach me, grasping the ice with his forepaws, or dashing his vast shoulders madly against it, while he plunged and bellowed and covered all the water in the chasm around him with mingled blood and foam, and, in his impotent fury, tore great blocks off the ice by the tusks of his lower jaw. I fired ten shots into his body, point blank, without his strength or wrath appearing to diminish in the least. On perceiving this, a species of superstitious dread came over me, and turning away, I hastened towards the brig, which, as I have stated, lay about four miles distant, leaving my walrus to flounder, bellow, and drown in the moonlight. Anxiety to reach the vessel, lest I might be overcome by fatigue, or that fatal drowsiness caused at times by intense cold, made me strain every energy; and thus in a much shorter time than could have deemed possible, considering the alternately rough or slippery and laborious nature of the ice-field to be traversed, I found myself among the carcasses of our slaughtered seals, and within hail of the _Leda_. Furnished with ice-gaffs, a bottle of rum, a sledge, and plenty of blankets, so as to be prepared for any emergency, Captain Hartly, with Hans Peterkin and ten of the crew, met me, just as I was sinking with fatigue, half sleepy and half delirious with cold. Thus a considerable time elapsed ere I could relate the story of my adventure and our shipmate's death. They had heard the roar of the splitting ice, and knew why we were wandering so long and so deviously among the hummocks, but the sound of firing puzzled them extremely; and thus, while Paul Reeves with a gang was hoisting out the jolly-boat upon a sledge, to have it launched in the chasm for our conveyance across, Hartly had come on in advance, and he met me just in time, for in ten minutes more I must have perished of fatigue and cold! On returning next morning to collect poor Ridly's remains and commit them to the deep, we found his great destroyer dead, but floating by the margin of the ice, to which he was literally anchored, or hooked, by his two longest tusks. By this, and the affair with the _Black Schooner_, we had lost two of our crew. CHAPTER XII. ON AN ICEBERG. Soon after this, in a dark and howling night, we were blown from our moorings, and forced to run before the wind, with our topmasts struck, and only our jib and a close-reefed foresail set, as we were in the dangerous vicinity of innumerable broken floes, or masses detached from the field-ice: the decks were so slippery that one could scarcely keep afoot; and amid the arrowy sleet and snow that rendered all so murky and obscure around us, and which stung the face like showers of sharp needles, we were hurried on, expecting every moment a collision which would stave our bows or snap the masts by the board. We were repeatedly frost-bitten in the ears, nose, or hands; but snow scraped up in the scuppers and promptly applied, soon brought a hot glow in the benumbed member, and proved our best, indeed our only remedy. All who could cultivate beards had permitted them to grow in Crimean luxuriance, as any attempt at soapsudding in those latitudes produced a coating of ice in a moment. Surging on through blinding drift and pitchy darkness, amid the howling of the fierce tempest, the _Leda_ went bravely! Her spars and cordage straining and groaning, her timbers creaking, while wave after wave broke over her decks and hardy crew, each leaving its legacy of ice upon everything. From time to time we were conscious of a rude shock, or a furious scraping sound, as she grazed upon the passing floes; and now, to add to the gloomy horrors of that tempestuous night, Paul Reeves, who was keeping an anxious look-out forward, shouted back through his trumpet-- "Icebergs ahead! Hard to port, or we are foul of one!" "Hard to port," echoed the two men at the wheel; sharply it revolved, and in a moment we swept under the frowning cliff of a stupendous iceberg, the cold white mass of which was discernible through the gloom, as the arm of the mainyard grazed it! We passed on and it vanished in the darkness astern. "Thank Heaven!" "Thank God!" "A narrow escape!" Such were the muttered exclamations of our half-frozen crew; but at that instant an icy sea broke over us, and two men were swept into a watery grave, without the possibility of our rendering them the least assistance. A minute had scarcely elapsed before we were sensible of a fierce concussion; the masts reeled and the icicles fell in a shower as they were shaken from our stiffened top-hamper. Then the brig's head was tilted up and her stern correspondingly depressed; but still impelled by the fury of the wind, she continued to advance upwards and _out of the water_, as if she was being steamed up a landing-slip, or into a dry dock. "We are ashore--beached!" said some one, beholding this phenomenon. "We are foul of an iceberg," exclaimed Hartly, while the brig continued slowly to ascend till little more than the sternpost and counter were in the water; then she heeled over to port and remained there, wedged, with her jib-boom broken off at the cap, and dangling in the jib-guys, her canvas bellying out so furiously that we thought the masts would be carried away before the benumbed fingers of the seamen could get it handed. In a trice the _Leda_ was under bare poles, while around us the tempestuous wind was bellowing, the surf was roaring, and vast blocks of ice, many tons in weight, were crashing against each other, adding to the dread horrors of this bewildering catastrophe! It is impossible to depict the dismay of all on board, when finding the vessel in this situation--high and dry upon a berg; for, influenced by the storm, by the wind, or the slight additional weight of the brig and her cargo, we felt the monstrous mass on which we were wedged, _oscillating_ and gradually heeling forward ahead; thus the stern of the _Leda_ was raised until her hull remained in the air horizontally, just as she usually sat in the water. In blank horror we endured the gloomy hours of that northern night, amid the drift, the sleet, and a darkness so dense that we could in no way discover our real position, or how to extricate ourselves from it. One fact, we were alarmingly alive to. It was this:--The sea no longer dashed against the hull of our vessel, which lay on her side, well careened over to port; and though we could _hear_ the roaring of the waves, amid the oppressive gloom that enveloped us, we could no longer _see_ them. As day broke the tempest gradually lulled, and the sleet, the snow, and wind passed away together. Then the increasing light enabled us to see the perils of our situation. We were nearly eighty feet above the ocean, on the flat, table-like summit of a mighty iceberg; which, though it had presented a sloping face _up_ which we had run last night before the furious wind and sea, had now changed its position by heeling over, as icebergs always do, from time to time, when their base in the ocean becomes honeycombed and decayed.* * Her Majesty's steam ship _Intrepid_, when commanded by Captain Cator, was similarly carried bodily up the face of a berg, and left high and dry in air, without injury. The sky was clear now to the horizon; the icefield on which we had pursued our hunting so successfully was no longer visible; but about half a mile distant lay the island of floating ice we had escaped last night; and around for miles, far as the eye could reach, the sea, still perturbed by the past storm, was flecked by white floes, the ruins probably of a third berg, which had been shattered by the waves or by being dashed against others. Both these icebergs were several miles in circumference. The summit of ours was flat as a bowling-green; but that portion on which the brig rested was soft, pulpy, and rotten by its long immersion in the sea. The other had many spiral pinnacles, some of them being several hundred feet in height; and, save for the peril in which we were situated, I could have admired the sublimity of that cold and silent mass--so dazzlingly white when the beams of the rising sun fell on it, so indigo-blue in its shadows--for it resembled a fairy isle, which had steep hills, deep valleys, and chasms all fashioned of alabaster; while around its base was a thick fringe of frozen foam of snowy brilliance. While we were gazing upon it that morning, one of its loftiest pinnacles, with a mighty crash, fell thundering into the sea. The _Leda_ was soon frozen into the bed she had ploughed by her keel in the ice; and _how_ to get her launched again, _how_ to descend from our perilous eminence, were the questions we asked of each other, and which no one could answer. The summit of the berg was nearly a mile in circumference, and, as I have said, was more than eighty feet from the water. This we ascertained as a fact, though there was no small peril in venturing from the ship upon its surface, which was so glassy and smooth that in some places the lightest among us would have slipped off, as if shot by a catapulta, into the sea below. Council and deliberation availed us nothing. Even Hartly, Reeves, and Hans, with all their united skill, foresight, and seamanship, found their invention fail in suggesting any means of release. "There is nothing for it but to wait the event," said Hartly, after a long and solemn council. "But suppose that we waited a month, captain," asked Reeves, gloomily, "where would our provisions be?--where our fresh water?" "We may be driven south into warmer latitudes where the bergs melt rapidly in the sunshine." "But we may be drifted north into latitudes where the bergs freeze harder, and where ice may close around us for ever," said Hans Peterkin. "Or," said one of the seamen, who all crowded anxiously to this conference, which we held around the capstan-head, "the berg may _capsize_, and what will become of us then?" "Hold hard, my lads," exclaimed Hartly, "hold hard, and be stout of heart and cheery. Remember that however miserable we may deem ourselves, there is one Blessed Eye upon us--the eye of a kind, good God," he added, uncovering his head reverently to the bitter frost, "One who will never forget the poor sailor, if he is true to himself. Think of the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,' as the song says, and rail not at fate, for fate guides man neither at home nor abroad, at sea or on shore. Put all your trust aloft, my boys, and hold on by poor Jack's best bower anchor!" This harangue was exactly suited to his hearers. We tried to feel hopeful and trusting, and to have patience. But we longed very much, nevertheless, to be free of the iceberg, and to have the blue sea dashing alongside once more. CHAPTER XIII. ON THE ICEBERG--THE MASSACRE AT HIERRO. In this appalling situation we remained for ten days before any alteration in the position either of the brig or of the two icebergs was perceptible. We missed our lost companions sorely, for the death of a shipmate in his hammock, or by falling overboard, makes a great impression on the secluded survivors at sea. His watery grave is in itself a fearful mystery, the depth of which we cannot realize or fathom. No stone or mound marks the place where he lies; he is hurled, as it were, soul and body into eternity, and blotted out of existence like the bubbles that break round the place where he sinks. During these ten days Hartly was indefatigable in his efforts to keep his crew employed, and their spirits from depression. Lest provisions might become scarce, and our water fall short, he had portions of the seals, the hideous paws especially, cleaned, prepared, and pickled, while the snow and ice which adhered to the rigging was boiled down, and added to our supply of fresh water. To save our fuel, the fire for these purposes was fed with the fat of the seals, and the blubber (so long as it lasted) of the gigantic walrus I had slain. The seal "flippers," hairy and bloody, like the claws of a baboon hewn off at the wrist, made a very cannibal-like repast when fricasseed. Remembering how I had shuddered on seeing such repulsive carrion sold at a penny per bunch in the streets of St. John, I could scarcely digest such a meal; though Cuffy Snowball, when he made them into sea-pies, rolled his eyes and grinned from ear to ear while declaring his handiwork "de berry best dish in de 'varsal creation!" Our rigging was carefully inspected and prepared for any emergency, as if we expected to make sail on the brig at a moment's notice; but _how_ was she ever to reach her natural element again? On this subject, though we were wearied of it, conjecture became utterly _lost_! Still, like a brave fellow, Hartly left nothing unsaid or undone to keep up our hopes, though his own sank at times. Save the watch on deck, he nightly assembled all hands in the cabin for companionship and also for warmth. There he sang songs, (while Cuffy accompanied him on the violin,) and told stories, or read aloud, and spoke again and again to the poor crest-fallen seal-fishers (who thought only of their wives and families) of their profits on the voyage, and the reward they would receive from the Governor of Newfoundland for destroying the obnoxious _Black Schooner_; and of that affair he drew up a statement, to be attested by all on board. His example was invaluable, for he had somehow acquired the greatest influence over all his crew. "It is pleasing to see a family, a farm, or establishment of any kind (says Lorimer, in his "Letters to a Young Merchant-Mariner") when, from long servitude, the assistants and domestics are considered as humble friends or distant relations; and independently of the kind feelings thereby occasioned and cherished, all seems to prosper with them. Such a state of things is by no means unfrequent in this happy country, Britain; and I see no good reason why the same attachment to the master and to each other, should not be more frequent on shipboard; indeed, considering the dangers they are continually sharing, one is almost surprised that they can _separate_ so readily. How to obtain a kind but powerful influence over, and a devoted attachment _from_, a crew, is a secret worth our deep consideration;" and Robert Hartly eminently possessed this secret, which, in the desperation of our circumstances, proved a priceless gift to him and to us. Every night one story or yarn produced others, and so the time passed on, and peril was half forgotten. Most of these narratives were gloomy enough, however. They told of ships whose crews were all poisoned save one man, by partaking of a mysterious fish, or whose crews turned pirates, and slaughtered all who opposed them; or of men who were marooned on lonely isles, and left to perish miserably. Hans Peterkin, an Orkneyman, could tell us of queer shadowy craft, manned by spectres, demons, and evil spirits, who displayed lights to lure vessels ashore on Cape Wrath and the rocks of Ultima Thule, like the wreckers of Cornwall and Brittany. Then Paul Reeves matched them by a curious tale of an enchanted island in the Indian Seas, on which the lights of churches and houses could be seen at night, and where the tolling of bells and the song of vespers could be heard, with many other sounds; but lo! as the ship approached, the isle would seem to recede till it sank into the sea and reappeared _astern_! Then Tom Hammer, the carpenter, gave us a yarn of an ice-cliff in Hudson's Bay that long overhung a whaler he was once serving in. One day the cliff was changed in form, for a mighty piece had fallen from it into the sea; and wonderful to relate, there was seen a man's figure among the ice--a man imbedded up there a hundred feet above the sea. Telescopes were at once in requisition, and they made out that he was frozen--dead--hard and fast; but by his dress--a red doublet, trunk-hose, and a long black beard--they supposed he was some ancient mariner; and some there were on board who vowed he was no other than the famous voyager Hendrick Hudson, who discovered the bay, and was marooned by his mutinous crew in 1610. But one night, when we were all nestling close together, muffled in our pea-jackets, and smoking, to promote warmth, a narration of Hartly's far exceeded all that preceded it in interest, being a veritable occurrence, and by its barbarity singular. "My grandfather," said he, "as thoroughbred an old salt as ever faced a stiff topsail breeze, was skipper of the _Dublin_, a smart little ship of three hundred and fifty tons, pierced for twelve six-pounders, being a letter of marque that fought her own way when the way upon the high seas was somewhat more perilous than it is now. "About the autumn of the year 1784--now a long time ago, my lads--she was chartered as an emigrant ship for Canada, and sailed from the Mersey with one hundred and eighty poor folks, half of whom were women and children, going to seek their bread in another laud; and a troublesome voyage the old gentleman had with them, for foul weather came on; many of his spars were knocked away, and then a heavy sickness broke out among the emigrants. Their little ones died daily and were hove overboard, till those whose children survived became wild with fear and apprehension that theirs would follow next; and, to make matters worse, there was no doctor on board; for this was in 1784, as I told you, and the lives of the poor were not worth much to any one, save themselves, in those old times. "Well, my grandfather was a soft-hearted old fellow, and his heart bled for the poor people. His sick bay was crammed, and the sailmaker's needle was never idle, but made one little shroud after another till the man's heart sickened of the dreary task. So, when foul weather mastered the _Dublin_, and blew her out of her course, the old gentleman put his helm a-lee and bore up for the Canaries, which were once called the Fortunate Isles, and came in sight of Hierro, the most westerly of these islands, on the 6th December, 1784. He had his ensign flying; but knowing well what slippery devils the Spaniards are, and that the _Dublin_ had rather a man-o'-war cut in her spars and bends, he hoisted a _white_ flag at his foremast head, and so came peacefully to anchor about sunrise. "The morning was beautiful; the shore was desolate, but fertile and green. The poor emigrants were mad with joy at the sight of land, and in an hour or two he set them all ashore, about a hundred in number, on the smooth sandy beach. Many of them were women with infants in their arms or at their skirts--men supporting their young wives or old parents; and new life and health seemed returning to them as they rambled on the sunny shore, or drank of the pure springs that gushed from the rocks, and as they pulled the green leaves and aromatic flowers, or the broad plantain leaves which always flourish best near the sea. "Meanwhile, my grandfather had triced up his portlids, and a gang with buckets and swabs were busy cleaning, airing, and fumigating every place fore and aft, ere the live cargo were shipped again at night, when an unforeseen catastrophe took place----" "A catastrophe!" said I; "the ship was blown out to sea?" "Not at all," said Hartly, refilling his pipe. "What then?" "His poor people were all dead ere nightfall." "Murdered?" "Aye, in cold blood, as you shall hear. They were all enjoying themselves--the children were playing, gambolling and tumbling over each other in heaps on the warm sands; the women were busy washing, dressing and arranging each other's hair; the men smoking their pipes, and talking, perhaps regretfully, of that jolly old England they had left for ever and, it might be hopefully, of the new shores they were bound for, when a long line of bright bayonets that glittered ominously in the sunshine, appeared suddenly upon the steep rocks which completely enclosed the sandy cove, and three companies of lubberly Spanish militia commanded by Don Juan Briez de Calderon, encircled them on all sides, save towards the sea, where the _Dublin_ lay at anchor about three-quarters of a mile off. The reason of this military display I shall explain. "False rumours of a plague said to be raging in Europe had reached these isles, and filled the selfish and superstitious Spanish colonists with such alarm, that Señor the Governor, fearing, or pretending to fear, the strangers might bring it among them, instantly convened la Mesa del Consejo--his council-board, as they call it in their lingo--and quietly proposed to cut off all these voyagers root and branch! "Some of the councillors vigorously opposed a course so revolting, and pled the cause of the poor Inglesos, the rights of religion and humanity, and called upon Don Juan to remember the honour of the king he represented, and that he was the lineal descendant of that adventurous Don Diego de Hierro, of Old Castile, who had captured the island in the days of Ferdinand the Catholic, King of Arragon, bestowing in memory thereof his own illustrious name upon it, and so forth. "Señor Don Juan did not reply, but knit his fierce black brows, lighted a cigar, and puffed away with true Castilian imperturbability. "'Señor el Gobernador,' urged a venerable Spanish friar, 'these poor people who have landed on our shores, after a long voyage apparently, we know not from whence, have been forced hither, as our mariners aver, by those recent storms which have swept over the Canary Isles----' "'What is all this to me?' growled Don Juan. "'Simply, Señor, that it will be alike cruel and unjust to inflict the penalty of death upon them all for this.' "'Padre, they have transgressed the laws of Hierro,' thundered the Governor. "'Laws temporarily made by _yourself_--laws with which they can in no way be acquainted. If they have sickness among them, let us send tents and supplies; but guard the avenues to the ground we may allot them, until they are all re-embarked with their wives and little ones. I will myself go among them,' continued the old friar, warming in his merciful advocacy, 'and say that you will graciously afford them succour, until the orders of the most illustrious señor, our Governor-General at Teneriffe, can be obtained.' "'_Silencio!_' thundered Don Juan, and rudely threw the remains of his cigar in the old man's face; 'order out our troops--we shall march instantly and exterminate these dangerous vermin!' "The drums were beat, and the militia, three hundred strong, with the valiant Don Juan at their head, marched to where the poor visitors, ignorant of the horrors that were impending, were still amusing themselves upon the beach. Some were gathering the brilliant shells, flowers, and leaves; others were filling little kegs and jars with the pure spring water that poured over the ledges of rock. The women were sitting in groups, with their children gambolling about them; others were gazing sadly on the evening sea, as if calculating the number of miles that lay between them and their old home; or the miles they had yet to traverse ere they found a new one amid the forests of the western world. "To gather them all together, the villanous Briez de Calderon procured an empty sugar puncheon, and tossed it over the summit of the cliffs on which his men were posted. From thence, with a loud noise, it rolled to the beach below. Curiosity made all the loiterers rush towards it, as many of them thought it contained food, clothes, or other necessaries for them. The men gave a hurrah, and waved their hats in hearty English jollity to the crafty Spaniards, and gathered with the women and children around the puncheon. "'Fire!' cried Don Juan. "Savage as they were, the Spaniards paused a moment; but Don Juan was the first to fire a musket, and observing that his men were still reluctant, he knocked one down with the butt-end, and threatened the rest with death if they disobeyed him. "'Fire!' he shouted again, and then on the unsuspecting crowd there was poured the concentrated volley of these three hundred miscreants; thus, in ten minutes the dreadful massacre was complete. On the beach all were lying dead and drenched in blood--husband and wife, parent and child--all save one woman, who, with her infant, concealed herself in the rocks, and her husband, who, with a ball lodged in his arm, sprang into the sea and endeavoured to swim to the ship. "Failing in this, faint with loss of blood, weary and despairing, he turned about and sought the shore, where he was hewn to pieces by sabres as he clung to a seaweedy rock. On beholding this dreadful sight, his poor wife, who was concealed in a cleft of the cliffs not far off, uttered a shriek of dismay, which drew the murderers, now flushed with blood, towards her. "She was soon dragged out, and with his own dagger Don Juan stabbed her to the heart, and then killed the child, which he tossed into the sea beside its father! "Paralysed by rage and astonishment, my grandfather and his crew saw all this from the deck of the _Dublin_. They could see the red musketry flashing from the rocks, filling all the little cove with slaughtered corpses and smoke. They could hear the shrieks that were borne over the water on the evening wind; and after a time, when all was still, they could see the beach strewn with dead bodies, and in possession of the Spaniards, who were stripping them, and who brought up field-pieces to fire on the _Dublin_. "He hoisted his anchor and bore away; but on coming abreast of the capital with British colours flying _above_ the Spanish ensign _reversed_, he pitched a few shot into it from his carronades, sunk three craft at their anchors, with all their crews on board, and then bore away for England, and there was an end of it. We were at peace with Spain; but I never heard that satisfaction was given, or the atrocity revenged. That is _my_ yarn, lads."* * The papers of the time fully corroborate Hartly's story. "The news of this barbarity," says the Annual Register for 1785, "has been received at Teneriffe by all ranks of people with the deepest concern and regret, and by none more than the Governor-General, who deplores it extremely. He could not at first give credit to it; but was at last convinced of the fatal truth, by letters from the wretch Briez de Calderon himself. Exasperated to the highest pitch, he has given a commission to an officer of rank to go over to Hierro to take cognizance of this tragical affair,"--of which we hear no more. CHAPTER XIV. ESCAPE FROM THE ICEBEBG. Though our apprehensions were great, our chief sufferings were from cold in that lofty and listless situation; yet our dread of impending dangers was so keen, our hope of a change so great, that even the oldest seamen on board never turned into their berths or bunks at night but with their clothes on, "to be ready," as they said, "to turn up with all standing at a moment's notice." Hartly, who was rather scientific and was wont to expatiate upon the theory of storms, and so forth, endeavoured to account for the intensity of the frost, which I deemed a somewhat unnecessary illustration to us who were on the summit of an iceberg. "The thermometer--" he would begin. "Ugh! don't speak of the thermometer, Bob," said I, one day, when trembling in every fibre, as we endeavoured to tread to and fro on the sloping deck. "It is so cold now, that the atmosphere can never be colder!" "So you think; but wait until--" "When?" "--we are a few degrees further north, perhaps in the centre of an ice-field, and then you will know what cold is! But the _degree_ of it depends upon the power of the wind, after passing over snow-covered wastes, rather than the actual state of the mercury;--that was all I was about to remark." I was too miserable to thank him for the information, but said: "I do not think our vicinity to that other atrocious iceberg adds to the pleasantness of our temperature." "Of course not--but see," he added, raising his voice, "by Heaven, it is oscillating!" Just as he spoke, the cold, glistening, and splintered peaks of the mighty berg seemed to topple over and sink into the sea, as it _reversed_ with a stunning roar--its former base coming upward, and imparting an entirely new form to it. All on board stood gazing at this reversal, which is a common occurrence with icebergs; but it filled us with a horror of what _our_ fate would be should a similar capsize occur with us, for now the berg on which we were wedged heaved and surged in the foaming eddy made by the other. "Icebergs have usually nine times as much of them below water as appears above it," said I. "Yes, and at that ratio, if this one of ours reversed, we should find ourselves in a moment somewhere about six hundred and forty feet below the surface of the sea," replied Hartly, with a grim smile. "Ay," added Paul Reeves, "and our poor little _Leda_ would be adhering, keel upmost and trucks down, like a barnacle at the bottom of this vast floating island." On the tenth day of our imprisonment, as I have elsewhere said, after rain had been falling all night in such torrents that we had battened all the hatches fore and aft, on day breaking, we found a very perceptible alteration in the position of the brig. From careening over to port, she had gradually righted, and now rested fairly on her keel, with her masts upright. The summit of the berg had again become soft and pulpy on its surface, and the _Leda_ seemed to sink lower by her own weight every minute, while the ice on each side sloped upward, leaving her in a kind of valley; and so rapidly did this state of matters go on, that in four hours the sides were nearly eight feet above our deck, and suggested a new terror, that they might collapse--close over, and freeze us in more hopelessly than ever. As the rain abated, the berg began palpably to oscillate, that portion of it which lay under the brig's head, however, became depressed, and then the rainwater and _sludge_ that had collected in the valley where we lay, poured over its icy brow like a cataract, and we heard it thundering, as it fell into the sea below. "She moves--the brig moves! she forges ahead!" exclaimed Hartly, in an excited voice, as the berg careened over more and more, and we all stood pale, breathless, speechless, and rooted to the deck, expecting a capsize that would bury her masts downward in the sea. This change of position continued to progress, but very slowly. There were about sixteen feet of ice from the cutwater of the _Leda_ to the edge of the berg, and about forty from her stern-post to the edge in the other direction. "If this depression forward continues slowly," said Hartly, "we shall be floating in the blue in two hours, my lads; clear away two hawsers, an ice-anchor, and kedge. Stand by with the capstan-bars, cast loose the jib and foretopsail, to lift her head a bit, if the wind serves when she slips off, and then stand by the braces to sheet home!" These orders recalled us to life, for they filled us with hope, and inspired us with activity. Led by Hartly, Hans Peterkin and two other adventurous fellows named Abbot clambered along the soft ice astern, and fixed there a kedge with our strongest hawser, which was to be eased gently off the capstan, as the brig continued to forge downward and a-head, for her motion was a double one. It was perilous work for these four brave men, as the rain had rendered the face of the berg slippery as wetted glass; but Hartly was full of inherent courage, and in the excitement of the moment forgot all his superstition about his ring, the gift of the reputed witch Jensdochter. He was scarcely on board again, ere the depression continued so rapidly that the entire hull of the brig lay at an angle of forty-five degrees from the line of the water below--her bows being yet twenty feet distant from it. This was a momentous crisis for us all! A deathlike stillness was every where on board; on our pale lips, as we grasped the shrouds or belaying pins to preserve our footing; on the mighty isle of ice, from the shelving summit of which we were about to be precipitated; and from the lonely sea below, there came no sound; at least, we heard only its wavelets rippling against the cold, glistening, and glacial sides of our prison. Slowly the brig moved, as if to protract that time of agonizing suspense. Every man compressed his lips and stifled his breathing. We seemed to speak our thoughts in silent and expressive glances, for all had the certainty now that in _three_ minutes more, we should be floating on the free waters of the ocean, or foundered and sunk, headforemost, far beneath them. Foot by foot she forged ahead, as the berg continued to heel over, and ere long our bowsprit projected in the air over the edge, and then the bows, headboards, and cutwater! The angle at which the _Leda_ lay was fearful; we could no longer work the capstan; I clasped it with my arms, and shut my eyes. Then a heavy sob seemed to escape from me, as Reeves, by one slash with a sharp axe on the taffrail, parted the stern warp, which recoiled with a crack like a coach-whip. Then followed a rushing sound--a mighty plunge, and the waves dashed in foam on each side of us, as the _Leda_ shot off the berg, and went souse, bows foremost into the sea; but rising up again, and shaking all the spray off her, as a duck would have done. There was a deep silence after the shock and escape of this launch, and all seemed to await the signal to utter a hearty hurrah of joy and thankfulness for our miraculous preservation. Ere long it burst forth, but Hartly cut it short by his orders to sheet home the jib and foretopsail, to set the foresail, fore and aft mainsail and maintopsail. Rapidly he was obeyed, and just as the _Leda_ fell off, and bore away from the dangerous vicinity of the ice-island, it capsized, as its companion had done, and with a roar, as if defrauded of its prey. CHAPTER XV UNDER WEIGH ONCE MORE. The chainbobstay under the bowsprit was snapped, our rudder was split and its pintles were started, but these defects were soon repaired by the carpenter; and next day, at noon, Hartly and Reeves on comparing their observations, discovered that, unknown to ourselves, we had drifted nearly one hundred miles towards the western coast of Greenland, so a look-out was kept for the field-ice, as they were anxious to complete their interrupted seal-fishing, to haul up for St. John's, and then freight for Europe in the spring. Poor fellows! ... We seemed to have returned to life once more. Again we were dashing through the blue sea with a free sheet, with the white canvas bellying full upon the breeze; again, on waking in the morning, the first familiar sounds that met the ear were the decks undergoing their customary ablutions, by bucket and swab, and the rasping holystones; Cuffy singing some Congo melody as he lighted the cabin fire, the wind whistling through the rigging, the patter of the reef-points on the bosom of the swollen sails, the dashing of the spray over the sharp black bows, the occasional order issued on deck, the clatter of the rudder in its case, and the bubble of the water as it frothed past under the counter. All these spoke of our wonted life of activity, and of the _Leda_ being under canvas. In a day or two we descried the slender white line of an ice-field, stretching for miles along the horizon towards the north, and approached it under easy sail, as the fields usually drift southward at this season. By the appearance of the ice and the state of the thermometer, we concluded this to be a much larger field than that from which we had been blown by the gale of wind. While Reeves got ready the ice-hooks, sledges, warps, and gangs of seal-hunters, with their bats, guns, and other apparatus, Hartly and I were treading to and fro talking of various matters. I can remember that he was relating to me, how, in his last voyage with the _Leda_ up the Mediterranean, St. Elmo's blue and phosphorescent light had enveloped fully three feet of her masts below the trucks, to the great terror of Cuffy Snowball, and others who were ignorant of the cause of that phenomenon, which lasted nearly an hour. He was proceeding with his narration, when Tom Hammer, who was repairing something aloft, hailed the watch. "Deck--ahoy!" "Hallo?" responded Hans Peterkin. "There is a craft wedged in the ice, sir." "Where away?" "About twenty miles off." "How does she bear?" "On our lee bow." "And what do you make her out to be?" Hammer stood on the main-crosstrees, with his left arm embracing the mast, and through his telescope took a long and steady glance with a somewhat perplexed air at this vessel, which we could not see from the deck. "She is a brig with her topgallant masts struck." "Indeed!" "No," stammered the carpenter. "What then?" "A ship with all her canvas unbent." "Unbent! that is strange," said Hartly, shading his eyes, and peering away to leeward. "No--now, sir, she looks like a brigantine, or hermaphrodite brig, with her yards topped up in different ways." "Do you wish your nightcap sent up to you, Tom?" said the mate, drily; "look again, perhaps she is the _Flying Dutchman_." "Or the ghost of the _Black Schooner_," said one. "Or a whale," added another. But on nearing the edge of the ice-field--so close that we sent off the mate in the jolly boat with the warps, and handed our canvas, preparatory to resuming the war against the seals--we could all see the vessel which Hammer had discerned, lying among the ice about fifteen miles off, and various were the discussions on board as to her rig and nation. Even our oldest seamen were puzzled. Her hull was scarcely visible, so high were the hummocks around her. She had two masts, but her spars were, as Tom said, topped up in various ways and at various angles, and seemed covered by long-accumulated ice and snow, from which we augured that she had been long beset. We hoisted our colours and displayed the private signal of Messrs. Manly and Skrew, but received no response, by which we supposed that she had been deserted by her crew, or that her signal halliards had given way. Some averred stoutly that they could distinguish a flag flying at her gaff peak; others that she had no gaff peak whatever, but had _one_ man seated in her fore rigging. Hartly ridiculed these fancies, saying that the intensity of the cold, and the dazzling glare of the sun shining on a sea covered by white ice, bewildered the vision of most men; and so, full of vague conjectures as to what our neighbours might be, we saw the sun set and night close in upon us. Next morning another large field of ice was discovered on our larboard quarter, closing in upon us with considerable rapidity. It extended along the offing for twelve or fourteen miles, and increased to the eye as it was borne towards us by an under-current. Hartly conjectured it had drifted down Hudson's Strait from the Bay, and to avoid being _beset_ like the unfortunate craft we had been observing, he brought off the ice-anchor and made sail on the brig, steering due west and keeping her close hauled with his starboard tacks on board; but the field of ice we endeavoured to leave kept close alongside, as if it sailed or floated _with_ us, which I have no doubt it did. Thus both fields verged towards each other rapidly, one before the wind, the other before a current; and so, ere sunset, we were closely wedged in a frozen sea--BESET, amid a wilderness of pack-ice, of bergs, and hummocks, which extended, as far as the eye could discern from the main-crosstrees, in every direction, and probably far beyond the horizon. Though this predicament was not without great peril, still it was preferable by many degrees to our last situation; for here we could pursue the object of our expedition, and hoped to have our cargo complete, the hatches battened down, and all ready for our return to Newfoundland when the ice broke up, amid the warmer water of more southern latitudes, towards which we expected the field, like others, would be borne by the currents. Alas! how little did we then foresee how long we and our desolate neighbour, whose disordered aspect and bare spars made her resemble a withered bush or bunch of reeds at the horizon, were to remain in sight of each other. CHAPTER XVI. BESET WITHOUT HOPE. I cared little about the slaughter of the seals,--indeed, I rather disliked it--and for several days my attention was excited solely by the vessel which was beset so far from us. My imagination drew many painful scenes. I endeavoured to picture how long she had been there--weeks, months, it might be years! Where was she from? What had she been--a ship, brig, or schooner? for by the confusion of her rigging, and the distance at which she lay from us, there was a difficulty in discovering this, even by by our most powerful glasses, or whether the smoke ever rose from her galley funnel. How many of her crew were alive, or had she a crew at all? If so, what were their sufferings--if abandoned, amid that world of ice, whither had they gone, and where had their perilous journey ended? On Greenland, on the Labrador, or in the grave? These queries were for ever recurring to me, and that old beset ship--I had made up my mind that she _was_ old--was the first object to which my eyes turned when coming on deck in the morning, and the last at night. Fogs--the dense fogs of the Arctic seas--came on and shrouded us for days, till one's lungs almost filled with icy vapour, and the pulses of the heart seemed to freeze. The wind blew a gale at times, but the ice remained fast as adamant around us; but when the obscurity passed away, there lay the beset ship in the dim distance, wearing the same lifeless aspect as ever, so dreary and forlorn amid that waste of cold white glistening ice, with its endless vistas of hummocks and splintered bergs. We became somewhat alarmed on discovering by observations that instead of drifting into southern latitudes, where the ice-fields are usually broken into floes, and a ship becomes free to shape her course in any direction, we were being borne almost due west, and with considerable rapidity. By this the temperature remained nearly the same, and our besetting, like that of our unfortunate neighbour, became a permanence, and would probably continue so, unless we weathered Cape Farewell, of which Hartly had some doubts at that season. We had now reached the first week of April, and could only look forward to the early days of May, when the field-ice breaks up, and from the unknown seas and inlets of the north, floats southward in masses so mighty, that a girdle of ice, sometimes two hundred miles in breadth, environs the coasts of Newfoundland and the Labrador. Ere long we became sensible of a tremendous pressure upon the sides of the brig, a pressure so great that her timbers in some places became distorted, and Hartly was seriously alarmed lest she might be crushed and destroyed. This unwonted pressure rendered us very anxious, and inspired many with dread. One night when it was greater than usual, I was on deck, and from thence ascended into the main-rigging a little way to contemplate the snow-covered scene--so vast, so silent, and so terrible in its beauty! Spreading far as the eye could reach--far beyond the old deserted ship, for such we deemed her now--lay the hummocks in uncounted myriads, ascending here and there into bergs and mountains, so impressive in their cold purity, so solemnizing in their silence and monotony, their spiral peaks glistening and vitreous against the blue immensity of the sky--an accumulation of ice and snow that would seem to have lasted since the will and hand of God had first separated the land from the water, and marked the limits of both. While lost in reverie, and surveying this scene, a strange sound, like that which might be caused by the rending of a vast rock asunder, fell upon my ear; then there was a shock which made every fibre in my body tingle. A mighty power below us seemed to be hoisting the brig out of the ice, while her masts and hull began to sway to and fro. "Aloft, lads--all hands aloft!" cried Hartly; "we are about to be crushed--God help us! for all is over with us now!" All our men rushed into the rigging on hearing this terrible announcement, and at the same moment there was another crashing shock, and lo! about a league from us, there ascended slowly and vertically into the air, a sheet or wall of ice, perhaps twenty feet thick, nearly a hundred feet in height, and several miles in length! Erect it stood for some moments, like a giant rampart, and then broke into fragments, and as the field collapsed below, these fell with a roar as if heaven and earth were coming together. How many _millions of tons_ might have been in that erected mass no man could conceive, but the thunder of their fall, as they crashed and glittered in the moonlight, caused one's soul to shrink with awe and wonder at the grandeur and sublimity of such a scene. The ice around us cracked and rent in every direction, but though there was a vibration, a seeming heaving of the icebound sea, the brig settled down again into her bed, and we were only relieved of that intense pressure which had threatened us with immediate destruction. "We are saved--for this time," said Hartly. "Have the currents caused this?" I inquired. "Partly: and the east edge of the ice-field has crashed upon a western shore." "Greenland?" suggested Paul Reeves. "Of course." "Then we are to the _north_ of Cape Farewell!" I gazed wistfully towards the east. Hartly saw the glance, and smiled. "You wish to snuff the land," said he; "but whether the land on which this mass of ice that imprisons us and our neighbour--a floating mass perhaps as large as Ireland--be just below the horizon, or two hundred miles distant, I have no means of ascertaining until I make a correct observation at noon." The morrow came duly, and at twelve o'clock, Hartly, on consulting the sun and his chart, declared that we were at least one hundred and seventy miles due westward of Cape Farewell, on the coast of Greenland. We had thus drifted before the wind many hundred miles with the ice. The cold had now rendered the action of our compasses sluggish; but, situated as we were, that was of little consequence. Our anxiety increased as our provisions diminished; we were placed upon a scanty allowance; symptoms of scurvy became visible among our seal-fishers; and how shall I find words to describe the intensity of the cold? As we huddled together in the cabin at night, the ice actually came down the funnel of the stove, and formed a little arch above the fire. Our breath froze on our beards and whiskers, and on the blankets of our beds. The barrels of salted junk had to be dashed to pieces ere the food could be separated from the brine and staves. Stiff grog froze as hard as our beer; and every day a smoky haze rose from the sea, and freezing as it rose, when blown about by the wind, seemed to scrape the very skin off one's face. This frost-rime frequently enveloped us like a dense fog for days, and when it cleared, the wearied eye had no object to rest on but the everlasting ice and the old ship in the dreary distance. Chancing to stumble one day against the anchor, my bare hand touched the fluke, and a portion of skin adhered to it as if it had been hot iron. We hunted diligently for seals, as they formed our staple food, when cooked on a fire of blazing blubber. The flesh of the cub, especially the heart and liver, when hashed, and well seasoned with pepper, was not unacceptable to appetites sharpened by the northern blast that came from the Arctic circle. The middle of April came and passed away without a change, save that the sun shone with a brilliance which somewhat alleviated the cold. One day, at noon, I saw Hartly form a piece of pure fresh-water ice from the scuttle-bucket into a lens, through which he concentrated the rays of the sun as through a burning-glass, and thus igniting little puffs of powder on the capstan-head, to the great astonishment of our seamen, and the terror of Cuffy, who began to consider him a species of Obi man. So day followed day of captivity! Seal-hunting and idling over, we would assemble, and sit for hour after hour, crouching close together for warmth, around our little fire, watching the glowing embers and the upward sparks; often in dreamy silence, mentally wondering where, when, and _how_ this monotony, misery, and suffering were to end! At times each almost fancied himself the last man in the world--and certainly we were the last men to be envied. Then terrible sensations crept over us, and horror filled our souls--the horror of being the _last survivor_, when famine and death came together among us. As a relief from this intolerable monotony, a party of us resolved to visit the other ship. All were anxious to go; but Hartly said we could never know the moment when the ice would partially break up; thus half the crew at least must remain with him for the safety of the whole. Furnished with a sledge, on which we placed a supply of such provisions as the _Leda_ could afford, a small breaker, or gang-cask of stiff grog, hatchets, guns, a compass, plenty of blankets, and tobacco, so as to be ready for any emergency or detention, twelve men--Paul Reeves, Hans Peterkin, Tom Hammer, Cuffy, and myself inclusive--departed one bright morning about an hour after dawn, resolved to overhaul the stranger, and if we found her deserted, to cut away her masts, and drag them to the brig for fuel, though she lay now at least fifteen miles distant. CHAPTER XVII. THE DEATH-SHIP. Inured though we were to the cold, we felt the toil and peril very great when traversing the ice for fifteen miles; but fortunately the day was clear, and not a speck of cloud appeared upon the blue immensity of the sky. The crew of the _Leda_ cheered us from time to time until we were at some distance, when they hoisted a red flag at the mainmast-head; but in the hollows between the hummocks and vast blocks of ice which were jammed and piled upon each other by the recent concussion and compression of the field, we lost sight of both ships at times, and could only discover them while surmounting some of the frozen ridges. We toiled bravely, anxious to attain the object of our journey ere night came on, as we were assured of quarter on board, whatever might be the circumstances of this strange-looking craft, the attention of whose crew our colours by day, and our lanterns by night, had totally failed to attract. Fifteen miles over an ice-field--especially such an ice-field as that which inclosed us, rent by chasms in some places, and piled in giant blocks elsewhere--were equal to the toil of traversing forty miles on land; thus about two P.M., we found ourselves only eight miles from the _Leda_, but rapidly gaining on the hull of the strange craft, which seemed to rise out of the ice as we approached, and the aspect of which puzzled us more than ever. We halted for a brief space; then each man partook of a biscuit and piece of seal's flesh boiled, a ration of rum, and in ten minutes more we pushed on again, four dragging our sledge, laden with stores, by shoulder-belts made for the purpose, and relieved by other four at every two miles or so. Our expedition was not without several dangers. Fog might come on and conceal both ships from us; a blinding storm of snow might have the same effect, and pile its drifts above our corpses for ever. The ice-field might break up, and separate us from our ship so long that when our slender stock of necessaries was expended, we should infallibly perish. Each man among us thought of these possible and terrible contingencies as the distance increased between us and the _Leda_--our home amid the icy waste--but none spoke of them _then_; all sang cheerily, and pushed on to overhaul the strange craft; thus about five in the afternoon we found ourselves alongside, and all paused to survey her with deep and undefinable emotions of awe in our breasts, for she had evidently been long deserted, and now wore a most chilling and desolate aspect. She was an old-fashioned pink-built barque, of about six hundred tons, with bulging ribs and bluff bows; broad and clumsy in the counter and deep in the bends--all fenced about with iron bands; she looked like a whaler of George the Second's time, for, with a fiddle head, she had the remains of a jack-staff and spritsail yard upon her bowsprit. Her hull and spars were thickly coated with ice. Her fore and main topmasts were gone; her mizen was broken off at the crosstrees, and hung, truck downward, in its gear. The topping-lifts and braces of the yards had long since given way, and tatters of them swung mournfully on the wind. Many of the yards had dropped from their slings, and lay athwart the deck or among the ice alongside, where the gales had tossed them. Her ironwork was red and corroded; almost every vestige of paint and tar had long since disappeared, as if she had been scraped by the ice; beaten, battered, and washed by Arctic storms, American fogs, and Greenland showers of sleet and rain, for many, many years must have elapsed since the keel of this old craft had last been in blue water, and first been frozen in the treacherous ice; years of drifting to and fro in the far and frozen regions of the north, where perchance not even the eye of the Esquimaux had seen her. We seemed all to read and know her history instinctively at a glance; but her crew--what had their fate been? Inspired by a strange emotion, we hung back, while gazing at her, as she stood like a silent ruin, or the ghost of a ship in the frosty sunshine of the April evening; but no man attempted to board her, till Paul Reeves, taking a hatchet from the sledge, exclaimed, "Come on, shipmates--we'll overhaul her!" and proceeded at once to mount from the ice into her mainchains. As he grasped the starboard shrouds about the upper dead-eyes, the whole gave way from their rotten cat-harpings and crashed about him, with a shower of the ice that had coated them for years. "By Jove! lads, 'twas not yesterday this craft left the rigger's hands!" said he, as we clambered after him, and at length stood upon her deck, which was coated about two feet deep with hard frozen snow, on the pure whiteness of which no foot-track was visible. Sailors are ever superstitious; but theirs is an honest and reverential superstition, very different from that of the landsman; thus in breathless silence our party paused upon her deck, as if it had been the lid of a huge coffin. "Go on--go on!" said several; yet no man moved, for there was a deathlike silence in and around her. Her main-hatch was battened down; but we could see that the companion aft and the fore-hatch were partly open. Her long-boat was turned keel upmost on deck, aft the foremast; and by other indications it had doubtless formed a species of round-house. Various large white bones, fragments of broken casks, coils of old bleached ropes, and rusty harpoons were strewn about, and served to indicate that she had been a whale-ship. Urged by curiosity, I proceeded towards her cabin, my eleven shipmates following closely at my heels. The skylight was covered with snow; yet through a broken pane I could perceive the figures of men below: then I turned to descend into her dark, gloomy, and slimy cabin, on entering which I beheld a wondrous scene of horror, such as can never be forgotten by me, nor was it by those who accompanied me. The red glow of the sun, now setting beyond the distant waste of ice, shone from the west through her two square stern windows, pouring athwart her cabin a sombre and dusky light. Its sides were covered by a damp mould, which was green and thick as moss. Nearly three feet of snow, which had drifted down the companion-hatch, was lying upon its floor; half buried among it and huddled close together in a corner, lay the bodies of three emaciated men, with fur caps tied under their wasted jaws. A blue and ghastly hand that hung over one of the cabin berths announced that a dead man lay there; and seated at the table was another, whose arms, head, and back were half covered by the snow, that had drifted over him after he had sunk into the sleep of death. His coat was old in fashion, with large brass buttons and square pocket-flaps. Amid the snow that covered the table, and amid which his face was hidden, there appeared the necks of one or two square case-bottles--empty. A quill was also standing amid the snow, and seemed to indicate that the dead man had been writing, for it was still in the pewter inkhorn, and near it stood a lamp, used by him probably to keep his ink from freezing. Close by appeared the corner of a book, which I drew with difficulty from amid the frozen snow, and then impelled by a horror, of that cold dark floating grave, like frightened schoolboys we rushed up the cabin-stairs, and regained the deck, just as the last segment of the sun's red disc went down beyond the frozen sea. We stood in a group near the mouldering mainmast, gazing at each other awe-struck, for we had looked on the faces of men who had been dead for years--how many, we knew not. "There is _something moving_ in the forehold!" exclaimed Tom Hammer, the carpenter, while his teeth chattered alike with cold and fear. "Something?" I reiterated. "Ay, sir, and alive, too! Do you hear _that_?" added old Hans Peterkin, in terror. It was a strange, croaking sound; and then, as we approached the half-open hatch of the forehold, we heard the flapping of large wings. Though almost paralysed by hearing such an unwonted sound in such a place, one of our seal-fishers fired his gun in his confusion. I crept forward and peeped fearfully down, but could not distinguish anything amid the gloom below. Then we heard another croak, which sounded so loud and so dreadful to our over-strained organs of hearing that it nearly made us all scamper over the side; when suddenly two giant ravens, who had doubtless long made the empty wreck their home, rose through the fore-hatchway on their black booming pinions, and soaring high into the clear air, winged their way directly to the east, and so swiftly that they soon disappeared. "The land lies where they are flying to," said Reeves. "And it is not far off, as their presence here would indicate," added a seaman. This idea encouraged us all very much, as we forgot that they might have floated with the ice-field for years. We were about to descend into the forehold, but on lifting the other half of the decayed hatch, we found the frozen remains of a man hanging there by the neck, and half devoured by those obscene birds. A capstan-bar had been placed athwart the combing, and to this he had suspended himself by a well-greased rope. Was this unfortunate the last survivor, who, in desperation, had thus awfully ended his misery? His situation seemed to say so. CHAPTER XVIII. LEAVES FROM THE LOG. We repaired to our sledge alongside, and dragging it a little way from the deserted barque, took a ration of grog (of which we stood much in need), and then I proceeded to examine the volume we had brought away. It proved to be the mouldered fragments of a log-book or diary kept by the mate--doubtless the dead man, who was seated on the stern locker, and whose body was reclining on the snow-covered cabin table. From this book we could glean that she was the _Royal Bounty_, a Peterhead whaler, which had been beset in the ice off Cape Desolation in 1801, and that one by one all her crew had perished of cold, hunger, and despair! The thick and crystalline coat of ice which covered every portion of the ship, from her tops to her chain-plates--a coat that had never melted or been disturbed--had protected her rigging, spars, and hull from the natural progress of decay; so let none suppose it marvellous that in a region or atmosphere of eternal snow, bodies are also thus preserved; for frequently the remains of elephants and mammoths which lived before the flood, and of pre-Adamite monsters, are found buried in the Arctic ice, unchanged, undecayed, and entire. At the mouth of the Lena, in Siberia--a river which traverses the vast and uninhabited plains of Asiatic Russia--there was discovered, in 1805, a mammoth entire, with the hair on its skin four inches long, and all of a reddish-black; and so frequently are similar discoveries made along the shores of the Frozen Sea, that the poor Russians believe that race of animals to be still extant in their country, but existing like moles which dwell underground, and cannot endure the light of day; and their exhumation from the ice is ever deemed a forerunner of calamity, as it is said that all who see them die soon after. But to resume. The book was much mouldered and decayed; only a few entries here and there could be traced, as its leaves, now soft and pulpy, perished in our fingers when we attempted to turn them over. A few passages ran thus:-- "March 3rd, 1801; a brisk breeze from the S.W. The Faroe Isles bearing about twenty miles off on our starboard quarter. "At 7 P.M., took in the topgallant sails, and all fore and aft canvas ........ set the ........ "April 4, 8 P.M. Set more canvas--out reefs--set foretopmast and maintopgallant studdingsails. Ice-floes a head. Compasses not working well. The captain ordered ........, and Cairns ........ "9 P.M. Land ahead--supposed to be Cape Farewell. Weather squally. Beset by an ice-field in a strong current running N. and by E. Took in everything fore and aft--sent down the topgallantyards, and brought the masts on deck ........" After a successful whale fishing in latitude 76°-77°, they had been again, or were still, beset. "1st May, 1801; hoisted a garland of false flowers, made by our wives and sweethearts at home in Scotland, between the fore and mainmast........" Then followed days and weeks, to the effect that they were _still beset_. These memoranda were in the handwriting of various persons, and were frequently mingled with earnest prayers for release. Then scurvy appears to have broken out among them, and disease was quickly followed by death. "1802. Birnie from Buchan-ness, off duty, unwell--Birnie's teeth fell out of his head. Willie Cairns from Southhouse Head, off duty, unwell. Poor Birnie died, and was buried in the ice, where the _others_ lie, half a mile off, on the starboard bow. God rest them! "May 6th. Jobson ill with scurvy and blindness--Cairns died, and was buried beside Birnie ........." Many leaves totally illegible followed, till we deciphered a passage like this-- "1802, 4th Dec. The captain died in his berth this day at 8 A.M., and we are too weak to move him. Smith, Arthur, and the cook are dead, or dying of hunger on the cabin floor! We have now been beset two years and twenty-one days. In that time twenty-four men have died out of a crew of nine-and-twenty--no hope! no mercy! My God! where is all this to end? We sailed upon a Friday, and this ........" I shut the book abruptly, for I could perceive in the twilight a blank horror stealing over the pale features of my companions as we stood beside that old vessel--a frozen tomb; and favoured by the light of the rising moon, we proceeded to regain the _Leda_, with all the speed we could exert; for to some it appeared as if our future fate was fearfully foreshadowed in the story of this old doomed whale-ship. Half a mile distant, on her starboard bow, an ice-coated pole was visible. It seemed to indicate where her dead were buried. Hans Peterkin and three others strapped the collar-ropes over their shoulders for the first "spell," and proceeded briskly in front with our sledge of blankets, &c. The rest followed in silence, and only turned from time to time to cast a backward glance at the old whaler, whose decaying spars, coated with ice, glimmered darkly against the starry sky. The moon arose in her full northern splendour--clear, glorious, and wondrous! The sharp summits of the bergs (the ice-mountains that rose from the plains of ice) gleamed and glittered like mighty prisms, or spires, pyramids, and obelisks of crystal and spar. After all we had seen, the dead, the awful stillness of the frozen sea--that snow-clad plain, "the silence of which seemed to come from afar and to go afar," impressed us with deep and solemn emotions. Thus, for several miles we trod gloomily on, equally desirous of reaching the _Leda_ and of leaving far behind the scene of gloom I have described. The spirits of our party were sorely depressed; but Paul Reeves and I did everything in our power, by cheerfulness and anecdotes, to divert the gloomy current of their ideas; though poor Paul was not without fears that a day might come when he would be inserting in the log of the _Leda_, entries similar to those I have quoted from the mouldering volume we had brought away. "We have found a ship of the dead," said he, "but that is nothing! What think you, shipmates, of a whole city full?" "A city full!" reiterated our men. "Not exactly a city like London--but a city, nevertheless." "And where was this?" asked Hans, doubtfully. "I read of it in a book--a real printed book--when I was in South Carolina. There was one Lionel Wafer, an English surgeon, who, having nobody to physic at home, took a voyage with the old buccaneers to the South Seas. Well, on one occasion, his craft was cruising off Vermijo, at the mouth of the Red River, in Peru. It was a wild and solitary place; but he went ashore with a boat's crew, and travelled four miles up the stream in quest of adventures; and there, from the margin of a fine sandy bay, a plain spread inland as wide as this ice-field, all covered with the ruins of streets, built of mighty blocks of stone carved with wonderful sculptures, like those of the Egyptians--only more terrible and quaint; and among these crumbling streets and mansions were thousands of graves half open, with the dead bodies of men, women, and little children in them, all mummified and light as cork, for they had been dead two hundred years or more. "His men were terrified, and fled back to their boat; but on the way they met an old Indian, who related that, in the days of his forefathers, this arid plain had once been fruitful and green as the greenest savannah, and the country so populous, that a fish of the Red River could have been passed through the land from hand to hand, till it was laid at the foot of the throne of the Inca (that was their king, shipmates); but the cruel, murdering Spaniards came, with their guns and bloodhounds, and laid siege to the capital city. Its defence was long and desperate; and rather than yield, the inhabitants slew themselves, and buried each other in the sand, till there was only one man left, and _he_ drowned himself in the Red River. "In after years the stormy winds had blown the dry sand aside, and there the grim Mexicans lay in thousands--the women with the pearls of Vermijo at their ears and round their necks, their little children, their distaffs and hand-mills by their sides, and their long black hair filled with coins and precious stones. There, too, lay the warriors, with their flint axes and broken spears, and the war-paint yet traceable on their mummies. Lionel Wafer brought away the body of a child, but the buccaneers would not admit it on board lest it might bring a plague or a curse upon them; so he threw it into the Rio Grande." This yarn produced others equally lively, of course; but while conversing we got over the dreary waste of hummocks more rapidly, and some time after midnight were welcomed on board the _Leda_, where those whom we had left were burning with curiosity to learn the result of our expedition. The impression of all we had seen was so vivid, that a horror lest the same fate should befal us, made our men suggest and revolve every rash plan for release. The flight of the two ravens eastward indicated that land could not be far off. Hans Peterkin, a hardy Orcadian, who was suffering from scurvy, proposed that if matters grew more desperate, we should travel over the field, taking with us the longboat upon sledge-runners. Some urged that we should bore through the ice with canvas set, while gangs went ahead blasting it up with gunpowder. "Bore and blast through ice twenty feet thick, for a hundred miles, perhaps!" said Hartly, with sorrowful irony. But scurvy continued to increase among us; and on the eighth day after our visit to the ship one of our crew died, and was buried in the ice; while the brig was thrown in mourning, her colours half-mast, her running-gear cast in loose bights, and her yards topped up variously. After his funeral, which had a most depressing effect upon us all, I remarked to Hartly, that either by a strange coincidence or by an irresistible fatality, we had interred him _half a mile distant on the starboard bow_, exactly as the crew of the old whaler had interred _their dead_! CHAPTER XIX. THE GRAVES ON THE STARBOARD BOW. The last of our stone ballast had long since been thrown overboard on the ice, and was replaced by seal skins. We had now a valuable cargo, over which the hatches were barred and battened; but Hartly's hopes for an honest profit on his adventurous expedition were forgotten, or merged in the overwhelming desire for freedom and the safety of our lives and of the brig. Already five deaths were recorded in her log; and Hartly vowed that if ever again her bows cut blue water, he would never more tempt Dame Fortune in _the region of ice_. By this time our monotonous detention had so far exceeded every expectation and contingency; that our beer, rum, and other spirits, our salted beef, preserved meats, and lime-juice were consumed; and though our biscuits were doled out in very small rations indeed, grim starvation was before us, or food composed of seal and blubber alone; so scurvy in its worst forms assailed us all more or less. Our strongest seamen were the first who sank under it: their complexions became yellow, with swollen gums, loosened teeth, and fetid breath. These symptoms were accompanied by a difficulty in respiring, which, on the least exertion being made, amounted almost to suffocation. Two of our gunners died one evening within an hour of each other. We wrapped them in blankets, and buried them quickly, under cloud of night, lest the survivors might be affected by the scene. Hartly, Hans Peterkin, Cuffy, and I performed this melancholy office, when we had no lamp but the twinkling stars and the sharp streamers of the northern lights, shooting upward from the icebergs that edged the plain, over which the wind blew keen and bitingly. Grim seemed the pale faces of the dead in that wavering gloom, as we lowered them into their last home, heaped the ice above them, and returned to the _Leda_, leaving them to sleep the sleep of death among their shipmates _half a mile distant on her starboard bow_. And now with each day there sank a deeper horror over us--the horror that, like the old whaler at the horizon, the _Leda_ was a ship foredoomed! Yet, like her, we had _not_ sailed upon a Friday. We were without a surgeon; but Hartly was a skilful fellow, and by administering such simples as we possessed, he endeavoured to ameliorate the condition of his suffering crew. Common potatoes he washed, cut into thin slices, and gave raw to some, for the cure of their swollen and bleeding gums--usually a sovereign remedy in this case. To others he gave decoctions of tamarinds, scraped from an old gallipot, and boiled with cream of tartar; or a ship biscuit pounded into a panada, and sweetened with sugar; or gargles made of honey of roses and elixir of vitriol; but, ere long, even these remedies failed us; and we had Reeves, Hans Peterkin, and more than half our remaining crew, unable to raise their heads or hands, sick and despairing. The miserable Esquimaux, by scraping the snow from their native rocks, can find coarse berries, sorrel, and cresses, with which to correct their blubber food; but in that world of ice we had no such boon accorded us. Armed with our rifles and knives, I set forth with two of our healthiest men, Dick and James Abbot, two brothers, in search of a few fresh seals, as they had learned to shun our locality, and had ceased to venture through their holes in the ice for some time past. We left the brig about two o'clock, P.M. On this day the wind was blowing hard, the white scud was flying fast through the blue sky, and for the first time we felt a heaving motion in the ice, which warned us instinctively not to venture far from the _Leda_. After a ramble of three hours, we had only shot one seal and knocked two cubs on the head with our rifle-butts, when we sat down on a hummock to rest, at the distance of two miles or so from our ice-bound home. "I wonder much how the masts of that old craft the _Bounty_ have stood these many years?" said Dick Abbot, breaking a long silence. "The coating of ice has saved them, as it has preserved everything on board--from decay, at least," replied his brother. "Always thinking of that ship," said I, with an air of annoyance. "Come, let us talk of something more cheerful. You know that she--but _where is she_?" I added, as we swept the horizon in vain for her--the sole object on which our eyes had rested for so many dreary weeks. "Sunk, by Jove! or can her old spars have gone by the board at last?" exclaimed James Abbot, starting up. In great excitement we clambered to the summit of a mass of ice, and looked around us. Not a vestige of the old barque could be seen, but dense clouds that came heavily up from the north were overspreading the sky, against the blue of which her crystal-coated spars had so long been visible. "We shall have foul weather," said Dick Abbot. "And so they seem to think, sir, aboard the brig," added his brother: "see--they've run the ensign up to the gaff peak as a signal for us to return, Mr. Manly." "But our three seals----" "We must leave them where they are--that big hummock will mark where they lie till to-morrow." "James is right, sir," said Dick Abbot; "let us get back to the brig as fast as we can." "She is two miles distant, at least," said I. "The sky darkens fast; and see--see!" he added, with wild joy expressed in all his features, his eyes, and voice; "the captain expects something--they've cast loose the courses, and are hoisting the topsailyards--THE ICE IS BREAKING UP!" These words made every pulse quicken, and as if in corroboration of his surmise, we felt the field on which we trod agitated by convulsive throes, and these increased as the fierce and darkening blast, armed with showers of hailstones large as peas, that fell aslant the cold grey sky, deepened the atmosphere around us. Madly we toiled, scrambled, and rolled--fell, rose, and fell again--shouted and cheered to each other, as we surmounted the endless succession of glassy hummocks and snowy hollows to reach the _Leda_; but the gloom increased so fast, that in less than half an hour we could no longer distinguish where she lay. We did not feel cold--our brains seemed on fire, our bloodshot eyes were wild and eager in expression, as we toiled on and on--but _where_ was the brig? A misty veil of hail and snow--an atmosphere dark as the twilight of the Scandinavian gods--enveloped us like a curtain. We paused at times in our desperation, and uttered a simultaneous hallo; but no voice replied, no sound responded, save the hiss of the hailstones as they showered on the hard hummocks. Then we heard from time to time a stunning crash, as the field was rent asunder into floes, that were surged and driven against each other with such force as the waves of an irresistible sea can alone exert. To us this crisis was, as I have said, maddening. We tossed away our rifles, shot-belts, knives, bats, and everything that might impede our progress, and toiled in wild despair in search of the _Leda_--but alas, alas! the _Leda_ was nowhere to be seen! "Can we have passed her?" we asked repeatedly. To return was to acknowledge still more that we were at fault. Left upon the breaking ice, with night deepening, and a tempest, perhaps, coming on together; the ice-field rending into floes, and the _Leda_, when last seen, with her topsails loose for sea, and now we knew not where, but assuredly not within call of our united voices, which the envious wind, the very spirit of the wintry storm, swept from our trembling lips, as if in mockery of efforts and struggles so feeble as those of man when contending with the warring elements of God,--how terrible was our situation! Inspired either by the activity of youth, or a greater dread of perishing, I left my companions some twenty yards behind me. In this race for life and death poor Dick Abbot was failing, and his younger brother was loth to leave him a single pace behind. "Mr. Manly," I heard him cry, "take time, please; do you see anything yet, sir--of the brig, I mean?" "Not a vestige," said I, turning to wait until they joined me. The ice was bursting in every direction, and the waves seemed to boil through the yawning rents in snowy foam; vast pieces, like bergs, arose from the water, and were dashed against each other, to sink into the deep, to arise, and then be dashed together again. Add to this the darkness of the gathering night, the roar of the biting wind, and the dense murkiness caused by the hail as it swept through that mighty waste, and the reader may have an idea of the scene when I paused and looked back for my two companions. At that moment the ice heaved beneath my feet, I was thrown forward on my face and almost stunned. There was a terrific splitting sound as the field around us broke into a thousand floes: I found myself separated from my two friends, upon a piece of ice about half a mile square, and borne away with it, despairing and alone, into the mist and darkness of the stormy night. CHAPTER XX. ADRIFT ON THE DEAD FLOE. All was obscurity around me--a chaos of tumbling waves, of crashing ice and hissing hail. I shouted wildly, fiercely, as the dying or despairing alone may shout. A faint response seemed to come through the drift and the hail that was sowing the ice and pathless sea; but it might have been fancy, or my own cry tossed back by the mocking wind. And now from time to time I was covered by the icy _spoondrift_, as the water which the wind sweeps from the wave-tops is named by seamen. For a time I felt the impossibility of realizing the actual horrors of such a situation, and murmured repeatedly-- "Oh, this cannot be reality; if so, it must soon come to an end, and I shall be dead!" The floe on which I sat surged and rolled heavily, as it was rasped, dashed against others, and whirled round in the eddies they made. On its slippery surface I was driven hither and thither, even when seated; and at last, on finding myself among some large stones which were frozen into the snow, and which I knew to be a portion of the brig's ballast, I shuddered with instinctive dread when discovering that I was adrift on that portion of the ice in which our dead were buried, and which had lain on her starboard bow. Thus I learned that at the moment of my separation from the Abbots, I had been within half a mile of the _Leda_. There was agony in this now useless conviction! "Am I to find a grave here, after all?" was my thought. If I could live till dawn, the crew of the _Leda_ (if she, too, survived the night) might see and save me; but who could live on an ice-floe through so many freezing hours? After a time the wind lulled, the hail ceased, the clouds were divided in heaven, and a star or two shone in its blue vault. The ice-blocks ceased to crash against the floe, thus its motion became steadier, and under the lee of a hummock, I endeavoured to keep myself as warm as my upper garments, which were entirely composed of seal-skins, would enable me. The moon was rising, and its fitful light added to the chaotic terrors of the scene around me. To be alone--_alone_ upon a floe at midnight, with the open sea rolling around me! All seemed over with me now. I felt that my sufferings could not last long, as I should certainly pass away in the heavy slumber of those who perish by exhaustion and intensity of cold. In spite of this horrible thought, I gradually became torpid. I had been, perhaps, an hour in this situation, when I seemed suddenly to start to life, as a bank of vapour close by parted like a crape curtain, and the moonbeams fell upon the white canvas of a vessel. She was a brig--she was the _Leda_, under weigh, and distant from the floe not more than one hundred yards! She was under sail, with her foreyards aback to deaden her way, as she was rasping along a lee of ice-floes and _brash_, as the smaller fragments are technically named. The weather had now become so calm, that her canvas, which glittered white as snow in the moonshine, was almost, as the sailors say, _asleep_, there being just sufficient wind to keep it from waking. I endeavoured to shout, but my tongue was paralysed as if in a nightmare; sobs only came from my heart, and I thought all sense would leave me, as the brig, like a spectre, came slowly gliding past. Again and again I endeavoured to hail her, but in vain. I rushed to the edge of the floe, at the risk of slipping off it into the sea. Then a faint shout reached my ear, and made my heart throb with joy. Those on deck could not hear my voice, but they had seen my figure in the moonlight; and in a few minutes I beheld a boat shoved off from her, and heard the cheerful voice of old Hans Peterkin, crying with his Orkney _patois_-- "Quick, my lads--lay out on your oars!" as they pulled through the rack and drift towards me. I was soon dragged on board the boat, and on reaching the deck of the _Leda_, fainted, after all I had undergone, and the joy of escaping a death so terrible. The last sounds I remember were the voice of Hartly welcoming me, and the jarring of the yards and braces, as the foreyards were filled, and the brig payed off bravely before the gentle breeze. Of my unfortunate companions, no trace was ever seen! CHAPTER XXI. CAPE FAREWELL. For three days our course was encumbered by masses of broken ice, which seemed to crowd upon and follow us; thus the brig was constantly being put about or thrown in the wind, backing and filling to avoid the large floes and calves, as those treacherous pieces of sunken or detached ice which suddenly rush to the surface are named. To avoid the lesser floes, we had often to carry a warp to a large one, and track along its side. The cheerful voice of Hartly might always be heard encouraging the faint and weary on these occasions. "Now, my lads--tally on! bowse away upon the guess-warp!" "Hurrah!" the men would answer, as they pulled together vigorously. "Once more we are afloat, Jack," said he to me, on the third morning. "I began to fear we should berth all our ship's company in the ice that lay on the starboard bow; but now we may sit cosily in the cabin, as of yore, and learn how her head lies by the _tell-tale_ compass that swings in the skylight." Again at sea, our sick recovered as if by a miracle; but still many antidotes against scurvy were requisite before we could haul up for the long voyage that lay between us and St. John. I caught a few fish, and they formed a delicious change for Cuffy's fricasees of odious blubber, served up half cold in a greasy mess-kid. Once more there was a reckoning to keep. For a few cloudy days we had merely kept a dead one, by log and compass; but on making a solar observation, Hartly and Reeves found that they were many hundred miles eastward of where they expected to be; and this was a circumstance over which they had no control. It is well-known that a current which comes down Davis' Straits eddies round the east coast of Greenland. By this we had been borne towards its western shore with great rapidity. In 1818, the _Anne_, of Poole, when beset by an ice-field, was thus drifted at the rate of two hundred and twenty miles per day! Early on the morning of the fourth day, the sea was pretty clear of floes; but a dense and dusky fog-bank came down like a curtain, and seemed to float upon the water, about twenty miles from us. We had suffered considerably in our besetting, and by concussions among the floes; so, as the morning was calm and sunny, Hartly had all hands at work, tarring, painting, and repairing our various damages. A spare jib-boom was shipped, and it was soon taut with its heel-rope and jib-guys; our rudder was finally repaired, and two new staysails were being bent, when there was a cry of "land" from aloft. "Land in sight!" shouted Hans Peterkin, who was out on the arm of the fore-topgallant yard, repairing something. "Lad!--where?" asked Hartly, snatching his telescope from the companion. "On the lee quarter, sir." "You must have deuced good eyes, Hans," said the captain, sweeping along the fog-bank with his glass; "for nothing like land can I see!" "The bank is rising, sir," replied the Orcadian, as he sat jauntily astride his lofty perch, and pointed to the east. "I see either an island or headland." Even while he spoke, the dense mountain of vapour, behind which the morning sun was shining, rose slowly from the surface of the sea, and with the naked eye we could see, at the far horizon, a low dark streak, that ended in a bluff or promontory Hartly sharply closed his telescope. "Luff, Paul--keep your luff," said he; "lie closer to the wind, while I prick off our place on the chart." He hurried below; but soon returned, saying, "That is either Cape Farewell, or I am bewitched." "Off the coast of Greenland?" said I. "No, _on_ the coast of Greenland," he replied, laughing. "And now, as the ice and current have driven us so near it in spite of our teeth, we may as well stand in for the shore, and get some fresh provisions, before bearing up for Newfoundland." A careful examination of the chart proved that we had drifted, or been driven (in our endeavours to avoid the floes) to latitude 59° 48' North, and were in longitude 43° 54' West of Greenwich, consequently, the land we saw was undoubtedly Cape Farewell, a lofty promontory which forms the most southern extremity of Greenland. With considerable satisfaction we stood in towards the shore, in the hope of obtaining supplies from some of the Moravian settlements. About four hours after, some of the natives who were fishing came about us in their strange boats, which are made of whalebone covered with seal-skin, and shaped like a weaver's shuttle, so that they may be rowed any way. By sunset we were close upon the land, and came to anchor several miles north of the cape in a little cove of Nennortalik, or the Isle of Bears, where, as Reeves said jestingly, we had no _groundage_ to pay for letting go our cable; and there the wondering population of the little Moravian colony received us with acclamation. The canvas was handed and most of the crew were allowed to go on shore, with instructions to return with as much scurvy-grass as they could collect; for with this herb, like Baffin, the voyager of old, Hartly proposed to brew scurvy-beer for his patients. CHAPTER XXII. THE MUSK-OX. Rejoicing that we trod on firm land once more, Paul Reeves, Hans Peterkin, and I set off to shoot on the great Island of Sermesoak, which is divided from the mainland of Greenland by the Fin Whale Strait, while Hartly arranged with the Danish resident at the village for such supplies of fresh food as a place so poor could afford. Leaving the Isle of Bears, we ran our boat into a creek called Cunninghame's Haven, from John Cunninghame, a Scotsman, who was Admiral of Denmark, and who, on his return from Davis' Straits, in 1605, appeared off Greenland with three ships, and carried away some of the natives, whom he presented to Christian IV., together with a chain weighing twenty-six ounces, formed of fine silver, found by him among the rocks at a place still named Cunninghame's Fiord. With all our anxiety to add to the fresh provisions on board, we were not without a desire to encounter some of the bears with which one always associates the name of Greenland; and ere twenty-four hours elapsed, I was certainly gratified to the fullest extent in that way. The people of Sermesoak were then in consternation, owing to the depredations of a fierce herd of Bruins which had crossed the strait from the mainland, and devoured many of their children, dogs, and reindeer. These bears are as revengeful and subtle as they are savage. "Some years ago," says a traveller, "the crew of a boat belonging to a ship in the whale-fishery shot at a bear and wounded it. The animal immediately uttered the most dreadful howl, and ran along the ice towards the boat. Before he reached it a second shot hit him; this, however, served but to increase his fury. He presently swam to the boat, and in attempting to get on board, placed one of his fore-feet on the gunnel; but a sailor, having a hatchet in his hand, cut it off. The animal still continued to swim after them, till they arrived at the ship; several shots were fired at him which took effect, but on reaching the ship he ascended to the deck; and the crew having fled into the shrouds, he was actually pursuing them _thither_ when a shot laid him lifeless on the deck." Allured by the odour of the seal oil, they had surrounded and broken into the dwellings of the natives in herds, and devoured them in their beds; and numerous stories of these terrible _raids_ were told to Hans (who knew something of the language) by the people of Sermesoak, as we set out on our expedition. We shot several white hares, and consigned them to a large canvas bag which Hans had slung over his shoulder. In our sporting ardour we penetrated several miles into the country, and in making a détour to beat up for nobler game, I lost my companions among the furze-covered rocks of a ravine. Dusk was coming on, and, wearied with halloing, I sat down to look around me. I was quite alone and in a strange place, but more safe and comfortable in every way than when I was alone on the ice-floe. Though in a foreign and barbarous country, this reflection set my mind completely at ease. A wild and dreary scene lay around me. Mountains piled on mountains of stern rock rose on every side, covered with snow unmarked by footstep, track, or road. No trees were growing there and no verdure was visible, save some patches of short grass and moss where the wind had torn the snow from the rocky surface. It seemed as if the icy breath of the Northern Sea, when it swept through the Fin Whale Strait, destroyed all vegetable nature; and as for the flowers of spring, one might as well have looked for them on an iceberg. Why that country was named the _Green_land, Heaven only knows! In 1610, Jonas Pool, a whaling captain, called it King James' Newland, from James VI. of Scotland; but that name was soon forgotten. Above me impended a bluff of sullen aspect, the rifts of which formed the eyrie of myriads of white sea-gulls and birds like the great Solan goose of the Scottish isles; and these were whirring, screaming, and booming on their broad pinions, as they came home from the shore. As the shadows deepened, even these sounds ceased, and nothing met the ear but the croak of a lonely raven which sat on a granite boulder. Far away in distance, down below me, stretched the headlands which jutted into the deep blue waters of the Whale Strait--starting up in fantastic pinnacles and precipitous ridges, like the towers and turrets of crumbling castles. These walls of rock were black and sombre, though their summits were crowned by eternal snow. From the mountains the sleet and melting snows of ages have long since washed away every grain of earth; hence, no verdure can spring there, and their rugged fronts present the most harsh and singular outlines. The higher ridges are rendered inaccessible by glaciers; and when the snows melt from their gloomy lichened fronts, long and silvery runnels, that seem like threads in the distance, trickle down the precipices; then winter comes again, converting these runnels into ice, which splits and rends the hardest rock to fragments, that roll with the sound of thunder down the steep glaciers into the valleys below. Leaning on my gun, I was surveying this wild and dreary scene, and careless alike of the cold and the coming night, was lost in reverie, when a sound aroused me, and on looking up, I saw close by an animal of strange form, such as I had never seen before, even in a menagerie. It was larger than a pony, but had singularly short limbs, which were almost entirely concealed by the long dark hair that covered all its body, and reached nearly to the ground. It had a short tail, and large crooked horns of powerful aspect, with a mass of hair like a horse's mane hanging beard-wise under its throat. A very strange sensation comes over one on beholding an unknown animal for the first time, and on this musk-ox--for such it was--approaching, with its large projecting eyes glaring, and while shaking those formidable horns, by which it can encounter and slay the bear and walrus, astonishment soon gave place to alarm, and I regretted more than ever the absence of my two comrades. The ox was only a pistol-shot distant, so, with my heart beating quickly--as I knew not what the sequel might be--I levelled my gun, and fired full at its head. The animal uttered a bellowing roar, bounded furiously forward, and fell motionless on its side. The ball had pierced its brain. With a thousand echoes, the report of my gun rang among the hills of rock, peak after peak seeming to catch the sound and toss it from one to the other, until it died away on the wind that blew through the Fin Whale Strait. I was not without hope that the sound might reach Reeves and Hans Peterkin, and guide them towards me; but I hoped in vain. The ox I had slain was one of the largest of the Musk species, and might have weighed, perhaps, seven hundredweight. It would, I knew, prove a most acceptable addition to our scanty stores on board the _Leda_; moreover, I was not a little vain of having slain, by a single ball, an animal so large and so little known by Europeans; but _how_ to get it conveyed to the brig, or how to guide any of our crew to the spot where it lay, were puzzling queries. I observed that at the distance of a hundred yards from it, there rose a steep and rugged rock, cleft into three singular peaks, so lofty as to be visible from a great distance. Conceiving this to be a sufficient landmark, I reloaded my gun, and resolved, if possible, to discover Cunninghame's Haven, where our boat lay. Without a track, a road, or native to guide me, I toiled over the steep and rugged mountains, and through ravines and hollows half filled with drifted snow, steering my way by the stars in that direction which I conceived might lead me to our boat. To enhance the wildness and gloomy grandeur of the scenery, there now came a wondrous and fan-shaped light over all the clear cold blue of the northern sky--a glorious Aurora Borealis. This light, sent by Heaven to cheer the lone denizens of that frozen wilderness, spread a rich and wavering glow over all the northern firmament, playing in streaks or lines that alternately faded away, and resumed their dazzling brilliance. These alternations fill with awe the simple Greenlander, who calls them the _Merry Dancers_, and who deems, "By the streamers that shoot so bright, The spirits are riding the Northern light." At times, the whole sky seemed a blaze of diamond-like light, tinged with rainbow hues, and in front of these, the stern rocks, crags, and mountains stood forth in sharp black outline. Ever and anon, an electrical meteor shot athwart the sky, leaving, as these falling stars always do, a train of momentary light. Frequently the long streamers played across this luminous white radiance as if a mighty fan were being opened and shut, or like the spokes of some revolving wheel whose axle was at the Pole. Then a burst of glory would open in the zenith, and for a moment every feature in the desolate landscape and the far-stretching vista of the Whale Strait between its walls of rocks would be distinctly visible. Alone in that sterile solitude, I gazed upon the Aurora with emotions of mingled awe and wonder, turning again and again to the north, as I stumbled over rocks and frozen snow piles in my efforts to discover a path that led to Cunninghame's Haven; so the result was this--that after more than an hour of toil, I found that I had been proceeding in a circle, and came back to the place from whence I had set out, the bluff with the three pinnacles, at the foot of which my musk-ox was lying; but there a very singular scene presented itself, for my property had already been converted into a banquet by two denizens of the wilderness. CHAPTER XXIII. THE FOUR BEARS. On first approaching, I imagined that a heap of snow had fallen from the upper rocks on the dead ox, and advanced so close that I was only twenty paces from it before discovering in my supposed snow-heap two enormous white bears who were rending the body asunder with their giant claws as one might rend a chicken, and were devouring it with all the gusto of an appetite whetted by the frosty air. To add to my dismay at this unexpected rencontre, I perceived close by, some portions of a human body, half-devoured--red, raw, and appalling! A horror came over me, suggesting that this victim might be either Paul Reeves or Hans Peterkin; and it was not until some time after, that I was assured, by fragments of the dress which remained, that the unfortunate was a Greenlander, whom they had crushed to death and dragged away. Pausing in their banquet, these savage brutes, which were of enormous size, uttered a hoarse growl, and while their black nostrils seemed to snuff the breeze, their deep-set eyes surveyed me ominously. My gun had but a single barrel, thus if I killed one bear I might fall a prey to the other before there was time to reload; and if my first shot missed, my fate would be sealed by both, as they were certain to crush and devour me between them! Turning, I fairly fled up the rocks towards the three pinnacles, pursued by the bears, whose progress was slow, as they were evidently gorged by their double repast on the dead man and the musk-ox. Twice I stumbled in my flight, and fell heavily on my hands and face. My breath came thickly and fast, and my long seal-skin boots and overalls, which were strapped up to a waistbelt, greatly incommoded me; but love of life and dread of a horrible death are sharp incentives to exertion and activity; thus I struggled to gain a cleft in the rocks, from whence I might turn and shoot down these unwieldy monsters at vantage and at leisure, while they trotted laboriously after me, uttering a succession of deep and menacing growls. I had left them nearly fifty yards behind, while clambering up the slope, terrified every instant lest by slipping on the ice-covered rocks I might roll down under their very paws. Already I was within twenty feet of the cleft, beyond which the dazzling gleam of the Aurora played, when a hoarser growl saluted my ears; and there--there--above me in the cleft--in the very haven I was toiling to reach, appeared a huge brown bear, squatted on his hams, licking his great red lips, and quietly waiting my approach! Bewildered by this new enemy, taken in front and rear, for a moment I remained irresolute, with my rifle cocked, but not knowing which to shoot before I met the rest with my weapon clubbed; and now to add still more to my dismay and peril, a _fourth_ bear appeared, advancing from another point! The monster in the cleft above me, now began to utter hoarse and savage roars, in anticipation of my destruction, which seemed certain; for those northern bears are so cruel and rapacious, that the female secludes her cubs (of which she never has more than two at a litter) from the male, lest he should devour them during the first month of their blindness. I leave the reader to judge of my emotion on finding my single self opposed to _four_ such antagonists; for the white Greenland bears are double the size of those melancholy looking brown brutes whom one may see dancing in the streets at home, being generally about twelve feet long. I was blindly desperate, yet my heart did not entirely fail; and I felt forcibly "how an influence beyond our control lays its strong hand on every deed we do, and weaves its iron tissue of necessity." Clambering up the flinty face of the rocks to elude the three, finding footing where, under circumstances less exciting, I might have found none, I ascended resolutely towards the bear which stood in the cleft snuffing the air, roaring, and showing his glistening teeth. Already his hot and fetid breath began to taint the air about me. I was within six feet of him, when, taking an aim there was no doubt would be true, I fired, and the conical ball pierced deeply into his vast chest. Maddened by pain, Bruin made a wild bound at me, but missed his mark, as I crouched low; so he rolled, dead I suppose, to the bottom of the rocks, in his progress tumbling over one of those which were in pursuit of me. Springing into the cleft he had so lately occupied, I hastened to reload, and defend my position, for only one brute at a time could assail me, unless there were, as I feared, others among the rocks in my rear. Now what were my emotions on discovering that in my exertions, while struggling up the rocks, the strap of my shot-belt had given way, and that I had _lost_ it, with all my ammunition! A wild perplexity filled my heart, and a cold perspiration burst over my temples; but at that moment of desperation a happy thought occurred to me. Remembering that I had a long clasp-knife, which opened and shut with a spring, I applied it in bayonet-fashion to my rifle, and with my handkerchief lashed it hard and fast to the muzzle and ramrod head. This was barely accomplished, when one of the bears had its fore-paws on the edge of the rock whereon I stood, and by the light of the stars I could see his fierce red eyes, his long white teeth, and enormous claws, while burying my impromptu bayonet thrice in his great broad breast, and then the blood flowed darkly over his pure white coat. The wounds were not deep enough to kill him at once, so uttering roar after roar, the infuriated bear scraped away with his hind feet, making vigorous but ineffectual efforts to reach me, till by a furious kick I drove one of his paws off the ledge of rock. The other relaxed immediately, and then Bruin rolled like a great featherbed to the bottom, about thirty feet below, where he moved no more. But in a moment a second bear took his place. Emotion almost exhausted me; but in my confusion when charging him, fortunately my knife was thrust into his right eye. He uttered a hideous cry, between a bellow of rage and a moan of agony, and fell down the rocks--also dead! The weapon had evidently penetrated to the brain, and killed him. A wild and joyous glow now filled my heart. It was a triumphant emotion, a lust for destruction and revenge, after the terror I had endured; and I believe that had a whole army of bears appeared, I should, without fear, have encountered them--one by one. Uttering a "hurrah" just as the fourth bear arrived at my feet, I was about to charge him as I had done the others when--oh, terror!--the knotting of my handkerchief gave way, and the knife dropped from the muzzle of my gun, and fell to the bottom of the rocks. Clubbing the weapon, I rained a torrent of blows upon the great head of this new assailant, which seemed the largest and most ferocious of them all, as he probably had neither partaken of the poor Greenlander or of that most unlucky musk-ox, the slaying of which had no doubt brought me into this perilous predicament; but my blows fell on his fur-covered skull as harmlessly as they would have fallen on a bale of cotton. Furiously I struck with butt and barrel at his broad black nose and great round paws, the deadly claws of which grasped the rock with the tenacity of iron hooks. Bruin uttered neither roar nor other sound, but concentrating all his energies, drew up his hams, made a vigorous spring, and in a moment I was dashed to the ground--his hot and horrible breath was in my nostrils and on my face, while his weight pressed me down as he prepared to hug or crush me to death. But now a gun-shot rang between the rocks of the deep chasm, and I found myself suddenly freed. Pierced through the heart by a single well-aimed ball, the bear rolled over me dead, a quivering mass of flesh and fur! So severely was I stunned by the shock of Bruin's attack, and so confused by the whole combat, that some minutes elapsed before I had sufficient strength or breath to thank my preserver, to whom I might as well have spoken in Greek or Choctaw, as he proved to be a poor Greenlander who had never heard a word of English before. CHAPTER XXIV. WOLMAR FYNBÖE. After various efforts to make ourselves mutually understood, he said something in a kind of jargon which resembled German, and as I had learned that language at home for commercial rather than literary purposes, we contrived to converse, though not with great fluency, using grimaces and signs when words failed us, which was a circumstance of frequent occurrence. He informed me that he had been searching for a friend who came forth to hunt for a musk-ox, which had been seen in their district, and who he feared had fallen a victim to its horns or the bear's paws. "I shot the musk-ox," said I; "and as for your friend, I fear your surmises are only too correct, for the half-devoured remains of a dead man are lying at the foot of these rocks just now." He hurried to the base of the precipice, where I was too exhausted to follow him, and by the sounds of rage and lamentation which preceded his return, I was assured that his friend or kinsman had been the victim of these rapacious brutes. This comforted me, however, with the conviction that the remains were neither those of Paul Reeves nor old Peterkin, our second mate. But, meantime, where were they? The Greenlander rejoined me, with my shot-belt and gory knife, which he found among the rocks. He thanked me for so amply avenging his friend's death on his destroyers, and proceeded at once to calculate the value of the four skins and eight hams of the bears. He invited me to his house, which he said was not far off, adding that his name was Wolmar Fynböe; that he was a merchant who exported to Europe seal-skins, the horns of the sea-unicorn, whalebone, and blubber; bartering these, and the skins of blue and white foxes, hares, and bears, for knives and guns, shot, tobacco, barley, beer and brandy, &c.; that he had once been as far as Kiobenhaven,[*] but did not like the manners of the _kablunaet_ (foreigners), who were but half men when compared to the Greenlanders; for national vanity is a great characteristic of these poor people, as it is of many others even less civilized. [*] Copenhagen. Like the Lapps, he wore a long pelisse of untanned reindeer skin, having a hood like a friar's cowl attached thereto, and buttons of walrus teeth. His hose, boots, and breeches, which were all in one, were of the same material, but decorated at the sides by bunches of thongs and tufts of white bearskin. Thus, but for his fair complexion, he might have passed very well for an Esquimau of the Labrador coast. I gladly committed myself to his guidance. We soon reached his house, a dwelling of singular aspect, built on the slope of a snow-covered hill which overlooked the Fin Whale Strait, on the waters of which the rays of the northern Aurora were still playing with wondrous beauty; and from thence he dispatched some of his men to bring home the remains of his friend, the dead bears, and the head of the musk-ox. We were received at the door by an old servant, a woman of fearful aspect, also dressed in skins; but these were adorned by stripes of red and blue leather to indicate her sex. She was aged, and being of "the _old_ school"--for there is one there, even in Greenland--she was tattooed as completely as if she had been a denizen of Nootka Sound. Aloft in her hand, which resembled a crow's talons, she held a lamp to light us into an inner apartment, where Wolmar Fynböe introduced me to his daughters, two girls dressed in skins; but these were neatly adorned with variously-coloured leather, especially about the moccassins which encased their trim legs. Their dresses were cut low at the neck, either to reveal its whiteness (for females have vanity even in that region of ice), or to display their under garments, which were formed of the skins of little birds, ingeniously preserved, sewn together, and worn with the soft feathers next the skin. Wolmar Fynböe was the tallest man in Greenland, yet he measured only five feet; and though deemed handsome, he had all the peculiarities of his race--to wit, a paunchy figure, a broad flat visage, of a brown brick-dust colour; small eyes, thick lips, and coal-black locks, that waved upon his shoulders like those of a gnome. Nevertheless, his daughters Grethe and Alfa had rather regular features, clear complexions, and long brown hair, their mother having been a woman of Iceland. They were preparing a supper of _grod_ (Danish), a species of food made of oats or barley, and eaten with butter and milk, when their father's entrance with a _stranger_--a being more seldom seen than mermaids and gnomes, by common report--startled them so much, that some time elapsed before they could resume their occupation, and swing upon the fire the great pot-stone kettle containing the aforesaid _grod_ with my assistance--in proffering which I won the hearts of all, politeness to females being rather a rarity on the shore of the Fin Whale Strait. The large fire burned brightly and cheerily, being composed of drift-wood; for upon that barren coast, in addition to the stranded wrecks of Scottish and Russian whalers, are found at times the spoil of the Great Gulf Stream, the palmettoes of South America, and, covered with weeds and barnacles, the vast logs that whilome cast the shadows of their foliage on the lovely Bay of Honduras. By this strange current the spoils of Virginia and Carolina are also cast on the shores of Iceland, and by it the main-mast of H.M.S. _Tilbury_, which was burned in Jamaica, was thrown upon the western coast of Scotland. After having fed so long upon the spoils of the ice--the odds and ends of seals and blubber--I made a veritable banquet with the worthy merchant and his two daughters. Then we had the luxury of hot brandy-and-water thereafter--the Ganymede who served us being, ugh! the old tattooed woman. I have mentioned that the mansion of Weimar Fynböe presented a curious aspect, but this arose from the circumstance of its being (as he informed me) built from the remains of an old whale-ship of large dimensions, which had been cast away in the Fin Whale Strait about one hundred and fifty years ago. Her ribs and timbers formed the roof and uprights of the walls; on these the outer and inner sheathing were bolted or pegged anew, and filled-in between with moss and turf. The lockers in which her cabin stores had been placed were our seats, the beds were her berths; the room of the fur-clad Grethe and Alfa was merely separated from ours by an old bulkhead, in the centre of which a cabin door was hinged. The four stern-windows were framed into the wall, a luxury, a piece of splendour, in Greenland, where the casements are usually formed of the entrails of seals and dolphins dried, and neatly stitched together. Some faded charts were nailed on the wall as pictures. An old musket or two, and a pinchbeck watch, were nearly all that now remained of the spoil found in the ship, which had been deserted by her crew; but from none of these relics could her name or country be discerned, though I supposed her to have been English from the circumstance of a Bible and little book in that language having been found in her by the grandfather of Wolmar Fynböe, who built his house from her materials. The "little book" Wolmar showed me. It was a curious black-letter pamphlet, printed at London in the time of Charles II., and in Dutch types. I took a particular fancy for it, as it contained the relation of a perilous voyage performed by a ship which belonged to the Seven United Provinces. Wolmar Fynböe offered to barter it for the horns of the musk-ox; but I assured him that he was welcome alike to the entire head, the bears' skins, and hams to boot. To this he agreed at once, conceiving, probably, that one who parted so readily with spoil did not deserve to possess any; so I retired with my literary acquisition (the contents of which I shall give to the reader elsewhere), begging Wolmar Fynböe to have me summoned betimes in the morning, as I was most anxious to reach Cunninghame's Haven, and rejoin my friends on board the _Leda_. CHAPTER XXV. ADIEU TO THE REGION OF ICE. Next morning I was up early, my bed not being exactly so luxurious as I could have wished; and there was about everything that overpowering odour of blubber which pervades a Greenland household. For breakfast, Grethe brought in a gaily-painted Muscovite bowl, full of warm milk, and a hot barley-cake, made by Alfa. Her father soon after brought my gun, cleaned and oiled; and then bidding adieu in rather symbolical language to his daughters, we set forth into the clear, cold atmosphere of the young May morning--for we were now in what is deemed in kindlier climes the second month of summer--but as yet no sun was visible. Far away in distance stretched the Fin Whale Strait, towards Kalla Fiord, which opens into the Icy Sea; its broken scenery, its splintered crags, its lofty bluffs and pinnacles, exhibiting the most singular combinations of light and shadow in the yellow blaze of the yet unrisen sun. The summits seemed tipped with fire, while the bases which rose sheer from the still, deep waters of the waveless strait were dark and sombre as ebony. Waveless it truly was, save where broken by the knoblike head of a blackfin-whale, as he swam against the wind, and blew clouds of water into the air. As we proceeded, I could perceive that Wolmar Fynböe, though merry and good-humoured, like all Greenlanders was deeply imbued with superstitions dark and gloomy as those of the Scandinavian Edda. Leaning on his hunting-spear, he pointed to a rock in the strait, saying that his mother's sister Alfa (from whom he named his youngest daughter) was wont to see a handsome young merman seated thereon, every time she came to the beach to gather shell-fish or dry nets. "A merman!" I reiterated, believing that I had not heard him correctly. "A merman," continued Fynböe, emphatically. "His curling beard was green, and his features, like those of the _Innuit_ (Greenlanders), were as soft and pleasing as his manner was mild and persuasive. He took her by the hand, and after their fourth meeting led her under the sea, where she lived with him at the bottom of the Fin Whale Strait for a great many years, and never grew less beautiful, though she frequently pined for the dwelling of her mother, whom at times she could behold from the windows of her watery home, every summer when the ice-floes floated out to sea, and the young whales came to play about the headlands in the sunny waves. "One summer came, but the old woman appeared no more on the slope of the hill; and then Alfa knew that her sorrowing mother had gone to the Island of the Dead. "Alfa dwelt with the merman, till one night as he was sporting about in the moonbeams amid the waters of the strait, Grön Jette, the wild huntsman, who once in every year comes over the sea at midnight out of Denmark, slew him by a blow of his lance, as he sped with his yelling hounds and fierce black horses over land and ocean towards the north, where the bright streamers were dancing. "The spell was thus broken; and the young girl found herself turned suddenly into an old woman, seated on the same rock where, twenty years before, the merman had wooed and won her; but now seven well-grown children with fish-tails, and hair that was half green like her husband's and half golden like her own, were swimming about in the flood before her, weeping for her return. So, to rejoin them, she plunged in and was drowned--for the spell of the merman's presence was no longer around her. Next day I found her body floating in the strait, and by a string of crystals round her neck, knew her to be the sister my mother had lost twenty years before. We bore her to the Island of the Dead; and as we use no coffins, like the red-haired Danes, we heaped up stones to hide her from view; but a bear swam off from Sermesoak, tore our gathered heap asunder, and devoured her!" Wolmar Fynböe rehearsed this strange story with the utmost good faith; for he was simple enough to believe that Torngarsück, the God of Greenland--a spirit which, though no larger than one's thumb, at times assumes the form of a gigantic white bear--dwelt at the bottom of the Whale Strait, with his wife the Demon of Evil, guarded by droves of narwhals and ferocious seals, and surrounded by vast lamps filled with train-oil, in which the sea-birds swam by night. With many a strange story of witches, and conflicts with whales, walruses, and with devils that sailed through the air and changed themselves into snowdrifts to overwhelm belated hunters, he beguiled the way, until we reached Cunninghame's Haven, where I found Paul Reeves and Hans Peterkin awaiting me in considerable anxiety, and irresolute whether to put off for the Bear Isle and report to Hartly that I had been lost, or to return once more in search of me. I now gave the honest Greenlander two crown pieces, as neck amulets for each of his daughters (among whose descendants they may become heirlooms for ages), and bidding him farewell, we stepped into our boat, which was well stocked with game--a large white bear, a pile of hares, and several brace of birds shot by the two mates. Then we shoved off to join the _Leda_, and Wolmar Fynböe, ever and anon pausing to look after us, slowly ascended the cliffs, assisted by his harpoon-shaped hunting spear, and at last disappeared on the path to his half-barbarous and wholly secluded home. In two hours after, we reached the _Leda_, which had her courses loose, a signal for sea. Our quota of provisions proved a very acceptable addition to those obtained by Hartly from the Danish resident. "Bravo, Jack!" said he, as we hoisted the bear on board, "our victualling department is complete now, and if this wind holds we shall weigh an hour before sunset." "But the victualling--of what does it consist?" "The dainties--the luxuries of Greenland!" "Indeed," said I, doubtfully. "In exchange for a few hundred seal-skins, and some kegs of rancid blubber, we have got pickled bear's flesh, bull-heads, gulls and belugas, salmon-trout, and reindeer tongues, hares and partridges in pickle, with a few tubs of whortleberries, preserved in oil. We shall have the white bear in the cabin to ourselves." "Why?" "Sailors won't eat white bear hams?" "But why?" "They assert that the flesh makes their hair grey. We have also a cask of sorrel preserved in blubber." "Ugh! of course; but for what purpose?" "As a preservative against scurvy. And now up blue-peter, man the windlass, and heave short on the anchor!" We sailed an hour before sunset; and ere the pale white moon rose from the sea, the jagged pinnacles of Sermesoak and the stormy bluff of Cape Farewell were melting into the brilliant sky astern, while our sailors sang cheerily as they hoisted the working anchor on board, unbent the chain-cable and stowed it in the tier. The month being May we had the light of the sun nearly all night, though in the daytime he only rises thirty-three degrees above the horizon. However, we lit our binnacle lamps when he set, the sails were trimmed for a south-west course, and now we fairly bore away into the mighty ocean, and bade adieu for ever to the REGION OF ICE. CHAPTER XXVI. A SHARK. For the fourth time during our rambling voyage, the _Leda_ was again free and under sail upon the blue and boundless sea. I cannot describe the emotions of joy with which, after our recent long imprisonment amid the waste of ice we gazed upon its buoyant ripples shining in the sun of May. Its broad vast bosom of resplendent blue--a blue so indicative of immensity--that spread far away beyond the dim horizon, flecked with tiny floes of ice, seemed as the mirror wherein we could trace the future. It was freedom, it was the high road to our homes, to sunshine and the genial south. Everything was set that would draw--royals, flying jib, and studding-sails, as we bore on with a breeze, which, though keen, cold, and cutting, enabled us soon to leave the clime of frost and suffering, bears and icebergs far astern. On the second day we passed a ship waterlogged and dismasted, battered, and abandoned. Her boats, bulwarks, and everything had been swept from her decks. We bore down upon her, but there was no sign of life on board, so we hauled our wind again and left her to drift, where she would no doubt prove a prize, on the sterile coast of Greenland. One day a shark followed us with singular pertinacity, eluding every shot we fired at his black dorsal fin from our rifles and sealing guns, till Hans Peterkin, who was skilful in the use of the harpoon, evidently wounded the monster by a well-directed blow over our stern quarter, after which our enemy disappeared. Old Hans exulted considerably in his victory, but awoke that night in the midst of a frightful dream, and alarmed all his shipmates by crying out that a shark was devouring him. "Take care, Hans," grumbled Tom Hammer, as he turned in his hammock, annoyed on being roused from a sound sleep, "don't be falling overboard, for it is my belief that Jack Shark is in the dead water astern yet, looking out for his revenge." This passed as a joke at the time, but next day it had a singular sequel. We were almost becalmed. From being light and variable, the wind had nearly died away. The sea was smooth as if oil covered all its surface; the listless canvas hung asleep, or flapped heavily as the masts swayed to and fro, the reef points pattering, as the _Leda_ rolled lazily on the long glassy ridges that swelled up and shone in the meridian sun. Amid the general apathy which such a state of matters produces on board of a ship, we were roused by the cry of "a dolphin alongside;" and though these fish are generally met in droves, when the waves are breaking and the wind blowing fresh, one was seen rising and sinking, as if sporting in the sunshine. Immediately Hans appeared on the bowsprit, armed with his Orkney harpoon, a long spear pointed with barbed iron. Rapidly he bent the line to the foreganger of his weapon, and grasping it, with a handful of slack in his right hand, he slid under the bowsprit, and along the martingale stays which are stretched taut to the end of the jib-boom. Clasping the vertical spar of the martingale with his left arm, he took a steady aim at the dolphin, and launched his harpoon with all his strength. The stroke was followed by a shout from the crew, who crowded into the bows and forerigging, for poor Hans had overstruck himself, and after swinging violently round the martingale, fell into the sea, missing the dolphin, which instantly disappeared. "My dream--oh, my dream!" cried old Hans in terror, as he rose floundering and sputtering to the surface. Then came the appalling cry of "A shark! a shark!" and in the very place where the dolphin sank, the short crooked fin of this great monster of the deep was seen making straight towards Hans, who, though an expert swimmer, a hard-a-weather salt, accustomed to all the hardships and terrors of Ultima Thule and his native Orcades, was struggling wildly for life, having got entangled in the slack line of his harpoon. "Captain Hartly--man overboard! a rope--a rope!" "Cut away the life-buoy!" "Lower away the stern-boat!" Such were the cries on every hand, while the current soon swept Peterkin past the brig, till he was nearly fifty yards astern. Old Hans uttered a cry of despair, echoed by a groan from all, and sank! Regardless of the shark, which was then double the distance of Hans from us, Hartly, who had rushed on deck at the first alarm, with the rapidity of thought, threw off his coat, knotted a line round his waist, lowered himself into the mainchains, and joining the palms of his hands together in the cut-water fashion of a diver, urging the while his agile body by a sharp push from the chain-plate, sprang into the sea, and vanished amid the ripples. Then in half minute or less he reappeared with Hans, whose grey locks he grasped firmly, as he cast upward a glance of mingled hope and terror--hope of aid from his crew, and terror of the monster, which was shooting towards them; for though the ring of Mother Jensdochter was to save him from drowning, the good dame omitted all mention of sea-lawyers. "Down with the stern-boat!" cried Reeves. In a moment the falls were cast loose and the boat was lowered from the davits, manned, and shoved off with a rapidity which nothing but the discipline of the crew and their love for Hartly could have ensured! Save those in the boat, all held their breath--all were paralysed by the scene, and our complete inability to aid or to protect our friends. However, the splashing of the half-drowned Hans somewhat scared the monster, and kept him off. The boat soon reached the spot; they were drawn on board, and just in time, for the shark's nose was close to Hans' heels, while a hearty hurrah greeted him and his gallant preserver. Ere the boat was again dangling at the stern davits, the shark, which had now recovered his surprise and the alarm Hans' splashing had occasioned him, was seen darting furiously to and fro in search of a victim; and but for the celerity of our boat's crew, one or other must have perished in his horrible jaws. Though the shark has rarely the power to bite a man in two, he can strip the flesh from his body in such a manner, that death is sure to follow. The wind freshened after this, and the ship's course was resumed; but as night came on, the studdingsails and royals were taken in. Hans appeared in very low spirits after his recent adventure, so Hartly excused him from deck duty for that night. Then, as we sat over our grog in the cabin, the deck being in charge of Tom Hammer, Hartly said-- "By the bye, Jack, you said something of finding an old printed yarn about a shipwreck in Skipper Fynböe's house in Greenland." "Yes--a queer old story it seems." "Let us have it, then; read it aloud. Cuffy, trim the lamps; bring another case-bottle from the locker, and shut the cabin door. Pass word for Mr. Reeves and Hans Peterkin to step down--Mr. Manly is about to spin us a yarn." I soon produced my little story-book, of which (as it was an authentic narrative) I shall give the exact title; though I prefer to rehearse the contents in my own manner, as the language and spelling of its author are somewhat quaint and antiquated. It was called "The Wonderfull and Tragical! Relation of a Voyage from the Indies, printed at the Black Raven, in Duck Lane, A.D. 1684." The substance thereof was as follows. CHAPTER XXVII. THE FATAL VOYAGE OF THE HEER VAN ESTELL. It was in the month of August, 1670, that the barque _De Ruyter_, bearing the flag of the Seven United Provinces (then under their High Mightinesses the States General) and named after Michael Adrian de Ruyter, Admiral of Holland--the same valiant mariner who beat the English, burned Chatham, and bombarded Tilbury--left the port of Pernambuco, in Peru, for Rotterdam, tacking carefully to avoid the shoals and rocks which made the Portuguese of old name it the "Mouth of Hell"--_Inferno-bocca_--hence its present corrupted name. She was manned by Captain Koningsmarke and sixteen seamen; she carried four brass guns, and had her stern decorated by the lions, spotted sable and gules, which form the arms of Rotterdam. Her mate was an Englishman named Carpinger, a brave and skilful seaman. As passengers, she had the Heer Van Estell, his wife Gudule, their two little children, Erasmus and Cornelius, with Dame Trüdchen, their faithful old nurse. The Heer was a native of the Low Countries, who, after a long residence in the Dutch colony at Brazil, had amassed a magnificent fortune, and risen to be a Director of the Company of the Great Indies, a dignity which no one could attain unless he vested twelve thousand guilders in the old stock. Now, having amassed all the wealth he deemed desirable, with his wife and children--little curly-haired Erasmus, whom he had named after the great philosopher of Rotterdam (towards whose statue in the Bürger-platz he gave a thousand rix-dollars), and chubby little Cornelius, whom he had named after Cornelius de Witt, who, with his brother, was so barbarously assassinated by William of Orange (and afterwards of England)--he was returning to his native city to spend his days in peace and quiet, with the three beings whom he loved most on earth. The day was cloudless and clear, the wind was fair, but light, and while the bark, with all her canvas set, from her flying-jib to her spanker, and with the colours of the Seven Provinces flying at her gaff-peak, passed in safety the flat sandbanks of St. Antonio, and that long reef which receives the full force of the sea, and guards the town of Recife, the tall and portly Heer, with his beautiful wife and chubby little ones beside him, sat in a cushioned chair on the warm deck, enjoying a long pipe of tobacco with all the ease and complacency that became a wealthy Hollander and Director of the Great India Company. Without any emotion, save joy that he was returning, he saw the hill of Olinda, the tall slender spires of the town, and the grim batteries of Cinco Pontas, melt in the distance astern, as the _De Ruyter_ bore away into the Western Ocean. For more than a month the voyage was delightful and prosperous; but adverse winds came anon, and storms too; and Captain Koningsmarke was blown out of his course; moreover, he lost his reckoning, as the sky remained obscured by clouds, and for weeks both quadrant and sextant were used in vain. His anxiety and that of the Heer became great, for provisions were becoming scarce--so much so that, ere long, all on board received but a scanty allowance. Then Van Estell and Dame Gudule beheld with secret agony the roses fading from the cheeks of their children, their pretty faces becoming blanched, and their once round forms attenuated. Week after week rolled anxiously, mournfully away! Still the winds were adverse, and still the _De Ruyter_ tacked and tacked again, like the fabled ship of Vanderdecken, but without meeting a craft that might assist them, till at last there fell a death-like calm upon the sea; and then, for many, many days under a hot sun, and in the breathless nights that followed, the helpless vessel lay like a log, with her blocks and cordage rattling, and her loose canvas flapping until it was frittered and frayed on the blistering yards and masts, while the sea chafed her rusting chain-plates and the pitch boiled from her planking--yet "she lay so that, for several weeks, they could scarcely tell whether they were forwarded a league's space." And now a deadly pest broke out on board--a malignant fever, which covered its victims with livid blotches, like the spotted lions, gules and sable, on the ship's stern; and among those who perished were Koningsmarke, the captain, and eight of his crew. They were thrown overboard, and for days their bodies remained in sight, with fishes sporting about them, and obscene birds of the sea lighting on them, as they floated on its still and waveless surface. Provisions were now dealt out more sparingly than ever. Strong men grew wan, and gaunt, and feeble; for as their strength failed and hope faded, so did their spirit die within them; and then even the most superstitious ceased to _whistle_ for wind. At last they were reduced to a half biscuit and single morsel of meat per day; the latter failed, and then the half biscuit; and now they looked grimly and terribly in each other's hollow visages and bloodshot eyes, while wondering what was to become of them, for although lines had long hung overboard, the sea had refused to yield them fish. "To wait with hope is nothing, but to wait with DESPAIR is worse than death!" So did the Heer Van Estell wait, and his wife Gudule--now no longer the beautiful Gudule, for she was wan, wasted, and sinking, having given her pittance of food for several days to sustain her little ones. All his wealth, all the riches acquired by years of prudence in the Indies, would the unhappy Van Estell have given gladly to purchase a single biscuit, to sustain for one day more the lives of those he loved so well. At last little Erasmus and Cornelius died, passing away without pain or a murmur, having become of late too weak even to weep for food. They passed away, and the Heer and his wife remained by the pretty corpses as if transformed to stone! Four days passed after this--still no food--no hope--no wind in the air, no ship upon the sea! Gudule could not consent to cast her dead children into its mighty depth; but anon she repented of it bitterly, for the eight seamen who remained, after a long conference on the forecastle, and frequently casting glances aft towards the cabin--glances like those of wolves--came in a body, and demanded that the dead children should be surrendered to them as _food_! The entreaties and tears of the parents were vain. The Heer (now shorn of his strength) and his miserable helpmate were thrust into their cabin, while the wasted bodies of their children were borne away and laid on the drum of the capstan, where they were cut to pieces by the cook's knife, and then devoured raw. Hunger seemed to make the sailors insane, and able to overcome all aversion for food so unnatural; but whether it was that they ate immoderately, or that with satiety came a horror of their meal, I know not, but they were immediately assailed by a dreadful sickness, which left their bodies weaker than ever. Gudule lay in a stupor on her bed, but the Heer loaded his pistols, though scarcely knowing for what purpose; and exerting all his strength, he contrived to burst open the cabin door and stagger on deck, when the crew, whom the hunger of another day assailed again, had just concluded the last of a second dreadful banquet--a banquet on his children! On the capstan there lay the head of one. It had the fair curly locks of little Erasmus. "Oh, madness and agony!" groaned the miserable Van Estell, as he took it in his tremulous hands, kissed it tenderly thrice, and slowly and solemnly dropped it into the glassy sea. He could not weep--his hot dry eyes refused a tear, but groans burst from his overcharged breast and parched lips, and he swooned on the deck. There he lay, and so another day passed. When he recovered it was about the time of midnight, and a full round moon was shining on that now neglected ship of death and of despair. The atmosphere was mild and warm. The Heer stole into the cabin, and saw that his poor, sad, childless wife lay very still and motionless. Tremblingly he drew near, lest she might be dead; for then he had resolved to cast her and himself into the sea, lest her fair form might also be devoured by the madmen on deck. But she was in a soft sleep, dreaming, perhaps, that her lost little ones were alive, and seated by her side in a palm grove of Peru, listening to the voice of the campanero, or sweet bell-bird of Brazil. The deep slumber that follows long hours of mental and bodily suffering had fallen upon her. The poor man wept and kissed her tenderly, but at that moment the mate, George Carpinger, entered, and roughly ordered him to come forward to the capstan head, where he and his comrades were deliberating on what was to be done next. Heer Van Estell assured himself that his pistols were still in his pocket, that they were primed and loaded, and then he obeyed. As these nine men stood round the capstan, they resembled spectres rather than human beings, when the cold lustre of the moon fell on their pallid visages and bloodshot eyes that glared wildly from out their sunken sockets. Eleven persons were still on board, namely, the Heer, his wife and servant, the mate, and seven seamen; it was evident that one must be sacrificed to prolong the existence of the rest, and mentally they resolved that whoever became the victim, should be cooked, lest the flesh might sicken them again...... CHAPTER XXVIII. THE FATAL VOYAGE--HOW THEY CAST LOTS. "I am aware," says the author of _Antonina_, "of the tendency in some readers to denounce truth itself as improbable, unless their own personal experience has borne witness to it." In this spirit, some may denounce the fatalities of the Heer's voyage as improbabilities, though the hideous circumstance of human beings in extremity of hunger destroying each other for food, has been too well and too terribly established in many instances--such as the wreck of the French frigate _Medusa_; when the British frigate _Nautilus_ was lost on a solitary rock in the Mediterranean; during the famine on board the American ship _Peggy_; and on many other occasions. But to resume our little quarto. The mate conducted the Heer Van Estell to the capstan, where the starving seamen stood in a silent group, and then he informed him in a hoarse whisper-- "That unless they contrived a means of furnishing themselves with food, they must all die of starvation; it was impossible for them to subsist for another day. That there were eleven persons on board, and they had come to the resolution of determining by lot who should die that the rest might live." "_Eleven_ on board!" reiterated the Heer, faintly, for his poor wife Grudule was one of these. "Eleven," added a seaman named Adrian Crudelius, with a wild glare in his eye; "if one dies, ten may live. Bring your wife on deck, sir; she must take her chance with the rest. There must be no distinction here." "Nay," said George Carpinger, "we may excuse her presence, and so spare her some of this horror; but her husband shall draw for her." "Sirs," replied the poor Heer, "I thank you. Even here she finds the privileges of her sex accorded her." Then with tremulous hands the mate tore a sheet of paper into eleven pieces, and numbered them from _one_ to _eleven_. He folded and placed them in his hat. It was then agreed that he who drew number _one_ was to die, and that he who drew number _two_ was to be the executioner. After shaking the fatal pieces of paper, amid a silence that was awful--the silence of horror--for food or want, death or life, were on the issue, every glassy eye was fixed, each nether jaw relaxed, while with hot and feverish hands that trembled, they drew forth their lots--the Heer taking two in succession. He opened them hastily, smote his forehead, uttered a wailing cry, and reeled against the capstan. He had drawn numbers "one" and "two," so it was the lot of him to die, and by the hand of Grudule, or _vice versâ_! The unhappy seamen had scarcely foreseen a chance so terrible as this. Carpinger urged that the wife should be spared, or that lots should be cast once more; but those who by risking their fate had escaped death, were loth to tempt it again, and with sullen murmurs declined. Propping himself against the capstan, the unfortunate Van Estell summoned all his energies, and thus addressed them:-- "My good companions in misery, you have seen our sorrow and despair for the loss of our dear little children; and though I know that death would be a relief and refuge to my poor Grudule, neither she nor I can perish by the other's hand. Thus I offer myself freely and willingly as the victim and sacrifice. When I am dead, I charge you--I pray you be kind unto her. Conduct her to her friends, her home, her country, and be assured that if ever you are happy enough to see the waters of the Maese, and the old spires of Rotterdam, she will have wealth enough to reward you all. May Heaven bless you! Gudule, farewell--my poor Gudule!" At these words he drew a pistol from his pocket, shot himself through the head, and fell flat on the deck. Some appeared stunned by the whole affair, but two threw themselves upon the yet quivering body like wild animals, and sucked up the blood that oozed from it. In the weird light of the moon, that bloody deck, that silent group and fallen corpse, presented an awful scene to Gudule Van Estell, who tottered from her cabin, being roused by the sound of the pistol; but now Carpinger the mate, Adrian Crudelius, and her old nurse, bore her back into the cabin, and fastened the door to prevent her seeing the dreadful scene that was sure to ensue, when the famished men, in their voracity and fury, almost tore the clothes from the body of the Heer, being rendered more mad than ever by the contents of a single case-bottle of Geneva which had been discovered. They hewed the body to pieces, cast its head into the sea, and again the horrible repast commenced--a repast which rendered two raving mad, for with loud yells they sprang overboard and disappeared. All the rest became insane, save the mate and Adrian Crudelius, who endeavoured to control their extravagance. One proposed to scuttle the ship, or set her on fire, that all might perish together; another raved and blasphemed Heaven for withholding the wind; a third denounced the craft as being under a spell, and thus fixed to one part of the sea, from whence she would never stir till her timbers rotted and her planks opened; and all, save the mate, were unanimous that next time the wife of the Heer, upon whom one of the lots had fallen, should perish for their sustenance if a sail came not in sight. That day passed as others had done; the glassy sea without a ripple, the hot sun overhead, the sails flapping against the masts; the banner of the Seven Provinces, inverted as a sign of distress, hanging listlessly downward from the gaff-peak; the sky without a cloud, the horizon without a sail, and the hearts of the cannibals on board the _De Ruyter_ without hope! Gudule Van Estell was still surviving. The kind mate had caught a couple of mice; these he gave to the nurse, who cooked them in secret for her mistress and herself. But now, towards evening, four of the crew, who were bereft of reason, approached her cabin door, and were attempting to force it open, for the purpose of dragging her to the capstan head, when George Carpinger, armed with a cutlass, rushed forward, and drove them back. They soon procured arms, and howling like wild animals, attacked him, staggering the while like drunken men with weakness. Crudelius now joined the mate, and there ensued a conflict in which two were slain, and their bodies were cast overboard by the survivors, who were already so glutted by their horrible food as to have no desire for more. By the noon of the next day, all had perished by exhaustion, save the mate and the Dame Van Estell. Night was coming on, and the poor solitary seaman was sitting on the windlass in a species of stupor, when an unusual coolness in the atmosphere roused his attention, and, with a sailor's instinct, he felt the coming breeze. First there came a gentle catspaw upon the darkening water, then a ripple, and now a whitening of the wave-tops at a distance. He stretched his tremulous hands towards them, and wept in joy! Anon, clouds came banking up in dense masses to leeward, and rain--blessed rain! began to fall, while the wind of heaven blew the long neglected rigging out in bands, and filled the flapping sails. A brace of lazy gulls suddenly appeared wheeling about; and a bird--a land bird--perched on the end of the studding-sail boom alongside. The haggard eyes of Carpinger swept the horizon, and saw afar off a spark, which he at first supposed to be a star, but, ere long, discovered to be a light; yet whether it shone on board of a ship, or on the shore, he knew not; so he lashed the helm, and rushing to the lifts and braces, strove to trim the sails and shape the vessel's course towards it. The bunting began to shake at the gaff-peak; ere long it floated out upon the wind, while a wake whitened astern, a bubble rose under the bows, and the _De Ruyter_ walked through the water as of yore. The breeze continued, and next morning she was close in upon a bleak, rugged, and mountainous coast, which proved to be the Lizard Point in Cornwall, the most southern promontory of England.* * It must be borne in mind that the mouth of the Channel was less frequented by shipping in 1670, than now. George Carpinger had the Dame Van Estell conveyed ashore in the stern-boat, together with a casket of valuable jewels; and the _De Ruyter_, after drifting about the coast, escaping the Cornish wreckers, who deemed a wreck "a Godsend," was taken into Plymouth and sold. Gudule Van Estell was afterwards conveyed to Rotterdam, where she found herself one of the wealthiest widows in the city; and as a reward to George Carpinger for defending her life so valiantly in the fated _De Ruyter_, she bestowed her hand and guilders upon him. "They lived long and happily together; and he died Burgomaster of Rotterdam in 1720, when Anne was Queen of Britain." ------------ "So ends this story," said I. Hartly filled his glass of grog, and emptied it in silence. Then I could perceive that the perusal of the history of this fatal voyage had a most unpleasant effect upon all who heard it, for Reeves, Hartly, and Hans Peterkin, frequently recurred to it afterwards. "That little black pamphlet came from a wrecked ship," said Hartly, one day--"'a fated craft'--I can't help wishing you had never brought it on board, Jack." "Why?" I asked. "It is such a devil of a horse-marine yarn about these Dutchmen eating each other." "How?" "I always think about it." "I can easily put it out of existence by stuffing it under a kettle in the cook's galley; it may aid Cuffy in cooking the dinner." "No, no," said he, hastily, "that would be worse." "In what way?" "I don't know," said he, thoughtfully; "but such things are like the Flying Dutchman's letters, which must neither be taken or refused when the wind blows them on board." Some days after this, Hartly lost his ring--the ring given him by old Mother Jensdochter--the amulet which, until that moment, he had never been without. It was torn from his hand while assisting to haul the maintack on board, and dropped over the gunnel. This trivial event, and the story of the _De Ruyter_, together with the past evils of our voyage, affected Hartly and Reeves more seriously than I could have imagined. From the cabin, Cuffy Snowball soon carried the vague fears forward among the seamen. Hans Peterkin began to shake his white head ominously, for old mariners have, they know not why or how, strange instincts and presentiments; so our crew, without any just reason, became more than usually solicitous about their duties, and anxious for the termination of the voyage. CHAPTER XXIX. ADVENTURE WITH A WHALE. Next day the wind veered due west, and we trimmed the _Leda_, to lie close to it, making long tacks to the southward, as we had been driven so far to the north-east. Hartly and I were leaning over the weather-quarter, chatting and gazing listlessly at the white water that bubbled like a flooded mill-race under the brig's counter, while Mother Cary's chickens came tripping lightly after us, when suddenly a huge whale (like a ship's hull, bottom uppermost) rose from the waves close by us, with the water pouring in torrents from its dusky and shining sides. Its appearance was so sudden and alarming, that I started back; but Hartly laughed, saying, "Don't mind him, Jack; he is not coming on board." For a full minute he floated in the water, keeping pace with the brig, to the great admiration of our old Orkney whaleman, Hans, and then sank slowly down--down far below. We could see his vast bulk shining as he passed _under_ us, and came up on our other side, so close that he almost grazed the copper of the _Leda_. This monster of the deep was nearly as large, at least as long, as the brig, and his aspect was calculated to inspire awe in those who were less familiar than we now were with the denizens of the sea. He was a common whale, and the head being, as usual, out of all proportion, was one-third the entire size of the fish, while the eyes were no larger than those of an ox. The smooth and slippery skin, from which the foam dripped, was mottled; and it--or _he_, as we named him--swam not as whales generally do, _against_ the wind, but with us. Our friend was evidently in a playful mood, as he repeatedly rose and sank, plunged and surged up on each side of the _Leda_ alternately, and twice grazed our rudder. "He smells the blubber and sealskins aboard, sir," said Hans Peterkin, "and they make him frolicsome, you see." "Look out, sir!" added Reeves, who was in the mainchains; "by Jove, he'll be foul of us in his next gambol!" "And we may have our rudder unshipped--I don't like this at all," replied Hartly. "Cuffy, bring me a sealing-gun, with powder and a handful of slugs." In half a minute Hartly stood in the boat at the stern davits, with the long gun loaded and charged with ten square junks of lead, each larger than a rifle ball. Then, just as the whale, for the fifth or sixth time rose under the stern, he fired. The whole charge entered one of the great spiracles, or blow-holes, which are situated in the middle of the head, about sixteen feet from the nose, and through which this fish can spout to a vast height when wounded or annoyed. The moment the gun was fired, our whale sunk like a stone. "There he goes, for ever I hope!" cried Hartly. "We have not seen the last of him, sir," said old Hans, as he got astride the boom of the fore-and-aft mainsail in his excitement to see the whale again; "he has a long way to go _down_, before he'll come up again. Why, Lord love you, sir, I have known them in the sound of Yell, when struck by a harpoon, descend head-foremost for eight hundred fathoms, (at the rate of eight knots an hour, till the line in the bowpost smoked, ay, blazed with friction,) and then come up with their jawbones broken, by running foul of a rock at the bottom. That one has gone down fully four hundred fathoms." "How do you know, Hans?" "By the eddy--he'll be up to _blow_, directly." "Where?" said I. "On our weather beam, I think. See! there are the bubbles of his blowing already!" Hans was right; even while he spoke, the whale rose to the surface, about fifty yards from us, and from his blow-holes shot a vast spout of water streaked with blood into the air, and then it pattered like rain as it fell into the sea. After lashing the water furiously with his tail till it boiled in foam around him, and the air above became filled with vapour, he threw himself into a _perpendicular_ position, and stood for a moment like a pillar, from the sea. It was a strange and exciting scene! He now flapped his mighty flukes, which were perhaps thirty feet apart, till they cracked like a gigantic whip, and then sank from our gaze in a deep eddy, around which the concentric waves heaved and broke for a considerable time; but we saw him no more. "Well, Hans," said I, "how do you like this adventure?" "Not much, Master Manly," replied the old Scotsman, shaking his white hairs; "'cause you see, sir, when a whale takes to dancing about on his nose in this fashion, after lashing the water with his flukes, a _storm_ is sure to follow. A whale knows better than a human creature when a close-reefed topsail breeze is coming, by a pricking pain that comes over their bodies, and so, after dancing about as that fellow did, they run right away from that quarter of the sea to another. I have known o' this many times, when I was a wee bairn at home in Whalsoe. I'll stake a trifle we have our topgallant yards on deck before the sun sets." And old Hans proved correct. CHAPTER XXX. LOSS OF THE "LEDA." On the night after our adventure with the whale I had turned in to bed betimes; but was roused about two in the morning by the noise made by Hammer, our carpenter, Cuffy Snowball, and others battening the deadlights of the stern windows. At the same moment I became sensible of the unusual motion of the vessel, of the tremendous din that reigned on deck, and of the furious manner in which my cot, the brass cabin lamp, and the tell-tale compass swung about. "What is the matter?" I asked, starting up, while the prophecy of Hans flashed on my memory. "Matter, sir! faith, if you were on deck you would soon find out!" was the somewhat impatient response of Tom Hammer, who was drenched to the skin. "Is it blowing hard?" said I. "'Twill nebber blow harder, Massa Tanly, till him blows himself right out," grinned Cuffy Snowball. "A regular hurricane! the brig is almost under bare poles, and we sound the pumps every half-hour," added Hammer, who seemed indignant at the soundness of my past slumber. On hearing all this, I leaped out, dressed myself, and hurried on deck. A wild gale, in short, a tempest, was roaring through the rigging and straining the shrouds of the _Leda_; she lurched and pitched heavily, as she rushed through mountains of seething foam; for amid the black obscurity on all sides we could see its whiteness, and the snowy surf, which was torn by the wind from the wave-crests, and swept, like smoke, along the sea. The brig was driving right before the wind, under a foresail, foretopsail, and fore and aft mainsail, all closely reefed. Everything was done that might render her snug. The deadlights had barely been shipped before she was struck by a wave which buried her in the black trough of the sea--tore her stern-boat from the iron davits, and swept it away like a leaf shred from a twig. Hans and Paul Reeves were at the wheel. Hartly stood by them pale and excited, as I could perceive by the glimmering lights of the binnacle. All hands were on deck, and muffled in their glazed storm-jackets and dripping sou'-westers, so they seemed as drenched as if they had come up from the bottom of the sea. "Take care of yourself, Jack--take care!" cried my friend; "every sea she ships sweeps something off the deck, and we have already lost one man from the fore-yardarm." "Good Heavens--when?" "About an hour ago--poor Bill Bradley!" I grasped one of the mainshrouds, for the deck was so slippery, the gusts of wind so fierce, and the force of the seas, which broke ever and anon across the brig, so overwhelming, that I could never have kept afoot for a moment without some support. On, on careered the _Leda_, through wind and waves--on through whitening foam and tossing wrack--on through drenching rain, darkness, and obscurity, with the storm roaring and whistling amid her straining spars and rigging, while she groaned in every timber, and seemed to quiver to her backbone, as the ponderous waves pursued and burst upon her. Once or twice the gloom around us was varied by sheets of lightning which gleamed luridly at the far horizon; and then for an instant the black waves seemed to be washing _against_ the reddened sky. Elsewhere to the northward, when the black flying scud was torn asunder in heaven, we saw the long flickering rods of the "merry dancers" playing athwart the sky. Then the crape-like rent would close, and all again became pitchy darkness. The sea which tore away our quarter-boat had started the sternpost. Tom Hammer and his mates rushed to sound the pumps, and reported that "the water in the well had risen _four feet_!" Hoarse orders were bellowed by Hartly through his trumpet, and the clank of the pumps rang incessantly, for it was evident she had sprung a leak somewhere aft, the _clear_ water having replaced the bilge; so a fresh gang was required every quarter of an hour. Here was a place in which I could make myself useful, and take my "spell" with the rest; and where, though the dread of perishing was strong in my heart, I worked hard but mechanically, like one in a terrible dream. Hammer, with all the hands that could be spared from the deck, hurried below, but soon reappeared, to announce--why I know not--that to get at the leak was impossible! "Do we gain upon her?" was the constant question of those who toiled at the pumps; but Hammer was too full of hopelessness to reply; so for hours the monotonous clanking went on, till the chains and leathers of the pumps became almost useless, and then the water rose rapidly in both the fore and after hold! We threw our large anchors and carronades overboard to lighten her by the head; but without much avail. Pale and composed--resolute yet anxious--poor Hartly had stood by the pumps, encouraging us by his voice and example. He was, however, sad and gloomy. That the loss of his _ring_ affected him was evident. How strong and yet how weak is the mind of man! The water continued to rise rapidly, though we toiled till our knees and arms ached; grey dawn began to brighten in the east, but there was no symptom of the storm abating. "If she ships one sea more, such as that which struck our quarter," said Hartly, "she will founder!" The words were scarcely uttered, when a mighty mountain of black water reared up like an arching cliff, fringed by foam, came hissing and roaring towards us, and burst in thundering volume on our decks, sweeping poor Tom Hammer the carpenter, another seaman, and all the spare booms, spars, buckets, and everything that previous waves had left, overboard--starting the longboat from its lashings, and dashing it with such violence against the larboard bulwarks, that a vast breach was made in them. The gang at the pumps were all tumbled in a heap into the starboard scuppers, and returned to their work with difficulty. The iron sling of the mainyard gave way at the same moment, and the spar with the handed sail fell heavily with all their gear into the sea. Under this shock the Leda literally _stood still_, as if paralysed in her forward progress. Another fatal volume burst upon her quarter, and _then_, alas! she began to settle down into the trough of the sea. She had lost all her buoyancy and was sinking! Her rudder was torn away--the stern frame shattered, and so she filled with perilous rapidity. "Clear away the longboat, Reeves--unship the compass in the binnacle," ordered Hartly; "Hans, get up a beaker of water, a bag of bread--in oars and blankets--we must quit instantly and shove off!" "In such a sea as this?" asked Reeves, with wildness in his eye, as he clung to a belaying pin. "No boat can live----" "Ay, Paul, even in such a sea as this; we must quit the ship, or sink with her. Stand by, my lads, and throw her head to the wind." "The foremast will go like a reed--but see--the wind has already done what you wish." The loss of her rudder had rendered the _Leda_ (her chain plates were now in the water) unmanageable, but, with the promptitude and decision of brave and desperate hearts, some of our men hurried to the braces, to strive and keep the vessel's head to windward, while others got the longboat cleared of all that endless _débris_ and rubbish which usually accumulate there during a voyage--launched it, and by fending, with no small exertion of skill and strength, prevented it from being dashed to pieces against the side of the foundering _Leda_. A cask of water was thrown in, also the binnacle compass, which, unfortunately, was broken during the confusion. The oars were luckily lashed to the thwarts; the mast, yard, sail, and rudder were also there, and we prepared at once to leave. Wild though the wind, the atmosphere was dense and full of vapour and obscurity; the mingled rain and surf were so blinding, that one could scarcely see one's hand outstretched at arm's length. To keep our feet in such a howling tempest was almost impossible; thus in passing forward or aft, we were obliged to drag ourselves along by clutching belaying pins, cleats, and ring-bolts, while many of us were severely injured by pieces of broken wreck that floated about the deck, and were dashed to and fro by the waves. Two or three of our men were stunned, and on falling overboard were seen no more; but in less than three minutes after the longboat was launched, we had all left the ship--Hartly being the last to do so--and to the number of fourteen in all (including Paul Reeves, Hans Peterkin, Cuffy Snowball, and me), committed ourselves to the mercy of the sea and storm, in that small craft, which was tossed like a cork upon the billows. For a time the boat was rasped so furiously against the side of the brig, that all our united strength was requisite to get under her shattered stern, and fairly shove off. We worked in silence--the silence of black desperation! But on falling astern of the sinking brig, the boat became exposed still more to the fury of the sea. "Pull her round," cried Hartly; "keep her bow to the break of the sea, or we shall be swamped. Pull to windward of the _Leda_!" As we did so, a single wave nearly filled the boat, and we had nothing for it but to bear away before the roaring blast. Through the black drift we could see the brig, from which we were only a few yards distant, sinking deeper and deeper; at last the waves rolled in fierce tumult over her deck; still not a word escaped us. Our hearts were too full for utterance; but a pang of sorrow and dismay thrilled them when the poor little _Leda_, with her masts still standing, went down into the waste of waters and disappeared for ever! Hartly now took off his sou'-wester, and briefly told us "to be of good heart, for God would be sure to protect us." All present untied and took off their hats, and listened to him in silence, though he could scarcely be heard amid the wild fury of the gale. Then Paul Reeves, who pulled the bow oar, shouted-- "Three cheers, my lads, for our captain!" And they gave them with all the heartier will that he was now as poor as themselves, for all that Hartly possessed in the world had gone down with the _Leda_, as she was not insured. To keep the boat from being swamped, with incredible difficulty we now stepped her mast, hoisted a little of the sail, and bore away before the wind; but when we were in the _trough_ of the sea, it flapped against the mast, and the next instant, when we rode on the _summit_ of a wave, the wind almost tore it to shreds. Then the wild water bubbled over her stern, often immersing the steersman to his ears, and obliging us incessantly to bale with our hats; but the increasing light of dawn, and an evidence of some abatement in the tempest, encouraged us to persevere in our efforts to save our lives; and so we struggled manfully with the warring elements. CHAPTER XXXI. THE CRY. The wind and sea went down together as day brightened on the cheerless scene. After the night we had passed, how grimly pale and wan our faces seemed in the cold grey dawn of morning! This catastrophe occurred in the middle of May, when we were about three hundred miles from St. John, our destination. Our compass was broken, but we continued to steer south-west and by west, as well as we could determine. The gale having abated, we hoisted the sail to the masthead, shipped our oars, and after receiving about a tablespoonful of rum per man, endeavoured to make the best of our way towards Newfoundland, in the hope of being picked up, ere long, by one of the many outward or homeward bound traders. When day was fully in, we swept the sea with anxious eyes, but not a sail was visible! Cast thus helplessly on the wide ocean, with a few biscuits, a small beaker of fresh water, and a gallon keg of rum, at a distance of three hundred miles from land, our prospects were gloomy in the extreme; and amid them all, the horrible story of the _De Ruyter_, and similar miseries endured by those of whom I had heard and read in such situations, haunted me. Exertion warmed us: we now got our clothing wrung out and dried, the boat thoroughly baled, and by midday we were as comfortable as men so circumstanced might be. Cuffy, who had saved his violin, the only article of property he ever possessed, now proceeded to enliven us, as he had often done before, by singing a negro melody, to his own accompaniment; yet this was but ghastly mirth at best. Our biscuits being soaked by the brine, excited a thirst which we were without the means of allaying. Moreover, the _idea_ of being upon allowance in itself excites a thirsty craving; thus by the noon of the second day, the water in the beaker was nearly consumed, and we had no hope now but for rain. I believe some hours elapsed before we were fully aware, or had realized a true sense of our dreadful situation. How shall I describe the days that passed--and how the nights? Morning after morning only dawned to raise our hopes of success; and these faded as the day wore on; and then the nights were dark monotonous hours of bitterness and despair. Yet they were the short nights of May; and it must be borne in mind that however warm they are upon the land, and in more temperate latitudes, they were cold and chilly when passed in an open boat, upon the mighty Atlantic. The evening of the fourth day deepened, and still not a sail was in sight. About nine o'clock, one of our forlorn party, whose clothing was thinner than the rest, and who had suffered much from hunger and exposure, died in the bottom of the boat, and we silently committed his body to the deep. There were neither prayer nor funeral service, but we all stood up, and uncovered our heads, while Hans and a seaman launched the poor fellow into the sea. Our last drop of water was now expended, for it had been poured between the parched lips of this sufferer, in vain. Our bread we dared scarcely eat, even in the morsels in which it was doled out, lest it might excite that awful thirst which we had no liquid to assuage, and which the summer sun, when blazing over our heads at noon, rendered worse by a thousand degrees, making us long for night, when the moist dew would fall on our parched lips and arid visages; then night made us long for day, in the hope of seeing a sail, as we were in terror lest one should pass us unseen; and I am assured that more than one must have done so. Amid his own bodily misery, poor Hartly frequently reproached himself for having, as he said, "lured me from a quiet occupation into a career so fatal and disastrous." The older seamen sought to encourage us by relating how often they had been wrecked, and yet had escaped death. "I remember," said Hans Peterkin, "when the _Brenda_, a bark of Kirkwall, was wrecked on her voyage from Jamaica. The night was rough, and we were under close-reefed topsails, when a sea struck her, and unshipped her rudder, just as she sprang a leak. All hands were ordered to the pumps, and to the thrumming of a sail; but the loss of the rudder hove her dead in the wind's eye, so her mainmast went by the board, bringing with it the fore and mizen topmasts, making her a useless wreck in a moment. I was washed overboard; but there was no time to look after me, so I rode on the mainmast all night. When day broke there was no ship to be seen--she must have foundered in the dark. Three days and two nights I rode upon that shattered mast, till a Spanish schooner, bound for Rio, picked me up; yet I never lost heart, shipmates, for I knew I should be saved." "How?" said Reeves. "Because we have a saying among us in Orkney, that he who eats of the dulse of Guiodin,* and drinks of the well of Kildingie, will escape everything but the _Black Death_; and many a time I have eaten of one and drunk of the other." * The creek of Odin, in Stronza. On the fifth day another man died, and was committed to the deep. No one stood up this time, we were becoming either too weak or too callous. "Water--water," sighed Paul Reeves; "when ashore, I will never drink aught but pure spring water again." "Bide ye, messmate, and dinna gut a swimming fish; or, as we say in Orkney, cut up nae herrings till ye have them in your net. When you are ashore!--ashore indeed--when shall we ever see the shore?" Even the strong mind of the hardy Hans was wandering now. The wind kept tolerably fair, and though by alternate spells at the oars we toiled day and night to add to the speed of our sail, we had no means of ascertaining the distance we ran; and now the pangs of hunger were alternately maddening or paralyzing, but they were trivial when compared with those of thirst. By skilfully striking with his oar, Hans contrived to kill four petrels when they came tripping by close to our boat. Since the days of Clusius and Pliny, tradition has foolishly made these poor birds the precursors of a storm; but the elements had done their worst upon us, so we cared not. They were soon plucked and demolished. We found them very fat and nutritious, as the whole genus of petrels have a singular facility for creating and for spouting pure oil from their bills in defence of themselves and their eggs if molested; and of this oil they can produce plenty, as they feed on blubber and fish. The quantity in them astonished all but Hans Peterkin, who had been wont to harry the nests of the skua, as the petrel is named in his native isles, and who told me that whales were often discovered in the Firth of Westra and the Sound of Yell by the flocks that followed in the hope of a gorge of blubber. "My father was drowned by a _skua_," said he. "Drowned--how, by a skua?" "Ay, for so they called the petrels in Orkney once, and so they call them in Faroe now." "But how was he drowned?" asked Hartly. "He was a bold fellow who could climb the steep rocks that overhung the most furious sea, to get eggs and catch the petrels _asleep_ if possible; for the skua or fulmar supply us with feathers for our beds, medicine in illness, and oil for our lamps. My mother used to make the whole bird a candle by passing through its mouth a wick, which the fat of the body fed. My father, Magnus Peterkin, was, I have said, a bold fellow, though he wore a _glain neidr_, or adder-gem, an old amulet of the Druid days, and believed that while it hung at his neck he was safe. On a stormy night he swung himself over a rock in Pomona to pull some petrels out of their holes, but one squirted a billful of salt oil right into his eyes---just as I might a quid--which so confused him, that he quitted hold of the rope, fell upon the rocks three hundred feet below, and perished miserably--poor man!" The fifth night was calm and beautiful--too calm for us, as the wind had almost died away, and a clear moonlight was shining on the silent sea, when a singular and startling event occurred--one that filled us with vague terror and awe. Six of us, faint, worn, and half-asleep, were tugging monotonously at our oars; four slept in the bottom of the boat, and Reeves was steering by a star, while honest Cuffy Snowball, whose native good-humour and cheerfulness even the horrors of our situation could not repress, was playing sweetly on his violin, and, to keep our spirits from sinking, sang a negro song which he had picked up during the years of his slavery in South Carolina--and sung it while his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth with thirst. I leave the reader to judge how in such a time and place the soft melody and grotesque pathos of a hackneyed popular air sounded in the ears of the starving and the dying! "All round de leetle farm I wandered, When I was young; Den my 'appy days I squandered, Many de songs I sung. "When I was playing wid my brudder, 'Appy was I; Oh take me to my kind old mudder, Dere let me lib and die. "All the world am sad and dreary, Ebberywhere I roam; Oh darkies, how my 'art grows weary, Far from de old folks at home!" Alas, it was grotesquely horrible! The calmness of the night, the sickness of my heart, the weakness of my limbs, and the sweetness of the violin as its notes floated far over the moonlit sea, together with the monotonous sound of the oars, made me fall into a waking doze--yet I still tugged mechanically on, though dreaming. At times I imagined that I was in a dense fog off the harbour mouth of St. John. I heard the booming of the fog-guns from the battery on the mountains, though they sounded faint and far off. Then followed the welcome voice of the gunner on the low rocky point of Fort Amherst, challenging as usual-- "What ship is that?" I strove to answer as we ran in through the Narrows, but my tongue refused its office. Again, I was at my desk, engrossing in giant ledgers, with the snorting voice of old Uriah Skrew grating on my ear. Anon I was in my father's rose-covered villa at Peckham--in London, amid the roar and gaiety of its streets--its evening bustle and lights--in the theatre--at the opera--galloping out of town on the Derby-day. Then I was in a silent forest--but lo! My dreams were broken by a shriek which made us all start as if electrified--the oarsmen at the oars, the sleepers at the bottom of the boat. Cuffy dropped his violin, and Reeves his tiller, as we all sprang up, looked in each other's sunken eyes, and on the glassy sea, that rippled in flat immensity far away in the moonlight. "What is it--where did it come from?" we all gasped. But none could answer correctly. "It seemed to rise from the sea, far away on the starboard bow," said Reeves. "_The starboard bow!_" repeated Hartly, shuddering. We gazed intently around us, and though one of our men insisted that he could see a large figure like that of a man swimming towards us in the moonlit water, the rest could discern nothing. This supernatural cry or sound seemed to belong neither to earth nor heaven; it rent the air and penetrated to our inner hearts; its cadence, too, was horrible, and unlike anything we had ever heard before. Its source occasioned us endless surmise, and we never discovered it; but the circumstance affected us all variously, and for a time we forgot our thirst, our hunger, and our danger, in the mystery and vague fear it occasioned. That it could be given, as one surmised, by a drowning seaman who had escaped from some wreck, was impossible, for under the brilliant moon of the early May night, the whole sea was visible to us as at noonday. Hans of Orkney declared it to be a spirit of the sea, a water-bull, or the ghost of a man, whom we had unwittingly deserted in the foundering wreck. Cuffy moaned out that it was a warning from the Obi man. An Irish batman muttered something about a Banshee, but poor Hartly was too careless now, or too desponding, to suggest anything, and remained silent. I can scarcely conceive that this cry, so strange, so wild and thrilling--so appalling to those who were in such a solemn and terrible situation--and which was heard by us all at the same moment, was the combined effect of imagination; but whether it was some phenomenon--a sound brought through the air from a vast distance, by some unknown cause--the echo of a crime committed elsewhere, or a jarring of the elements that affected our over-strained organs of hearing, I know not. I merely relate the event as it occurred; but never, while life remains, shall I forget the bewildering and terrifying effect of that appalling shriek, when it rang in our ears, across the otherwise silent sea on that most mournful night. CHAPTER XXXII. THE TWELFTH DAY. The sixth day dawned as the wind freshened and the waning moon went down in clouds; it dawned upon an angry sea, a leaden sky, and with a cold breeze that bore no ship--no hope of release towards us. On, this day two more of our men, who had been lying in a torpid state for three hours, died, and were cast overboard. We were completely callous now. About eleven in the forenoon, Hans Peterkin, who was steering, suddenly uttered a hoarse cry. "See--see!" he exclaimed, pointing a-head, while glaring with haggard eyes; "a sail--a sail! Thanks be to God," he added, pulling off his fur cap, "we are saved!" We that were rowing turned, and those who were dozing between the thwarts sprang up; and there sure enough, hull down about eighteen miles off, we saw a large ship under a cloud of dark canvas, which had evidently been wet by rain overnight, running close-hauled upon the starboard tack, and going with great speed through the water. Oh the ecstasy of this sight! We trimmed our little sail anew; we hoisted all our neck-ties at the mast-head, as a signal; we pulled with the strength of madmen--madmen, who were dying and despairing--towards her; but she saw us not, (I dare not say that her crew _heeded_ not.) Though for a time we seemed to gain upon her, the wind freshened so much that she was soon out of sight; and once more, after all our prayers, our longings, and our joy, we were left alone upon the sullen sea--alone amid emotions too terrible to delineate, for hope and life went with her! Some of our strongest men wrung their hands and wept. Three days after this, those who had restrained the maddening desire to drink of the sea, now gave loose to their burning thirst, and heedless of the appeals of Hartly and the warnings of Peterkin, plunged their wasted hands in the brine, and drank it in great quantities. The sequel soon followed--a delirium and insanity which rapidly became infectious. All were soon raving. Hartly talked of his dead wife--of their little ones, and the green churchyard, where they lay under an old yew-tree; then of his lost ship, and the ring of the Iceland witch. Hans sang Orkney songs in a guttural dialect--half Scottish and half Norse; and believed himself to be whaling in the Pentland Firth, and Sound of Yell. Paul Reeves sat with a serious but fatuous aspect, writing an imaginary log with his fingers on the boat-thwart; Cuffy played scraps of negro-melodies on his violin; and believed himself to be in his caboose, cooking a sumptuous dinner for those in the cabin. Some raved of rich repasts, and with idiot joy enumerated the viands that smoked before them, or the cool draughts of spring water that gurgled over mossy rocks and under broad green leaves in shady woods--and of luscious fruit that grew in ripe clusters, but which they strove to reach in vain, as, like the gushing spring, it always eluded them. In pursuit of one of these illusions, poor Hans Peterkin fell overboard, and, without an effort to save himself, sank like a stone. Alas! the holy well of Kildingie and the blessed dulse of Guiodin, availed him nothing now! At last we ceased to row, for the strongest among us "caught crabs" from time to time, and had the oars twitched out of their hands by the sea, for we were helplessly and hopelessly worn out. The haggard features of some became rigid; the black fur of fever gathered upon their cracked lips; and their wild, sunken, and blood-shot eyes assumed a snaky glare. Their wasted forms seemed to dwindle before me; then they grew and dwindled again like a species of phantasmagoria, as I sat bewildered and half torpid among them; then a lurch of the boat would throw some of them off the thwarts motionless and dead! On the _Twelfth_ day after we had abandoned the _Leda_, there remained in the boat only four alive, including Hartly, Reeves, a seaman named Jones, and myself. All the rest had been thrown overboard in succession as they died--even poor Cuffy Snowball, clutching his violin to the last. In their delirium some had been very violent--proposing to scuttle the boat; others threw the oars overboard and unclasped their knives to slay their messmates. One sprang into the sea, with a husky cry, and ended his miseries at once. Grim and fearful as they were, I thought the calm aspect of those who died was to be envied. They seemed so free from every ill and storm that might assail them, while those who yet lived and lingered were the most helpless of human beings. I know not why or how it was that so many strong and hardy men perished, while I survived. Reeves, Hartly, and Jones the sailor, lay prostrate in the bottom of the boat; and at times I knew not whether they were alive or dead, save by an occasional spasm that twitched their features, or a quivering in their limbs. After a time even these symptoms of existence ceased. I felt the slumber of long exhaustion stealing over me. Lest the boat might capsize in a squall, I remember having just sense and strength sufficient to enable me to let go the halyard, and lower the sail, or rather, let it fall by its own weight, when I sank down in the stern sheets, and must have lain there for hours. A drizzling rain refreshed me, and when I awoke, the silver moon, was shining on the sea. Another night had descended upon us! I baled out the boat with a hat, for the forms of my passive companions were half-covered by water. As I did so, I thought Hartly spoke--at least, that his white and bloodless lips moved; but this might be fancy. My mind was a chaos of gloom, misery, and terrible forebodings. Anxious to learn whether life yet lingered in my friend, or whether I was quite alone--the last man--with the dead upon that silent midnight sea, I stooped close to Hartly; but at that moment the boat gave a sudden lurch, which threw me violently among the three bodies. In falling, my head struck against one of the thwarts, and happily I became senseless. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXIII. WHAT FOLLOWED. After that night a long time of dreamy stupor seemed to elapse, before any distinct sense of existence forced itself upon me. Then I seemed to wake from a heavy slumber (which had frequently been crowded by dreadful images), and found myself in bed, and in what appeared to be a little state-room that opened off a ship's cabin. The roof seemed close and near my eyes; but the bed was soft and screened by green curtains, which hung upon a brass rod. The little panelled apartment had shelves crammed with books and bundles of papers; a gun, a cutlass, and telescope were hung on hooks; and from the deck above, a bull's-eye threw the sun's rays vertically down upon me. I saw all these details at a glance, but believed them to be portions of a dream--that I was still tossing in the open boat, with my dead or dying companions rolling about in the bilge-water below the thwarts--so my last thoughts of loneliness, of despair, and coming death recurred to me in all their bitterness. Gradually, however, the warmth and softness of the couch on which I lay became too confirmed and real to be doubted; and now a hot but soothing liquid, like mulled wine, was poured between my lips. I drank deeply, and not until the draught was ended did I open my heavy eyes, and again look round me, fearing to dispel the delicious illusion of imbibing a liquid, for the wild agonies of unassuaged thirst were still in my memory. A jolly and bluff-looking seaman, well tanned by exposure to the weather, and well whiskered; squat in figure, merry in eye, and hearty in voice, wearing a straw hat and pea-jacket, with a handsome gold ring to secure the ends of his black silk neck-tie, was holding back the green curtain, and surveying me with some solicitude of manner. "How do you feel yourself now, my lad?" he asked. "Weak--giddy--ill--Hartly--Bob Hartly, keep her head to the break of the sea, or we shall be swamped," said I, incoherently. "By Jove, I thought the mulled port would bring you up with a round turn and make you speak if nothing else would." "Where am I?" said I, partially recovering again. "On board ship at last." "Which--what ship?" "The barque _Princess_ of London." "Thank God--thank God!" I exclaimed; but though my breast heaved with wild emotions of joy, not a tear would come, for even that fount of tenderness seemed dried up within me. "We picked you up when in an awful plight, my poor fellow! Your boat was half full of water, with two dead bodies washing about in it." "Two!" "Yes--two, and you were lying in the stern-sheets looking as pale and as stiff as the others. We were just about to send you over to leeward with a cold shot at your heels, when, fortunately, some signs of life escaped you." "And you, sir----" "Am the master of this craft--Captain John Baylis--I think you won't forget the name," he added, smiling. "Forget it! Oh, sir, how shall I ever forget it?" I groaned. "But Hartly--poor Bob Hartly!" "Who was he?" "_Was_--is he then dead?" I exclaimed. "I cannot say, until you tell me more." "He was Master of the _Leda_, and my dear friend. She foundered in a tempest, and those you found in the longboat were the last of twenty-five stout fellows who sailed in her from St. John's, Newfoundland, on the 17th of March." "Is he about my size; with very dark whiskers and short curly hair?" "Yes." "Then he is getting on famously, and lies in my chief mate's berth--but you must not speak any more at present, try to sleep; a little time, and I will be with you again." This was joyous intelligence! In short, I learned by degrees that Hartly and I were the sole survivors of the crew of the _Leda_. Paul Reeves and Jones the seaman had been found dead in the long boat by the crew of the barque, who buried them in blankets, each with a heavy shot at their heels. After this they scuttled the boat, as the sight of her suggested unpleasant ideas. The vessel which picked us up proved to be the barque _Princess_, a stately Blackwaller of sixteen hundred tons register, Captain John Baylis, from Quebec, bound for the Cape of Good Hope, with a general cargo. Our poor boat, tossing on the sea, had been descried about daybreak, by a man who was at work on the maintopgallant yard. She immediately bore down upon us, and hence our rescue at a time so critical. I must have been insensible for about four hours when her crew found me; and but for their ministrations, could not have survived another. Fortunately for Hartly and me, the jolly and hospitable captain had his wife on board, and she nursed us with the tenderness of a mother. Indeed, honest Baylis and his whole crew vied with her in their attention to us. Our feet and legs were so soddened by the bitter, briny water in which they had been so long immersed, that for some days mortification was dreaded; but as Mrs. Baylis had six goats on board, she made, and skilfully applied, poultices of bread and milk, which ameliorated the symptoms and our sufferings. Food and liquids were administered to us in homoeopathic doses at first; and several days elapsed before our interiors became accustomed to receive their usual quantities. At times we were both somewhat bewildered in mind--especially when the vessel encountered rough weather, and rolled much. Then Hartly and I were sure to imagine ourselves again in the longboat on the desolate sea, with the starving and dying around us; and long the voices of poor Hans Peterkin, of Paul Reeves, and the notes of Cuffy's violin, lingered in my ear, especially in dreams. In about a fortnight--thanks chiefly to the kindness and nursing of Mrs. Baylis--we were able to sit on a sofa under an awning on the poop-deck; for we were now in warmer latitudes, and a protection from the sun of June was necessary. We greeted each other like two kinsmen who had escaped death; but Hartly mourned the loss of the _Leda_ and of her crew, as they were all picked men, whom he never paid off on entering a port, but who had sailed with him to all parts of the world, and would as readily have thought of attempting to fly in the air as of leaving the poor old _Leda_. For many days her loss, and the anecdotes connected with it, formed a staple subject for our conversation, until other thoughts, with returning health, forced themselves upon us; for those who are in the world must live for it. The _Princess_ was bound, I have said, for the Cape of Good Hope, where she would, perhaps, take a freight home for London; but there was an equal probability of her being chartered for Bombay, Hong Kong, or anywhere else, so that on reaching Cape Town there would be an immediate necessity for Hartly and me looking about us, and seeking means for returning to the great metropolis. As we approached the line, the heat increased rapidly, awnings were spread over the decks, wind-sails were rigged down the hatchways, and skeets over the sides were resorted to daily. The latter are pieces of grooved wood, for throwing water over the planks or outer sheathing of a ship, to prevent them from being rent by the heat of the sun in warm climates. For some weeks Hartly and I were totally unable to make ourselves of any use, so great was the lassitude which succeeded our recent sufferings, and rapid transition from starvation and misery to comfortable quarters, and from the Regions of Ice to those of the burning sun; for after passing St. Jago, the most southerly of the Cape de Verd Isles, we rapidly approached the line; and then Captain Baylis, his wife, Hartly, and others, prepared letters for home, to be left at the Isle of Ascension, or given to the first ship that passed us for England. Day after day I reclined listlessly under the awning, watching the shining sea, on which many an argonauta now was floating; and, in a warm latitude, singularly beautiful are those little "Portuguese men-of-war," as our sailors term them, when whole fleets of them may be seen sailing past, with their purple sails up and rowing swiftly, with all their tentacula or feelers out. But, on being approached by anything, in go the tentacula, and down sinks the miniature sail, as the fish concentrates itself in its shell, and both vanish together, like a fairy in the sea. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE SAILOR'S POST-OFFICE. We crossed the line on the last day of June. I need not rehearse the description of a hackneyed ceremony known to all--how curtains were rigged amidships--how Father Neptune with his hempen beard came on board, seated on a gun-carriage, and how roughly all who had _not_ crossed the line before were tarred, scraped, shaved, and soused by his whimsically attired barbers, courtiers, and Tritons, to the great delight of the older salts--a ceremony which I only escaped in consequence of my recent sufferings. Two days after, we passed St. Matthew, a little desert isle on which the Portuguese formed a settlement so early as 1516, and which lies "amid the melancholy main," at a vast distance from the African coast. It is the abode of sea-birds alone. Then we completed our bag of letters, which were all duly gummed up--wax will not do in the tropics--for delivery at Ascension, which, after three hundred miles' further run, we sighted on the evening of the 9th July, for we had a fine wind, and the _Princess_ carried her studdingsails night and day. I was not without hope that we might find some homeward-bound vessel at Ascension, on board of which we might be transferred, as I was most anxious to return home to tranquillize the minds of my own family, whom I knew must long since have numbered me with the dead; but this hope was dissipated when we came abreast of the roadstead, which was _empty_, and let go our anchor about midnight, in fourteen fathom water, on a red sandy bottom. The anchorage of this solitary isle is a sheltered creek, overshadowed by a high pyramidal mountain, having on its summit the remains of two great crosses, erected of old by the pious and adventurous followers of Juan de Nova, a Portuguese mariner who flourished in the days of King Alfonzo Africanus. The heat was so great now that the atmosphere in the cabin rendered one absolutely breathless; and with pleasure, Hartly and I, clad in light clothes, with broad straw hats, furnished to us by kind Captain Baylis, accompanied him and his wife ashore next morning after anchoring, and landed at the little town, which is fortified, and the harbour of which frequently forms a rendezvous for our African squadron. The longboat with her crew afterwards came off for fresh water and turtles. The superintendence of collecting these was left to the chief mate, while with Hartly (who had been there before), Captain Baylis and I set forth on a ramble over the island, which is only nine miles long by six miles broad. An undefinable interest is excited when landing on a lonely little island after a long sea voyage; and for ages Ascension has been a species of halfway house, or resting-place for ships between Europe and the Cape. We resolved to visit the _Sailor's Post-office_, a cranny in the rocks, known for ages to the mariners of all nations, who were wont to deposit their letters there, closed up in a bottle, to be taken away by the first ship which passed in an opposite direction--a custom which the Dominican, Father Navarette, mentions as being _old_, at the time of his visit in 1673. The little isle is barren, but having been rent by volcanic throes, it has hills of pumice-stone and calcined rocks, with abrupt precipices overhanging sterile ravines that are full of black ashes. Here and there a solitary goat might be seen cropping the scanty herbage, or perched upon a sharp pinnacle, snuffing the sea breeze that waved its solemn beard. Where a spring gurgled from the rocks into the sea the turtle were seen in plenty, and there our boat's crew came in search of them. There also lay the skeletons of great numbers, which seamen, in mere wantonness, had turned on their backs, and left thus to die. From the summit of the pyramidal hill which overlooks the anchorage we could survey the boundless ocean, spreading away towards the distant shores of Africa, the still more distant coast of Peru, and the unexplored waves of the Southern Sea, all glassy, heaving, and vibrating like a mighty mirror under the vertical glare of the tropical sun. Fanning ourselves with banana leaves, for at times we gasped in the heat, we trod among ashes ankle deep, and over rocks where the power of the sun had turned to fine salt the spray cast upon them by the sea. At last we reached the Sailor's Post-office, and examined the cleft in the rocks, where the bottles or cases containing many a letter that carried to the hearts and homes of generations long since gone to dust, hope and happiness, or it might be sorrow and woe--the tidings of loved and lost ones far away in lands and seas that were then so little known and so little traversed; and then combining prose with poetry, we sat down to discuss some light sherry, pale ale, and sandwiches, which the worthy Captain Baylis insisted on conveying for us in a travelling-bag slung over his shoulder. As evening drew on, the sterile rocks and impending bluffs, the great rugged pyramidal hill that towered over the anchorage, the little town of Ascension, with its battery and gaudy Union Jack, all assumed a dusky red hue; and when the sun sank westward, the shadow of the _Princess_ at her anchor was thrown far across the bright blue water of the creek. Our last boat with turtle, bananas, fish, and fresh water, was to leave the harbour at sunset; so we were preparing to descend, when an object lying among some stones at the bottom of the cleft in the rock, caught Hartly's eye. Scrambling among ashes and black pumice-stone, he reached, and drew it forth. It was a stone jar, shaped like a ginger-beer bottle, tightly corked, and covered over the mouth and neck by thin sheet-lead, which was paid over with old tarred spunyarn; but it was so thickly encrusted with lichens and dust, which the sun and dew had baked upon it, that it had quite the colour and aspect of the stones that lay around it. "Now, what the deuce is this?" asked Captain Baylis. "A bottle," said Hartly, turning it over. "A bottle in the Post-office!" "It must have lain here a long time, if we judge by its outside," said I. "Letters have never been deposited here since 1816," observed Baylis, "when the British built the town and battery yonder." "So if it has lain here one year, it must have lain fifty." "Shake it, Hartly," said I. "It is full of something that rattles!" "Letters, probably; but few folks can care about them now." "Faith! the man's head does not ache that untwisted this spunyarn; it is at least seventy years old!" said Captain Baylis, fraying the strands with his fingers; "but we'll crack the bottle when we get on board, and see what the contents are." We joined Mrs. Baylis at the landing-place. She was reclining in the stern of the gig with a large white umbrella over her head, and could scarcely repress her curiosity to discover the contents of the old stone jug, or bottle, till we got on board. Then we broke it by a blow of a hammer, and there fell out, not letters, as we expected, but a roll of paper, consisting of leaves stitched together, and closely covered with writing, containing a narrative, or something of the kind, which had been deposited in that strange mode and strange place by some waggish or eccentric person, in the hope, perhaps, that if ever discovered, by the mystery enveloping their literary production, it would assuredly be given to the public. It was without date; but fortunately the handwriting was plain and legible, though the ink was dim and faded, for the stone bottle being porous, the paper had become damp, almost wet, and had to be carefully dried in the sunshine, which curled it up like crisped leaves in autumn, so the preparation of it for perusal was consigned to my care by Captain Baylis, who had discovered that I was, as he said, "a regular-built bookworm." "It is a history," said he, as he lighted his long clay pipe in the cabin, after the _Princess_ got under weigh next evening, and stood out of the anchorage under her courses and topgallant sails, with her royals, spanker, and gaff-topsail set. "Or the narrative of an unfortunate voyage," suggested Hartly, thinking, doubtless, of his own. "Or the revelation of some dreadful crime, or unfortunate love-story," lisped Mrs. Baylis, all impatience, pausing and looking up in the act of pouring out our tea. "It is none of these," said I; "but seems to be the translation of a Portuguese legend, connected in some way with the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope." And so, while the good captain lounged in his shirt sleeves on the cabin sofa, and puffed away with his long clay pipe, while his buxom wife made tea for us, and Hartly lit his Havannah, I commenced to read the MS. we had found so singularly; and it ran thus--but requires a chapter or two to itself. CHAPTER XXXV. MS. LEGEND OF EL CABO DOS TORMENTOS. It is written--says the Spanish Dominican Friar and Missionary Priest, the Padre Navarette--that the first time reports reached Europe of a spectre haunting the Cape of Storms, was by the narratives of certain Portuguese adventurers, who sailed into the Southern Sea, with the Senhor Bartholomew Diaz, in the early part of the fifteenth century, when Dom Joam II. occupied the throne of Portugal. His cousin and successor, King Emmanuel, fired by the discoveries made in the reigns of his predecessors, who had planted their flag and cross on the shores of Madeira, the Azores, and Isles of the Cape de Verd, resolved to accomplish what they had failed in, and with praiseworthy zeal despatched an admiral to discover a passage to India by sea. After a long absence this cavalier returned and reported that he had found the _southern_ extremity of the mighty African continent; but, that his ships had encountered great perils when off a flat-headed mountain of wondrous form, which he had named _El Cabo dos Tormentos_. The King of Portugal suggested that "_El Cabo de Buena Esperanto_, (_i.e._, the Cape of Good Hope), would be a better term;" and it was at once adopted by his courtiers, though the mariners of the Admiral adhered to "the Cape of Torments," as they alleged that, not only had they nearly been swallowed by the waves of a black and stormy sea, but that they had seen a stupendous form, resembling a human figure, riding upon the whirling scud above the Table Mountain, and spreading his giant arms as if to clasp them in his terrible embrace, and hurl them into the yawning deep. They insisted that this dangerous promontory was the end of the habitable world--the abode of devils, spectres, and torments--a place wherein nothing human could dwell; and that the seas which washed its shore should be shunned by all future navigators. They ridiculed the title of _Buena Esperança_, and urged that no mariner in his senses would visit the place again; for the old salts of those days devoutly believed in tales of "That sea-snake tremendous curled, Whose monstrous circle girds the world," and that the earth was girt with fire at the Equator; that whoever passed the tempestuous Cape Bojador, which was first doubled by the Portuguese in 1433, and which forms the southern limit of Morocco, was doomed never to return, as a mysterious breeze (the trade wind?) blew for ever against them; that ships got into currents that ran _down hill_--currents against which they might beat and struggle in vain, till their shattered hulls were cast upon Bermuda--the "vexed Bermoothes" of Shakespeare, which, as Stowe tells us, "were supposed to be inhabited by witches and devils"--an iron shore where perpetual storms raged, and fated ships were dashed upon the rocks. Despite these terrors, animated by a spirit of adventure, Vasco da Gama, a valiant mariner and cavalier of Alentejo, resolved to sail in quest of this terrible cape, accompanied by many of his friends, among whom was a noble young hidalgo, named Vasco da Lobiera, grandson of the gallant knight of that name, who fought at the battle of Aljubarotta, and received his spurs on the field from King Joam of good memory, at whose feet, in after years, he laid his famous romance, "Amadis de Gaul." From his grandsire young Vasco inherited a love of wild adventure; thus his mind was full of tales of "The days when giants were rife With their towers and painted halls, And heroes, each with a charmed life, Rode up to their castle walls-- When gentle and bright ones with golden hair Were wooed by princes in green, And knights with invisible caps to wear, Could see, and yet never be seen." Notwithstanding the alleged terrors of the spectre or storm fiend which haunted the Cape, the brave Da Gama and his friend Lobiera resolved to set forth upon these mysterious waters, and to double the promontory of Southern Africa. So the former, as Captain-General, hoisted his banner on board the _San Gabriel_, of two hundred and twenty tons; while Paulo da Gama, his brother, commanded the _San Rafael_, of one hundred tons. Vasco da Lobiera had the caravella named _Nossa Senhora da Belem_ (or Bethlehem), with Joam da Coimbra as pilot, and Gonsalo Nunez had their great storeship laden with provisions. All these vessels were built of the pines which were planted in the forest of Marinha by King Denis the Magnificent, and were manned by one hundred and sixty chosen mariners. King Emmanuel made them a farewell oration, and gave into the hands of each commander a white silk banner of the military order of Christ, together with his royal letters to an imaginary potentate, who was supposed to dwell beyond the Southern Sea, and was named Prester John of the Indies, Lord and Emperor of Ethiopia; and so, with the prayers of all good Portuguese for their success, the little squadron sailed from Lisbon, on the 8th July, 1497, when it is recorded that "thousands remained weeping on the shore, until the last traces of the receding fleet had disappeared." Among their own crews, as well as among those of the other two ships, Da Gama and Da Lobiera found men averse to touching at the Cabo dos Tormentos; and these urged, that to double this dreadful promontory, they should stand further out to sea than the adventurers of Dom Joam's days, and then visit in safety the realms of Prester John on the other side. Gama and his friend heeded neither their remarks, their exhortations, or their fears, but bore away steadily to the southward. After a long and perilous voyage, and after anchoring in a great bay which they named Angra de Santa Elena, the crew of _Our Lady of Belem_ first saw the land of Table Bay on the morning of Saturday, the 4th of November, when, in obedience to Dom Vasco da Lobiera, the ship's company donned their gayest apparel, discharged a volley from their culverins, and blew all their trumpets; but, as they stood towards the shore, they were compelled to lessen their canvas, for the wind, which had hitherto been moderate and favourable, now changed to the south-east, and increased to a gale, while the sun set in dense clouds, and turning from light green to black, the waves began to froth and break as they alternately rose into hills or sank into valleys. And now as night and mist descended together on the sea, and on the Cabo dos Tormentos, lightnings began to play about the awful summit of the Table Mountain, which rises for more than three thousand two hundred feet above the shore. The four ships which prior to this evening had kept close together, were compelled by the violence of the gale to separate, lest they might be dashed against each other; and in the murk and gloom they continued to beat against the headwind, with their topsail-yards lowered upon the cap, their courses close reefed, and their spritsails stowed. When the vessels last saw each other, the Senhor Vasco da Lobiera was much chagrined to perceive that his caravella had dropped far astern of her companions. He had ever prided himself upon the swiftness of her sailing, and now he burned lights, and strove to come abreast of the Captain-General, who had beat far to windward, and who he feared might attribute his drifting so much a-lee, and towards danger, to want of skill or seamanship. He set as much canvas as he dared, and _Nossa Senhora da Belem_ tore through the angry sea with her foresail and foretopsail close reefed, and her jib and spritsail set, while the waves lashed her worn sides, and burst in foam over her carved and lofty prow at every furious plunge. The seamen told their beads, lit candles before the shrine of Nossa Senhora in the great cabin, shook their heads, muttered under their long black beards, or maintained gloomy silence, fearing they knew not what, but anticipating all the terrors that had beset the followers of Bartholomew Diaz in the same waters. And now wave after wave broke in thundering volume over her decks, till Lobiera was fain to cast overboard the brass culverins which had been consecrated by the Bishop of Lisbon, and his men averred that each uttered _a cry_ as it sank into the sea. By midnight they were, as Joam da Coimbra stated, about six miles from the mouth of Table Bay. Hoarsely roared the wind through the strained shrouds of the labouring caravella, as she rolled and pitched wildly amid the black and fearful waste of water, and ere long she was driving under bare poles with only her jib and staysail to lift her head from the sea, which rushed upon her like a succession of watery mountains. With all the firmness of true mariners and cavaliers, Vasco da Lobiera and his friend Joam stood at the tiller, crossing themselves ever and anon when they shouted a command through the trumpet, or invoked our Lady of Belem. The deck had long since been cleared of every loose spar, bucket, or other material by the waves; and more than one poor mariner had been swept overboard to perish miserably in the midnight sea, for no human hand could assist them. Some there were who asserted that they had seen the claws of a giant figure start from the black waves, and drag their shipmates down below by their beards and trunk hose. "We make no progress," said others, rending their hair; "a mighty magnet, buried deep in the sea, holds us to one accursed spot!" "Nay," said Joam da Coimbra; "'tis the teeth of a mighty fish that grasp our keel." "Be of good cheer, I pray you, my friends," said Vasco, pointing to the Southern Cross, which was then visible through a rent in the fast flying scud; "behold the sign by which we shall conquer! What says the motto of our country?" "_In hoc signo vinces!_" exclaimed Joam da Coimbra, throwing his hands towards the south. "Amen," responded the terrified crew, and still their ship bore on. "Thou art right, Joam," said Vasco da Lobiera; and the courage of the crew revived, for their pilot was a mariner of great experience, and, like Chaucer's shipman-- "By many a tempest had his beard been shaken." CHAPTER XXXVI. LEGEND CONTINUED--THE CATASTROPHE. The moon, which had hitherto been concealed in dense vapour, now glanced at times through the flying clouds. It was one of those stormy moons well known in that quarter of the world. She seemed small, but keen and bright, gilding with whitest silver the ragged edges of the torn vapour, which fled past with such speed as to give her literally the aspect of sailing through the sky. A mournful and moaning sound now came upon the wind which traversed that dashing sea, and the mariners of Lobiera, who had never looked on such a scene, nor beheld such lightnings as those that girdled like a fiery belt the flat summit of the Table Mountain, were becoming more bewildered and faint of heart, when a cry of dismay burst from Joam da Coimbra, and now even the resolute Vasco stood speechless and aghast. Above the Table Mountain the clouds rapidly rolled themselves into a denser and darker mass, which assumed the outline of a human figure that grew in volume while they gazed upon it, until it towered into the sky, against the moonlit blue of which it was defined with terrible distinctness. "The spectre--il demonio del Cabo dos Tormentos!" said each in his heart, while it continued to tower, with mighty arms outstretched, as if to clutch the devoted ship, or bury it in the sea that seethed around this dreadful cape--the great promontory of the southern world. With one foot planted on Table Mountain, and the other on the Devil's Hill, with a head that darkened heaven, stood this mighty form, which appeared to have the power of curbing and of loosening the elements, for at every wave of its threatening arms the sea increased in turbulence, and the wind in fury, for the thunder appeared to be his voice, the lightning the flashes of his eye, the tempest the breath of his nostrils! "Madre de Dios--our Lady of Belem!" prayed Dom Vasco. "Dei genetrix, intercede pro nobis!" was the faint response of his quailing crew. "Courage, comrades," he exclaimed; "I have still the blessed banner which our Lord the King gave me, and it shall yet float above the storm." "But the ship has become unmanageable!" cried Joam da Coirabra. "Nay, say not so--Heaven forefend! _Nossa Senhora da Belem_ is as gallant a craft as ever came from the woods of Marinha, and she shall bear us yet to seas beyond the power of this resentful demon!" Vasco da Lobiera would have said more, but a burst of thunder drowned every other sound; lightning filled the entire sky with lurid flame; the wind bellowed, and the blinding rain descended in a solid sheet upon the trembling sea with such power as almost to still its waves. He ordered the masts to be cut away; only two of his crew heard the order, or had the courage to obey it. The rest were crouching in a group, stupified by despair and fear. Three blows of a sharp axe were alone required, the tempest did the rest, and the stately masts with all their yards and gear vanished alongside. The rudder was torn from its iron bands, and now the boasted _Lady of Belem_ floated like a log upon the waves, which incessantly broke over her, washing the crew in succession away. Now it was that the heart of Vasco da Lobiera began to sink, and he gave himself up for lost! In a few minutes more he found himself struggling in the sea, for his ship was hurled upon the rocky coast and dashed to pieces. Clutching a piece of wreck, he was tossed up by a vast wave, that cast him stunned, breathless, helpless and alone, upon the desolate shore of that terrible promontory; so his holy banner availed him nothing. And there he lay as the sea receded, wave after wave continuing to hiss and roar behind him, as if loth to lose their prey. * * * * * CHAPTER XXXVII LEGEND CONCLUDED--THE SEQUEL. When the Senhor Dom Vasco came to his senses, says the Padre Navarette, morning had dawned. All nature was calm, and the warm rays of the rising sun were shedding light and gladness on the land and sea. Above him rose in sullen majesty the triple crest of the Table Mountain, the Devil's Hill, and the Hill of Lions; and undisturbed by a single ripple before him lay that treacherous sea, which, but a few hours before, had destroyed _Nossa Senhora da Belem_. With some surprise, Vasco found that his doublet and hose were dry; and that his bruises were not so severe as he might have expected, under all the circumstances. He arose, invoked Heaven on his knees, and surveyed the watery plain with anxiety, to discover whether any fragment of the wrecked caravella was floating there; but not a vestige was to be seen, and apparently none of his crew had reached the shore save himself, all had perished. The forlorn cavalier could not repress an exclamation of bitterness and grief, on realizing the full horror of this catastrophe; for he loved his crew, and also the little caravella in which he had sailed so gaily from the Tagus, on that auspicious 8th of July. Distant from his native land many, many thousand miles, without a hope of rescue or release, he was about to abandon himself to despair, when in the vague hope of meeting another survivor, he traversed the plain which lies at the base of the Table Mountain, and which was then covered by white lilies, gorgeous tulips, and almond trees, all growing wild. To add to his grief and terror, here he found the remains of his friend, Joam da Coimbra, half devoured by lions or wolves, who had dragged him from the beach. Dom Vasco shuddered, and was hastening on, when a deep voice that seemed to fill the whole welkin, cried, "_Stay!_" He turned, and beheld a copper-coloured man of wondrous stature, and savage, yet noble aspect, who held in his right hand a hunting spear, so long, that it was twice the length of any Vasco had ever seen--aye, thrice the length of the lance his grandsire had carried at Aljubarrota--and in his left a reeking skin, which he had just torn from a lion--perhaps one of those that had been feasting on the hapless pilot. His aspect was alike sublime and terrible; his black beard was of majestic length; his bright eyes wore a sad and gloomy expression, and his hair which rose in great curls, like those of the Phidian Jove, resembled the mane of a sable lion. But what is stranger than all, this wild man spoke very good Portuguese. "In the name of Heaven," said the cavalier, "who and what are you?" "The spirit of the Cabo dos Tormentos--the demon of the storm which rent your ship asunder, and cast it on yonder shores, dashed to a thousand pieces," replied the form in a deep, but melodious voice. Vasco--continues the Padre Navarette--doubted the evidence of his senses. This was like one of the adventures with which the history of "Amadis de Gaul" had filled his mind--one for which he longed; but he felt the reality the reverse of pleasant. "I have ruled these regions since the ark rested on Mount Ararat, and since the land was parted from the waters; but never until now, has the foot of man invaded them; and had my power prevailed in the storm of yesternight, instead of being here, thou too shouldst have found a grave where many other adventurers lie, in yonder rolling sea." "Terrible spirit," said Dom Vasco, "is the presence of a mere mortal so hateful to you?" "Yes," replied the demon, shaking his mighty locks with gloom and sadness; "for now my power over these seas, and shores, and clouds, must end where thine begins. Else, wherefore did I bury ship after ship in that tempestuous sea, or split them by the flaming bolts, that all on board might perish? Many have sought to pass my promontory, to reach the golden realms of Prester John, but none have escaped me save _thee_! I have had the power of assuming what form I please. To-day I am a man, to-morrow I should tower to the skies astride the Table Mountain, or ride the wild blast that comes from the arid desert of Zahara, to bury some barque in the distant sea; but that my power is passing away from me. I tell thee, O most fortunate and valiant cavalier, that from this day the Cabo dos Tormentos shall be a Cape of Storms no more, but one of Good Hope to all the mariners of the earth--for so it was ordained by the hand which placed Adam in Eden and gave such wondrous power unto the Seal of Solomon." As the spirit concluded, his voice became fainter; his broad and dusky chest heaved as he sighed deeply, and he gradually appeared to dissolve into a thin white vapour, which floated upwards and melted away on the summit of the Table Mountain. But the power of the spirit lingers there still; for over the same spot where he vanished from the eyes of Dom Vasco, _a thin white cloud_, which rises from the hill, is unto this day the sure forerunner of a storm.* * In summer, when the S.E. wind blows, a cloud called _the Tablecloth_ appears on the mountain, and always indicates a tempest. This cloud is composed of immense masses of fleecy whiteness.--_Arnott_. Next day, the _San Rafael_, the vessel of Da Gama, which had been greatly shattered by the tempest, appeared off Table Bay, and on Vasco da Lobiera making signals, a boat was sent for him and he was brought on board, more dead than alive after all he had undergone. To the wondering followers of his friend, he related his adventure. They deplored the loss of his caravella, and of so many good and pious Portuguese; but they shook their long beards doubtfully when he spoke of the spectre, though the unusual calmness of the weather about the Cabo dos Tormentos seemed to verify his story and the promises made to him. On being joined by the vessels of Paulo da Gama and Gonzalo Nunez, they bore away to the eastward, and named the coast La Terra de Noel (or Natal) having anchored off it on Christmas Day. Sixty leagues from the Cape, they found a bay, which they named San Blaz, and in it an island, full of birds with bat's-wings. (Penguins.) Thus the passage of the Cape of Storms was fully achieved and the spell broken by these valiant Portuguese; but they could nowhere discover the realms of Prester John, so the royal letters of Dom Emmanuel remained unopened. On his return to Lisbon, Dom Vasco applied to the King of Portugal for a gift of the Table Mountain, and money to colonize the land about it, in virtue of his interview with the spectre; but he was laughed at by the courtiers, and especially by the priests, who proved his greatest enemies. The King, after this, styled himself Lord of the Seas on both sides of Africa; Lord of Guinea, Ethiopia, Persia, India, Brazil, and many other lands; but how fared it with Dom Vasco da Lobiera? Fury, pride, and mortification turned his brain; but he survived till the reign of King Joam III., when he was last seen, an old and impoverished man, with a white head and threadbare doublet, hovering in the Rua d'Agua de Flore in Lisbon, at the gate of the Estrella, or at the chapel of Nossa Senhora da Belem, raving to the passers about the friendly Demon of el Cabo de Buena Esperança, and the colony of which the King had deprived him. So--says the Padre Navarette--ends this wild story. CHAPTER XXXVIII. WE LAND IN AFRICA. And now to resume my own more simple narrative. The barque _Princess_, which, until we touched at Ascension, had been favoured with singularly fine weather, now encountered strong head-winds. She was driven out of her course, and had to run well in, on the African coast. After long beating about, on the 2nd of August we saw the great continent on the southern shore of the Gulf of Guinea. The winds had become light and the weather cloudy. On this day I remember the crew were variously employed, and the carpenters were busy in making two new topgallant masts, to replace those injured in the rough weather we had so recently encountered. About six P.M. the weather became squally. Captain Baylis ordered the studding-sails to be taken in, and the chain-cables bent to the anchors. At midnight we took in the royals and flying-jib. At four o'clock on the morning of the 3rd, as we required fresh water, we came to anchor in a little sheltered bay of the Rio Gabon, which lies between the Bight of Benin and Cape Lopez Gonsalvo. The wondrous transparency of the atmosphere here exceeded all I had seen--even in the pure region of eternal ice; for amid the clear splendour of the heavens, the eye could observe without a telescope many a lesser star unseen in the north; and on this morning when we were coming to anchor, two of the fixed planets shone with a refulgence so brilliant as to cast the shadow of the ships far across the estuary. By this time, the hot vertical sun of the tropics had peeled all the paint off the blistered sides of the _Princess_. Her anchors and ironwork had become mere masses of red rust, her once white paint had been turned to orange colour, and her tar to dirty yellow, while the caulking and pitch had boiled out from her planks and seams. Captain Baylis had no intention of remaining here longer than he could avoid, as the climate is unhealthy. Though the hills which overlook the river are of considerable height, the land between it and them is but a series of swamps, where the gigantic water-weeds of Africa and the wild mangrove-trees flourish in rank luxuriance, and where the hideous crocodile squatters in the slime, or crawls along the sand, where its eggs are hatched by the hot sun, if they are not previously stolen by the ichneumon. While the chief mate went off in the long-boat to the Pongos--as the little isles at the mouth of the estuary are named--to fill several casks with fresh water, Captain Baylis proposed a visit to a negro village on the coast, for the purpose of procuring some elephants' teeth and leopard skins, and having a _palaver_ with the natives, many of whom, though extremely savage, have picked up a little English by the frequent visits of our ships, particularly those of the African squadron. With a view to barter, he placed in his gig four old rusty muskets, some well-worn table knives, old coats, pots and kettles, while, to be prepared for any emergency, four rifles, carefully loaded and capped, were concealed in the stern sheets, and Mrs. Baylis, Hartly, and I accompanied him on this expedition, which was the commencement of a series of disasters, that ended in the destruction of nearly all concerned. For the lady's comfort, an awning was rigged over the stern of the gig, which, being rowed by eight oars, ran rapidly close in shore, where we saw a number of black fellows in a state of semi-nudity, gabbling, gesticulating violently, and watching our arrival with considerable interest. Some of their actions seeming to indicate hostility as they brandished long spears and asseguys, Captain Baylis stood up in the boat and displayed his old pots and kettles, making signs that he wished to trade or barter with them. On this they uttered a simultaneous yell, and disappeared among the mangroves, which fringed all the bank of the river, and formed a species of natural arcade by their branches arching over from the solid soil, and taking root in the slimy water. Of this unsatisfactory result we could make nothing; but in no way daunted, Captain Baylis (though saying that he "wished he had left his good wife on board") steered for a little creek, on entering which, we lost sight alike of the Pongo islets and the _Princess_, which lay at anchor in the estuary, about four miles off. Beaching partly the sharp-prowed and handsome gig in the soft sand, Baylis, Hartly, and I sprang ashore, and looked in every direction among the tall weeds and mangroves for our sable traders; but all was silent and still. The breast of the broad river was undisturbed by a ripple, and seemed to sleep in the sultry sunshine; the silence of the mighty forests that grew along its banks was unbroken by a sound; and the vast baobab or calibash trees, with their gigantic yellow fruit and wondrous horizontal branches, covered by foliage, were drooping listlessly in the hot and breathless atmosphere of the tropical noon. "I don't understand this, and, moreover, I don't much like it," said Captain Baylis, in a low voice to Hartly and me; "for when I was here before I found the darkies ready enough to 'make friends,' as they term it, and to exchange their elephants' tusks, panther skins, and camwood for any rubbish we could collect on board." But he knew not that, at this time, one of the crew of an American ship which sailed on the previous day had wantonly shot the fetisher, or priest of a village, and thus inspired the people with hostility to all white strangers; and it is not improbable that they conceived the Yankee and the _Princess_ to be one and the same vessel. After looking about us for some time, and finding that none of the natives returned, Baylis proposed that we should pull a little higher up the stream, to the village of the Rio Serpientes--or Snake River, as it is called in the charts--a tributary of the Gabon. The giant size of the plants, shrubs, and trees, their wonderful greenness and luxuriance, the brilliance of the flowers, the loud hum of insect-life, where insects are as large as birds at home, the depth of the forest dingles, and the overpowering heat of the atmosphere, all served to impress me with novelty and strangeness; while mingled emotions of wonder, pleasure, and apprehension filled my breast. With deep interest I trod this wondrous soil, of which so little is known. "For three centuries," says some one, "our ships have circumnavigated Africa, and yet, with a few exceptions, our knowledge of its districts is very incomplete; while the interior presents to the eye a _blank_ in geography--an unsolved problem, in moral as well as physical science." Though nearly four thousand years ago the valley of the Nile was the cradle of art and commerce, we know no more about the Mountains of the Moon than old Ptolemy himself knew. We were about to re-embark, when the united yells of more than a hundred negroes rent the clear welkin, and starting from the leafy seclusion of the mangroves into the blaze of sunlight, a horde of black and naked savages rushed upon us with long asseguys, bows, clubs, and knives; and in a moment we found ourselves their prisoners. Two seamen in the bow of the gig, while attempting to shove her off, were struck through the body with poisoned spears, and slain on the instant; the rest were dragged out, the gig itself was lifted fairly out of the water, hoisted on the brawny shoulders of nearly twenty men, and borne with yells of derision and exultation up the bank, where they hurled it high and dry ashore among the mangroves; while at the same moment, poor Baylis with horror saw his shrieking wife dragged by others into the jungle. After being beaten with asseguy-shafts until we were nearly senseless, our clothes were rent from us roughly, and in a state nearly approaching nudity, covered with bruises, and in some instances with blood, we were dragged into a thicket, and brought before the King of the village, who was seated on a grass matting, which was spread under the umbrageous shadow of a baobab-tree, where he was smoking a great wooden pipe. All this passed in less than five minutes; and I was so stunned by the rapidity of the transaction, as well as by several blows received on the head from lance-shafts, that the whole affair resembled a terrible dream! CHAPTER XXXIX. THE KING OF THE SNAKE RIVER In that district of Africa every village has its petty monarch, and these are all vassals of the King of Gabon, who, in turn, is vassal of the King of Benin; and Zabadie, the sooty sovereign of this empire, had just died about this time. The town, or capital (of his Majesty of the Snake River), if it could be so named, in which we found ourselves, was composed of some six hundred huts or so; and these resembled a large collection of beehives, being constructed with meshes, twigs, straw, and turf. I was dragged to the door of one, while a savage, whom I conceived to be the proprietor, and who wore a large coin at his neck, threw in my hat, coat, vest, and trowsers, of which he had violently possessed himself, being a person in authority and near relation of the King. While he grasped me by a thong which secured my right wrist, I could perceive within that his dwelling consisted of one apartment, the appurtenances of which were only mats, calibashes, a stone mortar for pounding millet, and a cauldron of earthenware. Closing the door, which was composed of basket-work, he dragged me to our forlorn group, which stood before the King, who for some time permitted us to be pelted with stones, decayed gourds, and pulpy water-melons, by the women and children of his capital; and under this treatment and her terror, poor Captain Baylis saw his unfortunate wife about to sink without being able to yield her the least assistance, as the point of an asseguy menaced his throat at the slightest movement. As an accessory to the alarm our situation excited within us, close by where his Majesty sat was a negro, on whom a sentence of his had just been executed. This miserable wretch had been tied to a stake, disembowelled alive, and had his body thereafter filled with hot salt. Despite the terrors of our own situation, his dying agonies suggested terrible thoughts of what our own fate might be. At last his contortions and quiverings ceased for ever, and then, on the hoarse beating of an old Arab drum, the pelting was stopped, the King of the Snakes laid aside his pipe, and while all his sable subjects, save those who guarded us, prostrated themselves on the turf, he commenced to address us; and Baylis, who knew something of his jargon, replied, and translated the conversation to us. The Captain earnestly deprecated our treatment, as we had come among them with the peaceful intention of trading. He pled especially on behalf of his wife, and offered a great store of bottled rum, old firelocks, pots, kettles, brass buttons, and iron nails, as ransom for us all. At these offers his sable Majesty, the Solon of the Snake River, before whom had been laid the entire contents of the gig, with the bloody garments of the poor fellows slain in her, only grinned from time to time, and then uttered a diabolical laugh, which boded us no good. This savage chief presented a dreadful aspect. Black as ebony, tall, strong, and muscular in form, he had a horizontal slit in his nether lip (a custom of his people) through which he could loll his tongue at pleasure. This unusual aperture was so large as to give him the appearance of having two mouths; thus, when he grinned, the white teeth appeared at the upper, and the red cruel tongue through the lower. He wore long splints of wood through the lobes of his ears; one eye had a fiery red circle painted round it, the other a yellow. He wore the skin of an ape in front like an apron; and this, with a pair of sandals, formed of elephant hide, completed his attire. His weapons were a long asseguy of tough teak wood, having a point of iron; and a short sword of iron, curiously fashioned, with a great leathern tassel at the end of the sheath, hung on his left side. Behind him a savage held the bridle of his dromedary, which was covered by a multiplicity of barbaric trappings. "It is the law of Empungua," said the King, "that he who slays a man shall have a public trial in face of the tribe; and if he cannot justify the act, he and all his adherents are doomed to die." "Then," replied Baylis, "I demand justice on those who slew two of my men, and plundered our boat." "But how know we not that one or both killed the fetisher, who was at worship in the Wood of the Devil?" demanded the King, with a dreadful expression in his yellow eyeballs. "Ya--ya--ya--yah!" chorused the tribe. "I swear to you that we know nothing of the act you mention," replied Baylis, with great earnestness. "The white men are liars!" "If we had known, or been guilty of it, would we have ventured ashore to trade or barter with you like brothers?" "Yes; because the white men are all liars!" "It was done by the ship of another nation." "All the white men belong to one tribe, and one big canoe is very like another. You are liars who come over the Sea of Darkness."* * The Atlantic. Baylis, on finding that all his assertions of innocence met with utter disbelief, bent all his energy to bribe our release; but his sable Majesty only grinned through _both_ his horrid mouths, and said-- "Enough! the King of the Snake River will keep what he has got, without trusting to getting more. The white men are false. Who of my people would venture to your ship when we know now what we never knew before?" "And what is this?" "Accursed dog and son of a race of dogs!" thundered the King, spitting a quid of something like beetel-nut full in the face of Baylis; "we have learned that you white men take our people away in shiploads to fatten them for food, in a land far beyond the sea!" On this, a yell similar to that we had first heard made wood and welkin ring. Violent hands were again laid on us, and we expected instant immolation; but their purpose at present was merely to denude us more fully of anything we had about us. On having his shirt torn from him, poor Hartly endeavoured to protect or conceal a little gold locket, which contained the hair of his dead wife and of their little ones, and which was hung at his neck by a black silk riband. But he received a blow from a carved war-club which covered his face with blood; he reeled backward, and the prized relic was instantly appropriated by the King, who, no doubt, deemed it the white man's fetish, a "great medicine," or amulet. Mrs. Baylis became insensible, and was delivered over to a crowd of women, who shouted and laughed like devils as they bore her into a wigwam, while her husband, Hartly, six seamen, and I, were, by the King's order, conducted through the town of huts, and driven like a herd towards the summit of a high mountain, where we fully expected to be put to death in some barbarous fashion. Mounted on his dromedary, the King accompanied his savages, one of whom, brilliantly smeared over with ochre, was an esquire of the royal body, I presume, as he sat behind, and held outspread a broad umbrella of grass matting. CHAPTER XL. THE GABON CLIFF. A sad series of barbarities, suffering, danger, and death make up the remainder of my story. We were in the hands of a tribe addicted to fetishism of the lowest kind. Worse than the ferocious Bisagos, who pay divine homage to a dunghill cock, or the people of Benin, who worship their own shadows, they adored the devil and all snakes, from the little adder to the great cobra-capello, and maintained temples and priests in their honour; remaining, in this age of steam, gas, and electricity, as ignorant as the people mentioned by Ælian, who worshipped flies, and offered up full-fed oxen on their shrines! Amid a yelling horde, who, by their menacing tones, seemed full of animosity, and no doubt were pouring upon us their whole vocabulary of abuse, though we understood it not, we were led up the steep rough slope of a mountain, which rose at a very sharp angle to a great height. The side on which we ascended was covered with loose stones, amid which the wild coffee and tobacco plants, with innumerable thorny trees--the _persea_ of Theophrastus--grew in tangled masses, with serrated grass, having blades as sharp as knives, with many a nameless bramble that tore our tender skins, while gnats came upon us in swarms, and well-nigh drove us mad; and all this we endured, while the well-armed crew of the _Princess_, in ignorance of our fate, were within a few miles of us! On reaching what we supposed to be the summit of a mountain, we found ourselves upon a green plateau that terminated abruptly in a precipitous cliff nearly four hundred feet in height, and overhanging some rocky shelves, which sloped down to the bed of the Gabon River. Here the King dismounted from his dromedary, and squatted his sable person on a piece of grass matting under the royal umbrella, while several of his chief men seated themselves at a respectful distance, after knocking their woolly heads upon the earth, in token of their slavish submission. From the brow of this cliff we could see our ship at anchor in the estuary, but alas! far beyond the reach of signals. We could also see the little green Pongos, which stud the bay formed by the great sweep of the Gabon. Afar off on the other hand towards the east, we could discern where, between groves of strange trees--the plantain, banana, and the baobab--with many a giant plant and mighty flower upon its shores, the great river of Guinea, the Rio Gabon, rolled from its distant source, in the unexplored land of Ungobai--a stream so broad and deep that a sloop of war has ascended it for more than seventy miles. Transparent though the air was around us, a hot sunny haze shrouded those green forests through which the Gabon came rolling like a mighty flood of gold towards the west--rolling through a vast plain, covered by a leafy wilderness, where the lordly lion with his shaggy mane, the cruel panther with his stealthy step, and the ponderous elephant, roved in herds; and amid the luxuriant flowers and lovely fertility of which, the scaly cobra-capello, and a hundred kinds of dreadful reptiles, with tongues that teemed with poison, lurked; where every fruit and herb were gigantic in proportion to the mighty continent which produced them; where the crocodile squattered in the green miasmatic slime, and the hippopotami, huge, misshapen, and pre-Adamite in form, swam like the great tusky walrus of the icy regions I had left so recently. All these natural wonders were contained in the vast plain at our feet--a plain that seemed to vibrate under the cloudless glare of the burning sun; for the heat at noon must have been somewhere about 107° in the shade, and our tender skins were blistering under it. But the thoughts this scene inspired for a moment were soon diverted from it, by the terrors about to be enacted there. A hideous old negro, whose barbaric ornaments announced his rank and character as a _fetisher_, proceeded to examine, with gipsy-like care, the various lines on the palms of our hands. What he affected to gather therefrom we could not divine, but the lines proved fatal to three of our companions, whom, with yells of satisfaction, he thrust aside from the rest, and the work of torture and death at once began by order of the King. Three strong and handsome young seamen had their hands tied behind them by a thick thong. To this a rope was attached; after this they were thrust over the cliff, and a piercing cry, which curdled the blood in our hearts, burst from each, when, by the violence of the jerk and their own weight, their arms were torn round and upward, and dislocated in the shoulder socket. In this horrible situation they swung at the extremity of the suspending lines, which were made fast to the roots of a palm-tree; and there with a pendulous motion, they swayed to and fro in mid-air, over the sharp edge of that impending cliff, with the rocky bank of the Gabon four hundred feet below. Need I say their shrieks and cries for pity were piercing and unheeded? Unable to yield them the slightest assistance, we gazed in speechless horror; while, as their strength waned, their sad moans arose from time to time to the plateau on which we stood. The hungry cormorants, in anticipation of their coming repast, came out of their holes in the cliff, and with flapping wings, wheeled and swooped up and down about them. To protract the mental and bodily agony endured by these poor fellows, they were permitted to hang thus for nearly half an hour, when the King gave a signal, and a score of tum-tums, or drums, were beaten. On this, the cords were parted by three blows of a sharp hatchet, then the bodies of our companions fell whizzing through the air, and vanished from sight far down below, where no doubt the river crocodiles, the greedy cormorants, and the wild ducks would soon rend their poor corses asunder. So perished these unfortunates! We looked into each other's haggard eyes with blank dismay; and it may readily be supposed that such an episode made us still more spiritless and timid. "Oh, my wife! my poor wife!" exclaimed the unfortunate Baylis from time to time. "Death is but the birthday of _another_ life, the parsons tell us; but I think with horror of her fate among such cowardly dogs as these. God help her! God help her!" A series of prolonged and exulting yells now announced that our captors conceived they had appeased the spirit of the fetisher whom the Yankees had slain. "Let them die! let them die!" (Baylis told me were their shouts;) "they are but white dogs who worship neither the sun nor moon, nor the big snake that lives in the wood." There were now but six of us remaining, and our fate was soon decided. The King selected Hartly and Baylis as slaves for himself, assigning the four others to different chief men of his town or territory. "My poor friend," said Hartly, "this is from bad to worse! Why did we not perish with the _Leda_? We shall never weather these fellows, I fear!" I fell to the lot of the savage with the coin at his neck, a personage whom they named Amoo--the same supple fellow who had first pounced upon me when we landed in that fiendish country. As we were separated, Hartly and I had only time to exchange a farewell glance. My hands were still secured by the thong, which was tied so tightly that the flesh of my wrists was becoming blue, livid, and swollen almost to bursting, so my aching arms were powerless. By blows with the shaft of his asseguy, Amoo drove me down the hill, and conducted me to his wigwam, when the tribe separated, and save on one occasion I never again saw any of my poor companions in misfortune; though I afterwards learned the miserable fate of Captain Baylis and his wife. CHAPTER XLI. HOW THE CAPTAIN PERISHED. I have mentioned that the gentle Mrs. Baylis--she who had nursed us so kindly in our helplessness--had been carried off by the women of this tribe of devils, who confined her in a wigwam. On perceiving the whiteness of her skin, and the great length and softness of her hair, which was of a fair auburn colour, forming thus a strange contrast to their sooty exteriors, and the short, poodledog-like tufts of wool with which their own round skulls were covered, they diligently proceeded to make her as like themselves as possible. A species of gum and certain herbs were boiled in an earthen pipkin, and with this decoction they rubbed her whole face and body, until they became black as ebony. They next rooted out the whole of her soft and beautiful hair, making her perfectly bald. Her head was then smeared thickly with gum, and coated over with green and crimson parrot's feathers. They then streaked her breast and shoulders with red and yellow paint. This process occupied two entire days, during which she remained a passive victim in their hands, and at the close--when these ladies of the Rio Serpientes thought they had made the unhappy woman as fiendish in aspect and as like themselves as possible--they placed a kind of hoe in her hands and dragged her into a plantation of millet to work with them; as the naked warriors and lazy husbands of Gabon, like those of other savage districts, disdainfully leave all manual labour to their slavish helpmates. Despair and exhaustion rendered Mrs. Baylis unable to work; so the negresses beat, scratched, and bit her, till she sank under their hands at the root of a date-tree, where she lay inert and reckless alike of life and death; but the horrid hiss of a serpent close by, aroused her. So great is the instinctive love of life, that on beholding this hideous reptile, which was of the venomous kind and some six or eight feet long, rearing its head to attack her, she uttered a shrill and piercing cry for aid. Two white prisoners who had been hewing wood in an adjacent thicket came forth on hearing this; but the negresses, who laughed and danced on seeing the poor woman assailed by one of their holy snakes, met the two men with their hoes in a hostile attitude, and barred their advance to a rescue: while the white men, conceiving the shrieking victim to be a mere savage--so darkly was the skin of Mrs. Baylis dyed by the decoctions of her tormentors--were not over anxious to interfere. In one of these white prisoners, worn to a skeleton, haggard in eye, and covered with sores and bloody bruises, she had nearly as much difficulty in recognising her husband, the once plump and jolly captain of the _Princess_, as he had, in tracing in the face of that dusky and copper-coloured squaw, with her gummed wig of red and green parrot's feathers, his pretty English wife, with her once snowy skin and silky auburn hair; but she cried aloud, "Save me, Baylis--Oh, save me! I am your poor wife, your own Annie!" The unfortunate Baylis trembled with mingled rage and horror, and snatching a hoe from a negress rushed upon the poisonous serpent, which had already bitten its victim thrice, and beat it furiously upon its flat head and scaly body; but while doing so, the frantic cries of the negresses, who deemed this an act of sacrilege, brought to the spot Amoo, with a crowd of savages, one of whom pierced Baylis through the heart with his asseguy, and mercifully slew him on the instant. The negresses then rushed upon his wife, and by repeated blows of their implements upon her head, face, and bosom, soon ended her miseries. On beholding this scene of double barbarity, the seaman who had been at work with Baylis, and who, like him, was also a mass of sores and bruises by the ill-usage he had undergone, became filled by a species of frenzy. Wresting an asseguy from Amoo, he ran three of his followers through the body in quick succession, and killed, or mortally wounded them, as all these weapons are poisoned; but he was soon overpowered by numbers, beaten down, secured, and condemned to death by tortures, almost too horrible for narration. His eyes, mouth, and nostrils were forced open and filled with hot pepper. He was then enclosed in a strong basket of cylindrical form, full of long sharp thorns, and this was rolled for hours about the town of wigwams, until he became a shapeless mass of flesh and blood, which dropped through the wattling of the cage; and during this dreadful torture, under which he must soon have perished, if he uttered cries they were unheard, as they were unheeded, for the whooping, yelling, and beating of tum-tums, might have made one suppose that Pandemonium had vomited all its denizens on the bank of the Gabon River. While this was going on, I was at work among the plants which grew in a patch of ground adjoining the wigwam of Amoo; but I could in no way discover _who_ this last victim was. However, as Baylis and Hartly had been condemned to slavery together, I was full of deep sorrow lest the sufferer might be my friend. CHAPTER XLII. AMOO. Amoo, the savage who wore the amulet or coin at his neck, proved to be the King's brother; and when first dragged to his miserable dwelling he informed me, by signs--pointing to the earth which I was to till, and to the trees which I was to hew--that I was to be his obedient servant or slave, and by placing the poisoned point of his asseguy in dangerous proximity to my throat, he menacingly indicated that death would be the result of the least attempt at resistance or escape. I understood his grim pantomime in all its terrible minutiæ; but in no way daunted thereby, resolved, whatever froward fate might have in store for me, to leave no means untried to fly his thraldom and reach the coast, in the hope of escaping to any vessel that might come in sight, or anchor off the Pongos on the same unfortunate errand as the _Princess_. I could no longer hope that she was still there, as the chief mate, after the lapse of a week, would suppose we were all murdered, and so continue his voyage to the Cape of Good Hope. Amoo, though savage and exacting in the tasks he set me, was nothing in severity when compared to his wife, for this Brave of the Rio Serpientes had "a helpmate meet for him," who hoed his rice and maize, shared his matted hut and couch of skins, and who scraped in thankful silence what he was pleased to leave her after meals at the bottom of his calibash; who shared with the house-dog his half-picked bones, and nursed a frightful little imp about a month old. They had three others, and Amoo doubtless fondly hoped (to quote Ossian) "they would carry his name and fame to future times." By an anomaly in savage life, Amoo was very much attached to his four children, while their mother was tolerably indifferent about them, and often forced me to carry her black bantling, which I did, with an exhibition of all the solicitude I could assume, and with as little disgust as possible, conceiving that if her good will and confidence could be won, they might improve my chances of escape; but I strove in vain, and might as well have caudled the cub of a she-bear. My mistress was a negress of Guinea, and of unusually horrible aspect. Her lower lip was slit, and had a long wooden peg inserted in it so curiously, that the end thereof dangled upon her breast. Her great ears, set high upon her woolly head, had ponderous rings of metal, which dragged them downward to her shoulders. Her teeth were dyed blood red by some native herb, known to the fetishers alone, and her whole body, where revealed by her only garment--an apron of grass matting--was covered with a species of tattooing, and always smeared with a thick unctuous grease, in which the embedded gnats and flies could revel undisturbed. To eat repasts which were cooked by her odious hands excited a loathing which hunger alone could conquer; but anxiety for the future, and the intense heat of the atmosphere, made me generally averse to animal food; hence I found the yams, which there grow like turnips (and shoot out long leaves like French beans), my most pleasant food, as I could cook them for myself, either by boiling them in a pipkin, or roasting them among cinders. The inside is white as flour, and sweet and dry. For many days I lived on these, with such fruit as I could find when at work near our wigwam, and Amoo gave me at times a little olive oil and palm wine, but in secret, for this warrior, though fearless in other respects, was civilized enough to be afraid of his wife. My days were spent in hoeing yams, cutting fuel, carrying water in calibashes, selecting long and straight reeds for baskets, or boughs and bark to keep the wigwam water-tight. My mistress would have had me dive into the bay in search of sea-eggs, but to this I would by no means consent, and my refusal caused an open and standing feud between us. At night, in a corner of their wretched dwelling, I coiled myself up on a panther skin, and for hours would lie awake in the dark, revolving plans of escape. To push a passage through the wattles, and make off under cloud of night, would have been an easy task, could I have silenced or circumvented the herd of ferocious dogs which guarded the town, or rather village, after sunset, and the yells of which, on the slightest movement, raised an alarm that would soon cause their being unleashed and let slip upon my track. The negroes among whom I was cast worshipped the sun, the moon, and the devil; and in many instances, with singular barbarity, offered up their youngest children to the latter, that rain might fall in due season to make the yams big and the bananas grow. Amoo strove in vain to lessen the severity of his wife, who frequently beat me with a hard club, till I grew weary of existence, and my heart swelled with savage thoughts of revenge. Among the glass beads, feathers, rusty nails, and other trash which Amoo wore as a necklace, was his great amulet, a curious coin, which he one day permitted me to examine, but which he would have yielded up less readily than his life. It proved to be a piece of the reign of Servius Tullius, sixth King of the Romans, and consequently must have been more than twenty-three centuries old. How came it there, and what was its history? So this prize, which half the savans of Europe would have rejoiced to possess, hung, and, for aught that I know, still hangs at the neck of an African savage, who found it on the sea-shore. It was several ounces in weight, and bore on one side the head of Minerva, on the other an ox, as plain as if struck yesterday; and accoutred with this "great medicine," Amoo rushed fearlessly to encounter alike human enemies and the wild beasts of the forests which bordered the Gabon and the River of Snakes. In the course of three weeks I picked up several words of the native language, which is full of rather musical sounds, as most of the words end in a vowel. The desire for escape added to the care with which I studied it. One day when Amoo, with other savages, was hunting in the forest, and his better half was paddling about in her canoe on the river fishing, she suddenly uttered a shrill yell, which arrested me at my work among the yams, where I was hoeing under a broiling sun. She was only about forty yards from me, and was pointing frantically to a huge baboon, which had squatted itself close by where her youngest child was asleep, under two large plantain leaves, the stems of which had been stuck in the turf as a species of sun-shade. The baboon was of the ursine species, larger than a Newfoundland dog, and though common enough in South Africa, I now beheld it for the first time. It was a hideous brute, covered with shaggy brown hair, except on the hind feet and hands, for its forepaws are literally _hands_, and bare as a man's, being constantly employed in climbing rocks and trees, pulling fruit, or grubbing up roots and esculents for food. Its head resembled that of a dog, but its hind feet were rather human in form. These baboons are so strong and bold, that they will attack a leopard or hyæna, and by their teeth, which are an inch-and-a-half long, and their sharp fore-claws, can rend the throat and jugular vein with ferocious dexterity. The woman uttered yell after yell, and pointing to her nursling with one hand, paddled vigorously towards the shore with the other, while I gazed at her with irresolution; thus, before either of us could come to the rescue, the grisly she-baboon had snatched it up and bounded into the forest! Though I had no great love for the tribe of the Rio Serpientes, the natural impulses of humanity, together with a dread of the vengeance that might fall upon me for neglect, caused me instantly to rush away in pursuit. CHAPTER XLIII. THE RESCUE OF HIS CHILD. Some time before this, I had fortunately made for myself a pair of long sandals, formed of panther's skin, which I wore as Bryan O'Lynn did his breeches-- "With the skinny side out and the hairy side in." Indeed these, and a kind of shirt of grass-matting, were all the garments I possessed; for the savages, on our capture, tore all our clothes into strips, that each might have a portion; thus, every coin and button found upon us were appropriated; even our watches were broken up, and the wheels and springs of them were worn in their noses and ears as ornaments. These sandals enabled me to run with ease and safety through patches of prickly yams, among serrated blades of grass, wild vines, dense creepers, and all kinds of thorny bushes. Two warriors, on hearing the alarm, joined me in the pursuit. One soon passed me, but went upon a false trail; the other stumbled and hurt himself severely; so relinquishing my wooden hoe for his asseguy, I continued the pursuit alone. Encumbered by her prey, the baboon could only run upon her hind legs, thus I easily kept her in sight after seeing her again. She was making straight towards those steep and lofty rocks which overhang the Gabon river--the same fatal rocks where three of our boat's crew had perished so miserably. But her progress was soon impeded by a wall of gigantic reeds about ten feet high, through which a passage seemed impossible, as they grew close and dense amid a deep miasmatic quagmire, which covered all the plain at the base of the rocks, and amid which myriads of water-snakes lurked, and poisonous reptiles squattered. Here, too, there was no air--not a breath could be inhaled with freedom, for the density of the reeds obstructed every passing current; and, gasping and bathed in perspiration, as I drew near the savage animal she turned, and was about to make a hostile, and perhaps most fatal spring, in which case all had ended with me then; when suddenly perceiving a narrow opening in the reedy wall, she changed her intention, and entering, again vanished with the child. Further pursuit seemed impossible! I sank under a tree, and for some time fanned myself with a large leaf. While thus employed, I heard a strange railing cry at a distance, and on looking round perceived the baboon, about a hundred yards off, clambering up the face of the rocks, where it entered a hole, and disappeared. Though I could scarcely hope that the child of Amoo would be alive or undevoured, I marked well the locality of the crevice its captor had entered, and making a detour, reached the end of the reedy marsh, and then proceeded boldly to ascend the rocks. In some parts the climbing convolvoli and papyrus grew in such masses, and were so interlaced, as to form a rampart, against which I toiled in despair, and had my skin torn in innumerable places, ere I could burst through them. One feels so helpless without clothing. At last I reached the vicinity of the hole, and after pausing for a time to recover breath, advanced with the asseguy charged breast high, lest the fierce brute might spring forth upon me; but on peering into the den, I saw its eyes glancing, and its grim satyr-like visage grinning at me, while uttering a hoarse cry. The infant was alive, and its captor was kindly fondling it; having been probably deprived of her own offspring by some hunter's shaft, the act of abduction had been prompted by a strange and erratic maternal emotion in herself. Amoo explained this to me afterwards as being no uncommon occurrence. I had no thought of it then, but rushed upon her with the long and sharp asseguy, and thrust it deeply into her breast. Coiled up in her little den, and thus rendered incapable of active resistance, she could only howl, bite, and writhe upon the tough teakwood shaft; while her life-blood smeared all the little black infant, and ebbed away among the well-picked bones of the small monkeys and wild ducks, which strewed the hole that formed her lair. The poor baboon expired just as I drew forth the asseguy for a finishing thrust; and at that moment Amoo, with a crowd of other savages, came rushing up the rocks, and joined me, with excitement expressed in all their wide mouths and glittering eyeballs. Breathless and drenched in perspiration, overcome by exertion, and somewhat sickened by the cries and death agonies of the half human-like creature I had slain, I sank upon a bank of turf, incapable of further exertion. Amoo, after holding up his offspring by each leg alternately, and viewing it over as one might do a dead duck or rabbit, to ascertain if any of its bones were broken, found that it had suffered only a few scratches, on which he uttered sundry shrill howls expressive of paternal satisfaction, and patted me kindly on the head and breast, in token that henceforth we were friends, and in amity. "You are brave--you are brave! Yah--yah!" said he repeatedly. "You are the brother of Amoo." Thus did I achieve the very end I had in view--to win the confidence of my savage task-masters! We returned to the wigwams in triumph, bringing with us the skin of the ursine baboon on the point of an asseguy; and the circumstance of a creature so agile and ferocious having been slain by me, the poor despised white slave, was evidently the cause of much marvel to that dingy community. From this day there was a sensible alteration in the bearing of my mistress towards me. I cannot say that I gained more of her confidence, or had fewer tasks set me, but when beating me with her club, she entirely ceased to strike me on _the head_ or face, as she had been wont to do. But the reason of this unusual forbearance was explained to me by Amoo, and proved a very cogent reason for hastening my departure from the unpleasant vicinity of the Snake River. CHAPTER XLIV. THE GRATITUDE OF HIS WIFE. In two instances she patted my head and smiled on me, till the corners of her mouth went up to her ears. On the last occasion she gave me a large iron knife to sharpen, indicating by various signs that a very fine edge must be put upon it. "She is grateful to you for saving her child," said Amoo, who observed her. "I am glad of it," said I, with a sigh of mingled bitterness and impatience. "She means to show you and the tribe that she is so." "The tribe too, how?" "Yah, yah," said Amoo, as he placed one hand on my head, and drew the right forefinger of the other across his throat, in a way that was unpleasantly suggestive. Then he laughed and pointed to a gaily painted canoe that lay among some reeds by the river-side. "She will assist me to escape in it to a big ship at the Pongos?" said I with a glow of hope. Amoo frowned, then he grinned and shook his head. "What then?" I asked anxiously. After a good deal of pantomime, with which he endeavoured to aid his explanations, at last the horrid truth broke upon me! She wished my caput as a figure-head to her canoe, for which purpose, after being duly prepared by gums, balms, and herbs, she could make it suitable. Amoo flatteringly added that such had been her desire from the first, as "I was the youngest and best-looking of the prisoners." Here was a pleasant prospect! "And it was for this purpose she gave me the long knife to sharpen so carefully?" "Yah, yah," replied Amoo, while a glow of rage filled my breast; "and even now she is gathering herbs on the borders of the wood to boil in the stone jar with it." "It--what?" "Your head." "I must watch." "It is of no use to watch," replied Amoo; "sometime, when you are not thinking of it, she will give you some red berries, that will cause you to sleep _very sound_; and then with her knife or a sharp shell--yah, yah!" he concluded by a guttural laugh, and again pressed his finger round his neck. "Oh, Heavens!" I exclaimed, "aid me to escape from this atrocious squaw!" I asked Amoo if he, in gratitude to me for saving his child, would aid me to escape; but he shook his head, adding: "I am the brother of a great king, and must keep my slave." "Why?" "To punish the white men, who fatten up our brothers beyond the Sea of Darkness, and eat them." After reiterated applications to his gratitude and pity for freedom or assistance, finding that he was gradually losing his temper and becoming suspicious; that his snake-like eyes were beginning to gleam and his thick red nostrils to quiver, I abandoned the subject, and resuming my hoe, went to my daily task in the patch of garden where our yams and other esculents grew, and affected to work as usual, conscious that, for a time, my savage owner was eyeing me with vague doubts, and while playing ominously with his long reed-like asseguy, was probably repenting that by his admissions he had put me on my guard against the artistic views of his better half. After a time he disappeared, yet I dreaded that it was only to conceal himself under some of the bushes, or the leaves of the creeping gourds, to watch me, so I affected to hoe industriously--yes, and to whistle too, though my heart was sick and full of dreadful apprehensions. One thing I had resolved, come what might, never again to commit my head to sleep, or to pass a night within the same wigwam with that horrible woman. While revolving in my mind, and almost blind with desperation, what measures I should take to save myself, to escape from my present danger and misery, I saw her pass from the wood towards the town of wigwams. In one hand she held the knife I had sharpened so nicely for her, in the other a basket filled with herbs--herbs, I doubted not, for my especial behoof; and she "grinned horribly a ghastly smile," as she walked on with that shuffling gait peculiar to these negresses. My heart swelled with so much rage and hatred at this hideous creature, that I had some difficulty in repressing a vehement desire to beat her down with my hoe; but such a proceeding would only have ensured and accelerated my own destruction; as I knew not what number of watchful savages might at that moment be eyeing me from amid the jungle of leaves, flowers, and fruit which bordered the patch wherein I worked, under a sun so vertical that I had scarcely a shadow. Lest such a surveillance might be maintained, I resolved as soon as she disappeared to adopt something of their own subtlety. I seated myself under a tree among some weeds, as if tired, and then, after a time, affected to sleep; though keeping watch with open ears and half-closed eyes, lest any one might approach; but all remained still around me, save the monotonous hum of the millions of insects that revolved in the shade of the adjacent wood. On being assured of this, I crept on my hands and knees into the jungle, dragging my hoe after me, and going feet foremost on my face for nearly a hundred yards or so, that I might with my fingers obliterate all traces of a _trail_; and in this, I was very successful by raising the crushed grass and shaking the bruised twigs. At last I reached a runnel, the waters of which I knew would destroy all scent of my footsteps, and baffle the keen nostrils of those ferocious dogs, which would certainly be let slip in search of me the moment I was missed. Assured that this runnel of water would be a tributary of the Rio Serpientes, I proceeded up its course for several miles, and in my anxiety to escape the human race forgetting all about the ferocious denizens of the African forest--the snakes and other dreadful reptiles with which the woods, the water, and the bordering deserts teemed. I must have proceeded about ten miles without meeting either man or beast to molest or obstruct me, when evening was beginning to close, and I found myself nearly exhausted, but within a pleasant thicket of orange, citron, and chestnut trees, which bordered a pretty lake, and flourished amid the thousand flowering shrubs of this luxuriant wilderness. The necessity for rest forced itself upon me; but I dared not sleep on the earth lest snakes might assail me, and even in a tree I was not safe from the panthers, yet I chose my couch in the latter. Furnished with a large stone, as a missile for defence in any emergency, grasping the hoe by my teeth, I clambered into a chestnut-tree, scaring therefrom a whole covey of kingfishers, copper-coloured cuckoos, and green and flame-coloured parrots. Then selecting a place where the leafy branches were forked out from the stem, and grew in such a form that I could rest upon them with ease, and without fear of falling, I deposited the stone in a hollow of the tree, and after an hour of anxious and exciting watchfulness, gradually felt sleep stealing over me--a sleep to which the "drowsy hum" of the insects, the balmy air of the evening, the lassitude produced by my recent travel after a day's toil under a burning sun, all conduced; and so, heedless of everything, at last I slept profoundly on my awkward perch. CHAPTER XLV. FLIGHT. In this precarious situation I must have been asleep for some hours, when awakened by a dreadful sound, and with a start so nervous that I nearly fell from my roost upon the long, reedy grass below. This sound was the roaring of a lion! I had heard it often in menageries at home; but there the sound was feeble as the bay of a house-dog when compared to the dread roar, which rolled along the ground and rent the still air of the morning in that lone African forest. A terror possessed me; yet, grasping my hoe, while quivering in every fibre, I gazed with keen anxiety between the leaves of the chestnut-tree for the approaching enemy. Ignorant alike of his powers of leaping and scenting, I knew not whether the lion might, on discovering me, at once spring up like a tree-leopard, which can pursue its prey, like a cat, from branch to branch. Oh, how I longed for a good rifle--a sharp sword--a dagger--for any other weapon than the miserable wooden club (for the hoe was no better) with which I was armed at that moment. The lilac light of dawning morn poured through the thick green vista of the wild forest, and the little lake which lay near my chestnut-tree shone white as a sheet of milk, bordered by countless gaudy tulips and opening flowers. The sun was yet below the horizon, but every dew-drenched herb, and leaf, and tree, were distinctly visible in the clear pale light that overspread the sky. Every pulse quickened, and all my energies became wound up to the utmost pitch by excitement, when I saw the mighty lord of the wilderness--a vast dun-coloured lion, with his large round head and shaggy mane, powerful legs, his close round body and tufted tail, that shook wrathfully aloft as he trotted past swiftly, bearing a dead sheep in his mouth. Passing almost under the tree, and round the margin of the lake, he disappeared in the forest; but a sense of his terrible presence seemed to linger about me still. My doubts and irresolution were increased; the dangers of the wilderness in which I wandered, alone and unarmed, became more vividly impressed upon me, and for a time I almost regretted that I had left the coast, and the protection of my savage task-masters. But then the wife of Amoo, and her hideous desire for possessing my head! "Hope is the bounty of God!" thought I, and as the forest remained still and quiet--at least, as no sound reached my ear, save the increasing hum of the myriads of insects warming into life and sport in the light and heat of the rising sun--I resolved to descend from my perch, and follow the track of any stream which might lead to the coast, for by the sea--the open, free, wide sea--lay my only hope of escape from this dangerous and detested shore. Remembering the geographical form of Africa, as represented on the map, I knew that if I could, by any means, proceed westward for about two hundred and fifty miles or so round the Bight of Benin, I should be so near our settlement at Cape Coast Castle as to be in safety. But how, in such a country, was this to be accomplished? I had already begun my descent from the tree, when the noise of something coming rapidly through the forest made me scramble into my perch again. And lo! a savage, armed as usual with a long asseguy, but mounted on a swift dromedary, came from amid the trees, and paused by the lonely lake to give his great misshapen nag a drink; and while he did so, in his brawny form and tasselled apeskin apron and sandals, his eyes with their circles of red and yellow paint, the slit under his mouth, his hideous aspect and barbaric trappings, I recognised the brother of Amoo--the King of the Rio Serpientes! Were both upon my track, or had chance alone brought him here? I knew that if retaken, I had met with more mercy from the lion than from either; and the image of the wife of Amoo, with her sharp knife and basket of herbs and gums, seemed to rise before me. The savage looked around him, and suddenly turning his dromedary, rode straight towards my place of concealment. I grasped my hoe, resolved if he had seen me, not to yield up my wretched existence without a desperate struggle; but all unconscious of my presence, his sable majesty dismounted, placed his asseguy against the chestnut tree, spread a grass-mat at its root, and seating himself, proceeded quietly to light a species of hubble-bubble, or pipe made from a reed and a nut-shell. Stuffing therein some dried herbs, he applied flint and steel, and began leisurely and literally to enjoy his morning weed. At his neck I could see poor Robert Hartly's gold locket glittering. The vicinity of this ferocious and tremendous personage, with the chances of his horde being all within hail, like the band of Roderick Dhu, so greatly alarmed me, that fully a quarter of an hour elapsed before I rallied sufficiently to conceive the idea of appropriating his quiet and docile dromedary (which was cropping the herbage close by), and using it as a means of reaching Cape Coast Castle, the western goal of all my hopes. I knew that this animal was deemed a miracle of swiftness even in that burning clime, where they will travel with ease fifty miles per day. The savage King seemed to be asleep, or in a waking doze; but I knew that by habits of danger, activity, and a life spent in the open air, the senses of these people were so acute, that the slightest sound would revive him; and that, if once discovered, he could crush me like a shrimp in his powerful grasp. "Can I not kill him?" thought I, as furious thoughts began to fill my mind; "my hoe is too light--ha! the stone!" I snatched the stone, which with difficulty I had conveyed up the tree overnight, as a missile against wild animals, and poised it in my hands. It was nearly twelve pounds weight, and the woolly skull of the King was immediately below me; but it might be thick as that of an elephant, so the missile would prove more harmless than a ball of worsted. If I missed, death to me was certain; if I slew or stunned him, I had an equal certainty of escape. Then I thought of poor Captain Baylis, of his tortured wife, of Hartly, and of that horrible butchery by the steep rocks of the river Gabon, and a glow of merciless fury filled my soul! The stone shot from my hand, and, bathed in blood, quivering and senseless, the brutal King of the Snake River rolled among the long dry grass, with foam issuing from his mouth, and the aperture below it. Swift as lightning I descended the tree--all cramped and stiff by a night passed amid its branches; caught his dromedary by the bridle, sprang upon its back, snatched up the asseguy as a weapon for defence, and, without casting a glance to ascertain whether I had been guilty of actual regicide, or had merely given him a crack upon his imperial crown, urged the animal I bestrode westward at furious speed, through a grove of pale green orange trees, where the rich dewy fruit hung like balls of gleaming gold in the light of the morning sun. CHAPTER XLVI. FLIGHT CONTINUED. Steering my course westward, so closely as I could judge, I rode rapidly through wild and pathless places; and when mounted on an animal so sure and swift of foot, I felt more confident of escape from any savages in whose way I might fall. I was not without a dread of wild animals, for the furious lion and the stealthy panther roam everywhere through the forests of Africa; and though nearly the whole day passed without meeting one of either species, hundreds of pernicious serpents, black, or brown, or green and scaly, with glaring eyes, hissed at me from amid the long rank grass; while brightly pinioned birds flew about me, and horrid baboons and monkeys, of all kinds and sizes, leaped and frisked on every hand, springing from branch to branch of the trees, where they swung madly to and fro by their tails as I passed. At a distance rose the smoke of fires, with the dome-shaped wigwams of three negro villages; but these I avoided by keeping far off, and without tarrying a moment for food or refreshment, pushed on westward, through a broad plain where the maize, cassava, and pulse were cultivated in little patches. On, on where the banana, the papaw, the lemon, orange, and tamarind trees grew wild in thickets; where the spotted giraffe, the striped zebra, and the graceful little antelope, made their lair, and trembled when they heard the roar of the lion of Libya. On, on I rode to reach the castle of Cape Coast, and urged the dromedary to his utmost speed. Leaving the plain, at the end of which the sun was setting now, I continued my way still westward across a long tract of desert sand; and now for the first time I paused to look around me. On the borders of this desert grew some wild lotus trees. Dismounting, I took some of their farinaceous berries with joy to assuage my hunger, and found their flavour to resemble sweet ginger-bread. After a draught of water from a runnel--water that was actually tepid--I remounted with difficulty, as my strength was nearly gone now; having ridden the livelong day under a burning sun, which left the sand so hot that it scorched my feet, while the finely pulverized grains of it were floating in a cloud about me, and filling my mouth and eyes as it whirled in eddies when the faint evening wind passed over the arid waste, rippling up its surface as if it was water. At a distance appeared some bustards and long-legged cranes; but no other living thing, as the setting sun, vast, round, and blood-red, after shedding a steady crimson glare across the desert waste, sank beneath the horizon. At the quarter of his declension, I perceived a grove of trees, and fearing to remain all night on the open waste, rode swiftly towards them; but they were farther off than I imagined, and seemed to recede as I progressed, so deceptive is the distance of a level sandy desert; thus night was far advanced when I reached the shelter of their foliage, and overcome by a lassitude--a total prostration--there was no resisting, I had just strength sufficient to throw the bridle of the dromedary over the branch of a tree, and to roll off his back upon a bank of soft turf, when a heavy sleep fell on me. Waking next morning, stiff, cramped, and drenched with dew, I looked round for my four-footed friend, but he had disappeared, and not a trace of him remained. Thus, after all the toil and travelling of the past day, my prospects were little better than before. But the forest scene was lovely! It was full of scarlet and golden blossoms, all bright as the glossy plumage of the parrots that nestled amid the foliage; while the perfume of the orange and lemon trees, which the dew of the past night had refreshed, filled the morning air with delicious fragrance; and now the mighty hum of a myriad great insects loaded it with monotonous and perpetual sound. On the outskirts of the wood, between me and the far-stretching vista of the white sandy desert, my eye suddenly detected the tall dark figure of a savage, stalking about with a long asseguy in his right hand. He was naked, all save a scanty scarlet grass-cloth around his body. Coiled up in my lurking-place, I watched with considerable interest the motions of this man of the wilderness. Supple, brawny, and strong, he had the form of a bronze Hercules, the agility of an antelope, and the eye of an eagle. He had detected the footmarks of the dromedary, and gliding about, with a light stealthy step, and a keen prowling eye, he tracked them with his face near the ground, until he came close to where I lay, but never, the while, did he venture _within_ the actual boundary of the wood. Suddenly his eye fell upon me! He started; uttered a shrill cry, and poised his long asseguy, as if about to launch it; then he lowered it, and uttered a whoop, which brought some twenty or thirty other savages around him. They all pointed to me in a manner and with expressions that seemed to indicate surprise or rage; they gesticulated violently, and by what they said, I could learn that by being _within_ the forest, I was guilty of an act of sacrilege. Their language seemed a dialect of that spoken by the tribe I had lied from, on the north bank of the Gabon. CHAPTER XLVII. THE WOOD OF THE DEVIL. Making signs that I was a friend, or wished to be considered one, by casting away my asseguy, and placing my hands upon my head and breast, I advanced with a resolute aspect, but with a quaking heart, towards them. By what I heard then, and learned afterwards, I had violated the sanctity of a holy place--the abode of a fetish--as this wood had for ages been dedicated to the Devil, whom these savages, like those of Benin, worship as a dreadful spirit, not to love, but to conciliate. No one entered this wood, which was composed of giant chestnuts, palm, orange, and lime trees, all growing wild for many leagues, as the spirit of evil was alleged to harbour in its inmost recesses. Here then, on its skirts, a mother and her infant were sometimes sacrificed with tortures too terrible for description, to propitiate this dark spirit; though in some rare instances a husband might ransom his doomed wife with a poor female slave, captured from a hostile tribe. So sacred is this wood deemed, that if a person accidentally enters it by one path, he must force his way through it to the very end without turning or looking back--a feat none ever performed, as it teems with wild beasts, whose fangs and claws speedily dispose of the intruder. Even a foreign _negro_, or his wives, dare not enter it; then, what punishment was due to me, a white man, for having ventured to do so? Dapper, a very old traveller, and a bold fellow, too, mentions that, to ridicule the faith of the people in this forest, he went shooting into it, and deliberately turned _back_ when about half way through. "What will the Devil think of this?" he asked the negro priests, who were scared by his audacity, and confounded by his return in safety. "He does not trouble himself about white men," was their response; and, singular to say, our traveller was permitted to go unscathed, for savages generally admire courage and temerity. However, the negroes into whose hands I had unfortunately fallen seemed of a different opinion from Mr. Dapper's friends; and after a noisy palaver, to which I listened with an agonizing interest, my life being in the balance, they laid violent hands upon me. I was dragged to a tall palm-tree, which grew on the verge of the forest, with some of its fibrous roots extending among the grassy border on one side, and into the dry sand of the desert on the other. I was placed with my back against the stem; and there they bound me hard and fast by drawing my arms round it and tying my wrists securely by the tendrils of a convolvolus--one of the climbing kind, which, when tough and green, is strong as a new inch-rope. They then retired, mocking and grinning, and ever and anon threatening to launch their asseguys at me; thus I fully expected to be martyred like St. Sebastian, as we see him in Guido's picture at Dulwich; but they left me, and disappeared round an angle of the forest, abandoning me to my fate and my own terrible reflections. It was midday now, and above me shone the blaze of an almost vertical sun; thus I found the shade of the drooping palm branches grateful and pleasant--a boon, a blessing. Lest the savages might be watching me from a distance, I did not attempt to release my hands; but after nearly an hour elapsed, fearing that strength might fail me from the cramped manner in which my arms were bound backward round the tree, I strove to rend the green withes which fettered me to it. Vain task! Strain them as I might, the tough and unyielding tendrils of the convolvoli only seemed to tighten, and to cut me as I tore, wrenched, and struggled, without success. The horror of being left thus defenceless at the mercy of the wild animals with which the forest teemed was so great, that I forgot alike the pangs of hunger and those of thirst, which are greater still; and again and again strove frantically for freedom, until, with the futility of each successive effort, the conviction forced itself upon me, that without human assistance I could never be released, but might perish of starvation, or be devoured alive. Human assistance! who, then, would be disposed to aid me? And, if so, who would come in time? And so the hot day passed breathlessly, slowly, and terribly on! As the burning sun revolved towards the West, the lengthening shadows of the wood went round in the reverse direction, until the level sunbeams cast them far across the arid desert I had traversed so swiftly yesterday; and as the light of evening sank, the hues of that white glistening waste changed to yellow, then to brown, and then to amber. My arms ached till they seemed in process of being rent from my shoulders: so, panting, hot, breathless, and half dead with thirst, I reclined against that abhorred tree, from which I could in no way free myself. As evening deepened, the hum of insect life lessened, and the bright-plumed birds of the wilderness were seeking their nests in the foliage above me; but on me their beauty was lost. Even the cock of the Libyan forest, with his purple breast, his crimson and green pinions, was unheeded, as he picked up a few grains of millet at my feet, and passed to his mate in the orange tree. A raven or two, soaring through the blue immensity of the sky, suggested dreadful thoughts of what I _might be_ on the morrow. Then little snakes came from amid the long grass to writhe and wriggle on the sand, which was yet warm with the sunshine of the past day; and they made me think of the dreadful cobra-capello, with his flamelike tongue, charged with poison and death--the hooded serpent, which, when in fury, has been known to rear its horrid front, and spring at a man on horseback; and then of the berg-adder, which I feared still more, because it is so difficult to discover, and which I had no means of avoiding if it approached me. My past reading had given me, moreover, a somewhat exaggerated idea of the number of wild animals in Africa. At Ascension, I had seen a narrative of a _Voyage à l'Isle de France_, by a person who styled himself an _Officier du Roi_, and who stated that, in the forests of Africa, "there were to be found whole _armies_ of lions." Later travellers have ridiculed this idea, but be that as it may, the distant roaring of a lion now added to the accumulating dangers which surrounded me, and filled my soul with emotions of horror so great that I could not summon even a thought of prayer, and memory refused to supply me with the most hackneyed ejaculation of piety. Bound and helpless, without means of defence or flight, I now heard this terrible animal approaching me, crushing the shrubs and branches in his native forest as he came. On hearing this sound, so fraught with danger, a zebra and several antelopes bounded out of the wood and paused to listen. Again that prolonged cry rang upon the still air. The zebra cowered and shuddered, and after crouching for a moment, sprang away into the desert of sand, followed by the fleet little antelopes (which were of the kind called Guinea Deer, having legs no thicker than a tobacco-pipe), and they were all soon out of sight. The roar was singular in sound. Hoarse and inarticulate, it swelled upon the air like a prolonged O, that seemed to come from and pass to a vast distance. It never became loud or shrill, but the _idea_ it suggested of the animal itself, made it seem to pierce the very soul; and all the tales I had read or heard of the lion, and all the terrors I had conjured up as being embodied in his tremendous person, came upon me like a flood. There are some who aver that if he has once tasted human flesh he will for ever disdain any other. With great bewilderment of mind--like one in a dream that is full of nightmare--I beheld a great and dark-skinned lion, with an enormous dusky mane, run out of the wood about a hundred yards off, and, after looking about, he came straight towards me, for by some strange instinct he became sensible of my vicinity in a moment. In his mouth he bore a zebra (about the size of a Shetland pony), which he grasped by its crushed back, and the legs of which were trailing on the ground as he bore it along, with all the air and all the ease of a cat carrying off a large rat. On beholding me he dropped his prey, which was quite dead, and after uttering another hoarse roar, continued to approach, with his nose close to the ground, while switching his tufted tail and shaking his shaggy mane, preparatory, as I imagined, to making a spring upon me; then I closed my eyes, and with a heart that died within me, resigned myself to my fate. Onward he came, step by step, for I could hear his footfalls on the ground! Onward yet, and now every pulse seemed to stand still! Then a warm and fetid breath played upon my face, I felt his whiskers touch my breast, and there was a strange snuffing sound in my tingling ears. Opening my eyes, I beheld close to mine the tremendous visage of the lion, the enormous upper lip, in form so suggestive of cruelty and rapacity, and all studded with wiry hairs, bristling out fiercely on either side; the low flat forehead and impending brows; the wild orbs that seemed to glare from amid the masses of his tangled mane; the open jaws and sharp teeth, reeking and steaming with the warm blood of the zebra he had just slain! After deliberately snuffing at me in this manner for a second or so--a time which seemed an eternity, so much agony of thought and tension of the heart were compressed within it, he quietly _turned about_, took his dead zebra, as if he deemed it the most preferable supper of the two, trotted into the wood and disappeared. The agonies of a lifetime seemed concentrated into that minute! All I had endured now proved too much for me. A sudden insensibility sank like a cloud over all my senses, and a sleep--the sleep of utter prostration of mind and body, fell upon me. Thus, the noon of the next day was far advanced before I became again conscious, or aware of my miserable existence. CHAPTER XLVIII. RETAKEN. Released from the tree, but still benumbed and sore after being so long bound to it, I was now stretched upon the grass, under the shadow of its great fan-like branches. Many persons were moving about me, and the hum of their voices filled my ear. Raising myself slowly and heavily upon my hands, I saw around me hundreds of negroes, and close to mine was the ugly visage of--Amoo. "Oh," thought I, bitterly; "this is too much! A prisoner again, and after all the dangers I have dared--the friends I have seen perish--the miseries I have undergone! Will fate never weary of persecuting me?" But Amoo was not such a wicked fellow after all. Producing his gourd bottle of palm wine, he mixed it with cool water from a shaded spring, and forced me to imbibe a long draught, after which I sat up and looked about me more collectedly. I was in the midst of a species of negro bivouac, consisting of many hundreds of men and women, with camels and dromedaries laden with various stuffs and rudely fashioned weapons and utensils, made up in bales with grass matting and cordage. They were cooking at several fires, and in various modes, the flesh of an elephant which they had snared, as Amoo informed me, in a pit on the other side of the forest on the preceding day, and the meat of which is esteemed in these latitudes as a veritable dainty--a right royal luxury. He pressed me to eat a slice or so, but in my weak state, and the fever of my spirit, the odour and the aspect of it were more than enough for me, so a mouthful or two of boiled yam and palm wine sufficed. The negroes were all well armed with asseguys, swords, bows, muskets, and targets, as if proceeding on a hostile expedition. Among them were many who were better clad and more civilized in aspect than the painted savages who dwell by the Snake River, and these, Amoo informed me, were subjects of the King of Benin. After relating how his companions had found me bound to the tree, senseless or asleep, he inquired how it came to pass I was there. "I fled to escape your wife," said I, looking round fearfully. "Yah, yah," said he, laughing; "I was sorry for the loss of my white slave, but am glad you escaped her knife; for she wished much to ornament her big canoe, so she got the head of another white man." "Another--who--which?" "Amoo does not know; he tried to steal a canoe and escape to the Pongo Islands, but was retaken, and so my wife got his head for her canoe. She boiled it in a stone pipkin, with gums and herbs, stuck fish-bones in its nose and ears, and now it will last for many, many suns and moons, without decay." (Who was this _other_ unfortunate that had perished so miserably? He might be my friend Hartly--if indeed it was not he who was so cruelly destroyed in the basket of thorns.) "Never mind who it was," said Amoo, divining my thoughts, "since you are found again." "To be your prisoner?" I sighed. Amoo grinned, leered cunningly, and shook his woolly head. "What then?" "To be reserved for something better than being my slave." "_Better!_" I reiterated, with perplexity; "how--where?" "Yah, yah--you will learn in good time." "When?" I exclaimed, with impatience. "On our reaching the capital of Benin." "You are going there with all these people?" "Yah." "For what purpose--to fight?" "No." "What then?" "To bury Zabadie, the king, who is dead." I was somewhat comforted by this, as everything added to the chances of escape; for I knew that European vessels frequently anchored in the Bight of Benin, and I associated ideas of greater civilization with that quarter of Africa, though it bordered on Dahomey--that barbarous land of blood and terror. It was evident that Amoo knew nothing about my encounter in the wood with the King, his brother, or the manner in which I had borrowed the royal dromedary; for he informed me, in the course of our obscure and somewhat pantomimic conversation, that on his return he would probably find himself King of the Snake River, as his brother was not expected to live. I inquired why. "As he was asleep under a tree, a great baboon let a big stone fall upon his head, and nearly killed him," replied Amoo, with perfect unconcern, and I cannot plead guilty to feeling the smallest compunction in the matter. This species of caravan was proceeding from the territory of Gabon, whose king is a vassal of the monarch of Benin, with a tribute of female slaves, baskets, gourd vessels, panther skins, elephants' teeth, and gold dust, to assist at the funeral of the late royal defunct, or to lay at the feet of his successor; and I was pleased to find that we were to proceed as nearly as possible along the coast. I resolved to take the first opportunity of securing arms--a musket and knife if possible--of leaving the cavalcade, and concealing myself in a wood near the sea-shore, there to await a ship; but the hope was formed in vain, for Amoo, who frequently spoke of the "great future in store for me at Benin," never lost sight of me for an instant, either by night or by day, when we halted. When we did so, we warily lighted a circle of large fires to scare wild animals from our bivouac. and thus could sleep in security. CHAPTER XLIX. THE CARAVAN. The whole of the coast there is broken by innumerable river estuaries, the banks of which are covered by bright green reeds, and broad-leaved weeds and canes of mighty growth. Thus our progress was slow, as we had frequently to embark in canoes on those frowsy waters, whose miasma is so pestilential by night, and which are ever rendered dangerous by the alligators and hippopotami that lurk in the oozy holes along their banks. At a place where we were about to cross, the black scouts, who formed a species of advanced guard, returned in haste and excitement to state that one of the last-named animals (one of great size, too) was asleep on the bank. On hearing this the caravan halted, and Amoo, being a brave and hardy warrior, and moreover the brother of a king, claimed the privilege of assailing it. Armed with a spear made specially for the purpose, he advanced to the enterprise, accompanied only by one companion and by me, to whom he relinquished for a time his gaily painted bow and quiver of poisoned arrows. I had heard so much of those fierce and unwieldy monsters, that I followed him with considerable interest and curiosity as we shouldered and pushed a passage through a dense and leafy jungle of gigantic weeds, prickly yams, serrated grass, and reeds of enormous height, which flourished amid the deep quagmire that bordered the broad bosom of this majestic but nameless river, whose waters are now rolling, as they have rolled for ages, into the Gulf of Guinea. On forcing our way through a wall of reeds, we suddenly came upon the hippopotamus, which was lying on his left side, asleep in the sunshine, and stretched at full length upon a piece of greensward, where, probably, he had been grazing overnight. The aspect of this mis-shapen monster, which was about fourteen feet long--his singular form, a great round body with short elephantine legs, a broad, square head and stunted tail--was as repulsive as the size of his great cavernous mouth with its terrible incisors was appalling. He slept soundly, however, so Amoo, gliding stealthily as a serpent, approached until within seven feet of where he lay, snoring heavily, and basking in the hot and breathless sunshine. With a dexterity which my poor old friend Hans Peterkin would have appreciated highly, Amoo, with a line, attached to his spear a light wooden float which serves to show where the animal lurks when he takes the water after being struck; then, while the attending warrior stood near to hand a second lance, Amoo raised his sinewy form on tiptoe, poised his barbed weapon, and hurled it, whizzing, with singular force and dexterity, full at the sleeping animal. Deep through the thick, dark hide sunk the pointed spear, until its iron head was completely buried. At the moment it left his hand, Amoo, an agile and practised huntsman, sprang backward several paces; but not so his unfortunate companion, on whom the awakened monster leaped with the weight of an elephant united to the fury of a panther, and in an instant crushed him to death in his enormous jaws, doubling up the body and grinding ribs and legs together till they were churned into a mass of blood. Then plunging into the river, he disappeared, leaving the water covered with froth and bloody ripples, that ran in circles to either shore; but still the little buoy attached to the spear or harpoon floated and bobbed up and down to indicate where he lay writhing among the weeds and beds of bright blue coral far down below--for the coral is blue there. Amoo's shrill cries brought several negroes to his assistance; and these, enraged by the sudden death of their friend, began to haul sturdily on the line, which was a good English rope, obtained from some passing ship by theft or barter; this irritated the wounded animal, so he came surging, bleeding, and frothing to the surface again, when a dozen spears, whizzing through the air, were launched by unerring hands, and he was soon slain, and amid exulting yells, whooping, and beating of tum-tums, was hauled close in shore among the reeds, and there, as he was too bulky to be pulled entirely out of the water, was cut up in large pieces and placed in baskets on the backs of the camels, dromedaries, and slaves. Amoo declared this prey was too full-grown, and consequently too fat for eating; but added, that his "skin would make excellent whips." This was the _fifth_ he had slain--thus he equalled Commodus who slew five in the amphitheatre. The country through which we travelled was low, flat, and thickly wooded; thus we seldom saw the sea; yet, when glimpses of its bright blue waters, stretching to the horizon far away, came before us at times through the groves of orange, lime, and palm trees, or through valleys where the white tufts of the cotton buds flecked the greenness of the luxuriant scenery, how anxiously, how affectionately I gazed upon it, for it was the high road to my home--the way to freedom and dear old England! After travelling many days, until I was almost sinking with fatigue, by the intense heat of the atmosphere and the number of things I was compelled (as a slave) to carry, we came at last in sight of the great city of Benin, which stretches far along the right bank of the river Formosa. I hailed it with emotions of undisguised joy, for Amoo had been daily recurring to the liberty and honours that were in store for me there. CHAPTER L. WE REACH THE CAPITAL. I resolved while life remained to persevere to the last in attempting an escape. "'I shall never succeed,' is often the parent of failure" (to quote Isaac Taylor when writing on character). "'I will not try any more,' ensures disappointment. 'It is all _chance_, and I am not in luck,' most commonly leads to disgrace." Calling his words to memory, I resolved to trust to none of these fatal phrases, for I had passed through too many perils not to hope that a few more might be surmounted. An old writer says, "The King of Benin has men in pay to furnish travellers with water, and these keep great pots full of that which is fresh and clear at convenient distances, with a shell to drink it out of; but no person must take a drop without paying for it; and if the waterman is absent, they drink, leave the money, and pursue their way." It may have been so when old Dapper wrote or romanced, but not a drop of water found we on the weary track to quench our burning thirst, save in stagnant tarns by the wayside. It was towards the close of a day when we had been nearly choked by the sulphurous heat which filled the air after a violent thunderstorm, that we approached the city of Benin, and saw its long lines of huts, or wigwams, each one story high, covering for many miles the right bank of the Formosa, one of the greatest estuaries which disgorge their waters into the Bight of Benin. Groves of beautiful wood, orange, lime trees, cotton and pepper bushes, spread along the banks of the river, and many floating islets, covered with flowers and unknown fruit trees, are constantly borne past by its waters, from the unexplored lands through which they flow. The city and its walls too were unlike aught I had ever seen before; yet their extent was great, and the dusky hordes that peopled them are probably unnumbered and unknown. We were admitted through a wooden gate in the ramparts, which were composed of the trunks of trees pegged together, as palisades are in America, but loopholed for arrows or musketry; and the guard at this gate, as at all the others, was composed entirely of women armed with bows, lances, and old firelocks, for, like his royal brother of Dahomey, the sovereign of Benin has somewhere about four thousand wives, whom he has armed and formed into troops, and who--when off duty--make crocks, pots, and pipkins of clay, from the sale of which he derives his principal revenue. They were all stout and handsome negresses, attired in a species of petticoat which reached below the knee, with a vest to cover the breast; their hair was dyed into alternate red and white locks, and they had great rings of polished metal on their otherwise bare arms. Through this guarded gate our long cavalcade of laden camels, dromedaries, negroes, and slaves, passed down a populous street of great width, and nearly three miles in length. The houses, or huts, on either side, were alike singular in aspect and construction, being built of red clay, and having behind or around them spacious gardens and shady groves of lime and orange trees. Vast crowds of male and female blacks followed us, but in solemn silence, as the cavalcade bore a double tribute to the dead king and his successor, towards whose royal palace--if the odd collection of fantastic buildings could so be called--we now proceeded. We passed through a kind of square, which Amoo described to me as the market-place; and there the king's female guards were exposing for sale great quantities of their clay pots and pipkins, gourd bottles, calibash basons, wooden spoons and ladles of all sorts and sizes, at their own prices; for these industrious Amazons enjoyed the entire monopoly of this branch of trade; and as a hint that none might interfere with them, there hung by iron hooks upon a gibbet the headless bodies of four men, in a frightful state of decay, with turkey buzzards feeding on the fragments that dropped from them, as they sweltered in the burning sunshine. In the centre of this market-place rose a pyramid some twenty feet high, formed entirely of human skulls, bleached white as snow by the alternate rain and sun--a ghastly and terrible trophy of barbarism and cruelty, which reminded me of stories I had read of old Mexico, where similar monuments adorned the cities of the Incas; or of the tower formed of the skulls of slaughtered Christians, now standing in the Mohammedan isle of Gerba. Fascinated by this revolting spectacle, I passed on with the dusky multitude; and Amoo informed me (while all prostrated their ugly faces in the dust) that we stood at the gate of the king's palace! It was a vast collection of rambling wooden houses, which formed the dwellings of the sovereign, his wives, fiadoors, or officials, stables for his horses and dromedaries, dens for slaves or prisoners (a commodity with which he seldom troubled himself), magazines for stores and plunder. These edifices extended for nearly a mile before us; and on all those quaint buildings, which were barbarously adorned with the bones and horns of animals, a grinning human skull was the chief ornament. Through a barrier _manned_ by a motley multitude of female guards, many of whom were armed with bayonets and old brass-butted Tower muskets, which may have done service under Moore and Wellington, we were conducted into a court surrounded by copper figures, so monstrous in aspect and conception, that the eye laboured in vain to discover whether they were meant to represent men, beasts, or birds. The crowd who followed were all well armed with spears, bows and arrows, which, as Amoo informed me, were duly poisoned by the _fetishers_, or priests. Many of the fiadoors wore gay dresses of Dutch scarlet cloth, caps edged with civet fur, and necklaces of jasper and fine coral, or rings of yellow copper, bracelets of lions' teeth, and bucklers of rhinoceros hide. Round this court were wooden pillars, curiously carved and painted, and, in some instances, covered with plates of engraved copper--the hieroglyphical records of battles, victories, and massacres--the edifices were roofed with palm canes, and had many fantastic pinnacles, surmounted by human skulls, or birds dried and prepared, with their pinions outspread. In the centre of the court, about twenty negroes, captured from some hostile tribe, were digging a deep hole, like a vast grave, with wooden shovels; and they grinned at us malevolently as we passed them. Amoo now told me "that the time was come to which he had so often referred, when a great honour would be conferred on me, and when we must part." I knew not what all this meant, but bewildered by the scenes through which I had passed, the strange places in which I found myself, wearied by the toil of our journey, choked by dust and heat almost to fainting, I resigned myself to the custody of the negress guard, and left Amoo, whom hitherto I had considered a species of protector. Perceiving the dejected state I was in, he gave me a draught from his gourd bottle; and as I was thrust into my prison, and the door of it closed upon me, I saw for the last time save once, the dark visage of this friendly savage, who never forgot that I had rescued his child from the baboon. The wooden door was secured upon me; the hum of guttural voices died away as the cavalcade passed on to some other portion of this vast and rambling habitation of barbarous royalty; then I was left to my own reflections, and partly in the dark; at least, there was just sufficient light to enable me to see a pile of straw, or dried river grass, on which I threw myself in weariness, if not in despair, as I knew not what new misfortune fate had in store for me. Sleep, oblivion, I courted in vain. I was now, though exhausted, in too high a state of nervous excitement for sleep; and as my eyes became accustomed to the dim twilight of my prison, I could perceive the chamber to be fashioned of the trunks of trees, squared, smoothed, and pegged together, and then painted with barbarous figures. Above the door by which I had entered were three human skulls, placed upon the hoofs of hippopotami, as brackets. A sound as of something rustling in a distant corner attracted my attention. I approached, and saw upon a pile of straw and dry leaves a white man extended at full length, and almost destitute of clothing. I drew nearer softly, for I knew not whether this new companion in misfortune might be alive or dead. Then imagine what were my emotions on discovering him to be my friend, sunk in a profound slumber--my old friend, Robert Hartly, captain of the fated _Leda_. CHAPTER LI. AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW PLACE. The pallor of his countenance, his wasted form, and sunken features shocked me, for I was quite unaware or heedless that he would find an equal ravage in my own appearance. His beard and hair grew in matted masses about his sunburnt face, and his once stout and manly hands were thin and wan as those of a consumptive girl. I shook his shoulder; he awoke, and turned listlessly to me at first; then with a strange cry of mingled joy and grief, he exclaimed-- "Jack!" "Bob--Bob Hartly!" Such was all we could utter for some seconds as each clasped and shook the hands of the other. "Oh, Jack Manly," he exclaimed, in a broken voice, "I would rather see you in your grave than in this place with me!" "How--why--what do you mean?" "My poor lad, you know not for what we are reserved." "Not--not to be killed and eaten?" said I, in a low voice of dismay. "Oh, worse than that. Do you not know?" "No." "My poor friend--my poor friend!" "What on earth can be worse than that? Amoo told me----" "Who is Amoo?" "A chief, the brother of the King of the Rio Serpientes." "The savage brother of a savage! And he told you----" "That I was reserved for the greatest honour?" "Honours indeed!" reiterated Hartly, with a bitter laugh. "Yes." "Did he add, you should have _liberty_ to enjoy your honours?" "No." "Air--breath--sunshine--light--life?" "No!" "I thought not, for these accursed savages are as subtle and severe as they are cruel and sanguinary." "What _do_ you mean, Hartly?" "That we are reserved for _burial alive_." "Alive!" "Yes--with their king who is just dead. It is the custom here to celebrate the obsequies of royal personages--of kings especially--in a frantic and barbarous manner. Oh, Jack! after all we have seen and suffered together, is it not cruel of fate to persecute and finish us thus? And is it not strange that in this age of a civilized world such things _can_ be?" "I will fight to the last!" I exclaimed, furiously. "We have not a single weapon." "But these female guards have plenty." "The weakest among them is stronger than both of us put together _now_," said he, despondingly. "We must not perish thus, Hartly--we _shall_ escape!" said I, emphatically. "But how?" "Time will show--we were nearly as desperately circumstanced when foul of the iceberg, or beset in the field ice." "We have still a few days for deliberation; but meantime, tell me how you came here." "I was brought to Benin by Amoo, who saved me from dying of hunger, or by the teeth and claws of wild animals in the Devil's wood, where some savages found me concealed, and bound me hand and foot by withes to a tree." "Tell me all about this, Jack." I related briefly all that had occurred to me since we had been separated at the cliff above the Gabon, where three of our hapless party perished; the destruction of poor Captain Baylis and his wife; and how I feared that he, Hartly, was the seaman who had been tortured in the basket of thorns; of my slavery with Amoo, and his squaw's felonious intentions with regard to my head; of my flight and recapture--to all of which he listened with varying expressions of anger and honest grief, for the loss of so many brave English seamen. "And now, Bob," added I, "for your own story." "I have little to relate that is not similar to what you have told me. On that fatal day when our boat's crew were captured, and we were separated, I was given by the King to a fetisher, or priest, a hideous old fellow who was covered with tattooing, and wore a copper ring in each of his ears, and had the dorsal fin of a shark through his nose, in sprit-sail-yard fashion. "He employed me as his 'slavey,' in making and pointing arrows for the warriors, as the manufacture of that commodity is a perquisite, or portion of the priestly trade in Gabon, for the tips of the arrows are poisoned by a combination of herbs, of which these fetishers alone possess, or pretend to possess, the knowledge, and with true priestcraft take especial good care to keep the secret among themselves. If the monstrous negro race hereabout have any religion, it consists of an adoration of the Devil, to whom they never tire of sacrificing wild animals, and occasionally each other--which is a sacrifice of much less consequence." "Have they no belief in a Supreme Being?" "They know that some power superior to themselves created the skies and the earth; but because He is not an evil, but a good spirit, they deem it better policy to appease the Devil, and so they work in _his_ service with all their might; and from all we have seen, they seem to have the gift of doing so to the utmost. My old master, the fetisher, professed to be on very intimate terms with Whirlwind Tom, and by his aid could always foretell what was to happen." "How?" "He had an old pipkin perforated by three holes, through which he alleged the Devil spoke to him in whispers. He was a vicious old wretch, and on one occasion _bit me_, which was no joke, as his teeth were all filed, till they were sharp as those of a tiger cat. "When not employed in selecting and cutting reeds for arrows, or feathering, or pointing and poisoning them, this fetisher made me fish for him in a tributary of the Snake Elver, on the bank of which he lived in a wigwam, which stood amid a grove of mimosa trees; and it resembled a huge punch-bowl or beehive, as it was built entirely of reeds and turf, plastered over with mud, which the sunshine had burned as white as Kentish chalk. "There he led me a dog's life, for he was an ill-tempered old savage, who hourly reviled, kicked, beat, and spat upon me, and as my beard grew, he was wont to snatch and tear it, a proceeding, you must allow, very trying to one's temper. "I perceived that we dwelt in a secluded place; that, save a warrior who came from time to time for a bundle of arrows, no one ever approached us, so I resolved to escape. In my fur socks, and a species of cummerbund which my master permitted me to wear, I secreted a good stock of fishing apparatus, and selected a strong javelin with an iron point, well steeped in those precious poisonous stuffs which he was wont to brew in a pipkin. "On the day I had finally made up my mind to slip my cable and be off, we were cutting reeds for arrow-shafts on the summit of a rock above the Gabon River. It was a lovely place, covered with feathery fern, bright scarlet geraniums, and flowering reeds, but I thought it looked very like the place where I had last seen you, and where our three shipmates perished in so barbarous a manner. My heart became filled with wild and dark thoughts, and I was neglecting my work, when suddenly my beard was grasped by the old tattooed fetisher, who squirted a whole quid of some stuff full in my face, while raining a shower of blows upon my bare back with a _sjambok_, or supple-jack, of rhinoceros hide, which he always carried for my especial benefit. "Flesh and blood could stand this no longer. "We were close to the brink of the rock which overhung the stream that rolled about a hundred feet below, so I gave his sooty reverence a vigorous kick which shot him over like a crow, and souse he went through the air, with arms outspread. "Whether he swam, sank, or fed some hungry crocodile, I know not, as I fled into the adjacent forest, and after lurking there long--sleeping at night in the trees, as many a time I had done on the swinging topsail-yard--I began, like you, to make for the coast to the westward, in the hope of seeing a ship venture into the Bight, or bearing toward the Pongos for fresh water. "For many days and nights I wandered through forests of oak, cypress, myrtle, and mimosa trees, enduring constantly the terror of being devoured by wild animals, or falling again among savages who might force me to render a severe account of the blessed fetisher I had kicked into the Gabon, till at last I found myself in a stately wood of sea-pines and _then_ I saw the ocean--the brave old ocean, Jack!--the broad turnpike that could lead us home--the same ocean whose waves swept up by the Nore and Greenwich Reach, to mingle their waters with the Thames--and I laughed with joy, though its bosom was glistening under the vertical sun that scorches the coast of Guinea. "All the memories of home and Old England swelled up within me as I gazed upon the girdle of her shores. The sea! that "----glorious mirror where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, Calm or convulsed--in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving;--boundless, endless, and sublime!" CHAPTER LII. HARTLY'S STORY. "When night fell, I came out of the lonely forest to gaze upon the moonlit sea--not that the forest was very _lonely_, after all, as there seemed to be at least fifty thousand baboons, monkeys, and squirrels, which jabbered and leaped as if they had all gone mad, the whole night, from tree to tree, and more than once the roar of a lion came hollowly from a distance, under the lower branches of the pines. "I sat upon a piece of detached rock, and, to seek for food, dropped my fishing-line into the water. There I soon caught a fish, on which I breakfasted next day, after spreading it, split open, on the rocks, where it was half cooked by the burning sun. As for salt, there was plenty of that to be found among the crevices, where the heat had burned up the spray of the sea. "For three nights I fished there with success and safety. On the third, I found at my line a fish of strange aspect, and, sailor-like, had some doubts about breakfasting on it, but hunger soon ends all niceties. When morning came, I sought a secluded part of the wood, and thought of lighting a little fire by rubbing dried branches together that I might broil my fish. "Now, unless I could produce ocular proof of what I am about to say, you would laugh at me for telling you a forecastle yarn, but the proof shall not be wanting. "While opening and cleaning the fish at a spring, previous to broiling it (an almost epicurean process to me), I found in its entrails--what? MY RING--the ring given me by old Mother Jensdochter, in Iceland, and which, as you remember, I lost a few days after we left Sermersoak, when lending a hand to haul the main-tack on board the _Leda_." "Your ring!" I exclaimed; "this is like a bit of a fairy tale." "My ring," he continued; "and here it is, hid among my hair to conceal it from these greedy negroes, who would at once deprive me of it, and keep it as an ornament or amulet." "This is most singular!" "Singular indeed, but on beholding it a new glow of hope filled my breast. I resolved to persevere in my efforts to escape, and so became too bold, for, venturing upon the open beach next day, I was seen by some savages belonging to the King of Biafra, who pursued and soon made me their prisoner. The rest of my story is nearly the same as your own, as my captors were with a caravan on their way to Benin, to attend the funeral of King Zabadie. "I was severely treated by them. Under a burning and vertical sun, they employed me constantly in loading and unloading their dromedaries, or in pulling up esculent roots for them, and this was a serious task even to a hard-handed sailor, as these roots lay among thorny leaves and serrated grass, the blades of which were like newly-sharpened saws. "In the desert, the sand was so hot that it baked or roasted the eggs I stole or found at times, and was fain to eat in secret. When my work was over, I was always malevolently treated by the women, and more especially by those little black imps, the children of the caravan. Their chief occupation was spitting at me, reviling and pelting me with stones, bones, rotten gourds, and every missile that came to hand. "The women had a particular animosity to my beard, and the men hereabouts, like other darkies, not being troubled with much of that commodity, joined them in the general desire for having it uprooted, but I contrived to weather them by singeing it off. "Every way I endured great misery. I was not even permitted to drink of spring water, save from a calabash, which some of their dogs had used; and to tell the truth, I preferred to drink after the poor doggies rather than after their beastly masters. "Well, it would seem that His High Mightiness, the King of Biafra, is a vassal of that more illustrious nigger the King of Benin; so, five days ago, I was sent here, with many other miserable wretches, to be--to be----" "What?" "Immolated on the grave of the late king, or buried within it." "Is such the custom?" I asked, with indescribable dismay. "Benin borders on the kingdom of Dahomey, and all the world knows how the people there celebrate the obsequies of their kings." "How?" "Frequently by the massacre of thousands." "Hartly! Hartly--we seem to go from bad to worse!" "I have been in the Pongo Isles, along the coast of Guinea, and in the Bight of Benin before, and know all about the fiendish ways of their inhabitants. Jack, did you observe a great hole in the courtyard without?" "Yes; and I can hear the shovels of the workers among the earth even now." "When a king dies here, his body is laid in a kind of great hall, which, like that at Dahomey, has a ceiling ornamented by the jawbones of his enemies. There the very sleeping chambers of royalty are paved with human skulls, and have cornices entirely composed of them! Zabadie, the King of Benin, is just dead, and his son proposes to inter him with unusual splendour." "In that hole?" "Yes." "But what is all this to us?" "Oh," groaned Hartly, "do you not understand--have I not told you? When a king dies here, a great grave is dug somewhere near the palace, and it must be hollowed so deep, that the diggers are drowned by the water which bursts in upon them, and there they lie, after concluding their work. In this great hole the fiadoors place the royal corpse, dressed in all its barbaric finery, with a lance, sword, bow and arrows. With the dead king are placed all his favourites and servants, who are supposed to follow him to the other world, and serve him there; and so proud are they of this distinction, that it occasions the most violent disputes as to who shall have the honour of entombment, so blind and idolatrous is the veneration of these creatures for their dingy monarchs. When the last man has descended into the hole, an immense stone is placed over it; this is removed a few days after, and one of the great fiadoors inquires what are the tidings from beneath, adding,-- "'Who has gone to serve the king?' "Then the poor wretches who are expiring below reply according to circumstances. "Day after day the stone is removed, and the same questions are asked, until all in that horrid pit have 'gone to serve the king,' and are dead of starvation and the noxious miasma of the vault. When no voice responds to the inquiry of the fiadoor, the great stone is securely built over, a mighty fire is made upon it, a great festival is held, and the flesh of an elephant is roasted and given to the multitude." "And we--we----" "Are to be placed there among the slaves of the dead Zabadie." I remained silent, oppressed by the horror of what was before us; but Hartly spoke again:-- "When a year has passed and gone, these wretches, in honour of their dead king and his dead followers, make a dreadful sacrifice of men and animals, till about five hundred are destroyed. Most of the human victims are malefactors, or slaves taken in war. If enough of either are not to be had, the king sends his female guards into the streets at night to decoy and seize men till the number is made up." This was a cheerful account of the state of society in the realm of Benin, and it afforded ample food for thrilling reflection and fruitless surmises. CHAPTER LIII. THE FEMALE GUARDS. Yams, bananas, plantains, even boiled potatoes, and pipkins of pure spring water were liberally provided for us by our black female guardians, six of whom appeared once daily with our food and then retired, securing us with great bars of wood fastened outside in some fashion known only to themselves. These Amazons were all well armed, and some were richly clad in braided vests and petticoats of Dutch scarlet cloth. Among them were several veteran female warriors, whose skins, by the process of time under a tropical sun, had become spotted yellow and brown, like the hides of the leopard and panther. Light was admitted to our prison by a small square hole cut through one of the trees which formed the wall, and from thence, when each supported the other on his shoulders, we could see by turns the progress of the diggers of the royal grave in the courtyard, and to judge by the quantity of earth and stones thrown up, the depth must have been immense; and it seemed as if King Zabadie was going to the other world accompanied by all his wives, slaves, dromedaries, and diabolical courtiers to boot. We knew not _when_ this dreadful interment and immolation were to take place. When day dawned on us, we knew not if we should be permitted to see it close; when it closed, we knew not if we should ever behold another dawn. So the wretched hours passed slowly, wearily on; and the close of the third day found us still captives, and still unresolved on any expedient to dree ourselves. Sailor-like, Hartly was fertile in schemes and resources; but the former were no sooner proposed than they were abandoned as impracticable. One time he suggested that we should endeavour to procure a light by friction, set fire to the old wooden den in which we were confined, and then seek an escape amid the consequent confusion; at another, he proposed that we should close with our guards, wrest away a musket, kill one or two of them, and fight our way off; but how could we attack women? "If once free of the palace, the town, and its suburbs----" resumed he. "Free! how can we remain free, Hartly, in a land where our colour, which there is _no_ disguising, renders us constantly liable to recognition, to attack, and recapture?" "True; but if we could only reach the coast, after having so dearly learned circumspection, we might lurk in the woods." "Without arms?" "We have done so before. Then we might steal a canoe, or fashion one, and put to sea." "But the tools and the skins?" "We could steal both, as these fellows won't lend." "Escape from this is necessary first: and in the pilfering visits you suggest, we should certainly be retaken, together or singly; and then how miserable would be the reflections of the survivor." "Tut, Jack! unless we venture we shall never win." "Ah, Hartly," said I, "at last I have lost all hope!" "Do not say so; we are both too young to despair," was the sturdy response of the English sailor. We thought of the old stereotyped modes of escape--by ropes or ladders manufactured from shirts and trowsers, and by ample melodramatic mantles; but such were impossible to us, who were nearly as nude as when we came into the world; by drugging our guards or sentinels; by bribing, coaxing, or assassinating them; but these, and all the thousand other modes by which heroic and romantic gentlemen, when in trouble or durance, effect escapes in novels and plays, were useless or impracticable there. Hartly, indeed, proposed to make love to one or two ladies of the royal guard, and by gaining their confidence, to effect the appropriation of their muskets and ammunition. But those dingy Amazons seemed of a very unapproachable nature; and moreover, were so thickly smeared with war-paint and vegetable oils, as to be too hideous in aspect and repulsive in odour to render the attempt at all pleasant. So the darkness of the third night closed upon us, and undecided as to any mode of escape, we sat gazing with longing eyes on the little bit of blue sky that was visible through the hole, which by day afforded light and air into our den. A single star of uncommon brilliance shone through it now, and so brightly as to cast the form of the loophole upon the floor like a little white patch. "If once we were out of this place," said Hartly, for the twentieth time, "I would certainly trust to my two hands and pair of heels for doing the rest." "The town walls seem a high palisade." "Yes. I had a good view of them for an hour and more on the unlucky day I first arrived in Benin. And yet, Jack," he added, kindly, "I am glad those devils brought me here, after all--we should never have met again else. The town walls are a double palisade, sparred over on the outside and in--double sheathed a sailor would call it--and then the whole is plastered over with red clay." "Their height----" "Is not less than twelve feet; and at those parts of the town which are without a rampart, there is a ditch of great depth, full of slime and poisonous serpents, and bordered by an impassable hedge of brambles, through which fire alone could make its way." If I attempted to sleep, I was haunted by visions of being buried alive in that enormous tomb, from which there could be no escape--buried amid a hecatomb of hideous and sweltering negro corpses and the dead royalty of a savage race. The pictures my imagination drew of the future nearly distracted me; and I began to consider whether it was not better, by rushing barehanded and unarmed upon our captors, to provoke a more speedy and merciful death under their knives, asseguys, or muskets; and failing an escape, Hartly agreed with me that it was a wiser alternative; but Heaven lent us its helping hand ere the third night was passed. CHAPTER LIV ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE AGAIN. On this night, for more than an hour, there was an unusual beating of tum-tums, and the chorus of some barbaric songs stole upon the wind at times from that quarter of the royal dwelling in which the wives of the late King Zabadie were enclosed. During the past day the digging in the courtyard had ceased; and this circumstance, together with the sounds we heard (the adoration of some great fetish, or idol), made us tremble in our hearts lest the following day might see us placed in that more horrible prison, from whence there could be no release but by death. We mutually expressed our fears of this; and so absorbed were we in this terrible surmise, that some time elapsed before we perceived that the blue of the sky and the light of the stars had disappeared; that a thick vapour had overspread both--that rain was pattering heavily on the flat roofs of the wooden city; and that thunder, the deep, hoarse thunder of the tropics, which sounds as if it would rend the earth in twain, was roaring athwart the darkened firmament. The rain now poured down in such mighty torrents, that we listened to the din of its fall in silent wonder; for it seemed as if once again that "all the fountains of the great deep had broken up, and the windows of heaven were opened." Ere long we felt the drops descending upon us, tepid and sulphureous, as the clay coating that covered the split canes, or lathing, which, formed the roof of our prison, soon became a puddle; while the straw and leaves on which we usually sat or reclined, were reduced to a mass of wetted mire. For nearly an hour this continued, till our den became so thoroughly wet, that when the rain was over not a single dry spot could we find; and (as Hartly said) King Zabadie's trench in the courtyard would have the water some fathoms deep in it by this time. On the rain ceasing, and the clouds dispersing, which they did as suddenly as the storm had come on, we saw the stars shining through a breach which the moisture had made in the roof, and something like a branch that was waving to and fro fell on my upturned face. I grasped it. It was the strong sinewy tendril of a climbing convolvulus, which had fallen through the aperture. I drew it down, so far as it would come, and then _another_ branch fell in. On this I called joyously to Hartly, that "here were the first means of escape!" Without a moment's hesitation he grasped them, twisted them together, and with sailor-like agility swung himself up, hand over hand, till he reached the crevice through which they had fallen. Supporting the whole weight of his body by the left hand, with the right he tore down a mass of the fragile roof, and swinging himself up, passed through and at length stood upon the outside. "Now, Jack," said he, "come up in the same fashion, hand over hand--it is just like going through the lubber's hole, instead of over the futtock shrouds. Bravo! we'll weather this dead devil of a king and his armed wenches to boot." I dragged myself up by the twisted tendrils, but when near the hole should have fallen to the ground, had not Hartly's strong and friendly hands grasped and dragged me on to the roof, where for a little time we lay flat on our faces, panting alike with exertion and excitement, and listening anxiously to hear if any guards or watchers were near us. By the starlight we could see the long rows of flat wooden huts which composed the palace divided into various courts. At the distance of three hundred yards from us, on our right, a ruddy glow that deepened into crimson, then wavered, sunk, and flashed up again, revealed the outline of a monstrous fetish, or wooden idol, of hideous aspect, which the young King, his fiadoors, guards, and people were worshipping; and we could see the woolly heads bowed before it packed thick and close as cannon balls in Woolwich arsenal. The long vista of the great street of huts, which stretches the entire length of the town, and is alleged to be three miles long, lay upon our left. We had no guide to the ramparts or outskirts; but as the long extent of this street seemed empty and silent, our best chance of ultimate escape lay through it. Again grasping the tendrils of the convolvulus, we slid down from the roof and reached the ground. Robert Hartly dropped first. When I was following, the tendrils gave way, and I fell heavily, making thus a noise which roused a large dog in an adjacent shed, where it barked furiously; but as we lay close and still, it gradually ceased, and growled itself off to sleep again. We were in a garden attached to the King's residence; and being (by our white skins) liable to immediate pursuit, capture, or destruction, the moment we were seen--a contingency that would become a certainty when day broke--we hurried through it, getting our legs and feet severely cut and torn by the flowers and prickly plants; but of this minor evil we had no heed at that time. A paling of split canes was soon surmounted, and once more we found ourselves in the long street of Benin. CHAPTER LV THE FORMOSA. "If once we are free from the town," said Hartly, "we can find concealment during the day, and by travelling at night may reach the coast. Then, if we can but obtain a canoe, and pass over to one of the little isles in the Bight, we might remain there snugly enough, till some ship ran in on the same unlucky errand which brought poor Baylis here." "I pray it may end as you say." "Courage, Jack! Energy and faith will work miracles!" "But I imagine----" "Don't talk of imagination; it may only paralyse you by the fears it fashions, the danger it suggests; but hush!" At that moment the fire before the idol flared up broad and redly, and then the mingled roar of many voices swelled upon the night air. High above the hedge-rows or kraals for containing cattle, and the lines of countless huts, formed of turf, of wickered cane, and other rude materials which the wild vines, creepers, and convolvuli concealed, rose the lurid flame that blazed before the misshapen god of Benin; and far across the flat city it cast the shadows of the tall giraffe trees, which grew in rows around the palace wall. This red light mingled with the pale white lustre of the moon, which was just rising at the horizon, from whence its splendour cast long and steady shadows across the streets, and thereby favoured alike our concealment and escape. As we hurried along the empty thoroughfares towards the town wall, Hartly found at the door of a hut, a war-club, of which he immediately took possession. It was formed of teak-wood, black as ebony, ponderously heavy, and its knob was covered by elaborate carvings. While our hearts alternately glowed with hope, or sank with apprehension, unseen we reached the high wall of wood and clay, and ran alongside it, in search either of an outlet, or some means of surmounting it; but no wild creepers, no gourd vines or climbing convolvuli were permitted to grow there. We had been out of our prison at least half-an-hour without being met or seen by a single negro. At last we reached a place where, for more than a hundred feet, the wall was breached by the recent storm of wind and rain, which had overturned and beaten its ruins flat on the ground. With mutual exclamations of joy, we were proceeding to clamber over the fallen piles of rotten palisades and clay, when a wretched negro, who appeared suddenly, on perceiving the whiteness of our skins in the bright moonlight, uttered a loud cry of wonder or alarm! In an instant we heard the clatter of steel, and at least a dozen of the King's armed women issued from a kind of wooden tower which stood near the fallen wall. Hartly uttered something very like an oath; he struck the negro to the earth by a blow of his club, and crying--"Follow me, Jack!" sprang over the scattered ruin, and rushed into the moonlit country beyond. Swift of foot and active as these "fair viragoes" were, they proved no match for us in a race for life or death, especially when encumbered ty their muskets, asseguys, and red petticoats, which were covered with heavy beads, lions' teeth, and grass braiding. Two shots were fired after us, but where the balls went, Heaven only knows; fortunately, they fell far from us. On we ran in the full blaze of the moonlight, bathed in perspiration, now floundering among wild gourds and creeping plants, where little snakes started up to hiss at us; anon over waste tracts, where lilies and geraniums covered all the wilderness; then among long and serrated grass, which cut our shins like saws and sabre-blades. Next we tore a passage through dense masses of wild canes, then through fields of maize, or rice, or millet, and often through cattle kraals, till we reached a wood, where, after taking the precaution of running in _one_ direction in the full light of the moon, we turned and, hare-like, doubled in the _other_. By this manoeuvre, I believe, we baffled our _fair_ pursuers, as we saw no more of them for the remainder of that night or the following morning, during the long hours of which we lay close to the earth, buried and hidden under a cool and shady mass of leaves and jungle. And there, without water to quench our thirst, and without other food than a few wild berries that grew within arm's length of our lurking place, we lay concealed during the whole of the next day. When night fell, Hartly climbed into a chestnut-tree, and after looking carefully around him, uttered an exclamation of delight. "I see the way we must steer, Jack," he added. "You can see the ocean?" "Ay, or a large river, rippling in the moonlight to the horizon far away." A sigh of joy escaped me. "And so, Jack, if our company is necessary to complete the happiness of King Zabadie in the next world, I am sorry for him, as he is likely to take his long voyage without us." The chestnut was lofty, and from it Hartly could see on one hand the distant hills which form the termination of that mighty chain, the mountains of Kong, and end at the river Formosa. On the other hand, beyond the flat and open country, he could see the great river itself, flowing towards the Bight of Benin, along whose shores and by whose waters lay all our ultimate hope of escape. We bathed ourselves in a limpid pool to freshen and brace our nerves; I armed me with a cudgel formed of a young tree torn up by the roots; Hartly had still his war-club; and resolving to travel only under cloud of night, as cautiously as possible, and to avoid all negro camps and villages, we found the highway--if it could be called so--which leads from the city of Benin towards the Waree. CHAPTER LVI. A PERILOUS JOURNEY. In our ignorance of the wild country through which we travelled, our sole guide towards the sea was the course of the river Formosa, which rapidly widened into a mighty estuary, along the left bank of which we proceeded with the utmost circumspection; and inspired by the triple dread of being recaptured and killed by the natives, devoured by wild animals, or sinking under the heavy miasma which exhales from the marshy creeks and isles of the uncounted river-mouths which there pour their muddy tides into the Bight of Benin, laden with the decaying vegetable débris of an unexplored world. By various sounds which the wind swept after us at times, such as the baying of dogs, and notes of cane horns, we feared a pursuit by the people of Benin, and the sequel proved that our fears were but _too_ true. We were frequently bewildered by seeing large lakes, which we conceived to be the sea, till dawn of day would reveal their size, and the gigantic trees or walls of wavy reeds which surrounded their stagnant waters. Hartly often beguiled the way by relating strange stories he had heard or read, and by the margin of one of those silent lakes in the wilderness he told me of the shattered hull of an ancient ship being found, beached upon the bank of one of those inland waters in the continent of Africa. "How came it to be cast up there?" I asked, with surprise. "Some alleged that it came through a subterraneous opening, a channel in the bowels of the earth, connected with the same vortex or whirlpool which had sucked it down long years ago--the Maelstrom, perhaps, though many say that, like Charybdis, no such place exists. But it sounds very like a bouncing yarn, such as one may hear at the Royal Society, or under the leech of the foresail of a fine night, Jack, when the middle watch are spinning their _twisters_." We spent a whole night wearily and anxiously circumnavigating the banks of one of those lakes whose waters were full of thick green slime, of sturdy reeds, and leaves of wondrous size and form; falling into black quagmires and deep holes made by the clumsy hippopotami, and every instant in danger of being pounced upon by a panther or a poisonous snake for our intrusion upon their secluded domains. It is in these lakes of Benin, and in those of the kingdom of Angola, that the quaint old writer named Dapper (who must have been a very fanciful or credulous personage) relates he saw "water animals which the negroes call _ambisiangula_, and the Portuguese _pezze-moueller_. These monsters are both male and female. They are eight feet long and four broad, with short arms and long fingers of three joints, like ours. They have an oval head and eyes, a high forehead, a flat nose, and great mouth. Snares are laid for them, and when caught, they sigh and cry like women till they are killed by darts. Their entrails and flesh are like those of hogs in scent, taste, and form. 'Tis said the filings of certain skull-bones in the males, if mixed with wine, are an excellent remedy against gravel, and the bone which extends towards the membrane of the ear is good against bad vapour, if we may believe the Portuguese." Master Dapper then goes on to state, that of the ribs of this wonderful fish, particularly those on the left side, surgeons can make a powder which will effectually stanch bleeding, and that bracelets made of them were worn for the preservation of health. Another account, published in 1714, adds, that in the Cabinet of Rarities at Leyden one of their _hands_ is preserved, and two others were in the _Musæum Regium_ at Copenhagen. We, however, never saw aught but the fibrous leaves of enormous aquatic plants, large as table-cloths, floating on the water of these lakes, under the clear lustre of a lovely moon, that cast the shadows of the feathery palm and bending orange-trees from banks where the alligator dozed amid the slime, or the hippopotamus came to crop the herbage and bask in the rays of the sun when he rose above the foliage of the vast untrodden forest. Manfully we struggled on, supporting nature by such fruits and esculents as we found, especially yams, and on the sixth night after our escape, with a prayer of thankfulness, we found ourselves under the friendly shelter of a chestnut grove, and close upon the shore of the mighty sea. We were now so scorched and burned by the sun, and so embrowned by daily and nightly exposure, that we might very well have passed for a couple of mulattoes, and so have claimed kindred with our tormentors. We had now left the territories of Benin, and were in the land of Waree, which has a dingy sovereign of its own. The whole of this district is covered by wild forests, which in the wet season are frequently converted into lakes and marshes, where the stems of the trees are submerged for two or three feet in water. Opposite to where we lay concealed, and at the distance of a mile from us, we saw a little green island, having upon its summit a negro village, some of the inhabitants of which, when day broke, came over to the mainland with four canoes, which they moored or beached in a creek not three hundred yards distant from where we lurked among some long grass. These negroes were sixteen in number, all armed with asseguys, muskets, and bows, and they proceeded into the forest apparently to hunt. We climbed into a leafy chestnut for security, and passed the entire day amid its branches, thus escaping the hunting party, several of whom passed underneath us, on their way back to the canoes in which they embarked, and returned to the island laden with game. These canoes were large; each appeared to be a single tree hollowed out, and flattened in the bottom. Hartly, who announced his intention of borrowing one _sans_ leave on the first available opportunity, said, that after being scooped out, straw was burned in them to save the wood from being spoiled by worms. They can be rowed swiftly, and are steered by a long spar, which acts as a rudder. The oars are usually made of teak-wood, and fashioned like spades. Each of these canoes had a round knob on its prow; and by this they were pulled ashore with ease, and beached high and dry upon the thick mangrove leaves of the creek. When night fell again, I sank into a profound sleep among the branches of our chestnut tree. There was no danger of a tumble, we had become so accustomed to roosting on such perches. Day dawned again, and we looked about us. Ah! what were our emotions _then_ on seeing in the blue waters of the bay, and about two miles from the green island, _two vessels at anchor_--one a brig, with American colours flying; and the other a stately ship, with the broad scarlet ensign of Britain floating at her gaff peak! There they rode proudly at their moorings; but we were destitute alike of means for reaching them or making signals; as yet all their boats were on board, and we could perceive no sign of any of them being despatched ashore. Their topsails and topgallant sails were handed; but their courses were only hauled up, and some of their fore and aft canvas hung loose in the brails. We gazed at them with tearful and haggard eyes, our hearts swelling the while with mingled hope and fear--hope that they might yet save, and fear that they might unwittingly sail and abandon us. While we were debating what was to be done, the four canoes with the sixteen negroes again shot off from the island village, and disappeared among the mangroves of the creek; and soon after we saw them, as on the previous day, pass, armed, into the wood to hunt. "Now is our opportunity, Jack--now or never!" cried Hartly, as he dropped lightly from the tree; "let us make a rush at the canoes, seize one and shove off!" I instantly followed his example; but, alas! we were too rash in our desire to embark, for at the same instant we dropped from our perches, we found ourselves confronted by two of the savages, whom the suddenness of our appearance seemed to fill with astonishment and irresolution. CHAPTER LVII. PURSUIT AGAIN. Without pausing for a moment to express friendly or other signs, we rushed down with headlong speed towards the creek, where the canoes lay beached upon the thick fringe of mangrove leaves, and eight of the sixteen hunters pursued us; but notwithstanding the swiftness of foot they possessed--a swiftness acquired by a savage and roving life--we distanced them with ease, for despair seemed to lend us the strength and speed of ostriches as we rushed towards the beach. An asseguy, aimed with almost fatal precision, glanced over my left shoulder, and shivered as it sank into the turf beyond me. Then a war-club, thrown with fatal force and dexterity, struck poor Hartly between the shoulders, and nearly prostrated him; but in less than two minutes we were in the creek, and had one of the largest canoes afloat. "In, in, Jack--leap in!" cried Hartly, while he lightly and adroitly pushed the other three into the water, and setting them all afloat to cut off pursuit, sprang in after me. His presence of mind was most fortunate, for on the steep brow of an eminence which overhung the creek on the side opposite to our more immediate pursuers, there suddenly burst a storm of shrill yells and discordant shouts, mingled with the beating of tum-tums and the snorting of ferocious dogs, as a number of Benin savages, who doubtless had tracked us thither with the most fell intentions, rushed to the shore in pursuit--but thank Heaven, happily too late! Hartly's sinewy hand had shot two of the canoes some thirty yards or so from the beach; and while towing a third by its bow-knob, he proceeded to row most vigorously with one of the spade-like paddles which lay in our craft. Ere we got out of the wooded creek its water smoked and boiled under the shower of missiles--arrows, asseguys, clubs, and stones--which were sent after us, while five negroes and several dogs plunged in to pursue or to slay. These tracking dogs were animals of strange aspect--sharp-nosed, with skins spotted black and white, or red--they had slender legs, sharp tusks, and a low, but ferocious bark. While four of the negroes busied themselves in bringing back the drifting canoes--an operation during which one of them was shot by the musket of some blundering comrade--the fifth, a man of fierce and resolute bearing, having red and yellow circles painted round his eyes, and a knife in his teeth, swam after us, accompanied by a dog, the most formidable of the whole. Swiftly though our canoe shot through the water, and vigorously though we paddled, they were soon alongside of us. The dog had his fore paws, and the man his black hands, upon the gunnel at the same moment. The time was painfully critical! I struck the dog with my paddle, and broke both his fore legs; unable to swim, he floated away sinking, yelping, and drowning; while Hartly relinquishing the canoe he was towing, dealt the painted savage--in whom I recognised Amoo, my former master--a tremendous blow on the head. Though the latter proved _harder_ than the hard wood paddle, which was split and splintered, Amoo sank with a yell of rage and pain. After the danger was past, I was pleased to see that he rose to the surface again and reached the shore; for this negro chief was not, in some respects, and apart from a general inclination to homicide, ungenerous. The three canoes were quickly crowded by armed warriors, and rowed out of the creek at a speed that bade fair soon to overhaul us, though we paddled away, each on his own side, with all the rapidity our strength and our desperation enabled as to exert. We were now entirely clear of the creek, and about a quarter of a mile from the shore, when a hearty English cheer rang across the water towards us. On turning and looking ahead, we saw two large and well-manned boats, which had been put off from the ship (the craft nearest the shore), pulled rapidly towards us; while two rifles from the headmost one were discharged into the canoes, as a hint for their owners to sheer off, which they immediately did with great expedition. We were soon alongside of the nearest boat, the crew of which pulled us on board, canoe and all, continuing to cheer the while so lustily, that some time elapsed before we could inform them that we were countrymen. The steersman then inquired whether there were any more fugitives ashore. We replied "No;" on which the boat's head was turned towards the ship; the oars again fell into the water, and the creek soon lessened and melted, as it were, into the general scenery of the wooded shore. The vessel by which we were so providentially rescued, proved to be the _Havelock_, of London, a fine clipper ship of a thousand tons register, belonging, by a singular coincidence, to my father--at least, to the firm of Manly and Skrew, homeward bound from the Cape; but which had been, like the barque of poor Captain Baylis, driven out of her course by the hurricane of the other night, and had anchored in the Bight to procure fresh water, and repair some trifling damages. Soon her spars and hull (old England's wooden wall), a welcome sight, rose higher from the water as we pulled towards her; and as they rose, the low, level, and marshy shore we had left, with all its mangrove creeks and reedy lagunes--its wildernesses of giant leaves, and long and fibrous creepers--its dense jungles, where serpents hissed, monkeys chattered, and crocodiles laid their eggs; where the great yellow gourd and coarse serrated grass flourished under the feathery palm and broad baobab trees, amid slime and miasma, that carry death to the vitals of the European--soon all these diminished and sank astern, as our boat sped through the shining sea; and, ere long, Robert Hartly and I shook each other's hands with honest warmth and joy, when we found ourselves among our own countrymen, treading a deck of good English oak, with the old scarlet bunting floating from the peak halyards above us. Three days the _Havelock_ remained in the bay; and during that time, you may be assured, neither Hartly nor I had any wish to venture on shore. I shall never forget the glow of happiness that thrilled through me, when, on the third evening, the Captain gave orders to hoist the boats on board and prepare for sea. "Man the windlass!" was the cry; "hands, up anchor!" The bars were inserted by sturdy hands in the huge beam, and then the pauls clattered cheerily, while the iron cable rattled as it was dragged aft along the deck, and soon the great clipper ship came round with her head to the wind. "Cast loose the courses; away aloft--shake out the topsails, and let fall!" And anon the snowy canvas fell like white curtains on the lower spars, as the topsail yards ascended to the crosstrees. "Heave on the cable--weigh!" was the next order. Tight as if its iron rings would snap like pack-thread grew the mighty chain, for strong hands and muscular arms were tugging with united strength at the bars of bending ash. "Together, lads--together--hurrah!" cried Hartly, who had supplied himself with a handspike. "Uptorn, reluctant, from its oozy cave, The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave." And soon the great iron flukes were dripping with glittering brine, as the ring rattled at the cathead; then the yards were trimmed; the larboard tacks were brought on board, and with a fine spanking breeze, that came from the burning shores of Benin, our fleet clipper ship bore away for Old England. * * * * * CONCLUSION. Such were my adventures in the lands of snow and sunshine--the latitudes of ice and fire! On the 17th of December, exactly nine months after the day on which Hartly and I had sailed through the Narrows of St. John, we found ourselves bowling along the crowded and busy streets of London in a hackney cab, with our African canoe--all the property we possessed--lashed on the roof thereof. We separated for a time at the Bank; he to look after another ship, and I--like he of old, who came to the husks and the swine trough--to return to my father's house at Peckham (a tamer and wiser youth than when I left it) and to the circle of my family, who had long since gone into mourning for me. I am delighted to add that my worthy Robert Hartly soon got another vessel. As sole survivors of the crew of the _Leda_, we obtained, after a world of trouble with the Red-tapists of the Circumlocution Office, the 500_l._ offered by the Governor of Newfoundland for the destruction of the _Black Schooner_. My share I made over to Hartly, who invested it in the capital of his new owner. He still preserves, with religious care, the ring of old Mother Jensdochter; and undeterred by all he has undergone, sails from Blackwall for China on the 10th of next month. THE END. 
30365	----	[Transcriber's note: Henryk Sienkiewicz (1846-1916), _In Desert and Wilderness_ (1910), 1917 edition. The original title is: W pustyni i w puszczy. There was also a French edition: Le gouffre noir.] IN DESERT AND WILDERNESS BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ AUTHOR OF "WITH FIRE AND SWORD," "QUO VADIS," "WHIRLPOOLS," ETC. _TRANSLATED FROM THE POLISH BY_ MAX A. DREZMAL BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1917 _Copyright_, 1912, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. _All rights reserved_ Printers S. J. PARKBILL & Co., BOSTON, U.S.A. PART FIRST IN DESERT AND WILDERNESS I "Do you know, Nell," said Stas Tarkowski to his friend, a little English girl, "that yesterday the police came and arrested the wife of Smain, the overseer, and her three children,--that Fatma who several times called at the office to see your father and mine." And little Nell, resembling a beautiful picture, raised her greenish eyes to Stas and asked with mingled surprise and fright: "Did they take her to prison?" "No, but they will not let her go to the Sudân and an official has arrived who will see that she does not move a step out of Port Said." "Why?" Stas, who was fourteen years old and who loved his eight-year-old companion very much, but looked upon her as a mere child, said with a conceited air: "When you reach my age, you will know everything which happens, not only along the Canal from Port Said to Suez, but in all Egypt. Have you ever heard of the Mahdi?" "I heard that he is ugly and naughty." The boy smiled compassionately. "I do not know whether he is ugly. The Sudânese claim that he is handsome. But the word 'naughty' about a man who has murdered so many people, could be used only by a little girl, eight years old, in dresses--oh--reaching the knees." "Papa told me so and papa knows best." "He told you so because otherwise you would not understand. He would not express himself to me in that way. The Mahdi is worse than a whole shoal of crocodiles. Do you understand? That is a nice expression for me. 'Naughty!' They talk that way to babes." But, observing the little girl's clouded face, he became silent and afterwards said: "Nell, you know I did not want to cause you any unpleasantness. The time will come when you will be fourteen. I certainly promise you that." "Aha!" she replied with a worried look, "but if before that time the Mahdi should dash into Port Said and eat me." "The Mahdi is not a cannibal, so he does not eat people. He only kills them. He will not dash into Port Said, but even if he did and wanted to murder you, he would first have to do with me." This declaration with the sniff with which Stas inhaled the air through his nose, did not bode any good for the Mahdi and considerably quieted Nell as to her own person. "I know," she answered, "you would not let him harm me. But why do they not allow Fatma to leave Port Said?" "Because Fatma is a cousin of the Mahdi. Her husband, Smain, made an offer to the Egyptian Government at Cairo to go to the Sudân, where the Mahdi is staying, and secure the liberty of all Europeans who have fallen into his hands." "Then Smain is a good man?" "Wait! Your papa and my papa, who knew Smain thoroughly, did not have any confidence in him and warned Nubar Pasha not to trust him. But the Government agreed to send Smain and Smain remained over half a year with the Mahdi. The prisoners not only did not return, but news has come from Khartûm that the Mahdists are treating them more and more cruelly, and that Smain, having taken money from the Government, has become a traitor. He joined the Mahdi's army and has been appointed an emir. The people say that in that terrible battle in which General Hicks fell, Smain commanded the Mahdi's artillery and that he probably taught the Mahdists how to handle the cannon, which before that time they, as savage people, could not do. But now Smain is anxious to get his wife and children out of Egypt. So when Fatma, who evidently knew in advance what Smain was going to do, wanted secretly to leave Port Said, the Government arrested her with the children." "But what good are Fatma and her children to the Government?" "The Government will say to the Mahdi,--'Give us the prisoners and we will surrender Fatma'--" For the time the conversation was interrupted because the attention of Stas was attracted by birds flying from the direction of Echtum om Farag towards Lake Menzaleh. They flew quite low and in the clear atmosphere could be plainly seen some pelicans with curved napes, slowly moving immense wings. Stas at once began to imitate their flight. So with head upraised, he ran a score of paces along the dyke, waving his outstretched arms. "Look!" suddenly exclaimed Nell. "Flamingoes are also flying." Stas stood still in a moment, as actually behind the pelicans, but somewhat higher, could be seen, suspended in the sky, two great red and purple flowers, as it were. "Flamingoes! flamingoes! Before night they return to their haunts on the little islands," the boy said. "Oh, if I only had a rifle!" "Why should you want to shoot at them?" "Girls don't understand such things. But let us go farther; we may see more of them." Saying this he took the girl's hand and together they strolled towards the first wharf beyond Port Said. Dinah, a negress and at one time nurse of little Nell, closely followed them. They walked on the embankment which separated the waters of Lake Menzaleh from the Canal, through which at that time a big English steamer, in charge of a pilot, floated. The night was approaching. The sun still stood quite high but was rolling in the direction of the lake. The salty waters of the latter began to glitter with gold and throb with the reflection of peacock feathers. On the Arabian bank as far as the eye could reach, stretched a tawny, sandy desert--dull, portentous, lifeless. Between the glassy, as if half-dead, heaven and the immense, wrinkled sands there was not a trace of a living being. While on the Canal life seethed, boats bustled about, the whistles of steamers resounded, and above Menzaleh flocks of mews and wild ducks scintillated in the sunlight, yonder, on the Arabian bank, it appeared as if it were the region of death. Only in proportion as the sun, descending, became ruddier and ruddier did the sands begin to assume that lily hue which the heath in Polish forests has in autumn. The children, walking towards the wharf, saw a few more flamingoes, which pleased their eyes. After this Dinah announced that Nell must return home. In Egypt, after days which even in winter are often scorching, very cold nights follow, and as Nell's health demanded great care, her father, Mr. Rawlinson, would not allow her to be near the water after sunset. They, therefore, returned to the city, on the outskirts of which, near the Canal, stood Mr. Rawlinson's villa, and by the time the sun plunged into the sea they were in the house. Soon, the engineer Tarkowski, Stas' father, who was invited to dinner arrived, and the whole company, together with a French lady, Nell's teacher, Madame Olivier, sat at the table. Mr. Rawlinson, one of the directors of the Suez Canal Company, and Ladislaus Tarkowski, senior engineer of the same company, lived for many years upon terms of the closest intimacy. Both were widowers, but Pani Tarkowski, by birth a French lady, died at the time Stas came into the world, while Nell's mother died of consumption in Helwan when the girl was three years old. Both widowers lived in neighboring houses in Port Said, and owing to their duties met daily. A common misfortune drew them still closer to each other and strengthened the ties of friendship previously formed. Mr. Rawlinson loved Stas as his own son, while Pan Tarkowski would have jumped into fire and water for little Nell. After finishing their daily work the most agreeable recreation for them was to talk about the children, their education and future. During such conversations it frequently happened that Mr. Rawlinson would praise the ability, energy, and bravery of Stas and Pan Tarkowski would grow enthusiastic over the sweetness and angelic countenance of Nell. And the one and the other spoke the truth. Stas was a trifle conceited and a trifle boastful, but diligent in his lessons, and the teachers in the English school in Port Said, which he attended, credited him with uncommon abilities. As to courage and resourcefulness, he inherited them from his father, for Pan Tarkowski possessed these qualities in an eminent degree and in a large measure owed to them his present position. In the year 1863 he fought for eleven months without cessation. Afterwards, wounded, taken into captivity, and condemned to Siberia, he escaped from the interior of Russia and made his way to foreign lands. Before he entered into the insurrection he was a qualified engineer; nevertheless he devoted a year to the study of hydraulics. Later he secured a position at the Canal and in the course of a few years, when his expert knowledge, energy, and industry became known, he assumed the important position of senior engineer. Stas was born, bred, and reached his fourteenth year in Port Said on the Canal; in consequence of which the engineers called him the child of the desert. At a later period, when he was attending school, he sometimes, during the vacation season and holidays, accompanied his father or Mr. Rawlinson on trips, which their duty required them to make from Port Said to Suez to inspect the work on the embankment or the dredging of the channel of the Canal. He knew everybody--the engineers and custom-house officials as well as the laborers, Arabs and negroes. He bustled about and insinuated himself everywhere, appearing where least expected; he made long excursions on the embankment, rowed in a boat over Menzaleh, venturing at times far and wide. He crossed over to the Arabian bank and mounting the first horse he met, or in the absence of a horse, a camel, or even a donkey, he would imitate Farys* [* Farys, the hero of Adam Mickiewicz's Oriental poem of the same name.--_Translator's note_.] on the desert; in a word, as Pan Tarkowski expressed it, "he was always popping up somewhere," and every moment free from his studies he passed on the water. His father did not oppose this, as he knew that rowing, horseback riding, and continual life in the fresh air strengthened his health and developed resourcefulness within him. In fact, Stas was taller and stronger than most boys of his age. It was enough to glance at his eyes to surmise that in case of any adventure he would sin more from too much audacity than from timidity. In his fourteenth year, he was one of the best swimmers in Port Said, which meant not a little, for the Arabs and negroes swim like fishes. Shooting from carbines of a small caliber, and only with cartridges, for wild ducks and Egyptian geese, he acquired an unerring eye and steady hand. His dream was to hunt the big animals sometime in Central Africa. He therefore eagerly listened to the narratives of the Sudânese working on the Canal, who in their native land had encountered big, thick-skinned, and rapacious beasts. This also had its advantage, for at the same time he learned their languages. It was not enough to excavate the Suez Canal; it was necessary also to maintain it, as otherwise the sands of the deserts, lying on both banks, would fill it up in the course of a year. The grand work of De Lesseps demands continual labor and vigilance. So, too, at the present day, powerful machines, under the supervision of skilled engineers, and thousands of laborers are at work, dredging the channel. At the excavation of the Canal, twenty-five thousand men labored. To-day, owing to the completion of the work and improved new machinery, considerably less are required. Nevertheless, the number is great. Among them the natives of the locality predominate. There is not, however, a lack of Nubians, Sudânese, Somalis, and various negroes coming from the White and Blue Niles, that is, from the region which previous to the Mahdi's insurrection was occupied by the Egyptian Government. Stas lived with all on intimate terms and having, as is usual with Poles, an extraordinary aptitude for languages he became, he himself not knowing how and when, acquainted with many of their dialects. Born in Egypt, he spoke Arabian like an Arab. From the natives of Zanzibar, many of whom worked as firemen on the steam dredges, he learned Kiswahili, a language widely prevalent all over Central Africa. He could even converse with the negroes of the Dinka and Shilluk tribes, residing on the Nile below Fashoda. Besides this, he spoke fluently English, French, and also Polish, for his father, an ardent patriot, was greatly concerned that his son should know the language of his forefathers. Stas in reality regarded this language as the most beautiful in the world and taught it, not without some success, to little Nell. One thing only he could not accomplish, that she should pronounce his name Stas, and not "Stes." Sometimes, on account of this, a misunderstanding arose between them, which continued until small tears began to glisten in the eyes of the girl. Then "Stes" would beg her pardon and became angry at himself. He had, however, an annoying habit of speaking slightingly of her eight years and citing by way of contrast his own grave age and experience. He contended that a boy who is finishing his fourteenth year, if he is not fully matured, at least is not a mere child, but on the contrary, is capable of performing all kinds of heroic deeds, especially if he has Polish and French blood. He craved most ardently that sometime an opportunity would occur for such deeds, particularly in defense of Nell. Both invented various dangers and Stas was compelled to answer her questions as to what he would do if, for instance, a crocodile, ten yards long, or a scorpion as big as a dog, should crawl through the window of her home. To both it never occurred for a moment that impending reality would surpass all their fantastic suppositions. II In the meantime, in the house, good news awaited them during the dinner. Messrs. Rawlinson and Tarkowski, as skilled engineers, had been invited a few weeks before, to examine and appraise the work carried on in connection with the whole net-work of canals in the Province of El-Fayûm, in the vicinity of the city of Medinet near Lake Karûn, as well as along the Yûsuf and Nile rivers. They were to stay there for about a month and secured furloughs from their company. As the Christmas holidays were approaching, both gentlemen, not desiring to be separated from the children, decided that Stas and Nell should also go to Medinet. Hearing this news the children almost leaped out of their skins from joy. They had already visited the cities lying along the Canal, particularly Ismailia and Suez, and while outside the Canal, Alexandria and Cairo, near which they viewed the great pyramids and the Sphinx. But these were short trips, while the expedition to Medinet el-Fayûm required a whole day's travel by railway, southward along the Nile and then westward from El-Wasta towards the Libyan Desert. Stas knew Medinet from the narratives of younger engineers and tourists who went there to hunt for various kinds of water-fowls as well as desert wolves and hyenas. He knew that it was a separate, great oasis lying off the west bank of the Nile but not dependent upon its inundations and having its water system formed by Lake Karûn through Bahr Yûsuf and a whole chain of small canals. Those who had seen this oasis said that although that region belonged to Egypt, nevertheless, being separated from it by a desert, it formed a distinct whole. Only the Yûsuf River connects, one might say with a thin blue thread, that locality with the valley of the Nile. The great abundance of water, fertility of soil, and luxuriant vegetation made an earthly paradise of it, while the extensive ruins of the city of Crocodilopolis drew thither hundreds of curious tourists. Stas, however, was attracted mainly by the shores of Lake Karûn, with its swarms of birds and its wolf-hunts on the desert hills of Gebel el-Sedment. But his vacation began a few days later, and as the inspection of the work on the canals was an urgent matter and the gentlemen could not lose any time, it was arranged that they should leave without delay, while the children, with Madame Olivier, were to depart a week later. Nell and Stas had a desire to leave at once, but Stas did not dare to make the request. Instead they began to ask questions about various matters relative to the journey, and with new outbursts of joy received the news that they would not live in uncomfortable hotels kept by Greeks, but in tents furnished by the Cook Tourists' Agency. This is the customary arrangement of tourists who leave Cairo for a lengthy stay at Medinet. Cook furnishes tents, servants, cooks, supplies of provisions, horses, donkeys, camels, and guides; so the tourist does not have to bother about anything. This, indeed, is quite an expensive mode of traveling; but Messrs. Tarkowski and Rawlinson did not have to take that into account as all expenses were borne by the Egyptian Government, which invited them, as experts, to inspect and appraise the work on the canals. Nell, who, above everything in the world, loved riding on a camel, obtained a promise from her father that she should have a separate "hump-backed saddle horse" on which, together with Madame Olivier, or Dinah, and sometimes with Stas, she could participate in the excursions to the nearer localities of the desert and to Karun. Pan Tarkowski promised Stas that he would allow him some nights to go after wolves, and if he brought a good report from school he would get a genuine English short rifle and the necessary equipment for a hunter. As Stas was confident that he would succeed, he at once began to regard himself as the owner of a short rifle and promised himself to perform various astonishing and immortal feats with it. On such projects and conversation the dinner passed for the overjoyed children. But somewhat less eagerness for the contemplated journey was displayed by Madame Olivier who was loath to leave the comfortable villa in Port Said and who was frightened at the thought of living for several weeks in a tent, and particularly at the plan of excursions on camel-back. It happened that she had already tried this mode of riding several times and these attempts ended unfortunately. Once the camel rose too soon, before she was well seated in the saddle, and as a result she rolled off his back onto the ground. Another time, the dromedary, not belonging to the light-footed variety, jolted her so that two days elapsed before she recovered; in a word, although Nell, after two or three pleasure-rides which Mr. Rawlinson permitted her to take, declared that there was nothing more delightful in the world, in the same measure only painful recollections remained for Madame Olivier. She said that this was good enough for Arabs or for a chit like Nell, who could not be jolted any more than a fly which should alight upon a camel's hump, but not for persons dignified, and not too light, and having at the same time a certain proneness to unbearable sea-sickness. But as to Medinet el-Fayûm she had other fears. Now in Port Said as well as in Alexandria, Cairo, and in the whole of Egypt nothing was the subject of more discussion than the Mahdi's insurrection and the cruelties of the dervishes. Madame Olivier, not knowing exactly where Medinet was situated, became alarmed as to whether it was not too near the Mahdists, and finally began to question Mr. Rawlinson about it. But he only smiled and said: "The Mahdi at this moment is besieging Khartûm in which General Gordon is defending himself. Does Madame know how far it is from Medinet to Khartûm?" "I have no idea." "About as far as from here to Sicily," explained Pan Tarkowski. "Just about," corroborated Stas. "Khartûm lies where the White and Blue Niles meet and form one river. We are separated from it by the immense expanse of Egypt and the whole of Nubia." Afterwards he wanted to add that even if Medinet should be closer to the regions overrun by the insurgents, he, of course, would be there with his short rifle; but recalling that for similar bragging he sometimes received a sharp reproof from his father, he became silent. The older members of the party, however, began to talk of the Mahdi and the insurrection, for this was the most important matter affecting Egypt. The news from Khartûm was bad. The wild hordes already had been besieging the city for a month and a half and the Egyptian and English governments were acting slowly. The relief expedition had barely started and it was generally feared that notwithstanding the fame, bravery, and ability of Gordon this important city would fall into the hands of the barbarians. This was the opinion of Pan Tarkowski, who suspected that England in her soul desired that the Mahdi should wrest it from Egypt in order to retake it later from him and make this vast region an English possession. He did not, however, share this suspicion with Mr. Rawlinson as he did not want to offend his patriotic feelings. Towards the close of the dinner Stas began to ask why the Egyptian Government had annexed all the country lying south of Nubia, particularly Kordofân, Darfur, and the Sudân as far as Lake Albert Nyanza and deprived the natives there of their liberty. Mr. Rawlinson explained that whatever was done by the Egyptian Government was done at the request of England which extended a protectorate over Egypt and in reality ruled her as Egypt herself desired. "The Egyptian Government did not deprive anybody of his liberty," he said, "but restored it to hundreds of thousands and perhaps to millions of people. In Kordofân, in Darfur and in the Sudân there were not during the past years any independent States. Only here and there some petty ruler laid claim to some lands and took possession of them by force in spite of the will of the residents. They were mainly inhabited by independent Arab-negro tribes, that is, by people having the blood of both races. These tribes lived in a state of incessant warfare. They attacked each other and seized horses, camels, cattle, and, above all, slaves; besides, they perpetrated numerous atrocities. But the worst were the ivory and slave hunters. They formed a separate class, to which belonged nearly all the chiefs of the tribes and the richer traders. They made armed expeditions into the interior of Africa, appropriating everywhere ivory tusks, and carried away thousands of people: men, women, and children. In addition they destroyed villages and settlements, devastated fields, shed streams of blood, and slaughtered without pity all who resisted. In the southern portion of the Sudân, Darfur, and Kordofân, as well as the region beyond the Upper Nile as far as the lake they depopulated some localities entirely. But the Arabian bands made their incursions farther and farther so that Central Africa became a land of tears and blood. Now England which, as you know, pursues slave-dealers all over the world, consented that the Egyptian Government should annex Kordofân, Darfur, and the Sudân. This was the only method to compel these pillagers to abandon their abominable trade and the only way to hold them in restraint. The unfortunate negroes breathed more freely; the depredations ceased and the people began to live under tolerable laws. But such a state of affairs did not please the traders, so when Mohammed Ahmed, known to-day as 'the Mahdi,' appeared among them and proclaimed a holy war on the pretext that the true faith of Mahomet was perishing, all rushed like one man to arms; and so that terrible war has been kindled in which thus far the Egyptians have met with such poor success. The Mahdi has defeated the forces of the Government in every battle. He has occupied Kordofân, Darfur, and the Sudân; his hordes at present are laying a siege to Khartûm and are advancing to the north as far as the frontiers of Nubia." "Can they advance as far as Egypt?" asked Stas. "No," answered Mr. Rawlinson. "The Mahdi announces, indeed, that he will conquer the whole world, but he is a wild man who has no conception of anything. He never will take Egypt, as England would not permit it." "If, however, the Egyptian troops are completely routed?" "Then would appear the English armies which no one has ever overcome." "And why did England permit the Mahdi to occupy so much territory?" "How do you know that she has permitted it?" replied Mr. Rawlinson. "England is never in a hurry because she is eternal." Further conversation was interrupted by a negro servant, who announced that Fatma Smain had arrived and begged for an audience. Women in the East are occupied exclusively with household affairs and seldom leave the harems. Only the poorer ones go to the market or work in the fields, as the wives of the fellahs, the Egyptian peasants, do; but these at such times veil their faces. Though in the Sudân, from which region Fatma came, this custom was not observed, and though she had come to Mr. Rawlinson's office previously, nevertheless, her arrival, particularly at such a late hour and at a private house, evoked surprise. "We shall learn something new about Smain," said Pan Tarkowski. "Yes," answered Mr. Rawlinson, giving at the same time a signal to the servant to usher Fatma in. Accordingly, after a while there entered a tall, young Sudânese woman with countenance entirely unveiled, complexion very dark, and eyes beautiful but wild, and a trifle ominous. Entering, she at once prostrated herself, and when Mr. Rawlinson ordered her to rise, she raised herself but remained on her knees. "Sidi," she said, "May Allah bless thee, thy posterity, thy home, and thy flocks!" "What do you want?" asked the engineer. "Mercy, help, and succor in misfortune, oh, sir! I am imprisoned in Port Said and destruction hangs over me and my children." "You say that you are imprisoned, and yet you could come here, and in the night-time at that." "I have been escorted by the police who day and night watch my house, and I know that they have an order to cut off our heads soon!" "Speak like a rational woman," answered Mr. Rawlinson, shrugging his shoulders. "You are not in the Sudân, but in Egypt where no one is executed without a trial. So you may be certain that not a hair will fall from your head or the heads of your children." But she began to implore him to intercede for her yet once more with the Government, to procure permission for her to go to Smain. "Englishmen as great as you are, sir," she said, "can do everything. The Government in Cairo thinks that Smain is a traitor, but that is false. There visited me yesterday Arabian merchants, who arrived from Suâkin, and before that they bought gums and ivory in the Sudân, and they informed me that Smain is lying sick at El-Fasher and is calling for me and the children to bless them--" "All this is your fabrication, Fatma," interrupted Mr. Rawlinson. But she began to swear by Allah that she spoke the truth, and afterwards said that if Smain got well, he undoubtedly would ransom all the Christian captives; and if he should die, she, as a relative of the leader of the dervishes, could obtain access to him easily and would secure whatever she wished. Let them only allow her to leave, for her heart will leap out of her bosom from longing for her husband. In what had she, ill-fated woman, offended the Government or the Khedive? Was it her fault or could she be held accountable because she was the relative of the dervish, Mohammed Ahmed? Fatma did not dare in the presence of the "English people" to call her relative "the Mahdi," as that meant the Redeemer of the world. She knew that the Egyptian Government regarded him as a rebel and an imposter. But continually striking her forehead and invoking heaven to witness her innocence and unhappy plight, she began to weep and at the same time wail mournfully as women in the East do after losing husbands or sons. Afterwards she again flung herself with face on the ground, or rather on the carpet with which the inlaid floor was covered, and waited in silence. Nell, who towards the close of the dinner felt a little sleepy, became thoroughly aroused and, having an upright little heart, seized her father's hand, and kissing it again and again, began to beg for Fatma. "Let papa help her! Do please, papa!" Fatma, evidently understanding English, exclaimed amidst her sobs, not removing her face from the carpet: "May Allah bless thee, bird of paradise, with the joys of Omayya, oh, star without a blemish!" However implacable Stas in his soul was towards the Mahdists, he was moved by Fatma's entreaties and grief. Besides, Nell interceded for her and he in the end always wanted that which Nell wished. So after a while he spoke out, as if to himself but so that all could hear him: "If I were the Government, I would allow Fatma to go." "But as you are not the Government," Pan Tarkowski said to him, "you would do better not to interfere in that which does not concern you." Mr. Rawlinson also had a compassionate soul and was sensible of Fatma's situation, but certain statements which she made struck him as being downright falsehoods. Having almost daily relations with the custom-house at Ismailia, he well knew that no new cargoes of gums or ivory were being transported lately through the Canal. The trade in those wares had ceased almost entirely. Arabian traders, moreover, could not return from the city of El-Fasher which lay in the Sudân, as the Mahdists, as a rule, barred all traders from their territories, and those whom they captured were despoiled and kept in captivity. And it was almost a certainty that the statement about Smain's sickness was a falsehood. But as Nell's little eyes were still looking at her papa appealingly, he, not desiring to sadden the little girl, after a while said to Fatma: "Fatma, I already have written at your request to the Government, but without result. And now listen. To-morrow, with this mehendis (engineer) whom you see here, I leave for Medinet el-Fayûm; on the way we shall stop one day in Cairo, for the Khedive desires to confer with us about the canals leading from Bahr Yûsuf and give us a commission as to the same. During the conference I shall take care to present your case and try to secure for you his favor. But I can do nothing more, nor shall I promise more." Fatma rose and, extending both hands in sign of gratitude, exclaimed: "And so I am safe." "No, Fatma," answered Mr. Rawlinson, "do not speak of safety for I already told you that death threatens neither you nor your children. But that the Khedive will consent to your departure I do not guarantee, for Smain is not sick but is a traitor, who, having taken money from the Government, does not at all think of ransoming the captives from Mohammed Ahmed." "Smain is innocent, sir, and lies in El-Fasher," reiterated Fatma, "but if even he broke his faith with the Government, I swear before you, my benefactor, that if I am allowed to depart I will entreat Mohammed Ahmed until I secure the deliverance of your captives." "Very well. I promise you once more that I will intercede for you with the Khedive." Fatma began to prostrate herself. "Thank you, Sidi! You are not only powerful, but just. And now I entreat that you permit me to serve you as a slave." "In Egypt no one can be a slave," answered Mr. Rawlinson with a smile. "I have enough servants and cannot avail myself of your services; for, as I told you, we all are leaving for Medinet and perhaps will remain there until Ramazan." "I know, sir, for the overseer, Chadigi, told me about that. I, when I heard of it, came not only to implore you for help, but also to tell you that two men of my Dongola tribe, Idris and Gebhr, are camel drivers in Medinet and will prostrate themselves before you when you arrive, submitting to your commands themselves and their camels." "Good, good," answered the director, "but that is the affair of the Cook Agency, not mine." Fatma, having kissed the hands of the two engineers and the children, departed blessing Nell particularly. Both gentlemen remained silent for a while, after which Mr. Rawlinson said: "Poor woman! But she lies as only in the East they know how to lie, and even in her declaration of gratitude there is a sound of some false note." "Undoubtedly," answered Pan Tarkowski; "but to tell the truth, whether Smain betrayed or did not, the Government has no right to detain her in Egypt, as she cannot be held responsible for her husband." "The Government does not now allow any Sudânese to leave for Suâkin or Nubia without a special permit; so the prohibition does not affect Fatma alone. Many of them are found in Egypt for they come here for gain. Among them are some who belong to the Dongolese tribe; that is the one from which the Mahdi comes. There are, for instance, besides Fatma, Chadigi and those two camel drivers in Medinet. The Mahdists call the Egyptians Turks and are carrying on a war with them, but among the local Arabs can be found a considerable number of adherents of the Mahdi, who would willingly join him. We must number among them all the fanatics, all the partisans of Arabi Pasha, and many among the poorer classes. They hold it ill of the Government that it yielded entirely to English influence and claim that the religion suffers by it. God knows how many already have escaped across the desert, avoiding the customary sea route to Suâkin. So the Government, having learned that Fatma also wanted to run away, ordered her to be put under surveillance. For her and her children only, as relatives of the Mahdi himself, can an exchange of the captives be effected." "Do the lower classes in Egypt really favor the Mahdi?" "The Mahdi has followers even in the army, which perhaps for that reason fights so poorly." "But how can the Sudânese fly across the desert? Why, that is a thousand miles." "Nevertheless, by that route slaves were brought into Egypt." "I should judge that Fatma's children could not endure such a journey." "That is why she wants to shorten it and ride by way of the sea to Suâkin." "In any case, she is a poor woman." With this the conversation concluded. Twelve hours later "the poor woman," having carefully closeted herself in her house with the son of the overseer Chadigi, whispered to him with knitted brows and a grim glance of her beautiful eyes: "Chamis, son of Chadigi, here is the money. Go even to-day to Medinet and give to Idris this writing, which the devout dervish Bellali, at my request, wrote to him. The children of the mehendes are good, but if I do not obtain a permit, then there is no other alternative. I know you will not betray me. Remember that you and your father too come from the Dongolese tribe in which was born the great Mahdi." III Both engineers left the following night for Cairo where they were to visit the British minister plenipotentiary and hold an audience with the viceroy. Stas calculated that this would require two days, and his calculation appeared accurate, for on the third day at night he received from his father, who was already at Medinet, the following message: "The tents are ready. You are to leave the moment your vacation begins. Inform Fatma through Chadigi that we could not accomplish anything for her." A similar message was also received by Madame Olivier who at once, with the assistance of the negress Dinah, began to make preparations for the journey. The sight of these preparations gladdened the hearts of the children. But suddenly an accident occurred which deranged their plans and seemed likely to prevent their journey. On the day on which Stas' winter vacation began and on the eve of their departure a scorpion stung Madame Olivier during her afternoon nap in the garden. These venomous creatures in Egypt are not usually very dangerous, but in this case the sting might become exceptionally baleful. The scorpion had crawled onto the head-rest of the linen chair and stung Madame Olivier in the neck at a moment when she leaned her head against the rest. As she had suffered lately from erysipelas in the face, fear was entertained that the sickness might recur. A physician was summoned at once, but he arrived two hours later as he had engagements elsewhere. The neck and even the face were already swollen, after which fever appeared, with the usual symptoms of poisoning. The physician announced that under the circumstances there could not be any talk of a journey and ordered the patient to bed. In view of this it seemed highly probable that the children would be compelled to pass the Christmas holidays at home. In justice to Nell it must be stated that in the first moments particularly she thought more of the sufferings of her teacher than of the lost pleasures in Medinet. She only wept in corners at the thought of not seeing her father for a few weeks. Stas did not accept the accident with the same resignation. He first forwarded a dispatch and afterwards mailed a letter with an inquiry as to what they were to do. The reply came in two days. Mr. Rawlinson first communicated with the physician; having learned from him that immediate danger was removed and that only a fear of the recurrence of erysipelas prevented Madame Olivier's departure from Port Said, he, above all, took precaution that she should have proper care and nursing, and afterwards sent the children permission to travel with Dinah. But as Dinah, notwithstanding her extreme attachment for Nell, was not able to take care of herself on the railways and in the hotels, the duties of guide and paymaster during this trip devolved upon Stas. It can easily be understood how proud he was of this role and with what chivalrous spirit he assured little Nell that not a hair would fall from her head, as if in reality the road to Cairo and to Medinet presented any difficulties or dangers. All preparations having been completed, the children started that very day for Ismailia by way of the Canal. From Ismailia they were to travel by rail to Cairo, where they were to pass the night. On the following day they were to ride to Medinet. Leaving Ismailia they saw Lake Timsâh which Stas already knew, as Pan Tarkowski, being an ardent sportsman, in moments free from his duties had taken Stas along with him to hunt for aquatic birds. Afterwards the road ran along Wâdi Tûmilât close to the fresh-water canal leading from the Nile to Ismailia and Suez. This canal had been dug before the Suez Canal, so that the workingmen working on De Lesseps' grand achievement would not be deprived entirely of water fit for drinking purposes. But its excavation had yet another fortunate result, for this region, which before was a sterile desert, bloomed anew when through it coursed a strong and life-bringing stream of fresh water. The children could observe on the left side from the windows of the coach a wide belt of verdure composed of meadows on which were pastured horses, camels, and sheep, and of tilled fields, diversified with maize, millet, alfalfa, and other varieties of plants used for fodder. On the bank of the canal could be seen all kinds of wells in the shape of large wheels with buckets attached, or in the usual form of well-sweeps, drawing water, which fellahs laboriously carried to the garden-beds or conveyed in barrels, on wagons drawn by buffaloes. Over the sprouting grain pigeons soared, and at times a whole covey of quails sprang up. On the canal banks, storks and cranes gravely stalked. In the distance, above the mud hovels of the fellahs towered, like plumes of feathers, the crowns of date palms. On the other hand, on the north side of the railway there stretched a stark desert, but unlike the one which lay on the other side of the Suez Canal. That one looked as level as would the bottom of the sea, from which the water had disappeared and only wrinkled sand remained, while here the sand was more yellowish, heaped up as if in great knolls, covered on the sides with tufts of gray vegetation. Between those knolls, which here and there changed into high hills, lay wide valleys in which from time to time caravans could be seen moving. From the windows of the car the children could catch sight of heavily loaded camels, walking in a long string, one after another, over the sandy expanse. In front of each camel was an Arab in a black mantle, with a white turban on his head. Little Nell was reminded of the pictures in the Bible, which she had seen at home, representing the Israelites entering Egypt during the times of Joseph. They were exactly the same. Unfortunately she could not see the caravans very well as at the windows on that side of the car sat two English officers, who obstructed her view. But she had scarcely told this to Stas, when he turned to the officers with a very grave mien and, touching his hat with his finger, said: "Gentlemen, could you kindly make room for this little Miss who wishes to look at the camels?" Both officers accepted the suggestion with the same gravity, and one of them not only surrendered his place to the curious Miss but lifted her and placed her in a seat near the window. And Stas began his lecture: "This is the ancient land of Goshen, which Pharaoh gave to Joseph for his brother Israelites. At one time in far antiquity a canal of fresh water ran here so that this new one is but a reconstruction of the old. But later it fell into ruin and the country became a desert. Now the soil again is fertile." "How does the gentleman know this?" asked one of the officers. "At my age, we know such things," answered Stas; "and besides, not long ago Professor Sterling gave us a lecture on Wâdi Tûmilât." Though Stas spoke English quite fluently, his slightly different accent attracted the attention of the other officer, who asked: "Is the little gentleman an Englishman?" "Miss Nell, whose father entrusted her to my care on this journey, is little. I am not an Englishman but a Pole and the son of an engineer at the Canal." The officer, hearing the answer of the pert boy, smiled and said: "I esteem the Poles. I belong to a regiment of cavalry, which during the times of Napoleon several times fought with the Polish Uhlans, and that tradition until the present day forms its glory and honor."* [* Those regiments of English cavalry which during the times of Napoleon met the Polish cavalry actually pride themselves with that fact at the present time, and every officer speaking of his regiment never fails to say, "We fought with the Poles." See Chevrillon, "Aux Indes."] "I am pleased to form your acquaintance," answered Stas. The conversation easily proceeded farther, for the officers were evidently amused. It appeared that both were also riding from Port Said to Cairo to see the British minister plenipotentiary and to receive final instructions for a long journey which soon awaited them. The younger one was an army surgeon, while the one who spoke to Stas, Captain Glenn, had an order from his government to proceed from Cairo, via Suez, to Mombasa and assume the government of the entire region adjoining that port and extending as far as the unknown Samburu country. Stas, who with deep interest read about travels in Africa, knew that Mombasa was situated a few degrees beyond the equator and that the adjoining country, though already conceded to be within the sphere of English interests, was yet in truth little known; it was utterly wild, full of elephants, giraffes, rhinoceroses, buffaloes, and all kinds of antelopes, which the military, missionary, and trading expeditions always encountered. He also envied Captain Glenn with his whole soul and promised to visit him in Mombasa and go hunting with him for lions and buffaloes. "Good, but I shall invite you to make the visit with that little Miss," replied Captain Glenn, laughing and pointing at Nell who at that moment left the window and sat beside him. "Miss Rawlinson has a father," answered Stas, "and I am only her guardian during this journey." At this the other officer turned quickly around and asked: "Rawlinson? Is he not one of the directors of the Canal and has he not a brother in Bombay?" "My uncle lives in Bombay," answered Nell, raising her little finger upwards. "Then your uncle, darling, is married to my sister. My name is Clary. We are related, and I am really delighted that I met and became acquainted with you, my little dear." And the surgeon was really delighted. He said that immediately after his arrival at Port Said he inquired for Mr. Rawlinson, but in the offices of the directory he was informed that he had left for the holidays. He expressed also his regret that the steamer which he with Captain Glenn was to take for Mombasa left Suez in a few days, in consequence of which he could not make a hurried visit to Medinet. He therefore requested Nell to convey his compliments to her father, and promised to write to her from Mombasa. Both officers now engaged mainly in a conversation with Nell, so that Stas remained a little on the side. At all stations they had a plentiful supply of mandarin oranges, dates, and exquisite sherbet, and, besides by Stas and Nell, these dainties were shared by Dinah, who with all her good qualities was known for her uncommon gluttony. In this manner the trip to Cairo passed quickly for the children. At the leave-taking the officers kissed Nell's little hands and face, and squeezed Stas' right hand, and at the same time, Captain Glenn, whom the resolute boy pleased very much, said half-jokingly and half-seriously: "Listen, my boy! Who knows where, when, and under what circumstances we may yet meet in life. Remember, however, that you can always rely upon my good will and assistance." "And you may likewise rely upon me," Stas answered with a bow full of dignity. IV Pan Tarkowski, as well as Mr. Rawlinson, who loved Nell better than his life, was delighted at the arrival of the children. The young pair greeted their parents joyfully, and at once began to look about the tents, which internally were completely fitted up and were ready for the reception of the beloved guests. The tents appeared superb to them; they were double, one was lined with blue and the other with red flannel, overlaid at the bottom with saddle-cloths, and they were as spacious as large rooms. The agency which was concerned about the opinion of the high officials of the Canal Company had spared no effort for their comfort. At first Mr. Rawlinson feared that a lengthy stay under tents might prove injurious to Nell's health, and if he agreed to the arrangement, it was because they could always move to a hotel in case of bad weather. Now, however, having fully investigated everything on the place, he came to the conclusion that days and nights passed in the fresh air would be a hundredfold more beneficial for his only child than a stay in the musty rooms of the small local hotels. Beautiful weather favored this. Medinet, or rather El-Medineh, surrounded by the sandy hills of the Libyan Desert, has a much better climate than Cairo and is not in vain called "the land of roses." Owing to its sheltered position and the plentiful moisture in the air, nights there are not so cold as in other parts of Egypt, even those lying further south. Winter is simply delightful, and from November the greatest development of the vegetation begins. Date palms, olive-trees, which on the whole are scarce in Egypt, fig, orange, mandarin trees, giant castor-oil plants, pomegranate and various other southern plants cover this delightful oasis as with a forest. The gardens are overflowing, as it were, with a gigantic wave of acacias, elders, and roses, so that at night every breeze carries their intoxicating scent. Here one breathes with full breast and "does not wish to die," as the residents of the place say. A similar climate is possessed only by Helwan lying on the other side of the Nile and considerably farther north, but Helwan lacks such luxuriant vegetation. But Helwan awoke sad recollections for Mr. Rawlinson, for there Nell's mother had died. For this reason he preferred Medinet, and gazing at present at the glowing countenance of the little girl, he promised to himself in his soul soon to purchase here land with a garden; to erect upon it a comfortable English house and spend in these blissful parts all vacations which he could secure, and after finishing his service on the Canal, perhaps even to reside here permanently. But these were plans of the distant future and not yet wholly matured. In the meantime the children from the moment of their arrival moved about everywhere like flies, desiring even before dinner to see all the tents as well as the donkeys and camels hired at the place by the Cook Agency. It appeared that the animals were on a distant pasture and that they could not see them until the morrow. However, near Mr. Rawlinson's tent they observed with pleasure Chamis, the son of Chadigi, their good acquaintance in Port Said. He was not in the employ of Cook, and Mr. Rawlinson was somewhat surprised to meet him in Medinet, but as he had previously employed him to carry his implements, he engaged him at present to run errands and perform all other small services. The evening dinner was excellent, as the old Copt, who for many years was a cook in the employment of the Cook Agency, was anxious to display his culinary skill. The children told about the acquaintance they made with the two officers on the way, which was particularly interesting to Mr. Rawlinson, whose brother Richard was married to Dr. Clary's sister and had resided in India for many years. As it was a childless marriage, this uncle greatly loved his little niece, whom he knew only from photographs, and he had inquired about her in all his letters. Both fathers were also amused at the invitation which Stas had received from Captain Glenn to visit Mombasa. The boy took it seriously and positively promised himself that sometime he must pay a visit to his new friend beyond the equator. Pan Tarkowski then had to explain to him that English officials never remain long in the same locality on account of the deadly climate of Africa, and that before Stas grew up the captain already would hold his tenth position in rotation or would not be on earth at all. After dinner the whole company went out in front of the tents, where the servants placed the cloth folding-chairs, and for the older gentlemen brought a siphon of soda-water with brandy. It was already night but unusually warm; as there happened to be full moon it was as bright as in daytime. The white walls of the city buildings opposite the tents shone greenly; the stars glowed in the sky, and in the air was diffused the scent of roses, acacias, and heliotropes. The city already was asleep. In the silence of the night at times could be heard only the loud cries of cranes, herons, and flamingoes flying from beyond the Nile in the direction of Lake Karûn. Suddenly, however, there resounded the deep bass bark of a dog which astonished Stas and Nell, for it appeared to come from a tent which they had not visited and which was assigned for saddles, implements, and various traveling paraphernalia. "That must be an awfully big dog. Let us go and see him," said Stas. Pan Tarkowski began to laugh and Mr. Rawlinson shook off the ashes of his cigar and said, also laughing: "Well, it did not do any good to lock him up." After which he addressed the children: "Remember, to-morrow is Christmas Eve, and that dog was intended by Pan Tarkowski to be a surprise for Nell, but as the surprise has started to bark, I am compelled to announce it to-day." Hearing this, Nell climbed in a trice on Pan Tarkowski's knees and embraced his neck and afterwards jumped onto her father's lap. "Papa, how happy I am! how happy I am!" Of hugs and kisses there was no end. Finally Nell, finding herself on her own feet, began to gaze in Pan Tarkowski's eyes: "Pan Tarkowski--" "What is it, Nell?" "--As I already know that he is there, can I see him to-night?" "I knew," exclaimed Mr. Rawlinson, feigning indignation, "that this little fly would not be content with the news itself." And Pan Tarkowski, turning to the son of Chadigi, said: "Chamis, bring the dog." The young Sudânese disappeared behind the kitchen tent and after a while reappeared, leading a big dog by the collar. Nell retreated. "Oh," she exclaimed, seizing her father's hand. On the other hand, Stas grew enthusiastic. "But that is a lion, not a dog," he said. "He is called Saba (lion)," answered Pan Tarkowski. "He belongs to the breed of mastiffs; these are the biggest dogs in the world. This one is only two years old but really is exceedingly large. Don't be afraid, Nell, as he is as gentle as a lamb. Only be brave. Let him go, Chamis." Chamis let go of the collar with which he had restrained the dog, and the latter, feeling that he was free, began to wag his tail, fawn before Pan Tarkowski with whom he was already well acquainted, and bark joyfully. The children gazed in the moonlight with admiration on his large round head with hanging lips, on his bulky paws, on his powerful frame, reminding one, in truth, of a lion with the tawny-yellowish color of his body. "With such a dog one could safely go through Africa," exclaimed Stas. "Ask him whether he could retrieve a rhinoceros," said Pan Tarkowski. Saba could not, indeed, answer that question, but instead wagged his tail more and more joyfully and drew near to the group so ingratiatingly that Nell at once ceased to fear him and began to pat him on his head. "Saba, nice, dear Saba." Mr. Rawlinson leaned over him, raised his head towards the face of the little girl, and said: "Saba, look at this little lady. She is your mistress. You must obey and guard her. Do you understand?" "Wow!" was the basso response of Saba, as if he actually understood what was wanted. And he understood even better than might have been expected, for taking advantage of the fact that his head was on a level with the little girl's face, as a mark of homage he licked her little nose and cheeks with his broad tongue. This provoked a general outburst of laughter. Nell had to go to the tent to wash herself. Returning after a quarter of an hour she saw Saba with paws upon the shoulders of Stas, who bent under the weight; the dog was higher by a head. The time for sleep was approaching, but the little one asked for yet half an hour of play in order to get better acquainted with her new friend. In fact, the acquaintance proceeded so easily that Pan Tarkowski soon placed her in lady fashion on Saba's back and, holding her from fear that she might fall, ordered Stas to lead the dog by the collar. She rode thus a score of paces, after which Stas tried to mount this peculiar "saddle-horse," but the dog sat on his hind legs so that Stas unexpectedly found himself on the sand near the tail. The children were about to retire when in the distance on the market place, illumined by the moon, appeared two white figures walking towards the tents. The hitherto gentle Saba began to growl hollowly and threateningly so that Chamis, at Mr. Rawlinson's order, again had to take hold of the collar, and in the meantime two men dressed in white burnooses stood before the tent. "Who is there?" asked Pan Tarkowski. "Camel drivers," answered one of the arrivals. "Ah, Idris and Gebhr? What do you want?" "We come to ask whether you will need us to-morrow." "No. To-morrow and the day after are great holidays, during which it is not proper to make excursions. Come on the morning of the third day." "Thank you, effendi." "Have you good camels?" asked Mr. Rawlinson. "Bismillah!" answered Idris; "real saddle-horses with fat humps and as gentle as ha'-ga (lambs). Otherwise Cook would not have employed us." "Do they jolt much?" "Gentlemen, you can place a handful of kidney-beans on their backs and not a grain will fall during the fullest speed." "If one is to exaggerate, then exaggerate after the Arabian fashion," said Pan Tarkowski, laughing. "Or after the Sudânese," added Mr. Rawlinson. In the meantime Idris and Gebhr continued to stand like two white columns, gazing attentively at Stas and Nell. The moon illumined their very dark faces, and in its luster they looked as if cast of bronze. The whites of their eyes glittered greenishly from under the turbans. "Good night to you," said Mr. Rawlinson. "May Allah watch over you, effendi, in night and in day." Saying this, they bowed and went away. They were accompanied by a hollow growl, similar to distant thunder, from Saba, whom the two Sudânese apparently did not please. V During the following days there were no excursions. Instead, on Christmas Eve, when the first star appeared in heaven, a little tree in Mr. Rawlinson's tent, intended for Nell, was illuminated with hundreds of candles. To serve as a Christmas tree there had been taken an arbor vitae, cut in one of the gardens in Medinet; nevertheless, among its branchlets Nell found a profusion of dainties and a splendid doll, which her father had brought from Cairo for her, and Stas, his much desired English short rifle. In addition he received from his father packages containing various hunters' supplies, and a saddle for horseback riding. Nell could not contain herself for joy, while Stas, although he thought that whoever owned a genuine short rifle ought to possess a corresponding dignity, could not restrain himself, and selecting the time when no one was about, walked around the tent on his hands. This knack, taught to him at the Port Said school, he possessed to a surprising degree and with it often amused Nell, who, besides, sincerely envied it in him. Christmas Eve and the first day of the holidays were passed by the children partly in church services, partly in inspecting the gifts they had received, and in training Saba. The new friend appeared to possess intelligence beyond all expectations. On the very first day he learned to give his paw, retrieve handkerchiefs, which, however, he would not surrender without some resistance, and he understood that cleaning Nell's face with his tongue was an act unworthy of a gentlemanly dog. Nell, holding her fingers at her little nose, gave him various instructions, while he, concurring with motions of his tail, gave her in this manner to understand that he heard with becoming attention and took her lessons to heart. During their strolls over the sandy city square the fame of Saba in Medinet grew with each hour and, even as all fame, began to have its disagreeable side, for it drew a whole swarm of Arabian children. In the beginning they kept at a distance; afterwards, however, emboldened by the gentleness of the "monster," they approached more and more closely, and in the end sat around the tent so that no one could move about with any freedom. Besides, as every Arabian child sucks sugar-cane from morning to night, the children always attract after them legions of flies, which besides being loathsome are noxious, for they spread the Egyptian infection of inflammation of the eyes. For this reason the servants attempted to disperse the children, but Nell stood in their defense and, what is more, distributed among the youngest "helou," that is, sweetmeats, which gained for her their great love but also increased their number. After three days the joint excursions began; partly on the narrow-gauge railways of which the English had built quite a number in Medinet el-Fayûm, partly on donkeys, and sometimes on camels. It appeared that in the praises bestowed on those animals by Idris there was indeed a great deal of exaggeration, for not merely kidney-beans but even people could not easily keep on the saddles; but there was also some truth. The camels in reality belonged to the variety known as "hegin," that is, for carrying passengers, and were fed with good durra (the local or Syrian maize) so that the humps were fat and they appeared so willing to speed that it was necessary to check them. The Sudânese, Idris and Gebhr, gained, notwithstanding the wild glitter of their eyes, the confidence and hearts of the company, and this through their great willingness to serve and their extraordinary care over Nell. Gebhr always had a cruel and a trifle bestial expression of face, but Idris, quickly perceiving that that little personage was the eye in the head of the whole company, declared at every opportunity that he cared more for her than for his own soul. Mr. Rawlinson conjectured indeed, that, through Nell, Idris wanted to reach his pocket, but believing at the same time that there was not in the world a person who could not but love his only child, he was grateful to him and did not stint himself in giving "bakshish." In the course of five days the party visited the near by ruins of the ancient city of Crocodilopolis, where at one time the Egyptians worshipped a deity called Sobk, which had a human form with the head of a crocodile. Afterwards an excursion was made to the Hanar pyramids and the remains of the Labyrinth. The longest trip was on camel-back to Lake Karûn. Its northern shore was a stark desert, on which there were ruins of former Egyptian cities, but no trace of life. On the other hand, on the southern shore stretched a fertile country, magnificent, with shores overgrown by heather and reeds and teeming with pelicans, flamingoes, herons, wild geese, and ducks. Only here did Stas find an opportunity for displaying his marksmanship. The shooting from a common rifle as well as from the short rifle was so extraordinary that after every shot could be heard the astonished smacking of the lips of Idris and the Arabian rowers, and the falling of the birds into the water was accompanied by exclamations of "Bismillah" and "Mashallah." The Arabians assured them that on the opposite desert-shore were many wolves and hyenas, and that by tossing amid the sand dunes the carcass of a sheep one might get within shooting range. In consequence of these assurances Pan Tarkowski and Stas passed two nights on the desert near the ruins of Dima. But the first sheep was stolen by Bedouins as soon as the hunters left it; while the second lured only a lame jackal, which Stas brought down. Further hunting had to be postponed as the time had arrived for both engineers to inspect the works conducted at Bahr Yûsuf near El-Lahûn, southeast from Medinet. Mr. Rawlinson waited only for the arrival of Madame Olivier. Unfortunately, in place of her, came a letter from the physician informing them that the former erysipelas in the face had recurred after the bite, and that the patient for a long time would be unable to leave Port Said. The situation actually became distressing. It was impossible to take with them the children, old Dinah, the tents, and all the servants, if only for the reason that the engineers were to be one day here, another there, and might receive requests to go as far as the great canal of Ibrâhimiyeh. In view of this, after a short consultation Mr. Rawlinson decided to leave Nell under the care of old Dinah and Stas, together with the Italian consular agent and the local "Mudir" (governor) with whom he had previously become acquainted. He promised also to Nell, who grieved to part from her father, that from all the nearer localities he would with Pan Tarkowski rush to Medinet, or if they found some noteworthy sight, would summon the children to them. "We shall take with us, Chamis," he said, "whom in a certain case we shall send for you. Let Dinah always keep Nell's company, but as Nell does with her whatever she pleases, do you, Stas, watch over both." "You may be sure, sir," answered Stas, "that I shall watch over Nell, as over my own sister. She has Saba, and I a short rifle, so let any one try to harm her--" "It is not about that that I am concerned," said Mr. Rawlinson. "Saba and the short rifle will certainly not be necessary for you. You will be so good as to protect her from fatigue and at the same time take care she does not catch cold. I have asked the consul in case she feels unwell to summon a doctor from Cairo immediately. We shall send Chamis here for news as frequently as possible. The Mudir will also visit you. I expect, besides, that our absence will never be very long." Pan Tarkowski also was not sparing in his admonitions to Stas. He told him that Nell did not require his defense as there was not in Medinet nor in the whole province of El-Fayûm any savage people or wild animals. To think of such things would be ridiculous and unworthy of a boy who had begun his fourteenth year. So he was to be solicitous and heedful only that they did not undertake anything on their own account, and more particularly excursions with Nell on camels, on which a ride was fatiguing. But Nell, hearing this, made such a sad face that Pan Tarkowski had to placate her. "Certainly," he said, stroking her hair, "you will ride camels, but with us or towards us, if we send Chamis for you." "But when alone are we not allowed to make an excursion, even though such a tiny bit of a one?" asked the girl. And she began to show on her finger about how little an excursion she was concerned. The parents in the end agreed that they could ride on donkeys, not on camels, and not to ruins, where they might easily fall into some hole, but over roads of adjacent fields and towards the gardens beyond the city. The dragoman, together with other Cook servants, was always to accompany the children. After this both gentlemen departed, but they left for a place near by, Hanaret el-Matka, so that after ten hours they returned to pass the night in Medinet. This was repeated the succeeding few days until they had inspected all the nearest work. Afterwards, when their employment required their presence at more distant places, Chamis arrived in the night time, and early in the following morning took Stas and Nell to those little cities, in which their parents wanted to show them something of interest. The children spent the greater part of the day with their parents and before sunset returned to the camp at Medinet. There were, however, days on which Chamis did not come, and then Nell, notwithstanding the society of Stas, and Saba in whom she continually discovered some new traits, looked with longing for a messenger. In this manner the time passed until Twelfth Night, on the day of which festival both engineers returned to Medinet. Two days later they went away again, announcing that they left this time for a longer period and in all probability would reach as far as Benisueif, and from there to El-Fachn, where a canal of the same name begins, going far south alongside of the Nile. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of the children, when on the third day at eleven o'clock in the morning Chamis appeared in Medinet. Stas met him first as he went to the pasturage to look at the camels. Chamis conversed with Idris, and only told Stas that he came for him and Nell and that he would come immediately to the camp to inform them where they, at the request of the older gentlemen, were to go. Stas ran at once with the good news to Nell, whom he found playing with Saba before the tent. "Do you know--Chamis is here!" he cried from a distance. And Nell began at once to hop, holding both feet together, as little girls do when skipping the rope. "We shall go! We shall go!" "Yes. We shall go, and far." "Where?" she asked, brushing aside with her little hands a tuft of hair which fell over her eyes. "I don't know. Chamis said that in a moment he would come here and tell us." "How do you know it is far?" "Because I heard Idris say that he and Gebhr would start at once with the camels. That means that we shall go by rail and shall find the camels at the place where our parents will be, and from there we shall make some kind of an excursion." The tuft of hair, owing to the continual hops, covered again not only Nell's eyes but her whole face, her feet bounding as if they were made of India rubber. A quarter of an hour later, Chamis came and bowed to both. "Khanage (young master)," he said, "we leave after three hours by the first train." "Where are we going?" "To Gharak el-Sultani, and from there with the older gentlemen on camel-back to Wâdi Rayân." Stas' heart beat with joy, but at the same time Chamis' words surprised him. He knew that Wâdi Rayân was a great valley among sandy hills rising on the Libyan Desert on the south and southwest of Medinet, while on the other hand Pan Tarkowski and Mr. Rawlinson announced on their departure that they were going in a directly opposite direction, towards the Nile. "What has happened?" asked Stas. "Then my father and Mr. Rawlinson are not in Benisueif but in El-Gharak?" "It happened thus," replied Chamis. "But they ordered us to write to them at El-Fachn." "In a letter the senior effendi explains why they are in El-Gharak." And for a while he searched on his person for the letter, after which he exclaimed: "Oh, Nabi! (prophet) I left the letter in a pouch with the camels. I will run at once before Idris and Gebhr depart." And he ran towards the camels. In the meantime the children, with Dinah, began to prepare for the journey. As it looked as if the excursion would be a long one, Dinah packed several dresses, some linen, and warmer clothing for Nell. Stas thought of himself, and especially did not forget about the short rifle and cartridges, hoping that among the sand dunes of Wâdi Rayân he might encounter wolves and hyenas. Chamis did not return until an hour later; he was covered with perspiration and so fatigued that for a while he could not catch his breath. "I did not find the camels," he said. "I chased after them, but in vain. But that does not matter as we shall find the letter and the effendis themselves in El-Gharak. Is Dinah to go with you?" "Why not?" "Perhaps it would be better if she remained. The older gentlemen said nothing about her." "But they announced on leaving that Dinah was always to accompany the little lady. So she shall ride now." Chamis bowed, placing his hand on his heart and said: "Let us hasten, sir, for otherwise the katr (train) will set off." The baggage was ready, so they were at the station on time. The distance between Medinet and Gharak is not more than nineteen miles, but the trains on the branch line which connects those localities move slowly and the stops were uncommonly frequent. If Stas had been alone he undoubtedly would have preferred to ride camel-back as he calculated that Idris and Gebhr, having started two hours before the train, would be earlier in El-Gharak. But for Nell such a ride would be too long; and the little guardian, who took very much to heart the warnings of both parents, did not want to expose the little girl to fatigue. After all the time passed for both so quickly that they scarcely noticed when they stopped in Gharak. The little station, from which Englishmen usually make excursions to Wâdi Rayân, was almost entirely deserted. They found only a few veiled women, with baskets of mandarin oranges, two unknown Bedouin camel drivers, together with Idris and Gebhr, with seven camels, one of which was heavily packed. Of Pan Tarkowski and Mr. Rawlinson there was no trace. But Idris in this manner explained their absence. "The older gentlemen went into the desert to pitch the tents which they brought with them from Etsah, and ordered us to follow them." "And how shall we find them among the sand-hills?" asked Stas. "They sent guides who will lead us to them." Saying this he pointed to the Bedouins. The older of them bowed, rubbed with his finger the one eye which he possessed, and said: "Our camels are not so fat but are not less speedy than yours. After an hour we shall be there." Stas was glad that he would pass the night on the desert, but Nell felt a certain disappointment, for she had been certain that she would meet her papa in Gharak. In the meantime the station-master, a sleepy Egyptian with a red fez and dark spectacles, approached them, and, not having anything else to do, began to stare at the European children. "These are the children of those Englishmen who rode this morning with rifles to the desert," said Idris, placing Nell on the saddle. Stas, handing his short rifle to Chamis, sat beside her, for the saddle was wide and had the shape of a palanquin without a roof. Dinah sat behind Chamis, the others took separate camels, and the party started. If the station-master had stared at them longer he might perhaps have wondered that those Englishmen, of whom Idris spoke, rode directly to the ruins on the south, while this party at once directed its movements towards Talei, in a different direction. But the station-master before that time had returned home as no other train arrived that day at Gharak. The hour was five in the afternoon. The weather was splendid. The sun had already passed on that side of the Nile and declined over the desert, sinking into the golden and purple twilight glowing on the western side of the sky. The atmosphere was so permeated with the roseate luster that the eyes blinked from its superfluity. The fields assumed a lily tint, while the distant sand-hills, strongly relieved against the background of the twilight, had a hue of pure amethyst. The world lost the traits of reality and appeared to be one play of supernal lights. While they rode over a verdant and cultivated region, the guide, a Bedouin, conducted the caravan with a moderate pace. But with the moment that the hard sand creaked under the feet of the camels, everything changed. "Yalla! Yalla!" suddenly yelled wild voices. And simultaneously could be heard the swish of whips and the camels, having changed from an ambling pace into a full gallop, began to speed like the whirlwind, throwing up with their feet the sand and gravel of the desert. "Yalla! Yalla!" The ambling pace of a camel jolts more, while the gallop with which this animal seldom runs, swings more; so the children enjoyed this mad ride. But it is known that even in a swing, too much rapid movement causes dizziness. Accordingly, after a certain time, when the speed did not cease, Nell began to get dizzy and her eyes grew dim. "Stas, why are we flying so?" she exclaimed, turning to her companion. "I think that they allowed them to get into too much of a gallop and now cannot check them," answered Stas. But observing that the little girl's face was becoming pale, he shouted at the Bedouins, running ahead, to slacken their pace. His calls, however, had only this result: that again resounded the cries of "Yalla," and the animals increased their speed. The boy thought at first that the Bedouins did not hear him, but when on his repeated orders there was no response and when Gebhr, who was riding behind him, did not cease lashing the camel on which he sat with Nell, he thought it was not the camels that were so spirited but that the men for some reason unknown to him were in a great hurry. It occurred to him that they might have taken the wrong road and that, desiring to make up for lost time, they now were speeding from fear that the older gentlemen might scold them because of a late arrival. But after a while he understood that such could not be the case, as Mr. Rawlinson would have been more angered for unnecessarily fatiguing Nell. Then what did it mean? And why did they not obey his commands? In the heart of the boy anger and fear for Nell began to rise. "Stop!" he shouted with his whole strength, addressing Gebhr. "Ouskout! (be silent)!" the Sudânese yelled in reply; and they sped on. In Egypt night falls about six o'clock, so the twilight soon became extinct and after a certain time the great moon, ruddy from the reflection of the twilight, rolled on and illuminated the desert with a gentle light. In the silence could be heard only the heavy breathing of the camels, the rapid hoof-beats on the sand, and at times the swish of whips. Nell was so tired that Stas had to hold her on the saddle. Every little while she asked how soon they would reach then destination, and evidently was buoyed up only by the hope of an early meeting with her father. But in vain both children gazed around. One hour passed, then another; neither tents nor camp-fires could be seen. Then the hair rose on Stas' head, for he realized that they were kidnapped. VI Messrs. Rawlinson and Tarkowski actually expected the children, not amidst the sand-hills of Wâdi Rayân, where they had no need or desire to ride, but in an entirely different direction, in the city of El-Fachn on a canal of the same name at which they were examining the work finished before the end of the year. The distance between El-Fachn and Medinet in a straight line is almost twenty-eight miles. As, however, there is no direct connection and it is necessary to ride to El-Wasta, which doubles the distance, Mr. Rawlinson, after looking over the railway guide, made the following calculations. "Chamis left the night before last," he said to Pan Tarkowski, "and in El-Wasta he caught the train from Cairo; he was therefore in Medinet yesterday. It would take an hour to pack up. Leaving at noon they would have to wait for the night train running along the Nile, and as I do not permit Nell to ride at night, they would leave this morning and will be here immediately after sunset." "Yes," said Pan Tarkowski, "Chamis must rest a little, and though Stas is indeed impulsive, nevertheless, where Nell is concerned you may always depend upon him. Moreover, I sent him a postal card not to ride during the night." "A brave lad, and I trust him," answered Mr. Rawlinson. "To tell the truth, so do I. Stas with his various faults has an upright character and never lies, for he is brave, and only a coward lies. He also does not lack energy and if in time he acquires a calm judgment, I think he will be able to take care of himself in this world." "Certainly. As to judgment, were you judicious at his age?" "I must confess that I was not," replied Pan Tarkowski, laughing, "but I was not so self-confident as he." "That will pass. Meanwhile, be happy that you have such a boy." "And you that you have such a sweet and dear creature as Nell." "May God bless her!" answered Mr. Rawlinson with emotion. The two friends warmly shook hands, after which they sat down to examine the plans and the report of expenditures connected with the work. At this occupation the time passed until evening. About six o'clock, when night fell, they were at the station, strolling along the walk, and resumed their conversation about the children. "Superb weather, but cool," said Mr. Rawlinson. "I wonder if Nell took some warm clothing with her." "Stas will think of that, and Dinah also." "I regret, nevertheless, that instead of bringing them here, we did not go to Medinet." "You will recollect that that is just what I advised." "I know, and if it were not that we are to go from here farther south, I would have agreed. I calculated, however, that the trip would take too much time and on the whole it would be best to have the children here. Finally, I will confess to you that Chamis suggested the idea to me. He announced that he prodigiously yearned for them and would be happy if I sent for both. I am not surprised that he should be so attached to them." Further conversation was interrupted by signals announcing the approach of the train. After an interval the fiery eyes of the locomotive appeared in the darkness, and at the same time could be heard its puffs and whistle. A row of lighted coaches drew alongside the platform, quivered, and stood still. "I did not see them in any window," said Mr. Rawlinson. "Perhaps they are seated further inside and surely will come out immediately." The passengers began to alight, but they were mainly Arabs, as El-Fachn has nothing interesting to see except beautiful groves of palms and acacias. The children did not arrive. "Chamis either did not make connections in El-Wasta," declared Pan Tarkowski, with a shade of ill-humor, "or after a night of travel overslept himself, and they will not arrive until to-morrow." "That may be," answered Mr. Rawlinson, with uneasiness, "but it also may be possible that one of them is sick." "In that case Stas would have telegraphed." "Who knows but that we may find a despatch in the hotel?" "Let us go." But in the hotel no news awaited them. Mr. Rawlinson became more and more uneasy. "What do you think could have happened?" said Pan Tarkowski. "If Chamis overslept himself, he would not admit it to the children and would come to them to-day and tell them that they are to leave to-morrow. To us he will excuse himself by claiming that he misunderstood our orders. In any event, I shall telegraph to Stas." "And I to the Mudir of Fayûm." After a while the despatches were sent. There was indeed no cause for uneasiness; nevertheless, in waiting for an answer the engineers passed a bad night, and early morning found them on their feet. The answer from the Mudir came about ten o'clock and was as follows: "Verified at station. Children left yesterday for Gharak el-Sultani." It can easily be understood what amazement and anger possessed the parents at this unexpected intelligence. For some time they gazed at each other, as if they did not understand the words of the despatch; after which Pan Tarkowski, who was an impulsive person, struck the table with his hand and said: "That was Stas' whim, but I will cure him of such whims." "I did not expect that of him," answered Nell's father. But after a moment he asked: "But what of Chamis?" "He either did not find them and does not know what to do or else rode after them." "Yes, I think so." An hour later they started for Medinet. In camp they ascertained that the camels were gone, and at the station it was confirmed that Chamis left with the children for El-Gharak. The affair became darker and darker and it could be cleared up only in El-Gharak. In fact, only at that station did the dreadful truth begin to dawn. The station-master, the same sleepy one with dark spectacles and red fez, told them that he saw a boy about fourteen years old and an eight-year-old girl with an old negress, who rode towards the desert. He did not remember whether there were eight or nine camels altogether, but observed that one was heavily packed as if for a long journey, and the two Bedouins also had big pack-saddles. He recollected also that when he stared at the caravan one of the camel drivers, a Sudânese, said to him that those were the children of the Englishmen who before that had gone to Wâdi Rayân. "Did those Englishmen return?" asked Pan Tarkowski. "Yes. They returned yesterday with two slain wolves," answered the station-master; "and I was astonished that they did not return with the children. But I did not ask the reason as that was not my affair." Saying this he left to attend to his duties. During this narrative Mr. Rawlinson's face became white as paper. Gazing at his friend with a wild look, he took off his hat, pressed his hand to his forehead, covered with perspiration, and staggered as if he were about to fall. "Be a man, Rawlinson!" exclaimed Pan Tarkowski. "Our children are kidnapped. It is necessary to rescue them." "Nell! Nell!" repeated the unhappy Englishman. "Nell and Stas! It was not Stas' fault. Both were enticed by trickery and kidnapped. Who knows why? Perhaps for a ransom. Chamis undoubtedly is in the plot, and Idris and Gebhr also." Here he recalled what Fatma had said about both Sudânese belonging to the Dongolese tribe, in which the Mahdi was born, and that Chadigi, the father of Chamis, came from the same tribe. At this recollection his heart for a moment became inert in his breast for he understood that the children were abducted not for a ransom but as an exchange for Smain's family. "But what will the tribesmen of the ill-omened prophet do with them? They cannot hide them on the desert or anywhere on the banks of the Nile, for they all would die of hunger and thirst on the desert, and they certainly would be apprehended on the Nile. Perhaps they will try to join the Mahdi." And this thought filled Pan Tarkowski with dismay, but the energetic ex-soldier soon recovered and began in his mind to review all that happened and at the same time seek means of rescue. "Fatma," he reasoned, "had no cause to revenge herself either upon us or our children. If they have been kidnapped it was evidently for the purpose of placing them in the hands of Smain. In no case does death threaten them. And this is a fortune in misfortune; still a terrible journey awaits them which might be disastrous for them." And at once he shared these thoughts with his friend, after which he spoke thus: "Idris and Gebhr, like savage and foolish men, imagine that followers of the Mahdi are not far, while Khartûm, which the Mahdi reached, is about one thousand two hundred and forty miles from here. This journey they must make along the Nile and not keep at a distance from it as otherwise the camels and people would perish from thirst. Ride at once to Cairo and demand of the Khedive that despatches be sent to all the military outposts and that a pursuit be organized right and left along the river. Offer a large reward to the sheiks near the banks for the capture of the fugitives. In the villages let all be detained who approach for water. In this manner Idris and Gebhr must fall into the hands of the authorities and we shall recover the children." Mr. Rawlinson had already recovered his composure. "I shall go," he said. "Those miscreants forgot that Wolseley's English army, hurrying to Gordon's relief, is already on the way and will cut them off from the Mahdi. They will not escape. They cannot escape. I shall send a despatch to our minister in a moment, and afterwards go myself. What do you intend to do?" "I shall telegraph for a furlough, and not waiting for an answer, shall follow then trail by way of the Nile to Nubia, to attend to the pursuit." "Then we shall meet, as from Cairo I shall do the same." "Good! And now to work!" "With God's help!" answered Mr. Rawlinson. VII In the meantime the camels swept like a hurricane over the sands glistening in the moonlight. A deep night fell. The moon, at the beginning as big as a wheel and ruddy, became pale and rolled on high. The distant desert hills were enveloped with silvery vapors like muslin which, not veiling their view, transformed them as if into luminous phenomena. From time to time from beyond the rocks scattered here and there came the piteous whining of jackals. Another hour passed. Stas held Nell in his arms and supported her, endeavoring in this way to allay the fatiguing jolts of the mad ride. The little girl began more and more frequently to ask him why they were speeding so and why they did not see the tents and their papas. Stas finally determined to tell her the truth, which sooner or later he would have to disclose. "Nell," he said, "pull off a glove and drop it, unobserved, on the ground." "Why, Stas?" And he pressed her to himself and answered with a kind of tenderness unusual to him: "Do what I tell you." Nell held Stas with one hand and feared to let him go, but she overcame the difficulty in this manner: she began to pull the glove with her teeth, each finger separately, and, finally taking it off entirely, she dropped it on the ground. "After a time, throw the other," again spoke Stas. "I already have dropped mine, but yours will be easier to observe for they are bright." And observing that the little girl gazed at him with an inquiring look, he continued: "Don't get frightened, Nell. It may be that we will not meet your or my father at all--and that these foul people have kidnapped us. But don't fear--for if it is so, then pursuers will follow them. They will overtake them and surely rescue us. I told you to drop the gloves so that the pursuers may find clews. In the meanwhile we can do nothing, but later I shall contrive something--Surely, I shall contrive something; only do not fear, and trust me." But Nell, learning that she should not see her papa and that they are flying somewhere, far in the desert, began to tremble from fright and cry, clinging at the same time close to Stas and asking him amid her sobs why they kidnapped them and where they were taking them. He comforted her as well as he could--almost in the same words with which his father comforted Mr. Rawlinson. He said that their parents themselves would follow in pursuit and would notify all the garrisons along the Nile. In the end he assured her that whatever might happen, he would never abandon her and would always defend her. But her grief and longing for her father were stronger even than fear; so for a long time she did not cease to weep--and thus they flew, both sad, on a bright night, over the pale sands of the desert. Sorrow and fear not only oppressed Stas' heart, but also shame. He was not indeed to blame for what had happened, yet he recalled the former boastfulness for which his father so often had rebuked him. Formerly he was convinced that there was no situation to which he was not equal; he considered himself a kind of unvanquished swashbuckler, and was ready to challenge the whole world. Now he understood that he was a small boy, with whom everybody could do as he pleased, and that he was speeding in spite, of his will on a camel merely because that camel was driven from behind by a half-savage Sudânese. He felt terribly humiliated and did not see any way of resisting. He had to admit to himself that he plainly feared those men and the desert, and what he and Nell might meet. He promised sincerely not only to her but to himself that he would watch over and defend her even at the cost of his own life. Nell, weary with weeping and the mad ride, which had lasted already six hours, finally began to doze, and at times fell asleep. Stas, knowing that whoever fell from a galloping camel might be killed on the spot, tied her to himself with a rope which he found on the saddle. But after some time it seemed to him that the speed of the camels became less rapid, though now they flew over smooth and soft sands. In the distance could be seen only the shifting hills, while on the plain began the nocturnal illusions common to the desert. The moon shone in the heaven more and more palely and in the meantime there appeared before them, creeping low, strange rosy clouds, entirely transparent, woven only from light. They formed mysteriously and moved ahead as if pushed by the light breeze. Stas saw how the burnooses of the Bedouins and the camels became roseate when they rode into that illuminated space, and afterwards the whole caravan was enveloped in a delicate, rosy luster. At times the clouds assumed an azure hue and thus it continued until the hills were reached. Near the hills the speed of the camels slackened yet more. All about could be seen rocks protruding from sandy knolls or strewn in wild disorder amidst the sand dunes. The ground became stony. They crossed a few hollows, sown with stone and resembling the dried-up beds of rivers. At times their road was barred by ravines about which they had to make a detour. The animals began to step carefully, moving their legs with precision as if in a dance, among the dry and hard bushes formed by roses of Jericho with which the dunes and rocks were abundantly covered. Time and again some of the camels would stumble and it was apparent that it was due to them to give them rest. Accordingly the Bedouins stopped in a sunken pass, and dismounting from the saddles, proceeded to untie the packs. Idris and Gebhr followed their example. They began to attend to the camels, to loosen the saddle-girths, remove the supplies of provisions, and seek flat stones on which to build a fire. There was no wood or dried dung, which Arabs use, but Chamis, son of Chadigi, plucked roses of Jericho and built of them a big pile to which he set fire. For some time, while the Sudânese were engaged with the camels, Stas and Nell and her nurse, old Dinah, found themselves together, somewhat apart. But Dinah was more frightened than the children and could not say a word. She only wrapped Nell in a warm plaid and sitting close to her began with a moan to kiss her little hands. Stas at once asked Chamis the meaning of what had happened, but he, laughing, only displayed his white teeth, and went to gather more roses of Jericho. Idris, questioned afterwards, answered with these words: "You will see!" and threatened him with his finger. When the fire of roses, which smoldered more than blazed, finally glowed they all surrounded it in a circle, except Gebhr who remained with the camels, and they began to eat cakes of maize, and dried mutton and goats' meat. The children, famished by the long journey, also ate, though at the same time Nell's eyes were closed by sleepiness. But in the meantime, in the faint light of the fire, appeared dark-skinned Gebhr and with glittering eyes he held up two bright little gloves and asked: "Whose are these?" "Mine," answered Nell with a sleepy and tired voice. "Yours, little viper?" the Sudânese hissed through set teeth. "Then you mark the road so that your father can know where to pursue us." Saying this, he struck her with a courbash, a terrible Arabian whip, which cuts even the hide of a camel. Nell, though she was wrapped in a thick plaid, shrieked from pain and fright, but Gebhr was unable to strike her a second time, for at that moment Stas leaped like a wildcat, butted Gebhr's breast with his head, and afterwards clutched him by the throat. It happened so unexpectedly that the Sudânese fell upon his back and Stas on top of him, and both began to roll on the ground. The boy was exceptionally strong for his age, nevertheless Gebhr soon overcame him. He first pulled his hands from his throat, after which he turned him over with face to the ground and, pressing heavily on his neck with his fist, he began to lash his back with the courbash. The shrieks and tears of Nell, who seizing the hand of the savage at the same time begged him "to forgive" Stas, would not have availed if Idris had not unexpectedly come to the boy's assistance. He was older than Gebhr and from the beginning of the flight from Gharak el-Sultani all complied with his orders. Now he snatched the courbash from his brother's hand and, pushing him away, exclaimed: "Away, you fool!" "I'll flog that scorpion!" answered Gebhr, gnashing his teeth. But at this, Idris seized his cloak at the breast and gazing into his eyes began to say in a threatening though quiet voice: "The noble* [* All relatives of the Mahdi were termed "noble."] Fatma forbade us to do any harm to those children, for they interceded for her--" "I'll flog him!" iterated Gebhr. "And I tell you that you shall not raise the courbash at either of them. If you do, for every blow, I shall give you ten." And he began to shake him like a bough of a palm, after which he thus continued: "Those children are the property of Smain and if either of them does not reach him alive, the Mahdi himself (May God prolong his days infinitely!) would command you to be hung. Do you understand, you fool?" The name of the Mahdi created such a great impression upon all his believers that Gebhr drooped his head at once and began to repeat as if with fear: "Allah akbar! Allah akbar!"* [* This cry means, "God is great"; but Arabs utter it in moments of fear, summoning aid.] Stas rose, panting and whipped, but felt that if his father could have seen and heard him at that moment he would have been proud of him, for he had not only leaped to save Nell, without thinking, but now, though the blows of the courbash burnt him like fire, he did not think of his own pain but instead began to console and ask the little girl whether the blow had injured her. And afterwards he said: "Whatever I got, I got, but he will never attack you. Oh, if I only had some weapon!" The little woman entwined his neck with her arms and dampening his cheeks with tears began to assure him that it did not pain her very much and that she was crying not from pain but from sorrow for him. At this Stas put his lips to her ear and whispered: "Nell, I swear that, not because he whipped me, but because he struck you, I shall not forgive him." With that the incident closed. After a certain time Gebhr and Idris, becoming reconciled, spread out their cloaks upon the ground and lay upon them, and Chamis soon followed their example. The Bedouins poured out durra for the camels, after which, having mounted two unengaged camels, they rode in the direction of the Nile. Nell, supporting her head on old Dinah's knee, fell asleep. The fire was dying out and soon could be heard only the grinding of the durra in the camels' teeth. On high rolled small clouds which at times veiled the moon, but the night was clear. Beyond the rocks resounded the mournful whining of jackals. After two hours the Bedouins returned with the camels bearing leather bags filled with water. Having fed the fire, they sat on the sand and commenced to eat. Their arrival awoke Stas, who previously had been dozing, as well as Chamis, son of Chadigi, and the two Sudânese. Then at the camp-fire began the following conversation: "Can we start?" Idris asked. "No, because we must rest;--we and our camels." "Did any one see you?" "Nobody. We reached the river between two villages. In the distance dogs barked." "It will be necessary always to go for water at midnight and draw it at deserted places. Only let us get past the first 'challa' (cataract); beyond that the villages are farther apart and they are more friendly to the prophet. A pursuing party will undoubtedly follow us." At this Chamis turned over, with his back up, and resting his face on his hands said: "The Mehendes will first wait for the children in El-Fachn during the whole night and until the following train; later they will go to Fayûm and from there to Gharak. Only there will they understand what has happened and then they will have to return to Medinet to send words flying over the copper wire to cities on the Nile and to the camel-corps which will pursue us. All that will take at least three days. Therefore we do not need to tire our camels and can peacefully 'drink smoke' from pipe-stems." Saying this, he pulled out a sprig of a rose of Jericho and lit his pipe with it, while Idris began, according to the Arabian habit, to smack his lips with satisfaction. "You arranged it well, son of Chadigi," he said, "but it is necessary for us to take advantage of the time and to drive during those three days and nights as far as possible southward. I shall breathe freely only when we shall cross the desert between the Nile and Kharga (a great oasis west of the Nile). God grant that the camels hold out." "They will hold out," declared one of the Bedouins. "People also say," interposed Chamis, "that the army of the Mahdi--may God prolong his life--has already reached Assuan." Here Stas, who did not lose a word of this conversation and remembered also what Idris had said to Gebhr, rose and said: "The army of the Mahdi is below Khartûm." "La! La! (no! no!)" Chamis contradicted. "Don't pay any attention to his words," Stas replied, "for he not only has a dark skin but also a dark brain. Although you bought fresh camels every three days and rushed as you have done this day, you would not reach Khartûm for a month. And perhaps you do not know that an English, not an Egyptian, army bars the road to you." These words created a certain impression and Stas, observing this, continued: "Before you find yourselves between the Nile and the great oasis all the roads on the desert will be picketed by a line of army sentinels. Words over the copper wire speed quicker than camels. How will you be able to slip through?" "The desert is wide," answered one of the Bedouins. "But you must keep close to the Nile." "We can cross over, and when they seek us on this side we shall be on the other." "Words speeding over the copper wire will reach cities and villages on both banks of the river." "The Mahdi will send us an angel, who will place a finger on the eyes of the Englishmen and the Turks (Egyptians) and will screen us with his wings." "Idris," said Stas, "I do not address Chamis whose head is like an empty gourd, nor Gebhr who is a vile jackal, but you. I already know that you want to carry us to the Mahdi and deliver us to Smain. But if you are doing this for money, then know that the father of this little 'bint' (girl) is richer than all the Sudânese put together." "And what of it?" interrupted Idris. "What of it? Return voluntarily and the great Mehendi will not spare money for you, nor will my father either." "But they will give us up to the Government, which will order us to be hung." "No, Idris. You undoubtedly will hang, but only in case they capture you in the flight; and that surely will happen. But if you return, no punishment will be meted out to you, and besides you will be wealthy to the end of your life. You know that the white people of Europe always keep their word. Now I give you the word for both Mehendes that it will be as I say." And Stas in reality was confident that his father and Mr. Rawlinson would prefer to fulfil the promise made by him than expose both of them, and especially Nell, to the terrible journey and yet more terrible life among the savage and maddened hordes of the Mahdi. So with palpitating heart, he waited for the reply of Idris who was plunged in silence and only after a long interval said: "You say that the father of the little 'bint' and yours will give us a great deal of money?" "Yes." "But can all their money open for us the gates of paradise which only the blessing of the Mahdi can do?" "Bismillah!" shouted both Bedouins together with Chamis and Gebhr. Stas at once lost all hope, for he knew that howsoever much the people in the East are greedy and venal, nevertheless when a true Mohammedan views any matter from the standpoint of faith, there are not any treasures in the world with which he can be tempted. Idris, encouraged by the shouts, continued, and evidently not for the purpose of replying to Stas, but with a view of gaining greater esteem and praise from his companions. "We have the good fortune not only to belong to that tribe which gave the holy prophet, but the noble Fatma and her children are his relatives and the great Mahdi loves them. If we deliver you and the little 'bint' to him, he will exchange you for Fatma and her sons and will bless us. Know that even the water, in which every morning according to the precepts of the Koran he makes his ablutions, heals the sick and eliminates sins; and think what his blessing can accomplish!" "Bismillah!" reiterated the Sudânese and Bedouins. But Stas, clutching at the last plank for help, said: "Then take me and let the Bedouins return with the little 'bint' For me they will surrender Fatma and her sons." "It is yet more certain that they will surrender her for you two." At this the boy addressed Chamis: "Your father shall answer for your conduct." "My father is already in the desert, on his way to the prophet," retorted Chamis. "Then they will capture and hang him." Here, however, Idris deemed it proper to give encouragement to his companions. "Those vultures," he said, "which will pick the flesh from our bones may not yet be hatched. We know what threatens us, but we are not children, and we know the desert of old. These men (here he pointed at the Bedouins) were many times in Berber and are acquainted with roads over which only gazelles roam. There nobody will find us and nobody will seek us. We must indeed turn for water to the Bahr Yûsuf and later to the Nile, but will do that in the night. Besides, do you think that on the river there are no secret friends of the Mahdi? And I tell you that the farther south we go the more of them we will find. There, tribes and their sheiks are only waiting for the favorable moment to seize the sword in defense of the true faith. These alone will supply water, food, and camels, and lead astray the pursuit. In truth, we know that it is far to the Mahdi, but we know also that every day brings us nearer to the sheep's hide on which the holy prophet kneels to pray." "Bismillah!" shouted his companions for the third tune. It was apparent that Idris' importance grew among them considerably. Stas understood that all was lost; so, desiring at least to protect Nell from the malice of the Sudânese, he said: "After six hours the little lady reached here barely alive. How can you think that she can endure such a journey? If she should die, I also will die, and then with what will you come to the Mahdi?" Now Idris could not find an answer. Stas, perceiving this, continued thus: "And how will the Mahdi and Smain receive you when they learn that for your folly Fatma and her children must pay with their lives?" But the Sudânese had recovered himself and replied: "I saw how you grasped Gebhr's throat. By Allah! you are a lion's whelp and will not die and she--" Here he gazed at the little head of the sleeping girl resting on the knees of old Dinah and finished in a kind of strangely gentle voice: "For her we will weave on the camel's hump a nest, as for a bird, that she may not at all feel fatigue and that she may sleep on the road as peacefully as she is sleeping now." Saying this he walked towards the camels and with the Bedouins began to make a seat for the little girl on the back of the best dromedary. At this they chattered a great deal and quarrelled among themselves but finally, with the aid of ropes, shaggy coverlets, and short bamboo poles they made something in the shape of a deep, immovable basket in which Nell could sit or lie down, but from which she could not fall. Above this seat, so broad that Dinah also could be accommodated in it, they stretched a linen awning. "You see," said Idris to Stas, "quail's eggs could not crack in those housings. The old woman will ride with the little lady to serve her day and night.--You will sit with me, but can ride near her and watch over her." Stas was glad that he had secured even this much. Pondering over the situation, he came to the conclusion that in all probability they would be captured before they reached the first cataract, and this thought gave him hope. In the meantime he wanted above all things to sleep; so he promised himself that he would tie himself with some kind of rope to the saddle, and, as he would not have to hold Nell, he could take a nap for a few hours. The night already became paler and the jackals ceased their whining amid the passes. The caravan was to start immediately, but the Sudânese, observing the dawn, went to a rock, a few paces away, and there, conformably with the precepts of the Koran, began their morning ablutions, using, however, sand instead of water, which they desired to save. Afterwards resounded voices, saying the "soubhg," or morning prayer. Amidst the deep silence plainly could be heard their words: "In the name of the compassionate and merciful God. Glory to the Lord, the sovereign of the world, compassionate and merciful on the day of judgment. Thee we worship and profess. Thee we implore for aid. Lead us over the road of those to whom thou dost not spare benefactions and grace and not over the paths of sinners who have incurred Thy wrath and who err. Amen." And Stas, hearing these voices, raised his eyes upwards and in that distant region, amidst tawny, gloomy sands, began the prayer: "We fly to Thy patronage, O Holy Mother of God." VIII The night faded. The men already had the saddles on the camels, when suddenly they observed a desert wolf, which, with tail curled beneath it, rushed across the pass, about a hundred paces from the caravan, and reaching the opposite table-land, dashed ahead showing signs of fright as if it fled before some enemy. On the Egyptian deserts there are no wild animals before which wolves could feel any fear and for that reason this sight greatly alarmed the Sudânese Arabs. What could this be? Was the pursuing party already approaching? One of the Bedouins quickly climbed on a rock, but he had barely glanced when he slipped down yet more quickly. "By the prophet!" he exclaimed, confused and frightened, "a lion is rushing towards us and is already close by!" And then from beyond the rocks came a bass "wow" after which Stas and Nell shouted together: "Saba! Saba!" As in the Arabian language this means a lion, the Bedouins became frightened yet more, but Chamis burst out laughing and said: "I know that lion." Saying this he whistled drawlingly and in a moment the gigantic mastiff dashed among the camels. Seeing the children he leaped towards them. From joy he overturned Nell who extended her hands to him; he reared himself on Stas; afterwards whining and barking he ran round both a few times, again overturned Nell, again reared himself on Stas, and finally lying down at their feet began to pant. His sides were sunken, from his lolling tongue fell clots of froth; nevertheless he wagged his tail and raised his eyes full of love at Nell as if he wanted to say: "Your father ordered me to watch over you, so here I am." The children sat close to him, one on each side, and began to pat him. The two Bedouins, who never before saw a creature like this, gazed at him with astonishment, repeating: "On Allah! o kelb kebir!" ("By God! that is a big dog!") while he for some time lay quietly. Afterwards he raised his head, inhaled the air through his black nose resembling a big truffle, scented, and jumped towards the extinct camp-fire, near which lay the remnants of food. In the same moment goat's and lamb's bones began to crack and crumble as straw in his powerful teeth. After eight people, counting old Dinah and Nell, there was enough for such "kelb kebir." But the Sudânese were worried by his arrival and the two camel drivers, calling Chamis to one side, began to speak to him with uneasiness and even with indignation. "Iblis* [* Iblis, one of the names of the devil in the Koran.--_Translator's note_.] brought that dog here," exclaimed Gebhr, "but in what manner did he find the children, since they came to Gharak by rail?" "Surely by the camel tracks," answered Chamis. "It happened badly. Everybody who sees him with us will remember our caravan and will point out where we went. We positively must get rid of him." "But how?" asked Chamis. "We have a rifle, so take it and shoot him in the head." In a case of urgency, Chamis might be able, for Stas had several times opened and closed his weapon before him, but he was sorry for the dog of whom he was fond, having taken care of him before the arrival of the children at Medinet. He knew perfectly that the Sudânese had no idea how to handle a weapon of the latest model and would be at a loss what to do with it. "If you don't know how," he said, with a crafty smile, "that little 'nouzrani' (Christian) could kill the dog, but that rifle can fire several times in succession; so I do not advise you to put it in his hands." "God forbid!" replied Idris; "he would shoot us like quails." "We have knives," observed Gebhr. "Try it, but remember that you have a throat which the dog will pull to pieces before you stab him." "Then what is to be done?" Chamis shrugged his shoulder. "Why do you want to kill the dog? If you should afterwards bury him in the sand, the hyenas will dig him out; the pursuers will find his bones and will know that we did not cross the Nile but made off in this direction. Let him follow us. As often as the Bedouins go for water and we hide in the passes, you may be sure that the dog will stay with the children. Allah! It is better that he came now, for otherwise he would lead the pursuing party on our tracks as far as Berber. You do not need to feed him, for if our leavings are not sufficient it will not be difficult for him to get a hyena or jackal. Leave him in peace, I tell you, and do not lose any time in idle talk." "Perhaps you are right," said Idris. "If I am right, then I will give him water, so that he shall not run to the Nile and show himself in the villages." In this manner was decided the fate of Saba who, having somewhat rested himself and eaten his fill, in the twinkling of an eye lapped up a bowl of water and started with renewed strength after the caravan. They now rode on high, level ground, on which the wind wrinkled the sand and from which could be seen on both sides the immense expanse of the desert. Heaven assumed the tint of a pearl shell. Light little clouds gathered in the east and changed like opals, after which they suddenly became dyed with gold. One ray darted, afterwards another, and the sun--as is usual in southern countries, in which there are scarcely any twilight and dawn--did not ascend, but burst from behind the clouds like a pillar of fire and flooded the horizon with a bright light. It enlivened heaven, it enlivened the earth, and the immeasurable sandy expanse was unveiled to the eyes of men. "We must hasten," said Idris, "for here we can be seen from a distance." Accordingly the rested and satiated camels sped on with the celerity of gazelles. Saba remained behind, but there was no fear that he would get lost and not appear at the first short halt for refreshments. The dromedary on which Idris rode with Stas ran close to the one on which Nell was mounted, so that the children could easily converse with each other. The seat which the Sudânese had made appeared splendid and the little girl really looked like a bird in a nest. She could not fall, even sleeping, and the ride fatigued her far less than during the night. The bright daylight gave courage to both children. In Stas' heart the hope entered that since Saba had overtaken them, the pursuers might do the same. This hope he at once shared with Nell, who smiled at him for the first time since their abduction. "When will they overtake us?" she asked in French in order that Idris should not understand them. "I do not know. It may be to-day; perhaps to-morrow; perhaps after two or three days." "But we will not ride back on camels?" "No. We will ride only as far as the Nile, and afterwards go by way of the Nile to El-Wasta." "That is good! oh, good!" Poor Nell, who had previously loved these rides, had evidently now had enough of them. "By way of the Nile--to El-Wasta and to papa!" she began to repeat in a sleepy voice. As at the previous stop she did not enjoy a full sound sleep, she now fell into that deep sleep which after fatigue comes towards morning. In the meantime the Bedouins drove the camels without a rest and Stas observed that they were making their way towards the interior of the desert. So, desiring to shake Idris' confidence that he would be able to elude the pursuit, and at the same time to show him that he himself relied upon it as a dead certainty, he said: "You are driving away from the Nile and from Bahr Yûsuf, but that won't help you, for of course they will not seek you on the banks where villages lie side by side, but in the interior of the desert." And Idris asked: "How do you know that we are driving away from the Nile, since the banks cannot be seen from here?" "Because the sun, which is in the eastern part of heaven, is warming our backs; that means we have turned to the west." "You are a wise boy," said Idris with esteem. After a while he added: "But the pursuing party will not overtake us nor will you escape." "No," answered Stas, "I shall not escape--unless with her." And he pointed to the sleeping girl. Until noon they sped almost without pausing for breath, but when the sun rose high in the sky and began to scorch, the camels, which by nature perspire but little, were covered with sweat, and their pace slackened considerably. The caravan again was surrounded by rocks and dunes. The ravines, which during the rainy season are changed into channels of streams, or so-called "khors," came to view more and more frequently. The Bedouins finally halted in one of them which was entirely concealed amid the rocks. But they had barely dismounted from the camels when they raised a cry and dashed ahead, bending over every little while and throwing stones ahead of them. Stas, who had not yet alighted from the saddle, beheld a strange sight. From among the dry bushes overgrowing the bed of the "khor," a big snake emerged and, gliding sinuously with the rapidity of lightning among the fragments of rocks, escaped to some hiding-place known to itself. The Bedouins chased it furiously and Gebhr rushed to their aid with a knife. But owing to the unevenness of the ground it was difficult either to hit the snake with a stone or to pin it with a knife. Soon all three returned with terror visible on their faces. And the cries, customary with Arabs, resounded: "Allah!" "Bismillah!" "Mashallah!" Afterwards both Sudânese began to look with a kind of strange and, at the same time, searching and inquiring gaze at Stas who could not understand what was the matter. In the meantime Nell also dismounted from her camel, and though she was less tired than during the night, Stas spread for her a saddle-cloth in the shade on a level spot and told her to lie down, in order, as he said, that she might straighten out her little feet. The Arabs prepared their noon meal, which consisted of biscuits and dates, together with a gulp of water. The camels were not watered for they had drank during the night. The faces of Idris, Gebhr and the Bedouins were still dejected, and the stop was made in silence. Finally Idris called Stas aside, and began to question him with a countenance at once mysterious and perturbed. "Did you see the snake?" "I did." "Did you conjure it to appear before us?" "No." "Some ill-luck awaits us as those fools did not succeed in killing it." "The gallows awaits you." "Be silent! Is your father a sorcerer?" "He is," answered Stas without any hesitation, for he understood in a moment that those savage and superstitious men regarded the appearance of a reptile as an evil omen and an announcement that the flight would not succeed. "So then your father sent it to us," answered Idris, "but he ought to understand that we can avenge ourselves for his charms upon you." "You will not do anything to me as the sons of Fatma would have to suffer for any injury to me." "And you already understand this? But remember that if it was not for me, your blood would have flowed under Gebhr's courbash--yours and that little 'bint's' also." "I therefore shall intercede for you only; but Gebhr shall swing on the rope." At this Idris gazed at him for a while as if with astonishment and said: "Our lives are not yet in your hands and you already talk to us as our lord--" After a while he added: "You are a strange 'uled' (boy), and such a one I have not yet seen. Thus far I have been kind to you, but take heed and do not threaten." "God punishes treachery," answered Stas. It was apparent, however, that the assurance with which the boy spoke in connection with the evil omen in the form of a snake which succeeded in escaping, disquieted Idris in a high degree. Having already mounted the camel he repeated several times: "Yes, I was kind to you," as if in any event he wished to impress this upon Stas' memory, and afterwards he began to finger the beads of a rosary made of the shells of "dum" nuts, and pray. About two o'clock, though it was in the winter season, the heat became unusual. In the sky there was not a cloudlet, but the horizon's border was disfigured. Above the caravan hovered a few vultures whose widely outstretched wings cast moving, black shadows on the tawny sands. In the heated air could be smelt an odor like the gas exhaled from burning charcoal. The camels, not ceasing to run, began to grunt strangely. One of the Bedouins approached Idris. "Some evil is brewing?" "What, do you think?" asked the Sudânese. "Wicked spirits awoke the wind slumbering on the western desert, and he rose from the sands and is rushing upon us." Idris raised himself on the saddle, gazed into the distance, and replied: "That is so. He is coming from the west and south but is not as furious as a Khamsin."* [* A southwest wind which blows in the spring.] "Three years ago near Abu-Hamed he buried a whole caravan and did not sweep the sand away until last winter. Ualla! He may have enough strength to stuff the nostrils of the camels and dry up the water in the bags." "It is necessary that we speed so that he strike us only with a wing." "We are flying in his eyes and are not able to avoid him." "The quicker he comes, the quicker he will pass away." Saying this, Idris struck his camel with a courbash and his example was followed by the others. For some time could be heard the dull blows of the thick whips, resembling the clapping of hands, and the cries of "Yalla." On the southwest the horizon, previously whitish, darkened. The heat continued and the sun scorched the heads of the riders. The vultures soared very high evidently, for their shadows grew smaller and smaller, and they finally vanished entirely. It became sultry. The Arabs yelled at the camels until their throats became parched, after which they were silent and a funereal quiet ensued, interrupted only by the groaning of the animals. Two very small foxes* [* An animal smaller than our foxes, called "fennec."] with big ears stole by the caravan, running in an opposite direction. The same Bedouin, who had previously conversed with Idris, spoke out again in a strange and as if not his own voice: "This will not be a usual wind. Evil charms are pursuing us. The snake is to blame for all--" "I know," answered Idris. "Look! the air quivers. That does not happen in winter." In fact the heated air began to quiver, and in consequence of an illusion of the eyes it seemed to the riders that the sands quivered. The Bedouin took his sweaty cowl from his head and said: "The heart of the desert beats with terror." And at this the other Bedouin, riding in the lead as a guide of the camels, turned around and began to shout: "He is already coming!--He is coming!" And in truth the wind came up. In the distance appeared as it were dark clouds which in their eyes grew higher and higher and approached the caravan. The nearest waves of air all around became agitated and sudden gusts of wind began to spin the sand. Here and there funnels were formed as if someone had drilled the surface of the desert with a cane. At places rose swift whirlpools resembling pillars, thin at the bottom and outspread on top like plumes of feathers. All this lasted but the twinkling of an eye. The cloud which the camel-guide first espied came flying towards them with an inconceivable velocity. It struck the people and beasts like the wing of a gigantic bird. In one moment the eyes and mouths of the riders were filled with sand. Clouds of dust hid the sky, hid the sun, and the earth became dusky. The men began to lose sight of one another and even the nearest camel appeared indistinctly as if in a fog. Not the rustle--for on the desert there are no trees--but the roar of the whirlwind drowned the calls of the guide and the bellowing of the animals. In the atmosphere could be smelt an odor such as coal smoke gives. The camels stood still and, turning away from the wind, they stretched their long necks downward so that their nostrils almost touched the sand. The Sudânese, however, did not wish to allow a stop, as caravans which halt during a hurricane are often buried in sand. At such times it is best to speed with the whirlwind, but Idris and Gebhr could not do this, for in thus doing they would return to Fayûm from where they expected a pursuit. So when the first gale passed they again drove the camels. A momentary stillness ensued but the ruddy dusk dissipated very slowly for the sun could not pierce through the clouds of dust suspended in the air. The thicker and heavier particles of sand began to fall. Sand filled all the cracks and punctures in the saddles and clung to the folds of the clothes. The people with each breath inhaled dust which irritated their lungs and grated their teeth. Besides, the whirlwind might break out again and hide the whole world. It occurred to Stas that if at the time of such darkness he was with Nell on the same camel, he might turn around and escape with the wind northward. Who knows whether they would be observed amidst the dusk and confusion of the elements, and, if they succeeded in reaching any village on Bahr Yûsuf near the Nile, Idris and Gebhr would not dare to pursue them for they would at once fall into the hands of the local "police." Stas, weighing all this, jostled Idris' shoulder and said: "Give me the gourd with water." Idris did not refuse for howsoever much that morning they had turned into the interior of the desert and quite far from the river, they had enough of water, and the camels drank copiously during the time of their night stop. Besides this, as a man acquainted with the desert, he knew that after a hurricane, rain usually follows and the dried-up "khors" change temporarily into streams. Stas in reality was thirsty, so he took a good drink, after which, not returning the gourd, he again jostled Idris' arm. "Halt the caravan." "Why?" asked the Sudânese. "Because I want to sit on the camel with the little 'bint' and give her water." "Dinah has a bigger gourd than mine." "But she is greedy and surely has emptied it. A great deal of sand must have fallen into her saddle which you made like a basket. Dinah will be helpless." "The wind will break out after a while and will refill it." "That is the more reason why she will require help." Idris lashed the camel with his whip and for a while they rode in silence. "Why don't you answer?" Stas asked. "Because I am considering whether it would be better to tie you to the saddle or tie your hands behind." "You have become insane." "No. I have guessed what you intended to do." "The pursuers will overtake us anyway; so I would not have to do it." "The desert is in the hands of God." They became silent again. The thicker sand fell entirely; there remained in the air a subtile red dust, something of the nature of pollen, through which the sun shone like a copper plate. But already they could see ahead. Before the caravan stretched level ground at the borders of which the keen eyes of the Arabs again espied a cloud. It was higher than the previous one and, besides this, there shot from it what seemed like pillars, or gigantic chimneys expanding at the top. At this sight the hearts of the Arabs and Bedouins quailed for they recognized the great sandy whirlpools. Idris raised his hands and drawing his palms towards his ears began to prostrate himself to the approaching whirlwind. His faith in one God evidently did not prevent his worship and fear of others for Stas distinctly heard him say: "Lord! We are thy children; therefore do not devour us." But the "lord" just dashed at them and assailed the camels with a force so terrible that they almost fell to the ground. The animals now formed a compact pack with heads turned to the center towards each other. Whole masses of sand were stirred. The caravan was enveloped by a dusk deeper than before and in that dusk there flew beside the riders dark and indistinct objects, as though gigantic birds or camels were dispersed with the hurricane. Fear seized the Arabs, to whom it seemed that these were the spirits of animals and men who had perished under the sands. Amid the roar and howling could be heard strange voices similar to sobs, to laughter, to cries for help. But these were delusions. The caravan was threatened by real danger, a hundredfold greater. The Sudânese well knew that if any one of the great whirlpools, forming incessantly in the bosom of the hurricane, should catch them in its whirls, it would hurl the riders to the ground and disperse the camels, and if it should break and fall upon them then in the twinkling of an eye an immense sandy mound would cover them in which they would remain until the next hurricane, blowing away the sand, should reveal their skeletons. Stas' head swam, his lungs seemed choked, and the sand blinded him. But at times it seemed to him that he heard Nell crying and calling; so he thought only of her. Taking advantage of the fact that the camels stood in a close pack and that Idris might not observe him, he determined to creep over quietly to the girl's camel, not for the purpose of escaping, but to give her assistance and encouragement. But he had barely extended his limbs from under him and stretched out his hands to grasp the edge of Nell's saddle, when the giant hand of Idris grabbed him. The Sudânese snatched him like a feather, laid him before him and began to tie him with a palm rope, and after binding his hands, placed him across the saddle. Stas pressed his teeth and resisted as well as he could, but in vain. Having a parched throat and a mouth filled with sand he could not convince Idris that he desired only to go to the girl's assistance and did not want to escape. After a while, however, feeling that he was suffocating, he began to shout in a stifled voice: "Save the little 'bint'! Save the little 'bint'!" But the Arabs preferred to think of their own lives. The blasts became so terrible that they could not sit on the camels nor could the camels stand in their places. The two Bedouins with Chamis and Gebhr leaped to the ground, in order to hold the animals by cords attached to the mouthpieces under their lower jaws. Idris, shoving Stas to the rear of the saddle, did the same. The animals spread out their legs as widely as possible in order to resist the furious whirlwind, but they lacked strength, and the caravan, scourged by gravel which cut like hundreds of whips and the sand which pricked like pins, began now slowly, then hurriedly, to turn about and retreat under the pressure. At times the whirlwind tore holes under their feet, then again the sand and gravel bounding from the sides of the camels would form, in the twinkling of an eye, mounds reaching to their knees and higher. In this manner hour passed after hour. The danger became more and more terrible. Idris finally understood that the only salvation was to remount the camels and fly with the whirlwind. But this would be returning in the direction of Fayûm, where Egyptian Courts and the gallows were waiting for them. "Ha! it cannot be helped," thought Idris. "The hurricane will also stop the pursuit and when it ceases, we will again proceed southward." And he began to shout that they should resume their seats on the camels. But at this moment something happened which entirely changed the situation. Suddenly, the dusky, almost black, clouds of sand were illumined with a livid light. The darkness then became still deeper, but at the same time there arose, slumbering on high and awakened by the whirlwind, thunder; it began to roll between the Arabian and Libyan deserts,--powerful, threatening, one might say, angry. It seemed as if from the heavens, mountains and rocks were tumbling down. The deafening peal intensified, grew, shook the world, began to roam all over the whole horizon; in places it burst with a force as terrible as if the shattered vault of heaven had fallen upon earth and afterwards it again rolled with a hollow, continual rumble; again it burst forth, again broke, it blinded with lightning, and struck with thunderbolts, descended, rose, and pealed continuously.* [* The author heard in the vicinity of Aden thunder which lasted without intermission for half an hour. See "Letters from Africa."] The wind subsided as if overawed, and when after a long time somewhere in the immeasurable distance the chain-bolt of heaven rattled, a deadly stillness followed the thunder. But after a while in that silence the voice of the guide resounded. "God is above the whirlwind and the storm. We are saved." They started. But they were enveloped by a night so impenetrable that though the camels ran close together, the men could not see each other and had to shout aloud every little while in order not to lose one another. From time to time glaring lightning, livid or red, illuminated the sandy expanse, but afterwards fell a darkness so thick as to be almost palpable. Notwithstanding the hope, which the voice of the guide poured into the hearts of the Sudânese, uneasiness did not yet leave them, because they moved blindly, not knowing in truth in which direction they were going;--whether they were moving around in a circle or were returning northward. The animals stumbled against each other every little while and could not run swiftly, and besides they panted strangely, and so loudly that it seemed to the riders that the whole desert panted from fear. Finally fell the first drops of rain, which almost always follows a hurricane, and at the same time the voice of the guide broke out amidst the darkness: "Khor!" They were above a ravine. The camels paused at the brink; after which they began to step carefully towards the bottom. IX The khor was wide, covered on the bottom with stones among which grew dwarfish, thorny shrubs. A high rock full of crevices and fissures formed its southern wall. The Arabs discerned all this by the light of quiet but more and more frequent lightning flashes. Soon they also discovered in the rocky wall a kind of shallow cave or, rather, a broad niche, in which people could easily be harbored and, in case of a great downpour, could find shelter. The camels also could be comfortably lodged upon a slight elevation close by the niche. The Bedouins and two Sudânese removed from them their burdens and saddles, so that they might rest well, and Chamis, son of Chadigi, occupied himself in the meantime with pulling thorny shrubs for a fire. Big single drops fell continually but the downpour began only when the party lay down to sleep. At first it was like strings of water, afterwards ropes, and in the end it seemed as if whole rivers were flowing from invisible clouds. Such rains, which occur only once in several years, swell, even in winter time, the water of the canals and the Nile, and in Aden fill immense cisterns, without which the city could not exist at all. Stas never in his life had seen anything like it. At the bottom of the khor the stream began to rumble; the entrance to the niche was veiled as if by a curtain of water; around could be heard only splashing and spluttering. The camels stood on an elevation and the downpour at most would give them a bath; nevertheless the Arabs peered out every little while to see if any danger threatened the animals. To the others it was agreeable to sit in the cave, safe from danger, by the bright fire of brushwood, which was not yet soaked. On their faces joy was depicted. Idris, who immediately after their arrival had untied Stas' hands so that he could eat, now turned to him and smiling contemptuously said: "The Mahdi is greater than all white sorcerers. He subdued the hurricane and sent rain." Stas did not reply for he was occupied with Nell, who was barely alive. First he shook the sand from her hair, afterwards directed old Dinah to unpack the things which she, in the belief that the children were going to their parents, brought with her from Fayûm. He took a towel, wet it, and wiped the little girl's eyes and face with it. Dinah could not do this as seeing but poorly with one eye only, she lost her sight almost entirely during the hurricane and washing her heated eyelids did not bring her any relief. Nell submitted passively to all of Stas' efforts; she only gazed at him like an exhausted bird, and only when he removed her shoes to spill out the sand and afterwards when he smoothed out the saddle-cloths did she throw her arms around his neck. His heart overflowed with great pity. He felt that he was a guardian, an older brother, and at that time Nell's only protector, and he felt at the same time that he loved this little sister immensely, far more than ever before. He loved her indeed in Port Said, but he regarded her as a "baby"; so, for instance, it never even occurred to him to kiss her hand in bidding her good night. If any one had suggested such an idea to him he would have thought that a bachelor, who had finished his thirteenth year, could not without derogation to his dignity and age do anything like that. But, at present, a common distress awoke in him dormant tenderness; so he kissed not one but both hands of the little girl. Lying down, he continued to think of her and determined to perform some extraordinary deed to snatch her from captivity. He was prepared for everything, even for wounds and death; only with this little reservation secreted in his heart, that the wounds should not be too painful, and that the death should not be an inevitable and real death, as in such case he could not witness the happiness of Nell when liberated. Afterwards he began to ponder upon the most heroic manner of saving her, but his thoughts became confused. For a while it seemed to him that whole clouds of sand were burying him; afterwards that all the camels were piling on his head,--and he fell asleep. The Arabs, exhausted by the battle with the hurricane, after attending to the camels, also fell into a sound sleep. The fire became extinct and a dusk prevailed in the niche. Soon the snores of the men resounded, and from outside came the splash of the downpour and the roar of the waters clashing over the stones on the bottom of the khor. In this manner the night passed. But before dawn Stas was awakened from a heavy sleep by a feeling of cold. It appeared that water which accumulated in the fissures on the top of the rock slowly passed through some cleft in the vault of the cave and began finally to trickle onto his head. The boy sat up on the saddle-cloth and for some time struggled with sleep; he did not realize where he was and what had happened to him. After a while, however, consciousness returned to him. "Aha!" he thought, "yesterday there was a hurricane and we are kidnapped, and this is a cave in which we sought shelter from the rain." And he began to gaze around. At first he observed with astonishment that the rain had passed away and that it was not at all dark in the cave, as it was illuminated by the moon which was about to set. In its pale beams could be seen the whole interior of that wide but shallow niche. Stas saw distinctly the Arabs lying beside each other, and under the other wall of the cave the white dress of Nell who was sleeping close to Dinah. And again great tenderness possessed his heart. "Sleep, Nell--sleep," he said to himself; "but I do not sleep, and must save her." After this, glancing at the Arabs, he added in his soul: "Ah! I do want to have all these rogues--" Suddenly he trembled. His gaze fell upon the leather case containing the short rifle presented to him as a Christmas gift, and the cartridge boxes lying between him and Chamis, so near that it would suffice for him to stretch out his hand. And his heart began to beat like a hammer. If he could secure the rifle and boxes he would certainly be the master of the situation. It would be enough in that case to slip noiselessly out of the niche, hide about fifty paces away, among the rocks, and from there watch the exit of the Sudânese and Bedouins. He thought that if they awakened and observed his absence they would rush out of the cave together but at that time he could with two bullets shoot down the first two and, before the others could reach him, the rifle could be reloaded. Chamis would remain but he could take care of him. Here he pictured to himself four corpses lying in a pool of blood, and fright and horror seized his breast. To kill four men! Indeed they were knaves, but even so it was a horrifying affair. He recollected that at one time he saw a laborer--a fellah--killed by the crank of a steam dredge, and what a horrible impression his mortal remains, quivering in a red puddle, made upon him! He shuddered at the recollection. And now four would be necessary! four! The sin and the horror! No, no, he was incapable of that. He began to struggle with his thoughts. For himself, he would not do that--No! But Nell was concerned; her protection, her salvation, and her life were involved, for she could not endure all this, and certainly would die either on the road or among the wild and brutalized hordes of dervishes. What meant the blood of such wretches beside the life of Nell, and could any one in such a situation hesitate? "For Nell! For Nell!" But suddenly a thought flew like a whirlwind through Stas' mind and caused the hair to rise on his head. What would happen if any one of the outlaws placed a knife at Nell's breast, and announced that he would murder her if he--Stas--did not surrender and return the rifle to them. "Then," answered the boy to himself, "I should surrender at once." And with a realization of his helplessness he again flung himself impotently upon the saddle-cloth. The moon now peered obliquely through the opening of the cave and it became less dark. The Arabs snored continually. Some time passed and a new idea began to dawn in Stas' head. If, slipping out with the weapon and hiding among the rocks, he should kill not the men but shoot the camels? It would be too bad and a sad ending for the innocent animals;--that is true, but what was to be done? Why, people kill animals not only to save life but for broth and roast meat. Now it was a certainty that if he succeeded in killing four, and better still five camels, further travel would be impossible. No one in the caravan would dare to go to the villages near the banks to purchase new camels. And in such a case Stas, in the name of his father, would promise the men immunity from punishment and even a pecuniary reward and--nothing else would remain to do but to return. Yes, but if they should not give him time to make such a promise and should kill him in the first transports of rage? They must give him time and hear him for he would hold the rifle in his hand; he would be able to hold them at bay until he stated everything. When he had done, they would understand that their only salvation would be to surrender. Then he would be in command of the caravan and lead it directly to Bahr Yûsuf and the Nile. To be sure, at present they are quite a distance from it, perhaps one or two days' journey, as the Arabs through caution had turned considerably into the interior of the desert. But that did not matter; there would remain, of course, a few camels and on one of them Nell would ride. Stas began to gaze attentively at the Arabs. They slept soundly, as people exceedingly tired do, but as the night was waning, they might soon awaken. It was necessary to act at once. The taking of the cartridge boxes did not present any difficulties as they lay close by. A more difficult matter was to get the rifle, which Chamis had placed at his further side. Stas hoped that he would succeed in purloining it, but he decided to draw it out of the case and put the stock and the barrels together when he should be about fifty paces from the cave, as he feared that the clank of the iron against iron would wake the sleepers. The moment arrived. The boy bent like an arch over Chamis and, seizing the case by the handle, began to transfer it to his side. His heart and pulse beat heavily, his eyes grew dim, his breathing became rapid, but he shut his teeth and tried to control his emotions. Nevertheless when the straps of the case creaked lightly, drops of cold perspiration stood on his forehead. That second seemed to him an age. But Chamis did not even stir. The case described an arch over him and rested silently beside the box with cartridges. Stas breathed freely. One-half of the work was done. Now it was necessary to slip out of the cave noiselessly and run about fifty paces; afterwards to hide in a fissure, open the case, put the rifle together, load it, and fill his pockets with cartridges. The caravan then would be actually at his mercy. Stas' black silhouette was outlined on the brighter background of the cave's entrance. A second more and he would be on the outside, and would hide in the rocky fissure. And then, even though one of the outlaws should wake, before he realized what had happened and before he aroused the others it would be too late. The boy, from fear of knocking down some stone, of which a large number lay at the threshold of the niche, shoved out one foot and began to seek firm ground with his step. And already his head leaned out of the opening and he was about to slip out wholly when suddenly something happened which turned the blood in his veins to ice. Amid the profound stillness pealed like a thunderbolt the joyous bark of Saba; it filled the whole ravine and awoke the echoes reposing in it. The Arabs as one man were startled from their sleep, and the first object which struck their eyes was the sight of Stas with the case in one hand and the cartridge box in the other. Ah, Saba! what have you done? X With cries of horror, all in a moment rushed at Stas; in the twinkling of an eye they wrested the rifle and cartridges from him and threw him on the ground, tied his hands and feet, striking and kicking him all the time, until finally Idris, from fear of the boy's life, drove them off. Afterwards they began to converse in disjointed words, as people do over whom had impended a terrible danger and whom only an accident had saved. "That is Satan incarnate," exclaimed Idris, with face pallid with fright and emotion. "He would have shot us like wild geese for food," added Gebhr. "Ah, if it was not for that dog." "God sent him." "And you wanted to kill him?" said Chamis. "From this time no one shall touch him." "He shall always have bones and water." "Allah! Allah!" repeated Idris, not being able to compose himself. "Death was upon us. Ugh!" And they began to stare at Stas lying there, with hatred but with a certain wonder that one small boy might have been the cause of their calamity and destruction. "By the prophet!" spoke out one of the Bedouins, "it is necessary to prevent this son of Iblis from twisting our necks. We are taking a viper to the Mahdi. What do you intend to do with him?" "We must cut off his right hand!" exclaimed Gebhr. The Bedouins did not answer, but Idris would not consent to this proposition. It occurred to him that if the pursuers should capture them, a more terrible punishment would be meted to them for the mutilation of the boy. Finally, who could guarantee that Stas would not die after such an operation? In such a case for the exchange of Fatma and her children only Nell would remain. So when Gebhr pulled out his knife with the intention of executing his threat, Idris seized him by the wrist and held it. "No!" he said. "It would be a disgrace for five of the Mahdi's warriors to fear one Christian whelp so much as to cut off his fist; we will bind him for the night, and for that which he wanted to do, he shall receive ten lashes of the courbash." Gebhr was ready to execute the sentence at once but Idris again pushed him away and ordered the flogging to be done by one of the Bedouins, to whom he whispered not to hit very hard. As Chamis, perhaps out of regard for his former service with the engineers or perhaps from some other reason, did not want to mix in the matter, the other Bedouin turned Stas over with his back up and the punishment was about to take place, when at that moment an unexpected obstacle came. At the opening of the niche Nell appeared with Saba. Occupied with her pet, who, dashing into the cave, threw himself at once at her little feet, she had heard the shouts of the Arabs, but, as in Egypt Arabs as well as Bedouins yell on every occasion as if they are about to annihilate each other, she did not pay any attention to them. Not until she called Stas and received no reply from him, did she go out to see whether he was not already seated on the camels. With terror she saw in the first luster of the morning Stas lying on the ground and above him a Bedouin with a courbash in his hand. At the sight of this she screamed with all her strength and stamped with her little feet, and when the Bedouin, not paying any attention to this, aimed the first blow, she flung herself forward and covered the boy with her body. The Bedouin hesitated, as he did not have an order to strike the little girl, and in the meantime her voice resounded full of despair and horror: "Saba! Saba!" And Saba understood what was the matter and in one leap was in the niche. The hair bristled on his neck and back, his eyes flamed redly, in his breast and powerful throat there was a rumble as if of thunder. And afterwards, the lips of his wrinkled jaws rose slowly upward and the teeth as well as the white fangs, an inch long, appeared as far as the bloody gums. The giant mastiff now began to turn his head to the right and to the left as if he wanted to display well his terrible equipment to the Sudânese and Bedouins and tell them: "Look! here is something with which I shall defend the children!" They, on the other hand, retreated hurriedly for they knew in the first place that Saba had saved their lives and again that it was a clear thing that whoever approached Nell at that moment would have the fangs of the infuriated mastiff sunk at once in his throat. So they stood irresolute, staring with an uncertain gaze and as if asking one another what in the present situation had better be done. Their hesitation continued so long that Nell had sufficient time to summon old Dinah and order her to cut Stas' bonds. Then the boy, placing his hand on Saba's head, turned to his assailants: "I did not want to kill you--only the camels," he said through his set teeth. But this information so startled the Arabs that they undoubtedly would have again rushed at Stas were it not for Saba's flaming eyes and bristling hair. Gebhr even started to dash towards him, but one hollow growl riveted him to the spot. A moment of silence followed, after which Idris' loud voice resounded: "To the road! To the road!" XI A day passed, a night, and yet another day and they drove constantly southward, halting only for a brief time in the khors in order not to fatigue the camels too much, to water and feed them, and also to divide their provisions and water. From fear of the pursuit they turned yet farther to the west, for they did not have to concern themselves about water for some time. The downpour had lasted indeed not more than seven hours, but it was as tremendous as if a cloud-burst had occurred on the desert. Idris and Gebhr as well as the Bedouins knew that on the beds of the khors and in those places where the rocks formed natural cavities and wells they would, for a few days, find enough water to suffice not only for their and the camels' immediate wants but even for replenishing their supplies. After the great rain, as usual, splendid weather followed. The sky was cloudless, and the air so transparent that the view reached over an immeasurable distance. At night the heaven, studded with stars, twinkled and sparkled as if with thousands of diamonds. From the desert sands came a refreshing coolness. The camel-humps already grew smaller but the animals, being well-fed, were, according to the Arabian expression, "harde," that is, they were unimpaired in strength and ran so willingly that the caravan advanced but little slower than on the first day after their departure from Gharak el-Sultani. Stas with astonishment observed that in some of the khors, in rocky fissures protected from rain, were supplies of durra and dates. He inferred from this that, before their abduction, certain preparations were made and everything was pre-arranged between Fatma, Idris, and Gebhr on one side and the Bedouins on the other. It was also easy to surmise that both the Bedouins were Mahdist adherents and believers, who wanted to join their leader, and for that reason were easily drawn into the plot by the Sudânese. In the neighborhood of Fayûm and ground Gharak el-Sultani there were quite a number of Bedouins who with their children and camels led a migratory life on the desert and came to Medinet and the railway stations for gain. Stas, however, had never seen these two before, and they also could not have been in Medinet, for it appeared they did not know Saba. The idea of attempting to bribe them occurred to the boy, but recollecting their shouts, full of fervor, whenever the name of the Mahdi was mentioned by them, he deemed this an impossibility. Nevertheless, he did not submit passively to the events, for in that boyish soul there was imbedded a really astonishing energy, which was inflamed by the past failures. "Everything which I have undertaken," he soliloquized, "ended in my getting a whipping. But even if they flog me with that courbash every day and even kill me, I will not stop thinking of rescuing Nell and myself from the hands of these villains. If the pursuers capture them, so much the better. I, however, will act as if I did not expect them." And at the recollection of what he had met at the thought of those treacherous and cruel people who, after snatching away the rifle, had belabored him with fists and kicked him, his heart rebelled and rancor grew. He felt not only vanquished but humiliated by them in his pride as a white man. Above all, however, he felt Nell's wrong and this feeling, with the bitterness which intensified within him after the last failure, changed into an inexorable hatred of both Sudânese. He had often heard, indeed, from his father that hatred blinds, and that only such souls yield to it as are incapable of anything better; but for the time being he could not subdue it within him, and did not know how to conceal it. He did not know to what extent Idris had observed it and had begun to get uneasy, understanding that, in case the pursuing party should capture them, he could not depend upon the boy's intercession. Idris was always ready for the most audacious deed, but as a man not deprived of reason, he thought that it was necessary to provide for everything and in case of misfortune to leave some gate of salvation open. For this reason, after the last occurrence he wanted in some manner to conciliate Stas and, with this object, at the first stop, he began the following conversation with him. "After what you wanted to do," he said, "I had to punish you as otherwise they would have killed you, but I ordered the Bedouin not to strike you hard." And when he received no reply, he, after a while, continued thus: "Listen! you yourself have said that the white people always keep their oath. So if you will swear by your God and by the head of that little 'bint' that you will do nothing against us, then I will not order you to be bound for the night." Stas did not answer a single word to this and only from the glitter of his eyes did Idris perceive that he spoke in vain. Nevertheless, notwithstanding the urging of Gebhr and the Bedouins, he did not order him to be bound for the night, and when Gebhr did not cease his importunities, he replied with anger: "Instead of going to sleep, you will to-night stand on guard. I have decided that from this time one of us shall watch during the sleep of the others." And in reality a change of guards was introduced permanently from that day. This rendered more difficult and completely frustrated all plans of Stas to whom every sentinel paid watchful attention. But on the other hand the children were left in greater freedom so that they could approach each other and converse without hindrance. Immediately after the first stop Stas sat close to Nell for he was anxious to thank her for her aid. But though he felt great gratitude to her he did not know how to express himself, either in a lofty style or tenderly; so he merely began to shake both of her little hands. "Nell!" he said, "you are very good and I thank you; and besides this I frankly say that you acted like a person of at least thirteen years." On Stas' lips words like these were the highest praise; so the heart of the little woman was consumed with joy and pride. It seemed to her at that moment that nothing was impossible. "Wait till I grow up, then they will see!" she replied, throwing a belligerent glance in the direction of the Sudânese. But as she did not understand the cause of the trouble and why all the Arabs rushed at Stas, the boy told her how he had determined to purloin the rifle, kill the camels, and force all to return to the river. "If I had succeeded," he said, "we would now be free." "But they awoke?" asked the little girl with palpitating heart. "They did. That was caused by Saba, who came running toward me, barking loud enough to awaken the dead." Then her indignation was directed against Saba. "Nasty Saba! nasty! For this when he comes running up to me I won't speak a word to him and will tell him that he is horrid." At this Stas, though he was not in a laughing mood, laughed and asked: "How will you be able not to say a word to him and at the same time tell him he is horrid?" Nell's eyebrows rose and her countenance reflected embarrassment, after which she said: "He will know that from my looks." "Perhaps. But he is not to blame, for he could not know what was happening. Remember also that afterwards he came to our rescue." This recollection placated Nell's anger a little. She did not, however, want to grant pardon to the culprit at once. "That is very well," she said, "but a real gentleman ought not to bark on greeting." Stas burst out laughing again. "Neither does a real gentleman bark on leave-taking unless he is a dog, and Saba is one." But after a while sorrow dimmed the boy's eyes; he sighed once, then again; after which he rose from the stone on which they sat and said: "The worst is that I could not free you." And Nell raised herself on her little toes and threw her arms around his neck. She wanted to cheer him; she wanted, with her little nose close to his face, to whisper her gratitude, but, as she could not find appropriate words, she only squeezed his neck yet more tightly and kissed his ear. In the meantime Saba, always late--not so much because he was unable to keep pace with the camels, but because he hunted for jackals on the way, or drove away vultures perched on the crests of rocks with his barking--came rushing up, making his customary noise. The children at the sight of him forgot about everything, and notwithstanding their hard situation began their usual caresses and play until they were interrupted by the Arabs. Chamis gave the dog food and water, after which all mounted the camels and started with the greatest speed southward. XII It was their longest journey, for they rode with small interruption for eighteen hours. Only real saddle-camels, having a good supply of water in their stomachs, could endure such a drive. Idris did not spare them, for he really feared the pursuit. He understood that it must have started long ago, and he assumed that both engineers would be at its head and would not lose any time. Danger threatened from the direction of the river, for it was certain that immediately after the abduction telegraphic orders were despatched to all settlements on the banks directing the sheiks to start expeditions into the interior of the desert on both sides of the Nile, and to detain all parties riding southward. Chamis assured the others that the Government and engineers must have offered a large reward for their capture and that in consequence of this the desert was undoubtedly swarming with searching parties. The only course to pursue would be to turn as far as possible to the west; but on the west lay the great oasis of Kharga, to which despatches also could reach, and besides, if they rode too far west they would lack water after a few days, and death from thirst would await them. And the question of food became a vital one. The Bedouins in the course of the two weeks preceding the abduction of the children had placed in hiding-places, supplies of durra, biscuits, and dates, but only for a distance of four days' journey from Medinet. Idris, with fear, thought that when provisions should be lacking it would be imperatively necessary to send men to purchase supplies at the villages on the river banks, and then these men, in view of the aroused vigilance and reward offered for the capture of the fugitives, might easily fall into the hands of the local sheiks,--and betray the whole caravan. The situation was indeed difficult, almost desperate, and Idris each day perceived more plainly upon what an insane undertaking he had ventured. "If we could only pass Assuan! If we could only pass Assuan!" he said to himself with alarm and despair in his soul. He did not indeed believe Chamis who claimed that the Mahdi's warriors had already reached Assuan, as Stas denied this. Idris long since perceived that the white "uled" knew more than all of them. But he supposed that beyond the first cataract, where the people were wilder and less susceptible to the influences of Englishmen and the Egyptian Government, he would find more adherents of the prophet, who in a case of emergency would give them succor, and would furnish food and camels. But it was, as the Bedouins reckoned, about five days' journey to Assuan over a road which became more and more desolate, and every stop visibly diminished their supplies for man and beast. Fortunately they could urge the camels and drive with the greatest speed, for the heat did not exhaust their strength. During daytime, at the noon hour, the sun, indeed, scorched strongly but the air was continually invigorating and the nights so cool that Stas, with the consent of Idris, changed his seat to Nell's camel, desiring to watch over her and protect her from catching cold. But his fears were vain, as Dinah, whose eyes, or rather, eye, improved considerably, watched with great solicitude over her little lady. The boy was even surprised that the little one's health thus far did not suffer any impairment and that she bore the journey, with everdecreasing stops, as well as himself. Grief, fear, and the tears which she shed from longing for her papa evidently did not harm her much. Perhaps her slightly emaciated and bright little countenance was tanned by the wind, but in the later days of the journey she felt far less fatigued than at the beginning. It is true that Idris gave her the easiest carrying camel and had made an excellent saddle so that she could sleep in it lying down; nevertheless the desert air, which she breathed day and night, mainly gave her strength to endure the hardships and irregular hours. Stas not only watched over her but intentionally surrounded her with a worship which, notwithstanding his immense attachment to his little sister, he did not at all feel for her. He observed, however, that this affected the Arabs and that they involuntarily were fortified in the conviction that they were bearing something of unheard-of value, some exceptionally important female captive, with whom it was necessary to act with the greatest possible care. Idris had been accustomed to this while at Medinet; so now all treated her well. They did not spare water and dates for her. The cruel Gebhr would not now have dared to raise his hand against her. Perhaps the extraordinarily fine stature of the little girl contributed to this, and also that there was in her something of the nature of a flower and of a bird, and this charm even the savage and undeveloped souls of the Arabs could not resist. Often also, when at a resting place she stood by the fire fed by the roses of Jericho or thorns, rosy from the flame and silvery in the moonlight, the Sudânese as well as the Bedouins could not tear their eyes from her, smacking their lips from admiration, according to their habit, and murmuring: "Allah! Mashallah! Bismillah!" The second day at noon after that long rest, Stas and Nell who rode this time on the same camel, had a moment of joyful emotion. Immediately after sunrise a light and transparent mist rose over the desert, but it soon fell. Afterwards when the sun ascended higher, the heat became greater than during the previous days. At moments when the camels halted there could not be felt the slightest breeze, so that the air as well as the sands seemed to slumber in the warmth, in the light, and in the stillness. The caravan had just ridden upon a great monotonous level ground, unbroken by khors, when suddenly a wonderful spectacle presented itself to the eyes of the children. Groups of slender palms and pepper trees, plantations of mandarins, white houses, a small mosque with projecting minaret, and, lower, walls surrounding gardens, all these appeared with such distinctness and at distance so close that one might assume that after the lapse of half an hour the caravan would be amid the trees of the oasis. "What is this?" exclaimed Stas. "Nell, Nell! Look!" Nell rose, and for a time was silent with astonishment, but after a while began to cry with joy: "Medinet! to papa! to papa!" And Stas turned pale from emotion. "Truly--Perhaps that is Kharga--But no! That is Medinet perhaps--I recognize the minaret and even see the windmills above the wells--" In fact, in the distance the highly elevated American windmills resembling great white stars, actually glistened. On the verdant background of the trees they could be seen so perfectly that Stas' keen sight could distinguish the borders of the vanes painted red. "That is Medinet!--" Stas knew from books and narratives that there were on the desert phantasms known as "fata morgana" and that sometimes travelers happen to see oases, cities, tufts of trees and lakes, which are nothing more than an illusion, a play of light, and a reflection of real distant objects. But this time the phenomenon was so distinct, so well-nigh palpable that he could not doubt that he saw the real Medinet. There was the turret upon the Mudir's house, there the circular balcony near the summit of the minaret from which the muezzin called to prayers, there that familiar group of trees, and particularly those windmills. No,--that must be the reality. It occurred to the boy that the Sudânese, reflecting upon their situation, had come to the conclusion that they could not escape and, without saying anything to him, had turned back to Fayûm. But their calmness suggested to him the first doubts. If that really was Fayûm, would they gaze upon it so indifferently? They, of course, saw the phenomenon and pointed it out to each other with their fingers, but on their faces could not be seen the least perplexity or emotion. Stas gazed yet once more and perhaps this indifference of the Arabs caused the picture to seem fainter to him. He also thought that, if in truth they were returning, the caravan would be grouped together, and the men, though only from fear, would ride in a body. But, in the meanwhile, the Bedouins, who, by Idris' order, for the past few days drove considerably in advance, could not be seen at all; while Chamis, riding as a rear guard, appeared at a distance not greater than the vulture lying on the ground. "Fata Morgana," said Stas to himself. In the meantime Idris approached him and shouted: "Heigh! Speed your camel! You see Medinet!" He evidently spoke jokingly and there was so much spite in his voice that the last hope that the real Medinet was before him vanished in the boy's heart. And with sorrow in his heart he turned to Nell to dispel her delusion, when unexpectedly an incident occurred which drew the attention of all in another direction. At first a Bedouin appeared, running towards them at full speed and brandishing from afar a long Arabian rifle which no one in the caravan possessed before that time. Reaching Idris, he exchanged a few hurried words with him, after which the caravan turned precipitately into the interior of the desert. But, after a time, the other Bedouin appeared leading by a rope a fat she-camel, with a saddle on its hump and leather bags hanging on its sides. A short conversation commenced, of which Stas could not catch a word. The caravan in full speed made for the west. It halted only when they chanced upon a narrow khor full of rocks scattered in wild disorder, and of fissures and caverns. One of these was so spacious that the Sudânese hid the people and camels in it. Stas, although he conjectured more or less what had happened, lay beside Idris and pretended to sleep, hoping that the Arabs, who thus far had exchanged but a few words about the occurrence, would now begin to speak about it. In fact, his hope was not disappointed, for immediately after pouring out fodder for the camels, the Bedouins and the Sudânese with Chamis sat down for a consultation. "Henceforth we can ride only in the night; in the daytime we will have to hide!" spoke out the one-eyed Bedouin. "There will be many khors now and in each one of them we will find a safe hiding-place." "Are you sure that he was a sentinel?" asked Idris. "Allah! We spoke with him. Luckily there was only one. He stood hidden by a rock, so that we could not see him, but we heard from a distance the cry of his camel. Then we slackened our speed and rode up so quietly that he saw us only when we were a few paces away. He became very frightened and wanted to aim his rifle at us. If he had fired, though he might not have killed any of us, the other sentinels would have heard the shot; so, as hurriedly as possible, I yelled to him: 'Halt! we are pursuing men who kidnapped two white children, and soon the whole pursuit will be here!' The boy was young and foolish, so he believed us; only he ordered us to swear on the Koran that such was the case. We got off our camels and swore--" "The Mahdi will absolve us--" "And bless you," said Idris. "Speak! what did you do afterwards?" "Now," continued the Bedouin, "when we swore, I said to the boy: 'But who can vouch that you yourself do not belong to the outlaws who are running away with the white children, and whether they did not leave you here to hold back the pursuit?' And I ordered him also to take an oath. To this he assented and this caused him to believe us all the more. We began to ask him whether any orders had come over the copper wire to the sheiks and whether a pursuit was organized. He replied: 'Yes!' and told us that a great reward was offered, and that all khors at a two days' distance from the river were guarded, and that the great 'baburs' (steamers), with Englishmen and troops are continually floating over the river." "Neither the 'baburs' nor the troops can avail against the might of Allah and the prophet--" "May it be as you say!" "Tell us how you finished with the boy?" The one-eyed Bedouin pointed at his companion. "Abu-Anga," he said, "asked him whether there was not another sentinel near-by, and the sentinel replied that there was not; then Abu-Anga thrust his knife into the sentinel's throat so suddenly that he did not utter a word. We threw him into a deep cleft and covered him with stones and thorns. In the village they will think that he ran away to the Mahdi, for he told us that this does happen." "May God bless those who run away as he blessed you," answered Idris. "Yes! He did bless us," retorted Abu-Anga, "for we now know that we will have to keep at a three days' distance from the river, and besides we captured a rifle which we needed and a milch she-camel." "The gourds," added the one-eyed, "are filled with water and there is considerable millet in the sacks; but we found but little powder." "Chamis is carrying a few hundred cartridges for the white boy's rifle, from which we cannot shoot. Powder is always the same and can be used in ours." Saying this, Idris nevertheless pondered, and heavy anxiety was reflected in his dark face, for he understood that when once a corpse had fallen to the ground, Stas' intercession would not secure immunity for them from trial and punishment, if they should fall into the hands of the Egyptian Government. Stas listened with palpitating heart and strained attention. In that conversation there were some comforting things, especially that a pursuit was organized, that a reward was offered, and that the sheiks of the tribes on the river banks had received orders to detain caravans going southward. The boy was comforted also by the intelligence about steamers filled with English troops plying on the upper river. The dervishes of the Mahdi might cope with the Egyptian army and even defeat it, but it was an entirely different matter with English people, and Stas did not doubt for a moment that the first battle would result in the total rout of the savage multitude. So, with comfort in his soul, he soliloquized thus: "Even though they wish to bring us to the Mahdi, it may happen that before we reach his camp there will not be any Mahdi or his dervishes." But this solace was embittered by the thought that in such case there awaited them whole weeks of travel, which in the end must exhaust Nell's strength, and during all this time they would be forced to remain in the company of knaves and murderers. At the recollection of that young Arab, whom the Bedouins had butchered like a lamb, fear and sorrow beset Stas. He decided not to speak of it to Nell in order not to frighten her and augment the sorrow she felt after the disappearance of the illusory picture of the oasis of Fayûm and the city of Medinet. He saw before their arrival at the ravine that tears were involuntarily surging to her eyes; therefore, when he had learned everything which he wished to know from the Bedouins' narratives, he pretended to awake and walked towards her. She sat in a corner near Dinah, eating dates, moistened a little with her tears. But seeing Stas, she recollected that not long before he declared that her conduct was worthy of a person of at least thirteen years; so, not desiring to appear again as a child, she bit the kernel of a date with the full strength of her little teeth, so as to suppress her sobs. "Nell," said the boy, "Medinet--that was an illusion, but I know for a certainty that we are being pursued; so don't grieve, and don't cry." At this the little girl raised towards him her tearful pupils and replied in a broken voice: "No, Stas--I do not want to cry--only my eyes--perspire so." But at that moment her chin began to quiver; from under her closed eyelashes big tears gushed and she wept in earnest. However, as she was ashamed of her tears and expected a rebuke for them from Stas, a little from shame and a little from fear she hid her head on his bosom, wetting his clothes copiously. But he at once consoled her. "Nell, don't be a fountain. You saw that they took away from some Arab a rifle and a she-camel. Do you know what that means? It means that the desert is full of soldiers. Once these wretches succeeded in trapping a sentinel, but the next time they themselves will get caught. A large number of steamboats are plying over the Nile also--Why, of course, Nell, we will return. We will return, and in a steamer to boot. Don't be afraid." And he would have comforted her further in this manner, were not his attention attracted by a strange sound coming from the outside, from the sand-drifts, which the hurricane blew onto the bottom of the ravine. It was something resembling the thin, metallic notes of a reed pipe. Stas broke off the conversation and began to listen. After a while these very thin and mournful sounds came from many sides simultaneously. Through the boy's mind the thought flashed that these might be Arabian guards surrounding the ravine and summoning aid with whistles. His heart began to beat. He glanced once and again at the Sudânese, hoping that he would behold consternation on their faces; but no! Idris, Gebhr and the two Bedouins calmly chewed biscuits, only Chamis appeared a little surprised. The sounds continued. After a while Idris rose and looked out of the cavern; returning, he stopped near the children, and said: "The sands are beginning to sing." Stas' curiosity was so aroused that he forgot that he had determined not to speak to Idris any more and asked: "Sands? What does it mean?" "It happens thus, and means that for a long time there will be no rain. But the heat will not distress us, since as far as Assuan we will ride only during the night." And no more could be learned from him. Stas and Nell listened long to these peculiar sounds which continued until the sun descended in the west, after which night fell and the caravan started on its further journey. XIII In the daytime they hid in places concealed and difficult of access, amid rocks and chasms, and during the night they hurried, without respite, until they passed the First Cataract. When finally the Bedouins discerned from the situation and form of the khors that Assuan was behind them, a great burden fell off Idris' breast. As they suffered already from want of water they drew nearer to the river a half day's distance. There Idris, concealing the caravan, sent all the camels with the Bedouins to the Nile in order to water them well and for a longer time. Beyond Assuan the fertile belt along the river was narrower. In some places the desert reached the river; the villages lay at a considerable distance from each other. The Bedouins, therefore, returned successfully, unseen by any one, with a considerable supply of water. It was necessary now to think of provisions. As the animals had been fed sparingly during the past week they grew lean; their necks lengthened, their humps sank, and their legs became weak. The durra and the supplies for the people, with the greatest stint, would suffice for two days more. Idris thought, however, that they might, if not during daytime then at night, approach the pastures on the river banks and perhaps buy biscuits and dates in some village. Saba already was given nothing at all to eat or drink, and the children hid leavings of food for him, but he somehow managed to take care of himself and came running to the stopping places with bleeding jaws and marks of bites on his neck and breast. Whether the victim of these fights was a jackal, or a hyena, or perhaps a desert fox or a gazelle no one knew; it was enough that there were no signs of great hunger on him. At times also his black lips were moist as if he drank. The Bedouins surmised that he must have dug deep holes at the bottom of the ravines, and in this manner reached water which he scented under the ground. In this manner travelers who get lost dig the bottoms of chasms and, if they do not often find water, they almost always reach damp sand and, sucking it, cheat in this way the pangs of thirst. In Saba, however, considerable changes took place. He still had a powerful breast and neck, but his sides were sunken, through which he appeared taller. In his eyes, about the reddened whites, there was now something savage and threatening. To Nell and to Stas he was as attached as previously and permitted them to do with him whatever they pleased. He still at times wagged his tail at Chamis, but he growled at the Bedouins and Sudânese or snapped with his terrible teeth, which at such times clashed against each other like steel nails. Idris and Gebhr plainly began to fear and hate him to the extent that they would have killed him with the captured rifle, were it not that they desired to bring this extraordinary animal to Smain, and were it not also that they had already passed Assuan. They had passed Assuan! Stas thought of this continually, and doubt that the pursuit would ever overtake them stole gradually into his soul. He knew, indeed, that not only Egypt proper, which ends at Wâdi Haifa, that is, at the Second Cataract, but the whole of Nubia was up to that time in the hands of the Egyptian Government, but he also understood that beyond Assuan and particularly Wâdi Haifa the pursuit would be more difficult and the commands of the Government would be executed carelessly. His only hope was that his father with Mr. Rawlinson, after making arrangements for the pursuit from Fayûm, would go to Wâdi Haifa by steamer, and there securing troops of the camel-corps, would endeavor to intercept the caravan from the south. The boy reasoned that if he were in their place he would do just this, and for that reason he assumed that his supposition was very probable. He did not, however, abandon the thought of a rescue on his own account. The Sudânese wanted to have powder for the captured rifle and with this object decided to disjoin a score of the rifle cartridges, so he told them that he alone was able to do that, and that if any one of them should undertake the task unskilfully, the cartridge would explode in his fingers and tear off his hands. Idris, fearing English inventions and unknown things generally, determined finally to entrust the boy with this undertaking. Stas went at it willingly, hoping in the first place that the powerful English powder at the first shot would burst the old Arabian rifle to pieces, and, again, that he might be able to hide a few cartridges. In fact, he succeeded more easily than he expected. Apparently they watched him at the work, but the Arabs began at once to talk among themselves and soon they were more occupied with their conversation than with their supervision. Finally this loquacity and inbred carelessness permitted Stas to conceal in his bosom seven cartridges. Now all that was necessary was to secure the rifle. The boy judged that beyond Wâdi Haifa, the Second Cataract, this would not be a very difficult matter as he foresaw that as they drew nearer to their destination the Arabs' vigilance would relax. The thought that he would have to kill the Sudânese, the Bedouins, and even Chamis, always caused him to shudder, but after the murder which the Bedouins had committed, he did not have any scruples. He said to himself that the defense, liberty, and life of Nell were involved, and in view of this the lives of his adversaries did not deserve any consideration, especially if they did not surrender and it came to a fight. But he was anxious about the short rifle. Stas resolved to secure it by stratagem, whenever the opportunity presented itself, and not to wait until they reached Wâdi Haifa, but perform the deed as soon as possible. Accordingly he did not wait. Two days had elapsed since they passed Assuan, and Idris finally at the dawn of the third day was forced to despatch the Bedouins for provisions, which were totally lacking. In view of the diminished number of adversaries Stas said to himself: "Now or never!" and immediately turned to the Sudânese with the following question: "Idris, do you know that the country which begins not far beyond Wâdi Haifa is really Nubia?" "I know. I was fifteen years old and Gebhr eight, when my father took us from the Sudân to Fayûm, and I remember that we rode at that time on camels over the whole of Nubia. But this country belongs still to the Turks (Egyptians)." "Yes. The Mahdi is only before Khartûm and you see how foolishly Chamis chattered when he told you that the army of dervishes reached as far as Assuan. However, I shall ask you something else. Now I have read that in Nubia there are many wild animals and many brigands who do not serve any one and who attack alike the Egyptians and the faithful Mahdists. With what will you defend yourself, if wild animals or brigands attack you?" Stas purposely exaggerated in speaking of wild animals, but, on the other hand, highway robberies in Nubia, from the time of the war, occurred quite frequently, particularly in the southern part of the country bordering upon the Sudân. Idris pondered for a while over the question, which surprised him, as heretofore he had not thought of these new dangers, and replied: "We have knives and a rifle." "Such a rifle is good for nothing." "I know. Yours is better, but we do not know how to shoot from it, and we will not place it in your hands." "Even unloaded?" "Yes, for it may be bewitched." Stas shrugged his shoulders. "Idris, if Gebhr said that, I would not be surprised, but I thought that you had more sense. From an unloaded rifle even your Mahdi could not fire--" "Silence!" interrupted Idris sternly. "The Mahdi is able to fire even from his finger." "Then you also can fire in that way." The Sudânese looked keenly into the boy's eyes. "Why do you want me to give you the rifle?" "I want to teach you how to fire from it." "Why should that concern you?" "A great deal, for if the brigands attack us they might kill us all. But if you are afraid of the rifle and of me then it does not matter." Idris was silent. In reality he was afraid, but did not want to admit it. He was anxious, however, to get acquainted with the English weapon, for its possession and skill in its use would increase his importance in the Mahdists' camp, to say nothing of the fact that it would be easier for him to defend himself in case of an attack. So after a brief consideration he said: "Good. Let Chamis hand you the rifle-case and you can take it out." Chamis indifferently performed the order, which Gebhr could not oppose, as he was occupied at some distance with the camels. Stas with quivering hands took out the stock and afterwards the barrels, and handed them to Idris. "You see they are empty." Idris took the barrels and peered upwards through them. "Yes, there is nothing in them." "Now observe," said Stas. "This is the way to put a rifle together" (and saying this he united the barrel and stock). "This is the way to open it. Do you see? I will take it apart again and you can put it together." The Sudânese, who watched Stas' motions with great attention, tried to imitate him. At first it was not easy for him, but as Arabians are well known for their skilfulness, the rifle, after a while, was put together. "Open!" commanded Stas. Idris opened the rifle easily. "Close." This was done yet more easily. "Now give me two empty shells. I will teach you how to load the cartridges." The Arabs had kept the empty cartridges as they had a value for them as brass; so Idris handed two of them to Stas and the instruction began anew. The Sudânese at first was frightened a little by the crack of the caps of the shells, but finally became convinced that no one was able to fire from empty barrels and empty shells. In addition, his trust in Stas returned because the boy handed the weapon to him every little while. "Yes," said Stas, "you already know how to put a rifle together, you know how to open, to close, and to pull the trigger. But now it is necessary for you to learn to aim. That is the most difficult thing. Take that empty water gourd and place it at a hundred paces--on those stones, and afterwards return to me; I will show you how to aim." Idris took the gourd and without the slightest hesitation walked to the place by the stones which Stas had indicated. But before he made the first hundred steps, Stas extracted the empty shells and substituted loaded cartridges. Not only his heart but the arteries in his temples began to throb with such a force that he thought that his head would burst. The decisive moment arrived--the moment of freedom for Nell and himself--the moment of victory--terrible and at the same time desirable. Now Idris' life was in his hands. One pull of the trigger and the traitor who had kidnapped Nell would fall a corpse. But Stas, who had in his veins both Polish and French blood, suddenly felt that for nothing in the world could he be capable of shooting a man in the back. Let him at least turn around and face death in the eye. And after that, what? After that, Gebhr would come rushing up, and before he ran ten paces he also would bite the dust. Chamis would remain. But Chamis would lose his head, and even though he should not lose it, there would be time to insert new cartridges in the barrels. When the Bedouins arrived, they would find three corpses, and meet a fate they richly deserved. After that he would only have to guide the camels to the river. All these thoughts and pictures flew like a whirlwind through Stas' brain. He felt that what was to happen after a few minutes was at the same time horrible and imperative. The pride of a conqueror surged in his breast with a feeling of aversion for the dreadful deed. There was a moment when he hesitated, but he recalled the tortures which the white prisoners endured; he recalled his father, Mr. Rawlinson, Nell, also Gebhr, who struck the little girl with a courbash, and hatred burst out in him with renewed force. "It is necessary!" he said through his set teeth, and inflexible determination was reflected on his countenance, which became as if carved out of stone. In the meantime Idris placed the gourd on a stone about a hundred paces distant and turned around. Stas saw his smiling face and his whole tall form upon the plain. For the last time the thought flashed through his mind that this living man would fall after a moment upon the ground, clutching the sand with his fingers in the last convulsions of the throes of death. But the hesitation of the boy ended, and when Idris sauntered fifty paces toward him, he began slowly to raise the weapon to his eye. But before he touched the trigger with his finger, from beyond the dunes, about a few hundred paces distant, could be heard tumultuous cheers, and in the same minute about twenty riders on horses and camels debouched on the plain. Idris became petrified at the sight. Stas was amazed no less, but at once amazement gave way to insane joy. The expected pursuit at last! Yes! That could not be anything else. Evidently the Bedouins had been captured in a village and were showing where the rest of the caravan was concealed! Idris thought the same. When he collected himself he ran to Stas, with face ashen from terror, and, kneeling at his feet, began to repeat in a voice out of breath: "Sir, I was kind to you! I was kind to the little 'bint'! Remember that!" Stas mechanically extracted the cartridges from the barrels and gazed. The riders drove horses and camels at the fullest speed, shouting from joy and flinging upwards their long Arabian rifles, which they caught while in full gallop with extraordinary dexterity. In the bright transparent air they could be seen perfectly. In the middle, at the van, ran the two Bedouins waving their hands and burnooses as if possessed. After a few minutes the whole band dashed to the caravan. Some of the riders leaped off the horses and camels; some remained on their saddles, yelling at the top of their voices. Amid these shouts only two words could be distinguished. "Khartûm! Gordon! Gordon! Khartûm!" Finally one of the Bedouins--the one whom his companion called Abu-Anga--ran up to Idris cringing at Stas' feet, and began to exclaim: "Khartûm is taken! Gordon is killed! The Mahdi is victorious!" Idris stood erect but did not yet believe his ears. "And these men?" he asked with quivering lips. "These men were to seize us, but now are going together with us to the prophet." Stas' head swam. XIV It was evident that the last hope of escaping during the journey had become extinct. Stas now knew that his schemes would avail nothing; that the pursuit would not overtake them, and that if they endured the hardships of the journey they would reach the Mahdi and would be surrendered to Smain. The only consolation now was the thought that they were kidnapped so that Smain might exchange them for his children. But when would that happen, and what would they encounter before that time? What dreadful misfortune awaited them among the savage hordes intoxicated with blood? Would Nell be able to endure all these fatigues and privations? This no one could answer. On the other hand, it was known that the Mahdi and his dervishes hated Christians, and Europeans in general; so in the soul of the boy there was bred a fear that the influence of Smain might not be sufficient to shield them from indignities, from rough treatment, from the cruelties and the rage of the Mahdist believers, who even murdered Mohammedans loyal to the Government. For the first time since the abduction deep despair beset the boy, and at the same time some kind of vague notion that an untoward fate was persecuting them. Why, the idea itself of abducting them from Fayûm and conveying them to Khartûm was sheer madness which could be committed only by such wild and foolish men as Idris and Gebhr, not understanding that they would have to traverse thousands of kilometers over a country subject to the Egyptian Government or, more properly, English people. With proper methods they ought to have been caught on the second day, and nevertheless everything combined so that now they were not far from the Second Cataract and none of the preceding pursuing parties had overtaken them, and the last one which could have detained them joined the kidnappers and, from this time, would aid them. To Stas' despair, to his fears about little Nell's fate, was linked a feeling of humiliation that he was unequal to the situation and, what was more, was unable now to devise anything, for even if they returned the rifle and cartridges to him, he could not, of course, shoot all the Arabs composing the caravan. And he was gnawed all the more by these thoughts because deliverance had been already so near. If Khartûm had not fallen, or if it had fallen only a few days later, these same men, who went over to the side of the Mahdi, would have seized their captors and delivered them to the Government. Stas, sitting on the camel behind Idris and listening to their conversation, became convinced that this undoubtedly would have happened. For, immediately after they proceeded upon their further journey, the leader of the pursuing party began to relate to Idris what induced them to commit treason to the Khedive. They knew previously that a great army--not an Egyptian now but an English one--had started southward against the dervishes under the command of General Wolseley. They saw a multitude of steamers, which carried formidable English soldiers from Assuan to Wâdi Haifa, from whence a railroad was built for them to Abu Hâmed. For a long time all the sheiks on the river banks,--those who remained loyal to the Government as well as those who in the depth of their souls favored the Mahdi,--were certain that the destruction of the dervishes and their prophet was inevitable, for no one had ever vanquished the Englishmen. "Akbar Allah!" interrupted Idris, raising his hands upwards. "Nevertheless, they have been vanquished." "No," replied the leader of the pursuing party. "The Mahdi sent against them the tribes of Jaalin, Barabra, and Janghey, nearly thirty thousand in all of his best warriors, under the command of Musa, the son of Helu. At Abu Klea a terrible battle took place in which God awarded the victory to the unbelievers.--Yes, it is so. Musa, the son of Helu, fell, and of his soldiers only a handful returned to the Mahdi. The souls of the others are in Paradise, while their bodies lie upon the sands, awaiting the day of resurrection. News of this spread rapidly over the Nile. Then we thought that the English would go farther south and relieve Khartûm. The people repeated, 'The end! the end!' And in the meantime God disposed otherwise." "How? What happened?" asked Idris feverishly. "What happened?" said the leader with a brightened countenance. "Why, in the meantime the Mahdi captured Khartûm, and during the assault Gordon's head was cut off. And as the Englishmen were concerned only about Gordon, learning of his death, they returned to the north. Allah! We again saw the steamers with the stalwart soldiers floating down the river, but did not understand what it meant. The English publish good news immediately and suppress bad. Some of our people said that the Mahdi had already perished. But finally the truth came to the surface. This region belongs yet to the Government. In Wâdi Haifa and farther, as far as the Third and perhaps the Fourth Cataract, the soldiers of the Khedive can be found; nevertheless, after the retirement of the English troops, we believe now that the Mahdi will subdue not only Nubia and Egypt, not only Mecca and Medina, but the whole world. For that reason instead of capturing you and delivering you to the hands of the Government we are going together with you to the prophet." "So orders came to capture us?" "To all the villages, to all the sheiks, to the military garrisons. Wherever the copper wire, over which fly the commands of the Khedive, does not reach, there came the 'zabdis' (gendarmes) with the announcement that whoever captures you will receive one thousand pounds reward. Mashallah!--That is great wealth!--Great!" Idris glanced suspiciously at the speaker. "But you prefer the blessing of the Mahdi?" "Yes. He captured such immense booty and so much money in Khartûm that he measures the Egyptian pounds in fodder sacks and distributes them among his faithful--" "Nevertheless, if the Egyptian troops are yet in Wâdi Haifa, and further, they may seize us on the way." "No. It is necessary only to hurry before they recover their wits. Now since the retreat of the Englishmen they have lost their heads entirely--the sheiks, the loyal to the Government, as well as the soldiers and 'zabdis.' All think that the Mahdi at any moment will arrive; for that reason those of us who in our souls favored him are now running to him boldly, and nobody is pursuing us, for in the first moments no one is issuing orders and no one knows whom to obey." "Yes," replied Idris, "you say truly that it is necessary to hurry, before they recover their wits, since Khartûm is yet far--" For an instant a faint gleam of hope glimmered again for Stas. If the Egyptian soldiers up to that time occupied various localities on the banks in Nubia, then in view of the fact that the English troops had taken all the steamers, they would have to retreat before the Mahdi's hordes by land. In such case it might happen that the caravan would encounter some retreating detachment and might be surrounded. Stas reckoned also that before the news of the capture of Khartûm circulated among the Arabian tribes north of Wâdi Haifa, considerable time would elapse; the more so as the Egyptian Government and the English people suppressed it. He therefore assumed that the panic which must have prevailed among the Egyptians in the first moment must have already passed away. To the inexperienced boy it never occurred that in any event the downfall of Khartûm and the death of Gordon would cause people to forget about everything else, and that the sheiks loyal to the Government as well as the local authorities would now have something else to do than to think of rescuing two white children. And in fact the Arabs who joined the caravan did not fear the pursuit very much. They rode with great haste and did not spare the camels, but they kept close to the Nile and often during the night turned to the river to water the animals and to fill the leather bags with water. At times they ventured to ride to villages even in daytime. For safety they sent in advance for scouting a few men who, under the pretext of buying provisions, inquired for news of the locality; whether there were any Egyptian troops near-by and whether the inhabitants belonged to "the loyal Turks." If they met residents secretly favoring the Mahdi, then the entire caravan would visit the village, and often it happened that it was increased by a few or even a dozen or more young Arabs who also wanted to fly to the Mahdi. Idris learned also that almost all the Egyptian detachments were stationed on the side of the Nubian Desert, therefore on the right, the eastern side of the Nile. In order to avoid an encounter with them it was necessary only to keep to the left bank and to pass by the larger cities and settlements. This indeed lengthened their route a great deal, for the river, beginning at Wâdi Haifa, forms a gigantic arch inclining far towards the south and afterwards again curving to the northeast as far as Abu Hâmed, where it takes a direct southern course, but on the other hand this left bank, particularly from the Oasis of Selimeh, was left almost entirely unguarded. The journey passed merrily for the Sudânese in an increased company with an abundance of water and supplies. Passing the Third Cataract, they ceased even to hurry, and rode only at night, hiding during the day among sandy hills and ravines with which the whole desert was intersected. A cloudless sky now extended over them, gray at the horizon's edges, bulging in the center like a gigantic cupola, silent and calm. With each day, however, the heat, in proportion to their southward advance, became more and more terrible, and even in the ravines, in the deep shade, it distressed the people and the beasts. On the other hand, the nights were very cool; they scintillated with twinkling stars which formed, as it were, greater and smaller clusters. Stas observed that they were not the same constellations which shone at night over Port Said. At times he had dreamed of seeing sometime in his life the Southern Cross, and finally beheld it beyond El-Ordeh. But at present its luster proclaimed to him his own misfortune. For a few nights there shone for him the pale, scattered, and sad zodiacal light, which, after the waning of the evening twilight, silvered until a late hour the western side of the sky. XV In two weeks after starting from the neighborhood of Wâdi Haifa the caravan entered upon the region subdued by the Mahdi. They speedily crossed the hilly Jesira Desert, and near Shendi, where previously the English forces had completely routed Musa, Uled of Helu, they rode into a locality entirely unlike the desert. Neither sands nor dunes could be seen here. As far as the eye could reach stretched a steppe overgrown in part by green grass and in part by a jungle amid which grew clusters of thorny acacias, yielding the well-known Sudânese gum; while here and there stood solitary gigantic nabbuk trees, so expansive that under their boughs a hundred people could find shelter from the sun. From time to time the caravan passed by high, pillar-like hillocks of termites or white ants, with which tropical Africa is strewn. The verdure of the pasture and the acacias agreeably charmed the eyes after the monotonous, tawny-hued sands of the desert. In the places where the steppe was a meadow, herds of camels pastured, guarded by the armed warriors of the Mahdi. At the sight of the caravan they started up suddenly, like birds of prey; rushed towards it, surrounded it from all sides; and shaking their spears and at the same time yelling at the top of their voices they asked the men from whence they came, why they were going southward, and whither they were bound? At times they assumed such a threatening attitude that Idris was compelled to reply to their questions in the greatest haste in order to avoid attack. Stas, who had imagined that the inhabitants of the Sudân differed from other Arabs residing in Egypt only in this, that they believed in the Mahdi and did not want to acknowledge the authority of the Khedive, perceived that he was totally mistaken. The greater part of those who every little while stopped the caravan had skins darker than even Idris and Gebhr, and in comparison with the two Bedouins were almost black. The negro blood in them predominated over the Arabian. Their faces and breasts were tattooed and the prickings represented various designs, or inscriptions from the Koran. Some were almost naked; others wore "jubhas" or wrappers of cotton texture sewed out of patches of various colors. A great many had twigs of coral or pieces of ivory in their pierced nostrils, lips and ears. The heads of the leaders were covered with caps of the same texture as the wrappers, and the heads of common warriors were bare, but not shaven like those of the Arabs in Egypt. On the contrary, they were covered with enormous twisted locks, often singed red with lime, with which they rubbed their tufts of hair for protection against vermin. Their weapons were mainly spears, terrible in their hands; but they did not lack Remington carbines which they had captured in their victorious battles with the Egyptian army and after the fall of Khartûm. The sight of them was terrifying and their behavior toward the caravan was hostile, for they suspected that it consisted of Egyptian traders, whom the Mahdi, in the first moments after the victory, prohibited from entering the Sudân. Having surrounded the caravan, they pointed the spears with tumult and menace at the breasts of the people, or aimed carbines at them. To this hostile demonstration Idris answered with a shout that he and his brother belonged to the Dongolese tribe, the same as that of the Mahdi, and that they were conveying to the prophet two white children as slaves; this alone restrained the savages from violence. In Stas, when he came in contact with this dire reality, the spirit withered at the thought of what awaited them on the ensuing days. Idris, also, who previously had lived long years in a civilized community, had never imagined anything like this. He was pleased when one night they were surrounded by an armed detachment of the Emir Nur el-Tadhil and conducted to Khartûm. Nur el-Tadhil, before he ran away to the Mahdi, was an Egyptian officer in a negro regiment of the Khedive: so he was not so savage as the other Mahdists and Idris could more easily make himself understood. But here disappointment awaited him. He imagined that his arrival at the Mahdi's camp with the white children would excite admiration, if only on account of the extraordinary hardships and dangers of the journey. He expected that the Mahdists would receive him with ardor, with open arms, and lead him in triumph to the prophet, who would lavish gold and praises upon him as a man who had not hesitated to expose his head in order to serve his relative Fatma. In the meantime the Mahdists placed spears at the breasts of members of the caravan, and Nur el-Tadhil heard quite indifferently his narrative of the journey, and finally to the question, whether he knew Smain, the husband of Fatma, answered: "No. In Omdurmân and Khartûm there are over one hundred thousand warriors, so it is easy not to meet one another, and not all the officers are acquainted with each other. The domain of the prophet is immense; therefore many emirs rule in distant cities in Sennâr, in Kordofân, and Darfur, and around Fashoda. It may be that this Smain, of whom you speak, is not at present at the prophet's side." Idris was nettled by the slighting tone with which Nur spoke of "this Smain," so he replied with a shade of impatience: "Smain is married to a first cousin of the Mahdi, and therefore Smain's children are relatives of the prophet." Nur el-Tadhil shrugged his shoulders. "The Mahdi has many relatives and cannot remember all of them." For some time they rode in silence; after which Idris again asked: "How soon shall we arrive at Khartûm?" "Before midnight," replied el-Tadhil, gazing at the stars which began to appear in the eastern part of the heavens. "Shall we at that late hour be able to obtain food and fodder? Since our last rest at noon we have not eaten anything." "You will pass this night with me and I shall feed you in my house, but to-morrow in Omdurmân you will have to seek for food yourself, and I warn you in advance that this will not be an easy matter." "Why?" "Because we have a war. The people for the past few years have not tilled the fields and have lived solely upon meat; so when finally cattle were lacking, famine came. There is famine in all the Sudân, and a sack of durra today costs more than a slave." "Allah akbar!" exclaimed Idris with surprise, "I saw nevertheless herds of camels and cattle on the steppes." "They belong to the prophet, to the 'Noble,'* [* The Noble brothers and relatives of the Mahdi.] and to the caliphs.--Yes--The Dongolese, from which tribe the Mahdi came and the Baggara, whose leader is the chief caliph, Abdullahi, have still quite numerous herds, but for other tribes it has become more and more difficult to live in the world." Here Nur el-Tadhil patted his stomach, and said: "In the service of the prophet I have a higher rank, more money, and a greater authority, but I had a fuller stomach in the Khedive's service." But, realizing that he might have said too much, after a while he added: "But all this will change when the true faith conquers." Idris, hearing these words, involuntarily thought that nevertheless in Fayûm, in the service of the Englishmen, he had never suffered from hunger, and gains could be more easily secured; so he was cast into a deep gloom. After which he began to ask further: "Are you going to transport us to-morrow to Omdurmân?" "Yes. Khartûm by command of the prophet is to be abandoned and very few reside there. They are razing the large buildings and conveying the bricks with the other booty to Omdurmân. The prophet does not wish to live in a place polluted by unbelievers." "I shall beat my forehead before him to-morrow, and he will command that I be supplied with provisions and fodder." "Ha! If in truth you belong to the Dongolese, then perhaps you might be admitted to his presence. But know this, that his house is guarded day and night by a hundred men equipped with courbashes, and these do not spare blows to those who crave to see the Mahdi without permission. Otherwise the swarm would not give the holy man a moment of rest--Allah! I saw even Dongolese with bloody welts on their backs--" Idris with each moment was possessed by greater disillusionment. "So the faithful do not see the prophet?" he asked. "The faithful see him daily at the place of prayer where, kneeling on the sheep's hide, he raises his hands to God, or when he instructs the swarm and strengthens them in the true faith. But it is difficult to reach and speak with him, and whoever attains that happiness is envied by all, for upon him flows the divine grace which wipes away his former sins." A deep night fell and with it came a piercing chill. In the ranks resounded the snorting of horses; the sudden change from the daily heat to cold was so strong that the hides of the steeds began to reek, and the detachment rode as if in a mist. Stas, behind Idris, leaned towards Nell and asked: "Do you feel cold?" "No," answered the little girl, "but no one will protect us now--" And tears stifled her further words. This time he did not find any comfort for her, for he himself was convinced that there was no salvation for them. Now they rode over a region of wretchedness, famine, bestial cruelties, and blood. They were like two poor little leaves in a storm which bore death and annihilation not only to the heads of individuals, but to whole towns and entire tribes. What hand could snatch from it and save two small, defenseless children? The moon rolled high in the heaven and changed, as if into silvery feathers, the mimosa and acacia twigs. In the dense jungles resounded here and there the shrill and, at the same time, mockingly mirthful laugh of the hyenas, which in that gory region found far too many corpses. From time to time the detachment conducting the caravan encountered other patrols and exchanged with them the agreed countersign. They came to the hills on the river banks and through a long pass reached the Nile. The people and the camels embarked upon wide and flat "dahabeahs," and soon the heavy oars began with measured movements to break and ruffle the smooth river's depth, strewn with starry diamonds. After the lapse of half an hour, on the southern side, on which dahabeahs floated upon the water, flashed lights which, as crafts approached them, changed into sheaves of red luster lying on the water. Nur el-Tadhil shook Idris' arm, after which, stretching out his hand before him, he said: "Khartûm!" XVI They stopped at the city's limits in a house which formerly was the property of a rich Italian merchant, and after his murder during the assault upon the city, had fallen to Tadhil at the division of the spoils. The wives of the emir in quite a humane manner took charge of Nell who was barely alive after the rough treatment, and, though in all Khartûm could be felt a want of provisions, they found for the little "jan"* [* "Jan," an expression of endearment, like "little lamb."] a few dried dates and a little rice with honey; after which they led her upstairs and put her to bed. Stas, who passed the night among the camels and horses in the courtyard, had to be content with one biscuit; on the other hand, he did not lack water, for the fountain in the garden, by a strange chance, was not wrecked. Notwithstanding great weariness, he could not sleep; first on account of scorpions creeping incessantly over the saddle-cloth on which he lay, and again on account of a mortal dread that they would separate him from Nell, and that he would not be able to watch over her personally. This uneasiness was evidently shared by Saba, who scented about and from time to time howled, all of which enraged the soldiers. Stas quieted him as well as he could from fear that some injury might be done to him. Fortunately the giant mastiff aroused such admiration in the emir himself and in all the dervishes that no one lifted a hand against him. Idris also did not sleep. From the previous day he had felt unwell and, besides, after the conversation with Nur el-Tadhil he lost many of his delusions, and gazed at the future as though through a thick veil. He was glad that on the morrow they would be transported to Omdurmân, which was separated from Khartûm only by the width of the White Nile; he had a hope that he would find Smain there, but what further? During the journey everything had presented itself to him somewhat more distinctly and far more splendidly. He sincerely believed in the prophet and his heart was drawn all the more to him because both came from the same tribe. But in addition he was, like almost every Arab, covetous and ambitious. He had dreamed that he would be loaded with gold and made an emir at least; he had dreamed of military expeditions against the "Turks," of captured cities and spoils. Now, after what he had heard from el-Tadhil, he began to fear whether in the presence of far greater events, all his acts would not fade into insignificance, just as a drop of rain disappears in the sea. "Perhaps," he thought with bitterness, "nobody will pay attention to what I have accomplished, and Smain will not even be pleased that I have brought those children to him;" and he was gnawed by this thought. The morrow was to dispel or confirm those fears; so he awaited it with impatience. The sun rose at six o'clock, and the bustle among the dervishes began. Nur el-Tadhil soon appeared and ordered them to prepare for the journey. He declared at the same time that they would go to the ferry on foot, beside his horse. To Stas' great joy, Dinah led Nell from an upper floor; after which they proceeded on the rampart, skirting the whole city, as far as the place at which the ferry boats stopped. Nur el-Tadhil rode ahead on horseback. Stas escorted Nell by the hand; after them came Idris, Gebhr, and Chamis, with Dinah and Saba, as well as thirty of the emir's soldiers. The rest of the caravan remained in Khartûm. Stas, gazing around, could not understand how a city so strongly fortified, and lying in a fork formed by the White and Blue Niles, and therefore surrounded on three sides by water and accessible only from the south, could fall. Only later did he learn from a Christian slave that the river at that time had subsided and left a wide sandy strip, which facilitated access to the ramparts. The garrison, losing hope of relief and reduced by hunger, could not repel the assault of the infuriated savages, and the city was captured; after which a massacre of the inhabitants took place. Traces of the battle, though a month had already elapsed since the assault, could everywhere be seen along the ramparts; on the inside protruded the ruins of razed buildings against which the first impetus of the victors had been directed and on the outside the moat was full of corpses, which no one thought of burying. Before they reached the ferry Stas counted over four hundred. They did not, however, infect the air as the Sudânese sun dried them up like mummies; all had the hue of gray parchment, and were so much alike that the bodies of the Europeans, Egyptians, and negroes could not be distinguished from each other. Amid the corpses swarmed small gray lizards, which, at the approach of men, quickly hid under those human remains and often in the mouths or between the dried-up ribs. Stas walked with Nell in such a manner as to hide this horrible sight from her, and told her to look in the direction of the city. But from the side of the city many things transpired which struck the eyes and soul of the little girl with terror. The sight of the "English" children, taken into captivity, and of Saba led with a leash by Chamis attracted a throng, which as the procession proceeded to the ferry increased with each moment. The throng after a certain time became so great that it was necessary to halt. From all sides came threatening outcries. Frightfully tattooed faces leaned over Stas and over Nell. Some of the savages burst out into laughter at the sight of them and from joy slapped their hips with the palms of their hands; others cursed them; some roared like wild beasts, displaying their white teeth and rolling their eyes; finally they began to threaten and reach out towards them with knives. Nell, partly unconscious from fright, clung to Stas, while he shielded her as well as he knew how, in the conviction that their last hour was approaching. Fortunately this persistent molestation of the brutal swarm at last disgusted even Nur el-Tadhil. By his command between ten and twenty soldiers surrounded the children, while the others began, without mercy, to scourge the howling mob with courbashes. The concourse dispersed hurriedly, but on the other hand a mob began to gather behind the detachment and amid wild shrieks accompanied it to the boat. The children breathed more freely during the passage over the river. Stas comforted Nell with the statement that when the dervishes became accustomed to the sight of them they would cease their threats, and he assured her that Smain would protect and defend both of them, and particularly her, for if any evil should befall them he would not have any one to exchange for his children. This was the truth, but the little girl was so terror-stricken by the previous assaults that, having seized Stas' hand, she did not want to let go of it for a moment, repeating continually, as if in a fever: "I am afraid! I am afraid!" He with his whole soul wished to get as soon as possible into the hands of Smain, who knew them of old, and who in Port Said had displayed great friendship towards them, or at least had pretended to display it. At any rate he was not so wild as the other Dongolese of the Sudân, and captivity in his house would be more endurable. The only concern now was whether they would find him in Omdurmân. Of this Idris spoke with Nur el-Tadhil, who at last recollected that a year before, while tarrying by the order of the caliph Abdullahi in Kordofân, far from Khartûm, he had heard of a certain Smain, who taught the dervishes how to fire from the cannons captured from the Egyptians, and afterwards became a slave hunter. Nur suggested to Idris the following method of finding him: "At noon, when you hear the sounds of the umbajas,* [* Umbajas--big trumpets of ivory tusk.] be with the children at the place of prayer, to which the Mahdi repairs daily to edify the faithful with an example of piety and to fortify them in the faith. There besides the sacred person of the Mahdi you will behold all the 'Nobles' and also the three caliphs as well as the pashas and emirs; among the emirs you may find Smain." "But what am I to do and where shall I stay until the time of the afternoon prayer?" "You will remain with my soldiers." "And will you, Nur el-Tadhil, leave us?" "I am going for orders to the caliph Abdullahi." "Is he the greatest of caliphs? I come from far and though the names of the commanders have reached my ears, nevertheless you may instruct me more definitely about them." "Abdullahi my commander is the Mahdi's sword." "May Allah make him the son of victory." For some time the boat floated in silence. There could be heard only the grating of the oars on the boat's edges and once in a while a splash of water by a crocodile struck in the tail. Many of these ugly reptiles had swam down from the south to Khartûm, where they found an abundance of food, for the river teemed with corpses, not only of the people who were slaughtered after the capture of the city, but also of those who died of diseases which raged amidst the Mahdists and particularly among the slaves. The commands of the caliphs prohibited, indeed, "the contamination of the water," but they were not heeded, and the bodies which the crocodiles did not devour floated with the water, face downward, to the Sixth Cataract and even as far as Beber. But Idris thought of something else, and after a while said: "This morning we did not get anything to eat. I do not know whether we can hold out from hunger until the hour of prayer, and who will feed us later?" "You are not a slave," replied Tadhil, "and can go to the market-place where merchants display their supplies. There you can obtain dried meat and sometimes dochnu (millet), but for a high price; as I told you, famine reigns in Omdurmân." "But in the meantime wicked people will seize and kill those children." "The soldiers will protect them, and if you give money to any one of them, he will willingly go for provisions." This advice did not please Idris who had a greater desire to take money than to give it to any one, but before he was able to make reply the boat touched the bank. To the children Omdurmân appeared different from Khartûm. In the latter place there were houses of several stories built of brick and stone; there was a "mudirya," that is, a Governor's palace in which the heroic Gordon had perished; there were a church, a hospital, missionary buildings, an arsenal, great barracks for the troops and a large number of greater and smaller gardens with magnificent tropical plants. Omdurmân, on the other hand, seemed rather a great encampment of savages. The fort which stood on the northern side of the settlement had been razed by command of Gordon. As a whole, as far as the eye could reach the city consisted of circular conical huts of dochnu straw. Narrow, thorny little fences separated these huts from each other and from the streets. Here and there could be seen tents, evidently captured from the Egyptians. Elsewhere a few palm mats under a piece of dirty linen stretched upon bamboo constituted the entire residence. The population sought shelter under the roofs during rain or exceptional heat; for the rest they passed their time, built fires, cooked food, lived, and died out-of-doors. So the streets were so crowded that in places the detachment with difficulty forced its way through the multitude. Formerly Omdurmân was a wretched village; at present, counting the ives, over two hundred thousand people were huddled in it. Even the Mahdi and his caliphs were perturbed by this vast concourse, which was threatened with famine and disease. They continually despatched to the north expeditions to subjugate localities and cities, loyal yet to the Egyptian Government. At the sight of the white children here also resounded unfriendly cries, but at least the rabble did not threaten with death. It may be that they did not dare to, being so close to the prophet's side, and perhaps because they were more accustomed to the sight of prisoners who were all transported to Omdurmân immediately after the capture of Khartûm. Stas and Nell, however, saw hell on earth. They saw Europeans and Egyptians lashed with courbashes until they bled; hungry, thirsty, bending under burdens which they were commanded to carry or under buckets of water. They saw European women and children, who were reared in affluence, at present begging for a handful of durra or a shred of meat; covered with rags, emaciated, resembling specters, with faces swarthy from want, on which dismay and despair had settled, and with a bewildered stare. They saw how the savages burst into laughter at the sight of these unfortunates; how they pushed and beat them. On all the streets and alleyways there were not lacking sights from which the eyes turned away with horror and aversion. In Omdurmân, dysentery and typhoid fever, and, above all, small-pox raged in a virulent form. The sick, covered with sores, lay at the entrances of the hovels, infecting the air. The prisoners carried, wrapped in linen, the bodies of the newly dead to bury them in the sand beyond the city, where the real charge of the funeral was assumed by hyenas. Above the city hovered flocks of vultures from whose wings fell melancholy shadows upon the illuminated sand. Stas, witnessing all this, thought that the best for him and Nell would be to die as soon as possible. Nevertheless, in this sea of human wretchedness and malice there bloomed at times compassion, as a pale flower blooms in a putrid marsh. In Omdurmân there were a few Greeks and Copts whom the Mahdi had spared because he needed them. These not only walked about freely, but engaged in trade and various affairs, and some, especially those who pretended to change their faith, were even officers of the Mahdi, and this gave them considerable importance among the wild dervishes. One of these Greeks stopped the detachment and began to question the children as to how they happened to be there. Learning with amazement that they had just arrived, and that they had been kidnapped from far-away Fayûm, he promised to speak about them to the Mahdi and to inquire about them in the future. In the meantime he nodded his head compassionately at Nell and gave to each a few handfuls of dried wild figs and a silver dollar with an image of Maria Theresa. After which he admonished the soldiers not to dare to do any harm to the little girl, and he left, repeating in English: "Poor little bird!" XVII Through tortuous little streets they finally arrived at the market-place which was situated in the center of the city. On the way they saw many men with a hand or foot cut off. They were thieves or transgressors who had concealed booty. The punishment meted by the caliphs for disobedience or violation of the laws promulgated by the prophet was horrible, and even for a trivial offense, such as smoking tobacco, the delinquent was whipped with courbashes until he bled or became unconscious. But the caliphs themselves observed these commands only seemingly; at home they indulged in everything, so that the penalties fell upon the poor, who at one blow were despoiled of all their goods. Afterwards there remained for them nothing to do but beg; and as in Omdurmân there was a scarcity of provisions they died of starvation. A large number of beggars also swarmed around the provision stalls. The first object, however, which attracted the attention of the children was a human head fastened on a high bamboo set up in the center of the market-place. The face of this head was dried up and almost black, while the hair on the skull and the chin was as white as milk. One of the soldiers explained to Idris that that was Gordon's head. Stas, when he heard this, was seized by fathomless sorrow, indignation, and a burning desire for revenge; at the same time terror froze the blood in his veins. Thus had perished that hero, that knight without fear and without reproach; a man, just and kind, who was loved even in the Sudân. And the English people had not come in time to his aid, and later retired, leaving his remains without a Christian burial, to be thus dishonored! Stas at that moment lost his faith in the English people. Heretofore he naïvely believed that England, for an injury to one of her citizens, was always ready to declare war against the whole world. At the bottom of his soul there had lain a hope that in behalf of Rawlinson's daughter, after the unsuccessful pursuit, formidable English hosts would be set in motion even as far as Khartûm and farther. Now he became convinced that Khartûm and that whole region was in the hands of the Mahdi, and that the Egyptian Government and England were thinking rather of preserving Egypt from further conquests than of delivering the European prisoners from captivity. He understood that he and Nell had fallen into an abyss from which there was no escape, and these thoughts, linked with the horrors which he witnessed on the streets of Omdurmân, disheartened him completely. His customary energy gave way to total passive submission to fate and a dread of the future. In the meantime he began aimlessly to gaze about the market-place and at the stalls at which Idris was bargaining for provisions. The hucksters, mainly Sudânese women and negresses, sold jubhas here, that is, white linen gowns, pieced together with many colored patches, acacia gum, hollow gourds, glass beads, sulphur and all kinds of mats. There were a few stalls with provisions and around all of them the throng pressed. The Mahdists bought at high prices principally dried strips of meat of domestic animals; likewise of buffaloes, antelopes and giraffes. Dates, figs, manioc, and durra were totally lacking. They sold here and there water and honey of wild bees, and grains of dochnu soaked in a decoction of tamarind fruit. Idris fell into despair, for it appeared that in view of the prevailing market-prices he would soon exhaust all the money he had received from Fatma Smain for living expenses and afterwards would, in all probability, have to beg. His only hope now was in Smain, and strangely enough Stas also relied solely upon Smain's assistance. After a lapse of an hour Nur el-Tadhil returned from the caliph Abdullahi. Evidently he had met with some kind of disagreeable mishap there, for he returned in a bad humor. So when Idris asked him if he had learned anything about Smain, he replied testily: "Fool, do you think that the caliph and I have nothing better to do than to seek Smain for you?" "Well, what are you going to do with me?" "Do what you please. I gave you a night's lodging in my house and a few words of good advice, and now I do not want to know anything more about you." "That is well, but where shall I find shelter?" "It is all the same to me." Saying this he took the soldiers and went away. With great difficulty Idris prevailed upon him to send to the market-place the camels and the rest of the caravan, including those Arabs who had joined it between Assuan and Wâdi Haifa. These people did not come until the afternoon, and it appeared that none of them knew what they were going to do. The two Bedouins began to quarrel with Idris and Gebhr, claiming that they had promised them an entirely different reception and that they had cheated them. After a long dispute and much deliberation they finally decided to erect at the outskirts of the city huts of dochnu boughs and reeds as shelter during the night, and for the rest to depend upon the will of providence, and wait. After the erection of the huts, which employment does not require much time from Sudânese and negroes, all, excepting Chamis, who was to prepare the supper, repaired to the place of public prayer. It was easy for them to find it, as the swarm of all Omdurmân was bound thither. The place was spacious, encircled partly by a thorny fence and partly by a clay enclosure which was being built. In the center stood a wooden platform. The prophet ascended it whenever he desired to instruct the people. In front of the platform were spread upon the ground sheep hides for the Mahdi, the caliphs, and eminent sheiks. Planted at the sides were the flags of emirs, which fluttered in the air, displaying all colors and looking like great flowers. The four sides were surrounded by the compact ranks of dervishes. Around could be seen a bold, numberless forest of spears, with which almost all the warriors were armed. It was real good fortune for Idris and Gebhr, and for the other members of the caravan, that they were taken for a retinue of one of the emirs. For that reason they could press forward to the first rows of the assembled throng. The arrival of the Mahdi was announced by the beautiful and solemn notes of umbajas, but when he appeared there resounded the shrill notes of fifes, the beating of drums, the rattle of stones shaken in empty gourds, and whistling on elephants' teeth, all of which combined created an infernal din. The swarm was swept by an indescribable fervor. Some threw themselves on their knees; others shouted with all their strength: "Oh! Messenger of God!" "Oh! Victorious!" "Oh! Merciful!" "Oh! Gracious!" This continued until the Mahdi entered the pulpit. Then a dead stillness fell while he raised his hands, placed his big fingers to his ears, and for some time prayed. The children did not stand far away, and could see him well. He was a middle-aged man, prodigiously obese as though bloated, and almost black. Stas, who had an unusually keen sight, perceived that his face was tattooed. In one ear he wore a big ivory ring. He was dressed in a white jubha and had a white cap on his head. His feet were bare, as on mounting the platform he shook off red half-boots and left them on the sheep's hide on which he was afterwards to pray. There was not the least luxury in his clothing. Only at times the wind carried a strong sandal* [* From sandal wood, from which in the East a fragrant oil is derived.] scent which the faithful present inhaled eagerly through their nostrils; at the same time they rolled their eyes from joy. On the whole Stas had pictured differently this terrible prophet, plunderer, and murderer of so many thousand people, and looking now at the fat face with its mild look, with eyes suffused with tears, and with a smile, as though grown to those lips, he could not overcome his astonishment. He thought that such a man ought to bear on his shoulders the head of a hyena or a crocodile, and instead he saw before him a chubby-faced gourd, resembling drawings of a full moon. But the prophet began his instruction. His deep and resonant voice could be heard perfectly all over the place, so that his words reached the ears of all the faithful. He first spoke of the punishments which God meted out to those who disobey the commands of the Mahdi, and hide booty, get intoxicated upon merissa, spare the enemy in battles, and smoke tobacco. On account of these crimes Allah sends upon the sinners famine and that disease which changes the face into a honey-comb (small-pox). Temporal life is like a leaky leather bottle. Riches and pleasure are absorbed in the sand which buries the dead. Only faith is like a cow which gives sweet milk. But paradise will open only for the victorious. Whoever vanquishes the enemy wins for himself salvation. Whoever dies for the faith will rise from the dead for eternity. Happy, a hundredfold more happy are those who already have fallen. "We want to die for the faith!" answered the swarm in one tumultuous shout. And for a while an infernal uproar again prevailed. The umbajas and drums sounded. The warriors struck sword against sword, spear against spear. The martial ardor spread like a flame. Some cried: "The faith is victorious!" Others: "To paradise through death!" Stas now understood why the Egyptian army could not cope with this wild host. When the hubbub had somewhat subsided, the prophet resumed his address. He told them of his visions and of the mission which he had received from God. Allah commanded him to purify the faith and spread it over the entire world. Whoever does not acknowledge him as the Mahdi, the Redeemer, is condemned to damnation. The end of the world is already near, but before that time it is the duty of the faithful to conquer Egypt, Mecca, and all those regions beyond the seas where the gentiles dwell. Such is the divine will which nothing can change. A great deal of blood will flow yet; many warriors will not return to their wives and children under their tents, but the happiness of those who fall no human tongue can describe. After which he stretched out his arms towards the assembled throng and concluded thus: "Therefore I, the Redeemer and servant of God, bless this holy war and you warriors. I bless your toils, wounds, death; I bless victory, and weep over you like a father who has conceived an affection for you." And he burst into a flood of tears. When he descended from the pulpit a roar and a clamor resounded. Weeping became general. Below, the two caliphs Abdullahi and Ali Uled Helu took the prophet under the arms and escorted him to the sheep hide on which he knelt. During this brief moment Idris asked Stas feverishly whether Smain was not among the emirs. "No!" replied the boy, who vainly sought the familiar face with his eyes. "I do not see him anywhere. Perhaps he fell at the capture of Khartûm." The prayers lasted long. During these the Mahdi threw his arms and legs about like a buffoon or raised his eyes in rapture, repeating "Lo! It is he!" "Lo! It is he!" and the sun began to decline towards the west, when he rose and left for his home. The children now could be convinced with what reverence the dervishes surrounded their prophet, for crowds eagerly followed him and scratched up the places which his feet touched. They even quarreled and came to blows for they believed that such earth protected the healthy and healed the sick. The place of prayer was vacated gradually. Idris himself did not know what to do and was about to return with the children and his whole party to the huts and to Chamis for the night, when unexpectedly there stood before them that same Greek who in the morning had given Stas and Nell each a dollar and a handful of wild figs. "I spoke with the Mahdi about you," he said in Arabian, "and the prophet desires to see you." "Thanks to Allah and to you, sir," exclaimed Idris. "Shall we find Smain at the prophet's side." "Smain is in Fashoda," answered the Greek. After which he addressed Stas in the English language. "It may be that the prophet will take you under his protection as I endeavored to persuade him to do. I told him that the fame of his mercy would then spread among all the white nations. Here terrible things are taking place and without his protection you will perish from starvation and want of comforts, from sickness or at the hands of madmen. But you must reconcile him and that depends upon you." "What am I to do?" Stas asked. "In the first place, when you appear before him throw yourself upon your knees, and if he should tender his hand, kiss it with reverence and beseech him to take you two under his wings." Here the Greek broke off and asked: "Do any of these men understand English?" "No. Idris and Gebhr understand only a few simple words and the others not even that." "That is well. So listen further, for it is necessary to anticipate everything. Now the Mahdi will in all probability ask you whether you are ready to accept his faith. Answer at once that you are and that at the sight of him, from the first glance of the eye an unknown light of grace flowed upon you. Remember, 'an unknown light of grace.' That will flatter him and he will enroll you among his muzalems, that is, among his personal servants. You will then enjoy plenty and all the comforts which will shield you from sickness. If you should act otherwise you would endanger yourself, that poor little creature, and even me, who wishes your good. Do you understand?" Stas set his teeth and did not reply, but his face was icy and his eyes flashed up sullenly. Seeing which the Greek continued thus: "I know, my boy, that this is a disagreeable matter, but it cannot be helped. All of those who were saved after the massacre in Khartûm accepted the Mahdi's doctrines. Only a few Catholic missionaries and nuns did not assent to it, but that is a different matter. The Koran prohibits the slaughter of priests, so though their fate is horrible, they are not at least threatened with death. For the secular people, however, there was no other salvation. I repeat, they all accepted Mohammedism; the Germans, Italians, Englishmen, Copts, Greeks--I myself." And here, though Stas had assured him that no one in that crowd understood English, he nevertheless lowered his voice. "Besides, I need not tell you that this is no denial of faith, no treason, no apostasy. In his soul every one remained what he was and God saw it. Before superior force it is necessary to bend, though seemingly. It is the duty of man to preserve life and it would be madness, and even a sin, to jeopardize it--for what? For appearances, for a few words, which at the same time you may disavow in your soul? And remember that you hold in your hands not only your life but the life of your little companion which it is not permissible for you to dispose of. In truth, I can guarantee to you if ever God saves you from these hands then you will not have anything to reproach yourself with, nor will any one find fault with you, as this is the case with all of us." The Greek, speaking in this manner, perhaps deceived his own conscience, but Stas' silence deceived him also for in the end he mistook it for fear. He determined therefore to give the boy courage. "These are the houses of the Mahdi," he said. "He prefers to live in the wooden sheds of Omdurmân rather than in Khartûm, though there he could occupy Gordon's palace. Well then, bravely! Don't lose your head! To the question reply firmly. They prize courage here. Also do not imagine that the Mahdi will at once roar at you like a lion! No! He always smiles, even when contemplating nothing good." And saying this he began to shout at the crowd standing in front of the house to make way for the prophet's "guests." XVIII When they entered the room, the Mahdi lay on a soft cot, surrounded by his wives, two of whom fanned him with great ostrich feathers and the other two lightly scratched the soles of his feet. Besides his wives, there were present only the caliph Abdullahi and the sheref caliph, as the third, Ali Uled Helu, was despatching at that time troops to the north, particularly to Beber and Abu Hâmed, which already had been captured by the dervishes. At sight of the arrivals the prophet dismissed his wives and sat up on the cot. Idris, Gebhr, and the two Bedouins fell on their faces and afterwards knelt with hands crossed on their breasts. The Greek beckoned to Stas to do the same, but the boy, pretending not to see the gesture, only bowed and remained standing erect. His face was pale, but his eyes shone strongly and from his whole posture and head, haughtily upraised, from his tightly compressed lips it could easily be seen that something had taken an ascendancy over him, that uncertainty and fear had passed away, that he had adopted an inflexible resolution from which he would not recede for anything. The Greek evidently understood this, as great uneasiness was reflected on his features. The Mahdi observed both children with a fleeting glance, brightened his fat face with his customary smile, after which he first addressed Idris and Gebhr: "You came from the distant north," he said. Idris struck the ground with his forehead. "Yes, oh Mahdi! We belong to the tribe of Dongola; therefore we abandoned our homes in Fayûm in order to kneel at your blessed feet." "I beheld you in the desert. That was a terrible journey but I sent an angel to guard and shield you from death at the hands of the infidels. You did not see this, but he watched over you." "Thanks to thee, Redeemer." "And you brought those children to Smain to exchange them for his own, that the Turks imprisoned together with Fatma in Port Said." "Thee we desired to serve." "Whoever serves me serves his own salvation; therefore you have opened for yourselves the path to paradise. Fatma is my relative. But verily I say unto you that when we subjugate the whole of Egypt, then my relative and her posterity will anyway regain liberty." "And therefore do with these children whatever thou desirest--oh blessed one." The Mahdi closed his eyelids, after which he opened them, smiling kindly, and nodded at Stas. "Approach, boy." Stas advanced a few paces with an energetic, as if soldierly, stride; he bowed a second time after which he straightened as a chord and, looking straight into the Mahdi's eyes, waited. "Are you delighted that you came to me?" the Mahdi asked. "No, prophet. We were abducted in spite of our wills from our parents." This plain answer created a certain sensation upon the ruler accustomed to flattery, and upon those present. Caliph Abdullahi frowned, the Greek gnawed his mustache, and began to wring his hands. The Mahdi, however, did not cease to smile. "But," he said, "you are at the fountain of truth. Do you want to drink at that fountain?" A moment of silence followed; so the Mahdi, thinking the boy did not understand the question, repeated it more plainly. "Do you desire to accept my doctrines?" To this Stas imperceptibly made a sign of the holy cross with his hand which he held at his breast, as though he was about to leap from a sinking ship into a watery chaos. "Prophet," he said, "your doctrines I do not know; therefore if I accepted them, I would do it out of fear like a coward and a base man. Are you anxious that your faith should be professed by cowards and base people?" And speaking thus he looked steadfastly in the eyes of the Mahdi. It became so quiet that only the buzz of flies could be heard. But at the same time something extraordinary had happened. The Mahdi became confused, and for the nonce did not know what reply to make. The smile vanished from his face, on which was reflected perplexity and displeasure. He stretched out his hand, took hold of the gourd, filled it with water and honey, and began to drink, but obviously only to gain time and to conceal his confusion. And the brave boy, a worthy descendant of the defenders of Christianity, of the true blood of the victors at Khoczim and Vienna, stood with upraised head, awaiting his doom. On his emaciated cheeks, tanned by the desert winds, bloomed bright blushes, his eyes glittered, and his body quivered with the thrill of ardor. "All others," he soliloquized, "accepted his doctrines, but I have denied neither my faith nor my soul." And fear before what might and was to follow at that moment was subdued in his heart, and joy and pride overflowed it. In the meantime the Mahdi replaced the gourd and asked: "So, you reject my doctrines?" "I am a Christian like my father." "Whoever closes his eyes to the voice of God," said the Mahdi slowly in a changed voice, "is only fuel for the flames." At this the caliph Abdullahi, notorious for his ferocity and cruelty, displayed his white teeth like a savage animal and spoke out: "The speech of this boy is insolent; therefore punish him, lord, or permit me to punish him." "It has happened!" Stas thought. But the Mahdi always desired that the fame of his mercy should spread not only among the dervishes but over the whole world; therefore he thought that a too severe sentence, particularly upon a small boy, might injure that fame. For a while he fingered the rosary beads and meditated, and afterwards said: "No. These children were abducted for Smain; so, though I do not want to enter into any negotiations with the infidels, it is necessary to send them to Smain. Such is my will." "It shall be obeyed," answered the caliph. But the Mahdi pointed to Idris, Gebhr, and the Bedouins and said: "Reward these men for me, oh Abdullahi, for they made a long and dangerous journey to serve God and me." After which he nodded in sign that the audience was ended and at the same time ordered the Greek to leave also. The latter, when they found themselves in the darkness on the place of prayer, seized Stas' arm and began to shake it with anger and despair. "Accursed! You have sealed the doom of that innocent child," he said, pointing at Nell. "You have ruined yourself and perhaps me." "I could not do otherwise," answered Stas. "You could not? Know that you are condemned to a journey a hundredfold worse than the first. And that is death,--do you understand? In Fashoda the fever will kill you in the course of a week. The Mahdi knew why he sent you to Smain." "In Omdurmân we also would perish." "That is not true! You would not have perished in the house of the Mahdi, in plenty and comfort. And he was ready to take you under his wings. I know that he was. You also repaid me nicely for interceding for you. But do what you wish, Abdullahi will despatch the camel-post to Fashoda in about a week and during that time do whatever you please! You will not see me any more!" Saying this he went away, but after a while returned. He, like all Greeks, was loquacious, and it was necessary for him to tell everything he had to say. He wanted to pour upon Stas' head all the bile which had accumulated within him. He was not cruel and did not possess a bad heart; he desired, however, that the boy should understand more thoroughly the awful responsibility which he had assumed in not heeding his advice and warnings. "Who would have prevented you from remaining a Christian in your soul?" he said. "Do you think that I am not one? But I am not a fool. You on the other hand preferred to make a parade of your false heroism. Heretofore I have rendered great services to the white prisoners, but now I shall not be able to aid them for the Mahdi has become incensed at me. All will perish. And your little companion in misfortune also: you have killed her! In Fashoda even adult Europeans die of the fever like flies, and what of such a child? And if they order you to go on foot beside the horses and camels, she will fall the first day. You did all this. Enjoy yourself now--you Christian!" And he left them while they turned from the place of prayer towards the huts. They walked long, as the city was spread over an immense space. Nell, worn out by fatigue, hunger, fright, and the horrible impressions of the whole day, began to lag. Idris and Gebhr urged her to walk faster. But after a time her limbs became entirely numb. Then Stas, without reflection, took her in his arms and carried her. On the way he wanted to speak to her; he wanted to justify himself, but ideas were torpid, as if they were dead in his mind; so he only repeated in a circle, "Nell! Nell! Nell!" and he clasped her to his bosom, not being able to say anything more. After a few score paces Nell fell asleep in his arms from exhaustion; so he walked in silence amid the quiet of the slumbering little streets, interrupted only by the conversation of Idris and Gebhr, whose hearts overflowed with joy. This was fortunate for Stas, as otherwise they would have punished him for his insolent reply to the Mahdi. They were, however, so occupied with what they had seen that they could not think of anything else. "I felt sick," said Idris, "but the sight of the prophet healed me." "He is like a palm in the desert, and like cool water on a scorching day, and his words are like ripe dates," answered Gebhr. "Nur el-Tadhil lied when he said that he would not permit us to be admitted to his presence. He admitted us, blessed us, and ordered Abdullahi to lavish gifts upon us." "Who will munificently enrich us, for the wish of the Mahdi is sacred." "Bismillah! May it be as you say!" spoke out one of the Bedouins. And Gebhr began to dream of whole herds of camels, horned cattle, and bags full of piastres. From these dreams he was awakened by Idris who, pointing at Stas carrying the sleeping girl, asked: "What shall we do with that hornet and that fly?" "Ha! Smain ought to reward us for them, separately." "Since the prophet says that he will not permit any negotiations with the infidels, Smain will have no interest in them." "In such case I regret that they did not get into the hands of the caliph, who would have taught that whelp what it is to bark against the truth and the elect of the Lord." "The Mahdi is merciful," answered Idris. After which he pondered for a while and said: "Nevertheless, Smain having both in his hands will be certain that neither the Turks nor the English people will kill his children and Fatma." "So he may reward us?" "Yes. Let Abdullahi's post take them to Fashoda. A weight will fall off our heads, and when Smain returns here we will demand recompense from him." "You say then that we will remain in Omdurmân?" "Allah! Have you not had enough in the journey from Fayûm to Khartûm? The time for rest has come." The huts were now not far off. Stas, however, slackened his pace for his strength began to wane. Nell, though light, seemed heavier and heavier. The Sudânese, who were anxious to go to sleep, shouted at him to hurry and afterwards drove him on, striking him on the head with their fists. Gebhr even pricked him painfully in the shoulder with a knife. The boy endured all this in silence, protecting above all his little sister, and not until one of the Bedouins shoved him so that he almost fell, did he say to them through his set teeth: "We are to arrive at Fashoda alive." And these words restrained the Arabs, for they feared to violate the commands of the Mahdi. A yet more effective restraint, however, was the fact that Idris suddenly became so dizzy that he had to lean on Gebhr's arm. After an interval the dizziness passed away, but the Sudânese became frightened and said: "Allah! Something ails me. Has not some sickness taken hold of me?" "You have seen the Mahdi, so you will not fall sick," answered Gebhr. They finally reached the huts. Stas, hurrying with the remnants of his strength, delivered sleeping Nell to the hands of old Dinah, who, though unwell also, nevertheless made a comfortable bed for her little lady. The Sudânese and the Bedouins, swallowing a few strips of raw meat, flung themselves, like logs, on the saddle-cloth. Stas was not given anything to eat, but old Dinah shoved into his hand a fistful of soaked durra, a certain amount of which she had stolen from the camels. But he was not in the mood for eating or sleeping, for the load which weighed on his shoulders was in truth too heavy. He felt that in rejecting the favor of the Mahdi, for which it was necessary to pay with denial of faith and soul, he had acted as he should have done; he felt that his father would have been proud and happy at his conduct, but at the same time he thought that he had caused the destruction of Nell, his companion in misfortune, his little beloved sister, for whom he would willingly have sacrificed his last drop of blood. So when all had fallen asleep he burst into a flood of tears, and, lying on a piece of saddle-cloth, he wept long, like the child which, after all, he still was. XIX The visit to the Mahdi and the interview with him evidently did not heal Idris, as during the night he grew worse and in the morning became unconscious. Chamis, Gebhr, and the two Bedouins were summoned to the caliph who detained them some hours and praised their courage. But they returned in the worst humor and with rage in their souls for they had expected the Lord knows what rewards, and in the meantime Abdullahi gave each one an Egyptian pound* [* About five dollars.--_Translator's note_.] and a horse. The Bedouins began a quarrel with Gebhr which almost resulted in a fight; in the end they announced that they would ride together with the camel-post to Fashoda to demand payment from Smain. They were joined by Chamis who expected that the patronage of Smain would be more beneficial to him than a sojourn in Omdurmân. For the children a week of hunger and misery began, for Gebhr did not think of feeding them. Fortunately Stas had the two dollars with the effigy of Maria Theresa, which he got from the Greek; so he went to the city to buy dates and rice. The Sudânese did not oppose this trip as they knew that he could not escape from Omdurmân and that under no circumstances would he desert the little "bint." This experience did not pass without some adventures, however, for the sight of a boy in European dress buying provisions at the market-place, again attracted a crowd of semi-savage dervishes, who received him with laughter and yells. Fortunately many knew that he had been at the Mahdi's the previous day, and they restrained those who wanted to assault him. Only children threw sand and stones at him, but he paid no attention to them. At the market-place the prices were too high. Stas could not obtain any dates at all and a considerable part of the rice was taken away from him by Gebhr for "his sick brother." The boy resisted with all his strength, in consequence of which a scuffle and fight ensued, in which the really weaker one came out with numerous contusions and bruises. In addition the cruelty of Chamis became manifest. The latter evinced an attachment for Saba and fed him with raw meat; on the other hand, at the distress of the children, whom he knew of old and who had always been kind to him, he looked with the utmost indifference, and when Stas addressed him with a request that he should at least give Nell a morsel of food, he replied, laughing: "Go and beg." And it finally came to the pass that Stas during the following days, desiring to save Nell from death by starvation, begged. Nor was he always unsuccessful. At times some former soldier or officer of the Egyptian Khedive gave him a few piastres or a few dried figs, and promised to aid him on the following day. Once he happened to meet a missionary and a sister of charity, who, hearing his story, bemoaned the fate of both children, and though they themselves were wasted with hunger, shared with him everything which they had. They also promised to visit them in the huts and did actually come the next day in the hope that they might succeed in taking the children with them until the time of the departure of the post. But Gebhr with Chamis drove them away with courbashes. On the following day Stas met them again and received from them a little measure of rice together with two quinine powders, which the missionary instructed him to save most carefully in the expectation that in Fashoda fever inevitably awaited both. "You will ride now," he said, "alongside of the dense floating masses in the White Nile or the so-called 'sudds'. The river, not being able to flow freely across the barriers composed of vegetation and weeds which the current of the water carries and deposits in the more shallow places, forms there extensive and infectious swamps, amid which the fever does not spare even the negroes. Beware particularly of sleeping on the bare ground without a fire." "We already wish to die," answered Stas, almost with a moan. At this the missionary raised his haggard face and for a while prayed; after which he made the sign of the cross over the boy and said: "Trust in God. You did not deny Him; so His mercy and care will be over you." Stas tried not only to beg, but to work. A certain day, seeing a crowd of men laboring at the place of prayer, he joined them, and began to carry clay for the palisade with which the place was to be surrounded. They jeered at and jostled him, but at evening the old sheik, who superintended the work, gave him twelve dates. Stas was immensely overjoyed at this compensation, for dates with rice formed the only wholesome nourishment for Nell and became more and more difficult to obtain in Omdurmân. So he brought them with pride to his little sister, to whom he gave everything which he could secure; he sustained himself for a week almost exclusively upon durra taken from the camels. Nell was greatly delighted at the sight of her favorite fruit but wanted him to share it with her. So, tiptoeing, she placed her hands on his shoulders, and turning up her head, began to gaze into his eyes and plead: "Stas! Eat a half, eat--" To this he replied: "I have already eaten. I have eaten. I have eaten my fill." And he smiled, but immediately began to bite his lips in order not to weep, as he really was hungry. He promised himself that the following day he would go again and earn some more; but it happened otherwise. In the morning a muzalem from Abdullahi came with the announcement that the camel-post was to leave at night for Fashoda, and with the caliph's command that Idris, Gebhr, Chamis, and the two Bedouins should prepare to go with the children. This command amazed and aroused the indignation of Gebhr; so he declared that he would not go as his brother was sick and there was no one to attend to him, and even if he were well, both had decided to remain in Omdurmân. But the muzalem replied: "The Mahdi has only one will, and Abdullahi, his caliph and my master, never alters commands. Your brother can be attended by a slave, while you will depart for Fashoda." "Then I shall go and inform him that I will not depart." "To the caliph are admitted only those whom he himself desires to see. And if you without permission, and through violence, should force yourself into his presence, I will lead you to the gallows." "Allah akbar! Then tell me plainly that I am a slave!" "Be silent and obey orders!" answered the muzalem. The Sudânese had seen in Omdurmân gallows breaking under the weight of hanging men. By order of the ferocious Abdullahi these gallows were daily decorated with new bodies. Gebhr became terror-stricken. That which the muzalem told him, that the Mahdi commanded but once, was reiterated by all the dervishes. There was therefore no help; it was necessary to ride. "I shall see Idris no more!" thought Gebhr. In his tigerish heart was concealed a sort of attachment for his older brother, so that at the thought that he would have to leave him in sickness he was seized by despair. In vain did Chamis and the Bedouins represent to him that they might fare better in Fashoda than in Omdurmân, and that Smain in all probability would reward them more bountifully than the caliph had done. No words could assuage Gebhr's grief and rage, and the rage rebounded mainly upon Stas. It was indeed a day of martyrdom for the boy. He was not permitted to go to the market-place, so he could not earn anything or beg, and was compelled to work as a slave at the pack-saddles, which were being prepared for the journey. This became a more difficult matter as from hunger and torture he weakened very much. He was certain that he would die on the road; if not under Gebhr's courbash, then from exhaustion. Fortunately the Greek, who had a good heart, came in at the evening to visit the children and to bid them farewell, and at the same time to provide for them on the way. He brought a few quinine powders, and besides these a few glass beads and a little food. Finally, learning of Idris' sickness, he turned to Gebhr, Chamis, and the Bedouins. "Know this," he said. "I come here by the Mahdi's command." And when they heard this they smote with their foreheads and he continued: "You are to feed the children on the way and treat them well. They are to render a report of your behavior to Smain. Smain shall write of this to the prophet. If any complaint against you comes here, the next post will carry a death sentence for you." A new bow was the only reply to these words; in addition Gebhr and Chamis had the miens of dogs on which muzzles are placed. The Greek then ordered them away, after which he thus spoke to the children in English: "I fabricated all this, for the Mahdi did not issue any new orders. But as he said that you were to go to Fashoda, it is necessary that you should reach there alive. I also reckoned upon this, that none of them will see either the Mahdi or the caliph before their departure." After which to Stas: "I took umbrage at you, boy, and feel it yet. Do you know that you almost ruined me? The Mahdi was offended at me, and to secure his forgiveness I was forced to surrender to Abdullahi a considerable portion of my estate, and besides, I do not know for how long a time I have saved myself. In any case I shall not be able to assist the captives as I have heretofore done. But I felt sorry for you, particularly for her (and here he pointed at Nell). I have a daughter of the same age, whom I love more than my own life, and for her sake I have done everything which I have done. Christ will judge me for this--Up to this time she wears under her dress, on her breast, a silver cross.--Her name is the same as yours, little one. Were it not for her, I would have preferred to die rather than to live in this hell." He was deeply moved. For a while he was silent, after which he rubbed his forehead with his hand and began to speak of something else. "The Mahdi sends you to Fashoda with the idea that there you will die. In this manner he will revenge himself upon you for your stubbornness, boy, which touched him deeply, and he will not lose his fame for 'mercy.' He always acts thus. But who knows who is destined to die first? Abdullahi suggested to him the idea that he should order the dogs who kidnapped you, to go with you. He rewarded them miserably, and now he fears that they may publish it. Besides, they both preferred that the people should not be told that there are still in Egypt troops, cannons, money, and Englishmen.--It will be a hard road and distant. You will go into a country desolate and unhealthy. So guard, as the eye in the head, those powders which I gave to you." "Sir, order Gebhr once more not to dare to starve or hit Nell," said Stas. "Do not fear. I commended you to the old sheik who has charge of the post. He is an old acquaintance of mine. I gave him a watch and with that I gained his protection for you." Saying this, he began to bid them farewell. Taking Nell in his arms, he pressed her to his bosom and repeated: "May God bless you, my child." In the meantime the sun descended and the night became starry. In the dusk resounded the snorting of horses and the groans of the heavily loaded camels. XX The old sheik Hatim faithfully kept his promise given to the Greek and watched over the children with great solicitude. The journey up the White Nile was difficult. They rode through Keteineh, Ed-Dueim, and Kawa; afterwards they passed Abba, a woody Nile island, on which before the war the Mahdi dwelt, in a hollow tree as a dervish hermit. The caravan often was compelled to make a detour around extensive floating masses overgrown with pyrus, or so-called "sudds," from which the breeze brought the poisoned odor of decomposed leaves carried by the current of water. English engineers had previously cut through these barriers, and formerly steamboats could ascend from Khartûm to Fashoda and farther. At present the river was blocked again and, being unable to run freely, overflowed on both sides. The right and left banks of this region were covered by a high jungle amid which stood hillocks of termites and solitary gigantic trees; here and there the forest reached the river. In dry places grew groves of acacias. During the first week they saw Arabian settlements and towns composed of houses with strange conical roofs made of dochnu straw, but beyond Abba, from the settlement of Gôz Abu Guma they rode in the country of the blacks. It was nearly desolate, for the dervishes had almost totally carried away the local negro population and sold it in the markets of Khartûm, Omdurmân, Fasher, Dar, El-Obeid, and other cities in the Sudân, Darfur, and Kordofân. Those inhabitants who succeeded in escaping slavery in thickets in the forests were exterminated by starvation and small-pox, which raged with unusual virulence along the White and Blue Niles. The dervishes themselves said that whole nations had died of it. The former plantations of sorghum, manioc, and bananas were covered by a jungle. Only wild beasts, not pursued by any one, multiplied plentifully. Sometimes before the evening twilight the children saw from a distance great herds of elephants, resembling movable rocks, walking with slow tread to watering places known only to themselves. At the sight of them Hatim, a former ivory dealer, smacked his lips, sighed, and spoke thus to Stas in confidence: "Mashallah! How much wealth there is here! But now it is not worth while to hunt, for the Mahdi has prohibited Egyptian traders from coming to Khartûm, and there is no one to sell the tusks to, unless to the emirs for umbajas." They met also giraffes, which, seeing the caravan, escaped hurriedly with heavy ambling pace, swinging their long necks as if they were lame. Beyond Gôz Abu Guma appeared, more and more frequently, buffaloes and whole herds of antelopes. The people of the caravan when they lacked fresh meat hunted for them, but almost always in vain, for the watchful and fleet animals would not allow themselves to be approached or surrounded. Provisions were generally scarce, as owing to the depopulation of the region they could not obtain either millet or bananas, or fish, which in former times were furnished by the Shilluk and Dinka tribes who exchanged them willingly for glass beads and brass wire. Hatim, however, did not permit the children to die of starvation, and what is more he kept a strict control over Gebhr; and once, when the latter at about bed-time struck Stas while removing saddles from the camels, he ordered the Sudânese to be stretched upon the ground and whipped thirty times on each heel with a bamboo. For two days the cruel Sudânese could walk only on his toes and cursed the hour when he left Fayûm, and revenged himself upon a young slave named Kali, who had been presented to him. Stas at the beginning was almost pleased that he had left infected Omdurmân and that he saw a country of which he always had dreamed. His strong constitution thus far endured perfectly the toils of the journey and the abundant food restored his energy. Several times during the journey and at the stops he whispered to his little sister that it was possible to escape even from beyond the White Nile, and that he did not at all abandon that design. But her health disquieted him. Three weeks after the day of their departure from Omdurmân Nell had not indeed succumbed to the fever, but her face grew thinner and instead of being tanned it became more and more transparent, and her little hands looked as if they were moulded of wax. She did not lack care and even such comforts as Stas and Dinah with the aid of Hatim could provide, but she lacked the salubrious desert air. The moist and torrid climate united with the hardships of the journey more and more undermined the strength of the child. Stas, beginning at Gôz Abu Guma, gave her daily a half powder of quinine and worried terribly at the thought that this remedy, which could be obtained nowhere later, would not last him long. But it could not be helped, for it was necessary above all things to prevent the fever. At moments despair possessed him. He deluded himself, however, with the hope that Smain, if he desired to exchange them for his own children, would have to seek for them a more salubrious place than the neighborhood of Fashoda. But misfortune seemed continually to pursue its victims. On the day before the arrival at Fashoda, Dinah, who while in Omdurmân felt weak, fainted suddenly at the untying of the small luggage with Nell's things taken from Fayûm, and fell from the camel. Stas and Chamis revived her with the greatest difficulty. She did not, however, regain consciousness, or rather she regained it at the evening only to bid a tearful farewell to her beloved little lady, and to die. After her death Gebhr insisted upon cutting off her ears in order to show them to Smain as proof that she died during the journey, and to demand of him a separate payment for her abduction. This was done with a slave who expired during the journey. But Hatim, at the entreaties of Stas and Nell, would not consent to this; so they buried her decently and her mound was safeguarded against hyenas with the assistance of stones and thorns. The children felt yet more lonely for they realized that in her they had lost the only near and devoted soul. This was a terrible blow, particularly for Nell, so Stas endeavored to comfort her throughout the whole night and the following day. The sixth week of the journey arrived. On the next day at noon the caravan reached Fashoda, but they found only a pyre. The Mahdists bivouacked under the bare heaven or in huts hurriedly built of grass and boughs. Three days previously the settlement had been burnt down. There remained only the clay walls of the round hovels, blackened with smoke, and, standing close by the water, a great wooden shed, which during the Egyptian times served as a storage-place for ivory; in it at present lived the commander of the dervishes, Emir Seki Tamala. He was a distinguished personage among the Mahdists, a secret enemy of Abdullahi, but on the other hand a personal friend of Hatim. He received the old sheik and the children hospitably, but immediately at the introduction told them unfavorable news. Smain was not in Fashoda. Two days before he had gone southeast from the Nile on an expedition for slaves, and it was not known when he would return, as the nearer localities were so depopulated that it was necessary to seek for human chattels very far. Near Fashoda, indeed, lay Abyssinia, with which the dervishes likewise waged war. But Smain having only three hundred men did not dare to cross its borders, guarded vigilantly, at present, by King John's warlike inhabitants and soldiers. In view of this Seki Tamala and Hatim began to deliberate as to what was to be done with the children. The consultation was held mainly at supper, to which the emir invited Stas and Nell. "I," he said to Hatim, "must soon start with all the men upon a distant expedition against Emin Pasha,* [* Emin Pasha, by birth a German Jew, was after the occupation by Egypt of the region around Albert Nyanza, Governor of the Equatorial Provinces. His headquarters were at Wadelai. The Mahdists attacked it a number of times. He was rescued by Stanley, who conducted him with a greater part of his troops to Bagamoyo, on the Indian Ocean.] who is located at Lado, having steamers and troops there. Such is the command which you, Hatim, brought me. Therefore you must return to Omdurmân, for in Fashoda there will not remain a single living soul. Here there is no place in which to live, there is nothing to eat, and sickness is raging. I know, indeed, that the white people do not catch small-pox, but fever will kill those children within a month." "I was ordered to bring them to Fashoda," replied Hatim, "so I brought them, and need not trouble myself about them any more. But they were recommended to me by my friend, the Greek Kaliopuli; for that reason I would not want them to perish." "And this will surely happen." "Then what is to be done?" "Instead of leaving them in desolate Fashoda, send them to Smain together with those men who brought them to Omdurmân. Smain went to the mountains, to a dry and high region where the fever does not kill the people as on the river." "How will they find Smain?" "By the trail of fire. He will set fire to the jungle, first, in order to drive the game to the rocky ravines in which it will be easy to surround and slaughter it, and then in order to scare out of the thickets the heathens, who hid in them before pursuit. Smain will not be hard to find--" "Will they, however, overtake him?" "He will at times pass a week in one locality to cure meat. Even though he rode away two or three days ago they surely will overtake him." "But why should they chase after him? He will return to Fashoda anyway." "No. If the slave-hunt is successful, he will take the slaves to the cities to sell them--" "What is to be done?" "Remember that both of us must leave Fashoda. The children, even though the fever does not kill them, will die of starvation." "By the prophet! That is true." And there really remained nothing else to do but to despatch the children upon a new wandering life. Hatim, who appeared to be a very good man, was only troubled about this: whether Gebhr, with whose cruel disposition he had become acquainted during the journey, would not treat them too harshly. But the stern Seki Tamala, who aroused fear even in his own soldiers, commanded the Sudânese to be summoned, and announced to him that he was to convey the children alive and in good health to Smain, and at the same time to treat them kindly, as otherwise he would be hung. The good Hatim entreated the emir to present to little Nell a female slave, who would serve her and take care of her during the journey and in Smain's camp. Nell was delighted greatly with this gift as it appeared that the slave was a young Dinka girl with pleasant features and a sweet facial expression. Stas knew that Fashoda was death, so he did not at all beg Hatim that he should not send them upon a new journey, the third in rotation. In his soul, he thought also that riding in an easterly and southerly direction, he must approach the Abyssinian boundaries and that he might escape. He had a hope that upon the dry tableland Nell would be safeguarded against the fever, and for these reasons he willingly and zealously entered into the preparation for the journey. Gebhr, Chamis, and the two Bedouins also were not opposed to the expedition, reckoning that at Smain's side they would succeed in capturing a considerable number of slaves, and afterwards sell them profitably in the markets. They knew that slave-dealers in time amass great fortunes; in any case they preferred to ride rather than to remain at that place under the immediate control of Hatim and Seki Tamala. The preparations, however, consumed considerable time, particularly as the children had to recuperate. The camels were unavailable now for this journey, so the Arabs, and Stas and Nell were to ride on horseback. Kali, Gebhr's slave, and Nell's maid, called Mea upon Stas' suggestion, were to go on foot beside the horses. Hatim also procured a donkey to carry a tent intended for the little girl and provisions for three days for the children. More Seki Tamala could not give them. For Nell, something in the nature of a ladies' saddle, made of saddle-cloth, palm, and bamboo mats was constructed. The children passed three days in Fashoda to rest, but the countless number of mosquitoes above the river made their stay unendurable. During the daytime appeared swarms of big blue flies, which did not indeed bite, but were so vexing that they crept into the ears, filled the eyes, and fell even into the mouths. Stas had heard while in Port Said that the mosquitoes and flies spread fever and an infection of the inflammation of the eyes. Finally he himself entreated Seki Tamala to hurry the expedition, particularly as the rainy spring season was approaching. XXI "Stas, why are we riding and speeding and have not yet reached Smain?" "I do not know. He undoubtedly is moving rapidly ahead, in order to reach as quickly as possible the region in which he can catch negroes. Are you anxious that we should join his detachment?" The little girl nodded her pale-yellow little head in sign that she was very much concerned about it. "Why should you be so anxious?" asked Stas. "Because perhaps Gebhr will not dare in Smain's company to beat that poor Kali so cruelly." "Smain probably is no better. They all have no mercy for their slaves." "Is that so?" And two little tears coursed over her emaciated cheeks. It was the ninth day of the journey. Gebhr, who was now the leader of the caravan, in the beginning easily discovered traces of Smain's march. His way was indicated by a trail of burnt jungle and camping grounds strewn with picked bones and various remnants. But after the lapse of five days they came upon a vast expanse of burnt steppe, on which the wind had carried the fire in all directions. The trails became deceptive and confusing, as, apparently, Smain had divided his detachment into ten or more small divisions, in order to facilitate the surrounding of the game and the capture of provisions. Gebhr did not know in which direction to go, and often it happened that the caravan, after moving long in a circle, returned to the same place from which it started. Afterwards they chanced upon forests, and after passing through them they entered upon a rocky country where the ground was covered by smooth rocks or small stones, scattered over the immense expanse so thickly that the children were reminded of city pavements. The vegetation there was scant. Only here and there, in the crannies of rocks, grew euphorbias, mimosas, and thorny and scrubby plants and, more infrequently yet, a slender, light green tree, which Kali in the Kiswahili language called "m'ti" and with the leaves of which the horses were fed. In this locality little rivers and streams were lacking, but fortunately from time to time the rain began to fall, so they found water in the hollows and excavations of the rocks. The game was driven away by Smain's detachment and the caravan would have died of starvation, were it not for a multitude of guinea-fowls which every little while started from under the horses' legs, and at evening encumbered the trees so thickly that it was sufficient to shoot in their direction to cause a few to fall to the ground. In addition they were not timid and permitted a close approach, and they rose so heavily and indolently that Saba, rushing ahead of the caravan, seized and choked some of them almost every day. Chamis killed about a score of them daily with an old shotgun which he had bartered from one of the dervishes serving under Hatim during the trip from Omdurmân to Fashoda. He did not, however, have shot for more than twenty charges and he became uneasy at the thought of what would happen when the supply was exhausted. Indeed, notwithstanding the scaring away of the game, there appeared at times amidst the rocks herds of ariels, beautiful antelopes common in all Central Africa, but it was necessary to shoot at the ariels with the short rifle, while they did not know how to use Stas' gun and Gebhr did not want to place it in his hands. The Sudânese likewise began to grow uneasy at the long journey. At times it occurred to him to return to Fashoda, because in case he and Smain should miss each other they might stray in wild regions in which, not to speak of starvation, they were in danger of attacks of wild animals, and savage negroes panting for revenge for the hunt which had been despatched against them. But as he did not know that Seki Tamala was preparing an expedition against Emin, for the conversation about this was not held in his presence, he was seized with terror at the thought of appearing before the face of the puissant emir, who had commanded him to convey the children to Smain and had given him a letter addressed to him and in addition had announced that if he did not acquit himself properly of his duty, he would be hung. All of this taken together filled his soul with bitterness and rage. He did not dare, however, to revenge himself for his disappointments upon Stas and Nell; instead the back of poor Kali was covered with blood under the courbash. The young slave approached his cruel master always trembling and in fear. In vain he embraced his feet and kissed his hands; in vain he fell upon his face before him. The stony heart was not moved either by humility or by groans, and the courbash gashed the body of the unhappy boy upon the most trivial cause and often for none whatever. At night his feet were placed in a wooden board with an opening to prevent him from running away. During the day he walked tied with a rope fastened to a horse; this amused Chamis very much. Nell shed tears over Kali's plight. Stas' heart raged and a number of times he passionately interceded for him, but when he perceived that this inflamed Gebhr still more, he set his teeth and remained silent. But Kali understood that those two interceded for him, and he began to love them deeply with his afflicted heart. For two days they rode in a stony ravine lined with high steep rocks. From the stones heaped and scattered in disorder it was easy to perceive that during the rainy season the ravine was filled with water, but at present its bed was entirely dry. On the walls, on both sides, grew small patches of grass, a great many thorns, and here and there even a tree. Gebhr directed his way by this stony gullet because it went continually upwards; so he thought that it would lead him to some eminence from which he could descry smoke during the daytime and Smain's camp-fires at night. In some places the ravine became so narrow that only two horses could go side by side; in other places it widened into small, round valleys, surrounded as if by high stone walls, on which sat big baboons, playing with each other, barking, and displaying their teeth at the caravan. It was five o'clock in the afternoon. The sun already lowered towards the west. Gebhr thought of a resting place; he wanted only to reach some small valley in which he could construct a zareba, that is, enclose the caravan and horses with a fence of thorny mimosa and acacias, for protection against attacks of wild animals. Saba rushed ahead, barking at the baboons which at sight of him shook uneasily, and all of a sudden disappeared in the bend of the ravine. Echo repeated loudly his barking. Suddenly, however, he became silent and after a while he came rushing to the horses with hair bristling on his back and tail curled under him. The Bedouins and Gebhr understood that something must have frightened him, but staring at each other and desiring to ascertain what it could be, they proceeded farther. But riding around a small bend, the horses shied and stood still in one moment as if thunderstruck by the sight which met their eyes. On a fair-sized rock situated in the middle of the ravine, which was quite wide at that place, lay a lion. At most, a hundred paces separated him from them. The powerful beast, seeing the riders and horses, rose on his fore paws and began to gaze at them. The sun, which now stood low, illumined his huge head and shaggy breasts, and in that ruddy luster he was like one of those sphinxes which ornament the entrances to ancient Egyptian temples. The horses began to sit upon their haunches, to wince and draw back. The amazed and frightened riders did not know what to do; so from mouth to mouth there flowed only the fearsome and helpless words, "Allah! Bismillah! Allah akbar!" And the king of the wilderness gazed at them from above, motionless as if cast of bronze. Gebhr and Chamis had heard from traders, who came to Egypt from the Sudân with ivory and gum, that lions sometimes lie down in the paths of caravans, which, on account of this, must turn aside. But here there was no place which they could turn to. It behoved them perhaps to turn about and fly. Yes! But in such case it was a certainty that the dreadful beast would rush after them in pursuit. Again resounded the feverish interrogations: "What is to be done?" "Allah! Perhaps he will step aside." "No, he will not." And again a silence fell. Only the snorting of the horses and the quickened breathing of the human breasts could be heard. "Untie Kali!" Chamis suddenly exclaimed to Gebhr, "and we will escape on the horses; the lion will first overtake him, and kill him only." "Do that," repeated the Bedouins. But Gebhr surmised that in such a case Kali, in the twinkling of an eye, would climb on the rocky wall and the lion would chase after the horses; therefore another horrible idea suggested itself to him. He would kill the boy with his knife and fling his body ahead of him and then the lion, dashing after them, would see on the ground the bleeding corpse and stop to devour it. So he dragged Kali by the rope to the saddle and had already raised his knife, when in the same second Stas clutched the wide sleeve of his jubha. "Villain! What are you doing?" Gebhr began to tug and, if the boy had seized him by the hand, he would have freed it at once, but it was not so easy with the sleeve; so he began to tug, and splutter with a voice stifled with fury. "Dog! if he is not enough, I shall stab you both! Allah! I shall stab you! I shall stab you!" And Stas paled mortally, for like lightning the thought flashed through his mind that the lion chasing after the horses above all might actually overlook Kali, and in such case Gebhr with the greatest certainty would stab them both in turn. So pulling the sleeve with redoubled strength he shouted: "Give me the short rifle! I will kill the lion!" These words astonished the Bedouins, but Chamis, who had witnessed Stas' shooting in Port Said, began at once to cry: "Give him the rifle! He will kill the lion." Gebhr recollected at once the shots on Lake Karûn and in view of the horrible danger, assented. With great haste he gave the boy the short rifle and Chamis, as quick as a thought, opened the cartridge box, from which Stas took a large fistful of cartridges, after which he leaped off his horse, inserted the cartridges in the barrels, and moved forward. For the first few steps he was as though stupefied and saw only himself and Nell with throats cut by Gebhr's knife. But soon the nearer and more horrible danger commanded him to forget about everything else. He had a lion before him! At the sight of the animal his eyes grew dim. He felt a chill on his cheeks and nose, he felt that he had feet as if made of lead and he could scarcely breathe. Plainly he feared. In Port Said he had read during the recitation time of lion-hunts, but it was one thing to examine pictures in books and another to stand eye to eye with the monster, who now gazed at him as if with amazement, wrinkling his broad forehead which resembled a shield. The Arabs held the breath in their breasts, for never in their lives had they seen anything like this. On the one side was a small boy, who amid the steep rocks appeared yet smaller, on the other a powerful beast, golden in the sun's rays, magnificent, formidable--"The lord with the great head," as the Sudânese say. Stas overcame with the whole force of his will the inertness of his limbs and advanced farther. For a while yet it seemed to him that his heart had leaped up into his throat, and this feeling continued until he raised the rifle to his face. Then it was necessary to think of something else. Whether to approach nearer or to fire at once; where to aim. The smaller the distance the surer the shot--therefore nearer and nearer!--forty paces, too many yet;--thirty!--twenty! Already the breeze carried the pungent animal odor. The boy stood. "A bullet between the eyes, or it will be all over with me," he thought. "In the name of the Father and of the Son--!" And the lion rose, stretched his body, and lowered his head. His lips began to open, his brows to contract over his eyes. This mite of being had dared to approach too closely--so he prepared for a leap, sitting with haunches quivering on his hind legs. But Stas, during the twinkling of an eye, perceived that the bead of the rifle was in a direct line with the forehead of the animal--and pulled the trigger. The shot pealed. The lion reared so that for a while he straightened out to his full height; after which he toppled over on his back with his four paws up. And in the final convulsions he rolled off the rock onto the ground. Stas for several minutes covered him with his rifle, but seeing that the quivering ceased and that the tawny body was stretched out inertly, he opened the rifle and inserted another cartridge. The stony walls reverberated yet with the thunderous echo. Gebhr, Chamis, and the Bedouins could not at once descry what had happened, as on the previous night rain had fallen, and owing to the dampness of the weather the smoke veiled everything in the narrow ravine. Only when the smoke abated, did they shout with joy, and wanted to rush towards the boy, but in vain, as no power could force the horses to move ahead. And Stas turned around, took in the four Arabs with his gaze and fixed his eyes on Gebhr. "Ah! There has been enough of this!" he said through his set teeth. "You have exceeded the measure. You shall not torment Nell or any one else any more." And suddenly he felt that his nose and cheeks turned pale, but this was a different chill, caused not by fright, but by a terrible and inflexible resolution from which the heart in the bosom becomes, for the time being, iron. "Yes! It is imperative! These are mere villains, executioners, murderers, and Nell is in their hands!" "You shall not murder her!" he repeated. He approached them--again stood, and suddenly with the rapidity of lightning raised the rifle to his face. Two shots, one after the other, jarred the ravine with an echo. Gebhr tumbled upon the ground, and Chamis swayed in the saddle and struck his horse's neck with his bleeding forehead. The two Bedouins uttered a horrified cry of consternation and, springing from the horses, dashed at Stas. A bend was not far behind them, and if they had run in the other direction, which Stas in his soul desired, they could have saved their lives. But blinded by terror and fury they thought that they would reach the boy before he would be able to change the cartridges, and cut him to pieces with their knives. Fools! They ran barely a dozen paces when again the ill-omened rifle cracked; the ravine resounded with the echo of new shots and both fell with faces on the ground, flouncing about like fishes taken out of water. One of them, who in the haste was hurt the least, raised himself and propped himself on his hands, but at that moment Saba sunk his fangs in his throat. And mortal silence ensued. It was broken only by the moans of Kali, who threw himself on his knees and, stretching out his hands, exclaimed in the broken Kiswahili tongue: "Bwana kubwa! (Great master!) Kill the lion! Kill bad people, but do not kill Kali!" Stas, however, paid no heed to his cries. For some time he stood as if dazed; after which, observing Nell's pallid face and half-conscious eyes, opened widely from terror, he ran towards her. "Nell, do not fear!--Nell, we are free!" In fact they actually were free, but astray in a wild, uninhabited region, in the heart of the land of the Blacks. PART SECOND I Before Stas and the young negro dragged the slain Arabs and the lion's heavy body to the side of the ravine the sun had descended still more and night was soon to fall. But it was impossible to sleep in the vicinity of the corpses; so, though Kali stroked his stomach and repeated, smacking with his tongue, "Msuri niama" (good meat), Stas did not permit him to busy himself with the "niama," and instead ordered him to catch the horses, which ran away after the shooting. The black boy did this with extraordinary skill. Instead of running after them in the ravine, in which case they would have sped away farther and farther, he climbed to the top and, shortening his way by avoiding the bends, he intercepted the startled steeds from the front. In this manner he easily caught two; and two more he drove towards Stas. Only Gebhr's and Chamis' horses could not be found, but at any rate four remained, not counting the lap-eared creature, loaded with the tent and things, who, in view of the tragic occurrences, displayed a true philosophical calm. They found him beyond a bend, cropping closely and without any haste the grass growing on the bottom of the ravine. The medium-sized Sudânese horses are accustomed generally to the sight of wild animals, but they fear lions, so it was with considerable difficulty that they were led past the rock which was blackened with a puddle of blood. The horses snorted, dilating their nostrils and stretching their necks towards the blood-stained stones; nevertheless, when the donkey, only pricking his ears a little, passed by calmly, they also passed on. Night had already fallen; they nevertheless rode over half a mile, and halted only in a place where the ravine widened again into a small amphitheatrical vale, overgrown with dense thorns and prickly mimosa trees. "Master," said the young negro, "Kali will make a fire--a big fire." And taking the broad Sudânese sword, which he had removed from Gebhr's corpse, he began to cut with it thorns and even little trees. After building the fire, he continued to cut until he secured a supply which would suffice for the whole night, after which with Stas he pitched the tent for Nell, under a steep perpendicular wall of the ravine, and later they surrounded it with a semi-circular, broad and prickly fence, or a so-called zareba. Stas knew from descriptions of African travels that travelers in this manner safeguarded themselves against the attacks of wild animals. The horses could not be placed within the fence; so the boy, unsaddling them and removing the tin utensils and bags, only hobbled them so that they should not stray too far in seeking grass or water. Mea finally found water near-by in a stony cavity, forming as it were a little basin under the opposite rocks. There was so copious a supply that it sufficed for the horses and the cooking of the guinea-fowls which were shot that morning by Chamis. In the pack-saddles, which the donkey bore, they also found about three pots of durra, a few fistfuls of salt, and a bunch of dried manioc roots. This sufficed for a bounteous supper. Kali and Mea mainly took advantage of it. The young negro whom Gebhr had starved in a cruel manner ate such an amount of food as would have sated two men. But for this he was grateful with his whole heart to his new master and mistress, and immediately after supper he fell on his face before Stas and Nell in token that he desired to remain their slave to the end of his life, and afterwards he also prostrated himself with due humility before Stas' short rifle, understanding that it was the best policy to conciliate so formidable a weapon. After this he announced that during the slumber of the "great master" and the "bibi" he, alternately with Mea, would watch that the fire should not go out, and squatted near it, mumbling quietly something in the nature of a song, in which every little while was repeated the refrain, "Simba kufa, simba kufa," which in the Kiswahili language means, "The lion is killed." But the "great master" and the little "bibi" were not inclined to sleep. Nell, at Stas' urgent request, barely swallowed a few pieces of guinea-fowl and a few grains of boiled durra. She said that she did not care to eat or sleep but only to drink. A fear seized Stas that she might be suffering from fever, but he soon became satisfied that her hands were cool and even too cold. He persuaded her to enter the tent where he prepared bedding for her, first searching carefully in the grass for scorpions. He himself sat upon a stone with short rifle in hand to defend her from attacks by wild beasts, if the fire did not afford sufficient protection. He was beset by great fatigue and exhaustion. In his soul he repeated to himself, "I killed Gebhr and Chamis; I killed the Bedouins; I killed the lion, and we are free." But it was as if those words were whispered to him by some one else and as if he himself did not comprehend their full meaning. He had not a feeling that they were free, but that something awful at the same time had happened which filled him with uneasiness and weighed upon his bosom like a heavy stone. Finally his thoughts began to grow blunt. For a long time he gazed at the big moths hovering above the flame and in the end he nodded and dozed. Kali also dozed, but awoke every little while and threw twigs into the fire. The night became dark and, what is a rare occurrence under the tropics, very still. They could hear only the cracking of the burning thorns and the hissing of flames which illumined the overhanging rocks forming a semi-circle. The moon did not shine into the depths of the ravine, but above twinkled a swarm of unknown stars. The air became so cool that Stas shook off his drowsiness and began to worry whether the chill would not incommode little Nell. But he became reassured, when he recollected that he left her under the tent upon the plaid cloth, which Dinah took with her from Fayûm. It also occurred to him that riding continuously from the Nile upwards, though imperceptibly, they must have ridden, through so many days, quite high; therefore to a region which was not threatened with fever as are the low river banks. The penetrating night chill appeared to confirm this supposition. And this thought encouraged him. He went for a moment to Nell's tent to listen whether she slept peacefully; after which he returned, sat nearer the fire, and again began to doze and even fell into a sound slumber. Suddenly he was awakened by the growling of Saba, who previously had lain down to sleep close by his feet. Kali awoke also and both began to look about uneasily at the mastiff, who, stretching out like a chord, pricked his ears, and with quivering nostrils scented in the direction from which they had come, gazed fixedly at the same time into the darkness. The hair bristled on his neck and back and his breasts heaved from air which during the growling he inhaled into his lungs. The young slave flung dry twigs into the fire as speedily as possible. "Master," he whispered. "Take the rifle! Take the rifle!" Stas took the rifle and moved before the fire to see better in the dusky depth of the ravine. Saba's growls changed into barks. For a long time nothing could be heard, after which, however, from the distance there reached the ears of Kali and Stas a hollow, clattering sound as if some great animals were rushing in the direction of the fire. This sound reverberated in the stillness with an echo against the stony walls, and became louder and louder. Stas realized that a dire danger was drawing near. But what could it be? Buffaloes, perhaps? Perhaps a pair of rhinoceroses seeking an exit from the ravine? In such case if the report of the shot did not scare them and turn them back, nothing could save the caravan, for those animals, not less ferocious and aggressive than rapacious beasts, do not fear fire and tread under foot everything in their way. If, however, it should be a division of Smain's forces who, having encountered the corpses in the ravine, are pursuing the murderers? Stas did not know which would be better--a sudden death or new captivity? In addition it flitted through his mind that if Smain himself was in the division, he might spare them, but if he was not, then the dervishes would at once kill them or, what is worse, torture them in a horrible manner before their death. "Ah," he thought, "God grant that these are animals, not men!" In the meantime the clatter increased and changed into a thunder of hoof-beats until finally there emerged out of the darkness glittering eyes, dilated nostrils, and wind-tossed manes. "Horses!" cried Kali. In fact they were Gebhr's and Chamis' horses. They came running, driven evidently by fright, but dashing into the circle of light and seeing their fettered companions, they reared on their hind legs; after which, snorting, they implanted their hoofs in the ground and remained for a while motionless. But Stas did not lower his rifle. He was certain that at any moment after the horses a shaggy-haired lion or a flat-skulled panther would appear. But he waited in vain. The horses quieted slowly, and what was more, Saba after a certain time ceased to scent. Instead, he turned about a few times on the spot as dogs usually do, lay down, rolled himself into a ball and closed his eyes. Apparently, if any rapacious animal had chased the horses, then, having smelt the smoke or seen the reflection of the fire on the rocks, it had retreated into the distance. "Something must have frightened them badly," Stas said to Kali, "since they did not fear to rush by the body of the lion and the men's corpses." "Master," answered the boy, "Kali can guess what happened. Many, many hyenas and jackals entered the ravine to get at the corpses. The horses ran before them, but the hyenas are not chasing them, for they are eating Gebhr and those others--" "That may be, but do you now unsaddle the horses; remove the utensils and bags and bring them here. Do not fear, for the rifle will protect you." "Kali does not fear," answered the boy. And pushing aside the thorns close by the rocks, he slipped out of the zareba. In the meantime Nell came out of the tent. Saba rose at once and, pressing his nose close to her, claimed his usual caress. But she, extending at first her hand, withdrew it at once as if with aversion. "Stas, what has happened?" she asked. "Nothing. Those two horses came running up. Did their hoof-beats awaken you?" "I was awake before then and even wanted to come out of the tent, but--" "But what?" "I thought that you might get angry." "I? At you?" And Nell raised her eyes and began to gaze at him with a peculiar look with which she had never eyed him before. Great astonishment stole over Stas' face, for in her words and gaze he plainly read fear. "She fears me," he thought. And in the first moment he felt something like a gleam of satisfaction. He was flattered by the thought that, after what he had accomplished, even Nell regarded him not only as a man fully matured, but as a formidable warrior spreading alarm about. But this lasted only a short time, for misfortune had developed in him an observing mind and talent; he discerned, therefore, that in those uneasy eyes of the little girl could be seen, besides fright, abhorrence, as it were, of what had happened, of the bloodshed and the horrors which she that day had witnessed. He recalled how, a few moments before, she withdrew her hand, not wishing to pat Saba, who had finished, by strangling, one of the Bedouins. Yes! Stas himself felt an incubus on his breast. It was one thing to read in Port Said about American trappers, killing in the far west red-skinned Indians by the dozens, and another to accomplish that personally and see men, alive a short while before, struggling in their death-throes, in a pool of blood. Yes, Nell's heart undoubtedly was full of fear and at the same time aversion which would always remain with her. "She will fear me," Stas thought, "and in the depths of her heart, involuntarily, she will not cease holding it ill of me, and this will be my reward for all that I have done for her." At this thought great bitterness swelled in his bosom, for it was apparent to him that if it were not for Nell he would either have been killed or would have escaped. For her he suffered all that he had endured; and those tortures and that hunger resulted only in this, that she now stood before him frightened, as if she was not the same little sister, and lifted her eyes towards him not with former trustfulness, but with a strange fear. Stas suddenly felt very unhappy. For the first time in his life he understood what it was to be moved to tears. In spite of his will tears flowed to his eyes and were it not for the fact that it did not under any circumstances become "a formidable warrior" to weep, he might perhaps have shed tears. He restrained himself, however, and, turning to the little girl, asked: "Do you fear, Nell?" And she replied in a low voice: "Somehow--it is so horrible!" At this Stas ordered Kali to bring the saddle-cloths from a saddle and, covering with one of them a rock on which he had previously dozed, he spread the other upon the ground and said: "Sit here beside me near the fire. How chilly the night is! If sleep overcomes you, rest your head upon me and you will fall asleep." But Nell repeated: "Somehow--it is so horrible!" Stas wrapped her carefully in plaids and for some time they sat in silence, supporting each other and illuminated by a rosy luster which crept over the rocks and sparkled on the mica plates with which the stony fissures were bespangled. Beyond the zareba could be heard the snorting of horses and the crunching of grass in their teeth. "Listen, Nell," Stas spoke out. "I had to do that--Gebhr threatened that he would stab us both if the lion would not be content with Kali and should continue to pursue them. Didn't you hear him? Think of it; he threatened by that not only me, but you. And he would have done it. I tell you sincerely that if it were not for that threat, though formerly I already was thinking of it, I would not have shot at them. I think I could not--But he exceeded the measure. You saw how cruelly before that time he treated Kali. And Chamis? How vilely he betrayed us. Besides, do you know what would have happened if they did not find Smain? Gebhr would likewise have vented his anger upon us--upon you. It is dreadful to think that he would have whipped you daily with the courbash, and would have tortured us both to death, and after our death he would return to Fashoda and say that we died of fever. Nell, I did not do that from fiendishness, but I had to think of this, how to save you--I was concerned only about you--" And his face plainly reflected that affliction which overflowed in his heart. Nell evidently understood this, as she pressed yet more closely to him, while he, momentarily mastering his emotions, continued thus: "I, of course, shall not change, and shall guard and watch over you as before. As long as they lived there was no hope of rescue. Now we may fly to Abyssinia. The Abyssinians are black and wild, but Christians and foes of the dervishes. If you only retain your health, we shall succeed, for it is not so very far to Abyssinia. And even though we do not succeed, though we fall into Smain's hand, do not think that he will revenge himself upon us. He never in his life saw either Gebhr or the Bedouins; he knew only Chamis, but what was Chamis to him? Besides, we need not tell Smain that Chamis was with us. If we succeed in reaching Abyssinia, then we are saved, and if not, you will not fare any worse, but better, for tyrants worse than those men probably cannot be found in the world. Do not fear me, Nell." And desiring to win her confidence and at the same time cheer her, he began to stroke her little yellow head. The little maid listened, raising timidly her eyes to him. Evidently she wanted to say something but hesitated and feared. Finally she leaned her head so that her hair entirely covered her face and asked in a yet lower and slightly quivering voice: "Stas--" "What is it, dear?" "They will not come here?" "Who?" Stas asked with amazement. "Those--killed." "What are you talking about, Nell?" "I am afraid! I am afraid!" And her pallid lips began to quiver. Silence ensued. Stas did not believe that the slain could rise from the dead, but as it was night and their bodies lay not far away, he became depressed in spirit; a chill passed over his back. "What are you saying, Nell?" he repeated. "Then Dinah taught you to fear ghosts--The dead do not--" And he did not finish, for at that moment something awe-inspiring occurred. Amid the stillness of the night, in the depths of the ravine, from the direction in which the corpses lay suddenly resounded a kind of inhuman, frightful laughter in which quivered despair, and joy, and cruelty, and suffering, and pain, and sobbing, and derision; the heart-rending and spasmodic laughter of the insane or condemned. Nell screamed, and with her whole strength embraced Stas with her arms. Stas' hair stood on end. Saba started up suddenly and began to growl. But Kali, sitting at some distance, quietly raised his head and said almost gleefully: "Those are hyenas gloating over Gebhr and the lion--" II The great events of the preceding day and the sensations of the night so tired out Stas and Nell that when finally slumber overcame them they fell into a deep sleep, and the little girl did nor appear outside the tent until about noon-time. Stas rose somewhat earlier from a saddle-cloth spread near the camp-fire, and in expectation of his little companion he ordered Kali to prepare a breakfast, which in view of the late hour was to form at the same time their dinner. The bright light of the day dispelled the terrors of the night; both awoke not only well rested, but refreshed in spirit. Nell looked better and felt stronger. As both wanted to ride away as far as possible from the place where the slain Sudânese were lying, immediately after the refreshments they mounted their horses and moved ahead. At that time of the day all travelers in Africa stop for the noon rest, and even caravans composed of negroes seek shelter under the shade of great trees; for they are the so-called white hours, hours of heat and silence, during which the sun broils unmercifully and, looking from above, seems to seek whom to slay. Every beast at such times burrows itself in the greatest thicket, the song of birds ceases, the buzz of insects stops, and all nature falls into silence, secreting itself as if desirous of guarding against the eye of a wicked divinity. But they rode on in the ravine in which one of the walls cast a deep shadow, enabling them to proceed without exposing themselves to the scorching heat. Stas did not want to leave the ravine, firstly, because, above, they might be espied from a distance by Smain's detachments, and then it was easier to find, in rocky crevices, water, which in uncovered places soaked into the ground or under the influence of the sun's rays was transformed into steam. The road continuously but imperceptibly led upwards. On the rocky walls could be seen from time to time yellow traces of sulphur. The water in the clefts was saturated with its odor, which reminded both children unpleasantly of Omdurmân and the Mahdists, who smeared their heads with fat mixed with sulphur powder. In some places muskcats could be smelt; but there, where from high, overhanging rocks magnificent cascades of lianas fell to the bottom of the ravine, came an intoxicating scent of vanilla. The little wanderers willingly stopped in the shade of these tapestries embroidered with purple flowers and lilies, which with the leaves provided food for the horses. Animals could not be seen; only from time to time on the crests of rocks monkeys squatted, resembling on the blue background those fantastic idols which in India adorn the borders of temples. Big males with long manes displayed their teeth at Saba or stretched out their jaws in sign of amazement and rage, and at the same time jumped about, blinking with their eyes and scratching their sides. But Saba, accustomed already to the sight of them, did not pay much heed to their menaces. They rode briskly. Joy at recovering liberty drove away from Stas' breast that incubus which had throttled him during the night. His mind was now occupied with the thought of what was to be done farther; how to lead Nell and himself from a locality in which they were threatened by new captivity with the dervishes; what measures to adopt during the long journey through the wilderness in order not to die of hunger and thirst, and finally, whither to go? He knew already from Hatim that the Abyssinian boundary in a direct line from Fashoda was not more than five days' journey, and he calculated that this would be about one hundred English miles. Now from their departure from Fashoda almost two weeks had elapsed; so it was clear that they had not gone by the shortest route, but in seeking Smain must have turned considerably towards the south. He recollected that on the sixth day they crossed a river which was not the Nile, and that afterwards, before the country began to rise, they rode around great swamps. At school in Port Said, the geography of Africa was taught very thoroughly and in Stas' memory remained the name of Ballor, designating an expansion of the little-known river Sobat, a tributary of the Nile. He was not indeed certain whether they had passed that expansion, but assumed that they had. It occurred to him that Smain, desiring to capture slaves, could not seek for them directly west of Fashoda, as that country was already entirely depopulated by dervishes and small-pox; but that he would have to go to localities which heretofore were not visited by an expedition. Stas deduced from this that they were following Smain's trail, and the thought frightened him in the first moments. He therefore reflected whether it would not be better to abandon the ravine which turned more and more plainly towards the south and go directly eastward. But after a moment's consideration he relinquished the plan. On the contrary, to follow the tracks of Smain's band at two or three days' distance appeared to him to be the safest course as it was very improbable that Smain would return with his human wares by way of the same circuitous route instead of making his way directly for the Nile. Stas understood also that Abyssinia could be reached only from the southern side where that country borders on a great wilderness and not from the eastern boundary which was carefully guarded by dervishes. As a result of these thoughts he determined to venture as far as possible towards the south. They might encounter negroes, either refugees from the banks of the White Nile or natives. But of the two evils Stas preferred to have dealings with the blacks rather than with Mahdists. He reckoned too that in the event of meeting refugees or natives Kali and Mea might prove useful. It was enough to glance at the young negress to surmise that she belonged to the Dinka or Shilluk tribe, for she had uncommonly long and thin limbs, so characteristic of both of those tribes, dwelling on the banks of the Nile and wading like cranes and storks, during its inundation. Kali, on the other hand, though under Gebhr's hand he became like a skeleton, had an entirely different stature. He was short and thick and strongly built; he had powerful shoulders and his feet in comparison with Mea's feet were relatively small. As he did not speak Arabian at all and spoke poorly the Kiswahili language with which one can converse almost anywhere in Africa and which Stas had learned fairly well from the natives of Zanzibar, working on the Canal, it was evident that he came from some distant region. Stas determined to sound him upon this point. "Kali, what is the name of your people?" he asked. "Wahima," answered the young negro. "Is that a great nation?" "Great, which is making war upon the bad Samburus and takes their cattle." "Is that country like this?" "No. There are mountains and great water." "How is that water called?" "We call it 'The Dark Water.'" Stas thought that the boy might come from the neighborhood of the Albert Nyanza, which up to that time had been in the hands of Emin Pasha; so, desiring to confirm this, he asked further: "Does not a white chief live there who has black smoking boats and troops?" "No, the old men with us say that they saw white men, (here Kali parted his fingers) one, two, three. Yes. There were three of them in long white dresses. They were looking for tusks. Kali did not see them for he was not in the world, but Kali's father received them and gave them many cows." "What is your father?" "The king of Wahima." Stas was flattered a little by the idea that he had a Prince Royal for a servant. "Would you like to see your father?" "Kali wants to see his mother." "What would you do if we met the Wahimas, and what would they do?" "The Wahimas would fall on their faces before Kali." "Lead us to them; then you shall remain with them and rule after your father, and we will go farther to the sea." "Kali cannot find the way to them, and cannot remain, for Kali loves the great master and the daughter of the moon." Stas turned merrily to his companion and said: "Nell, you have become the daughter of the moon." But, glancing at her, he saddened suddenly, for it occurred to him that the emaciated girl actually looked with her pale and transparent countenance more like a lunar than an earthly being. The young negro became silent for a while; then he repeated: "Kali loves Bwana kubwa, for Bwana kubwa did not kill Kali, only Gebhr, and gives Kali a great deal to eat." And he began to stroke his breast, repeating with evident delight: "A great deal of meat! a great deal of meat!" Stas wanted to ascertain how Kali became the slave of the dervishes; it appeared that from the night when he was caught in a pit, dug for zebras, he had gone through so many hands that Stas could not tell from his statements what countries he had passed through and by what route he had been conducted to Fashoda. Stas was much impressed by what he said about the "dark water," for if he came from the region of Albert Nyanza, Albert Edward Nyanza, or even Victoria Nyanza, near which lay the kingdoms of the Unyoro and the Uganda, he would undoubtedly have heard something about Emin Pasha, about his troops, and about the steamers, which aroused the wonder and fear of the negroes. Tanganyika was too far away; there remained only the supposition that Kali's nation had its seat somewhere nearer. For this reason their meeting with the Wahimas was not an utter improbability. After a few hours' ride, the sun began to descend. The heat decreased considerably. They chanced upon a wide valley in which they found water and a score or more of wild fig trees. So they stopped to rest their horses and partake of provisions. As the rocky walls at that place were lower, Stas ordered Kali to climb to the top and ascertain whether smoke could not be seen in the vicinity. Kali complied with the order and in the twinkling of an eye reached the edge of the rocks. Peering around carefully in all directions he slid down a thick liana stalk and announced that there was no smoke, but that there were "niama." It was easy to surmise that he was speaking not of guinea-fowl but of some bulkier game, for he pointed at Stas' short rifle and afterwards put his fingers on his head to indicate horned game. Stas in turn climbed up and, leaning his head carefully over the edge, began to look ahead. Nothing obstructed his view of the expanse, as the old, high jungle was burnt away and the new, which had already sprouted from the blackened ground, was barely a few inches high. As far as the eye could reach could be seen sparsely growing great trees, with trunks singed by the fire. Under the shade of one of them grazed a flock of antelopes which from the shape of their bodies resembled horses, and from their heads buffaloes. The sun penetrating through the baobab leaves cast quivering bright spots upon their brown backs. There were ten of them. The distance was not more than one hundred paces, but the wind blew from the animals towards the ravine, so they grazed quietly, not suspecting any danger. Stas, desiring to replenish his supplies with meat, shot at the nearest one, which tumbled on the ground as if struck by lightning. The rest of the flock ran away, and with them a great buffalo, which he did not perceive before, as he lay hidden behind a stone. The boy, not from necessity, but from a sporting vein, choosing the moment when the animal turned his side somewhat, sent a bullet after him. The buffalo staggered greatly after the shot, drew in his haunches, but rushed away, and before Stas was able to reload disappeared in the unevenness of the ground. Before the smoke blew away, Kali sat upon the antelope and cut open its abdomen with Gebhr's knife. Stas walked towards him, desiring to inspect more closely the animal, and great was his surprise when after a while the young negro with blood-stained hands handed to him the reeking liver of the antelope. "Why are you giving me that?" he asked. "Msuri, msuri! Bwana kubwa eat at once." "Eat it yourself," replied Stas, indignant at the proposition. Kali did not allow this command to be repeated, but immediately began to tear the liver with his teeth, and greedily gulp down the raw pieces; seeing that Stas gazed at him with loathing he did not cease between one gulp and another to repeat: "Msuri! msuri!" In this manner he ate over half of the liver; after which he started to dress the antelope. He did this with uncommon quickness and skill, so that soon the hide was flayed and the haunches were separated from the backbone. Then Stas, somewhat surprised that Saba was not present at this work, whistled for him to come to a bounteous feast of the fore parts of the animal. But Saba did not appear at all. Instead, Kali, who was bending over the antelope, raised his head and said: "The big dog ran after the buffalo." "Did you see him?" Stas asked. "Kali saw." Saying this, he placed the loin of the antelope on his head and the two haunches on his shoulders and started for the ravine. Stas whistled a few times more and waited, but seeing that he was doing this in vain, followed Kali. In the ravine Mea was already engaged in cutting the thorns for a zareba, while Nell, picking with her little fingers the last guinea-fowl, asked: "Did you whistle for Saba? He ran after you." "He ran after a buffalo which I wounded with a shot, and I am worried," Stas answered. "Those animals are terribly ferocious and so powerful that even a lion fears to attack them. Saba may fare badly if he begins a fight with such an adversary." Hearing this Nell became alarmed and declared that she would not go to sleep until Saba returned. Stas, seeing her grief, was angry at himself because he had not concealed the danger from her and began to comfort her: "I would go after them with the rifle," he said, "but they must now be very far away, and soon the night will fall and the tracks will be invisible. The buffalo is badly wounded, and I have a hope that he will fall. In any case he will weaken through loss of blood, and if he should rush at Saba, Saba will be able to run away. Yes! he may return during the night, but he surely will return." Although he said this, he did not greatly believe his own words, for he remembered what he had read of the extraordinarily revengeful nature of the African buffalo, which, though heavily wounded, will run about in a circuit and lie in ambush near a path over which the hunter goes and afterwards attack him unexpectedly, pin him on its horns, and toss him into the air. Something similar might happen to Saba; not to speak of other dangers which threatened him on the return to the camp during the night. In fact night soon fell. Kali and Mea put up a zareba, built a fire, and prepared supper. Saba did not return. Nell became more and more worried and finally began to cry. Stas with difficulty persuaded her to lie down, promising her that he would wait for Saba, and as soon as the day should break, he himself would search for the dog and bring him back. Nell indeed entered the tent, but at intervals she put out her little head from under its folds, asking whether the dog had not returned. Sleep overcame her only after midnight, when Mea came out to relieve Kali, who watched the fire. "Why does the daughter of the moon weep?" the young negro asked Stas, when both lay down on the saddle-cloths. "Kali does not want that." "She is sorry for Saba, whom the buffalo has surely killed." "But perhaps he did not kill him," replied the black boy. After this they became silent and Stas fell into a deep sleep. It was still dark, however, when he awoke, for the chill began to incommode him. The fire was partly extinct. Mea, who was to watch the fire, dozed and after a time had ceased throwing fuel upon the flames. The saddle-cloth on which Kali slept was unoccupied. Stas himself threw brushwood onto the fire, after which he shook the negress and asked: "Where is Kali?" For a time she stared at him unconsciously; afterwards coming to her senses, she said: "Kali took Gebhr's sword and went beyond the zareba. I thought he wanted to cut more brushwood, but he did not return at all." "Did he go long ago?" "Long." Stas waited for some time, but as the negro did not return, he involuntarily propounded to himself the question: "Did he run away?" And his heart was oppressed by the disagreeable feeling which human ingratitude always arouses. Why! he had interceded for this Kali and defended him when Gebhr vented his rage upon him for whole days, and afterwards he had saved the slave's life. Nell was always kind to him and had wept over his unhappy lot, and both treated him in the best possible manner. Now he ran away! He himself had said that he did not know in which direction the Wahima settlements were situated, and though he would be unable to find them, he nevertheless ran away. Stas again recollected those "African Travels" in Port Said, and the narratives of travelers about the stupidity of negroes, who, throwing away packages, run away although in their escape they are threatened by inevitable death. In fact, Kali, having as his only weapon Gebhr's Sudânese sword, must die of starvation, or if he did not fall again into the captivity of the dervishes would become the prey of wild animals. Ah! Ingrate and fool! Stas then began to meditate over this;--how far more difficult and vexatious the journey without Kali would be for them, and how much heavier the work. To water the horses and fetter them for the night, to pitch the tent, build zarebas, watch during the journey that none of the supplies and packets with things were lost, to flay and dress the slain animals, all this for want of the young negro was to fall upon him and he admitted in his soul that as to some of these employments, flaying the hides of animals, for instance, he did not have the slightest knowledge. "Ha! it will be hard," he said, "but necessary." In the meantime the sun emerged from beyond the horizon and, as usually happens in the tropics, in a moment it was day. Somewhat later the water for bathing, which Mea had prepared during the night for the little lady, began to splash, which meant that Nell had risen and was dressing herself. In fact, she soon appeared, already dressed, with a comb in her hand and her hair still unkempt. "And Saba?" she asked. "He has not come yet." The lips of the little girl at once began to quiver. "He may yet return," said Stas. "You remember that on the desert sometimes he was not seen for two days, and afterwards he always overtook us." "You said that you would go and search for him." "I cannot." "Why, Stas?" "I cannot leave you in the ravine alone with Mea." "And Kali?" "Kali is not here." Stas was silent, not knowing whether to tell her the whole truth; but as the matter could not be concealed he thought it best to divulge it at once. "Kali took Gebhr's sword," he said, "and in the night went away; I do not know where. Who knows whether he has not run away? The negroes often do that, even to their own destruction. I am sorry for him--But he may understand that he has acted like a fool and--" Further words were interrupted by Saba's joyful barking which filled the whole ravine. Nell threw the comb on the ground and wanted to rush out to meet him. She was prevented, however, by the thorns of the zareba. Stas, with the greatest haste, began to scatter them about, but before he had opened a passage Saba appeared and after him Kali, as shiny and wet from the dew as if after the greatest rain. Immense joy possessed both children, and when Kali, out of breath from fatigue, came inside the enclosure, Nell flung her white hands around his black neck and hugged him with all her strength. And he said: "Kali did not want to see the 'bibi' cry, so Kali found the dog." "Good boy, Kali!" answered Stas, slapping him on the shoulders. "Did you not fear in the night that you would meet a lion or a panther?" "Kali feared, but Kali went," answered the boy. These words gained still more the hearts of the children. Stas, at Nell's request, took out from one of the small pieces of luggage a string of glass beads with which they had been provided by the Greek, Kaliopuli, on their departure from Omdurmân; with it he decorated Kali's splendid throat; while the latter, overjoyed with the gift, glanced at once with pride at Mea and said: "Mea has no beads and Kali has, for Kali is 'the great world.'" In this manner was the devotion of the black boy rewarded. On the other hand Saba received a sharp rebuke, from which, for the second time in Nell's service, he learned that he was perfectly horrid, and that if he once more did anything like that he would be led by a string like a puppy. He heard this, wagging his tail in quite an equivocal manner. Nell, however, claimed that it could be seen from his eyes that he was ashamed and that he certainly blushed; only this could not be seen because his mouth was covered with hair. After this followed breakfast, consisting of excellent wild figs and a rump of venison. During the breakfast Kali related his adventures, while Stas interpreted them in English for Nell who did not understand the Kiswahili language. The buffalo, as it appeared, fled far. It was difficult for Kali to find the tracks as it was a moonless night. Fortunately, rain had fallen two days before and the ground was not too hard; in consequence of this the heavy animal's hoofs left deep imprints upon it. Kali sought them with the aid of his toes and walked a long distance. The buffalo finally fell and must have dropped dead as there was no sign of a fight between him and Saba. When Kali found them Saba already had devoured the greater part of the fore quarter of the buffalo, and although he was fully sated he would not permit the approach of two hyenas and about a dozen of jackals, which stood waiting until the more powerful rapacious creature finished his feast and left. The boy complained that the dog also growled at him, but he then threatened him with the anger of the "great master" and the "bibi," after which he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him from the buffalo, and did not let go of him until they reached the ravine. With this ended the narrative of Kali's nocturnal adventures, after which all in good humor mounted their horses and proceeded on their journey. One alone, long-limbed Mea, though quiet and meek, gazed with envy at the young negro's necklace and Saba's collar, and with sorrow in her heart thought: "Both of them are 'the great world,' and I have only a brass ring on one leg." III During the following three days they rode continuously in the ravine and always upwards. The days were as a rule scorching, the nights alternately cool or sultry; the rainy season was approaching. From beyond the horizon here and there emerged clouds, white as milk but deep and heavy. At the sides could already be seen stripes of rain and distant rainbows. Towards the morning of the third day one of these clouds burst above their heads like a barrel from which the hoops had flown off and sprinkled them with a warm and copious rain which fortunately was of brief duration. Afterwards the weather became fine and they could ride farther. Guinea-fowls again appeared in such numbers that Stas shot at them without dismounting from his horse, and in this manner got five, which more than sufficed for one meal, even counting Saba. Travel in the refreshed air was not burdensome, and the abundance of game and water removed fears of hunger and thirst. On the whole everything passed more easily than they had anticipated. So then good humor did not desert Stas, and, riding beside the little girl, he chattered merrily with her and at times even joked. "Do you know, Nell," he said, when for a while he stopped the horses under a great bread-fruit tree from which Kali and Mea cut off fruit resembling huge melons, "at times it seems to me that I am a knight-errant." "And what is a knight-errant?" asked Nell, turning her pretty head towards him. "Long, long ago in the mediaeval days there were knights who rode over the world, looking for adventure. They fought with giants and dragons, and do you know that each one had his lady, whom he protected and defended?" "And am I such a lady?" Stas pondered for a while, after which he replied: "No, you are too small. All those others were grown up." And it never occurred to him that probably no knight-errant had ever performed as much for his lady as he had done for his little sister. Plainly it appeared to him that whatever he had done was done as a matter of course. But Nell felt aggrieved at his words; so with a pout she said: "And you once said in the desert that I acted like a person of thirteen. Aha!" "Well, that was once. But you are eight." "Then after ten years I shall be eighteen." "A great thing! And I shall be twenty-four! At such age a man does not think of any ladies for he has something else to do; that is self-evident." "And what will you do?" "I shall be an engineer or a sailor or, if there is a war in Poland, I shall go to fight, just as my father did." While she asked uneasily: "But you will return to Port Said?" "We both must return there first." "To papa!" the little girl replied. And her eyes were dimmed with sorrow and longing. Fortunately there flew at that moment a small flock of wonderfully fine parrots, gray, with rosy heads, and a rosy lining under their wings. The children at once forgot about their previous conversation and began to follow the flight with their eyes. The little flock circled about a group of euphorbias and lighted upon sycamores, growing at some distance, amidst the branches of which resounded voices similar to a wordy conference or a quarrel. "Those are parrots which are very easily taught to talk," Stas said. "When we stop at a place for a length of time, I will try to catch one for you." "Oh, Stas, thank you!" answered Nell gleefully. "I will call it Daisy." In the meantime Mea and Kali, having cut off fruit from the bread-fruit tree, loaded the horses with it, and the little caravan proceeded. In the afternoon it began to cloud and at times brief showers occurred, filling the crevices and the depressions in the earth. Kali predicted a great downpour, so it occurred to Stas that the ravine, which was becoming narrower and narrower, would not be a safe shelter for the night, for it could change into a torrent. For this reason he determined to pass the night above, and this decision delighted Nell, particularly when Kali, who was sent to reconnoitre, returned and announced that not far away was a small grove composed of various trees, and in it many monkeys, not as ugly as the baboons which up to that time they had met. Chancing thereafter upon a place at which the rocky walls were low and sloped gradually, he led the horses out, and before it grew dark they built a barricade for the night. Nell's tent stood on a high and dry spot close to a big white-ant hillock, which barred the access from one side and for that reason lessened the labor of building the zareba. Near-by stood a large tree with widely spread boughs which, covered by dense foliage, furnished shelter against rain. In front of the zareba grew single clumps of trees and further a thick forest entangled with climbing plants, beyond which loftily shot out crowns of strange palm trees resembling gigantic fans or outspread peacock tails. Stas learned from Kali that before the second rainy season, that is, in autumn, it was dangerous to pass the night under these palm trees, for the huge-fruit, at that time ripe, breaks off unexpectedly and falls from a considerable distance with such force that it can kill a person or even a horse. At present, however, the fruit was in bud, and in the distance before the sun set there could be seen, under the crowns, agile little monkeys, which, leaping gaily, chased each other. Stas, with Kali, prepared a great supply of wood, sufficient for the whole night, and, as at times strong blasts of hot air broke out, they reinforced the zareba with pickets which the young negro whittled with Gebhr's sword and stuck in the ground. This precaution was not at all superfluous, as a powerful whirlwind could scatter the thorny boughs with which the zareba was constructed and facilitate an attack by beasts of prey. However, immediately after sunset the wind ceased, and instead, the air became sultry and heavy. Through the rifts in the clouds the stars glittered here and there, but afterwards the night became so utterly dark that one could not see a step ahead. The little wanderers grouped about the fire, while their ears were assailed by the loud cries and shrieks of monkeys who in the adjacent forest created a veritable bedlam. This was accompanied by the whining of jackals and by various other voices in which could be recognized uneasiness and fright before something which under the cover of darkness threatened every living being in the wilderness. Suddenly the voices subsided for in the dusky depths resounded the groans of a lion. The horses, which were pastured at some distance on the young jungle, began to approach the fire, starting up suddenly on their fettered fore legs, while the hair on Saba, who usually was so brave, bristled, and with tail curled under him, he nestled close to the people, evidently seeking their protection. The groaning again resounded, as though it came from under the ground; deep, heavy, strained, as if the beast with difficulty drew it from its powerful lungs. It proceeded lowly over the ground, alternately increased and subsided, passing at times into a hollow, prodigiously mournful moan. "Kali, throw fuel into the fire," commanded Stas. The negro threw upon the camp-fire an armful of boughs so hastily that at first whole sheaves of sparks burst out, after which a high flame shot up. "Stas, the lion will not attack us, will he?" whispered Nell, pulling the boy by the sleeve. "No, he will not attack us. See how high the zareba is." And speaking thus, he actually believed that danger did not threaten them, but he was alarmed about the horses, which pressed more and more closely to the fence and might trample it down. In the meantime the groans changed into the protracted, thunderous roar by which all living creatures are struck with terror, and the nerves of people, who do not know what fear is, shake, just as the window-panes rattle from distant cannonading. Stas cast a fleeting glance at Nell, and seeing her quivering chin and moist eyes, said: "Do not fear; don't cry." And she answered as if with difficulty: "I do not want to cry--only my eyes perspire--oh!" The last ejaculation burst from her lips because at that moment from the direction of the forest thundered a second roar even stronger than the first for it was nearer. The horses began to push upon the zareba and were it not for the long and hard-as-steel thorns of the acacia branches, they would have demolished it. Saba growled and at the same time trembled like a leaf, while Kali began to repeat with a broken voice: "Master, two! two! two!" And the lions, aware of each other's presence, did not cease roaring, and the horrible concert continued in the darkness incessantly, for when one beast became silent the other began again. Stas soon could not distinguish from where the sounds came, as the echoes repeated them in the ravine; rock sent them back to rock, they ascended and descended, filling the forest and the jungle, and the entire darkness with thunder and fear. To the boy one thing seemed certain, and that was that they approached nearer and nearer. Kali perceived likewise that the lions ran about the encampment making a smaller circle each moment, and that, prevented from making an attack only by the glare of the flames, they were expressing their dissatisfaction and fear by their roar. Evidently, however, he thought that danger threatened only the horses, as, spreading his fingers, he said: "The lions will kill one, two, not all! not all!" "Throw wood into the fire," repeated Stas. A livelier flame burst forth; the roars suddenly ceased. But Kali, raising his head and gazing upwards, began to listen. "What is it?" Stas asked. "Rain," replied the negro. Stas in turn listened. The branches of the tree mantled the tent and the whole zareba so that not a drop of rain fell upon the ground, but above could be heard the rustle of leaves. As the sultry air was not stirred by the slightest breeze, it was easy to surmise that it was the rain which began to murmur in the jungle. The rustle increased with each moment and after a time the children saw drops flowing from the leaves, similar in the luster of the fire to ruddy pearls. As Kali had forecast, a downpour began. The rustle changed into a roar. Ever-increasing drops fell, and finally through the dense foliage whole streams of water began to penetrate. The camp-fire darkened. In vain Kali threw whole armfuls into it. On the surface the wet boughs smoked only, and below, the burning wood began to hiss and the flame, however much it was replenished, began to be extinguished. "When the downpour quenches the fire, the zareba will defend us," Stas said to pacify Nell. After which he conducted the little girl into the tent and wrapped her in plaids, but he himself went out as quickly as possible as the briefly interrupted roars had broken out again. This time they sounded considerably nearer and as if they were gleeful. The downpour intensified with each moment. The rain pattered on the hard leaves and splashed. If the camp-fire had not been under the shelter of the boughs, it would have been quenched at once, but as it was there hovered over it mainly smoke, amid which narrow, blue little flames glittered. Kali gave up the task and did not add any more deadwood. Instead he flung a rope around the tree and with its aid climbed higher and higher on the trunk. "What are you doing?" Stas asked. "Kali climbs the tree." "What for?" shouted the boy, indignant at the negro's selfishness. Bright, dreadful flashes of lightning rent the darkness and Kali's reply was drowned by a peal of thunder which shook heaven and the wilderness. Simultaneously a whirlwind broke out, tugged the boughs of the tree, swept away in the twinkling of an eye the camp-fire, seized the embers, still burning under the ashes, and carried them with sheaves of sparks into the jungle. Impenetrable darkness temporarily encompassed the camp. A terrible tropical storm raged on earth and in the sky. Thunder followed thunder, lightning, lightning. The gory zigzags of thunderbolts rent the sky, black as a pall. On the neighboring rocks appeared strange blue balls, which sometimes rolled along the ravine and then burst with a blinding light and broke out with a peal so terrible that it seemed as if the rocks would be reduced to powder from the shock. Afterwards darkness again followed. Stas became alarmed about Nell and went groping in the darkness to the tent. The tent, protected by the white-ant hillock and the giant tree-trunk, stood yet, but the first strong buffet of the whirlwind might pull out the ropes and carry it the Lord knows where. And the whirlwind subsided, then broke out again with a fury, carrying waves of rain, and clouds of leaves, and branches broken off in the adjacent forest. Stas was beset with despair. He did not know whether to leave Nell in the tent or lead her out of it. In the first case she might get entangled in the ropes and be seized with the linen folds, and in the other she would get a thorough drenching and also would be carried away, as Stas, though beyond comparison stronger, with the greatest difficulty could keep on his feet. The problem was solved by the whirlwind which a moment later carried away the top of the tent. The linen walls now did not afford any shelter. Nothing else remained to do but to wait in the darkness in which the lions lurked, until the storm passed away. Stas conjectured that probably the lions had sought shelter from the tempest in the neighboring forest, but he was certain that after the storm they would return. The danger of the situation increased because the wind had totally swept away the zareba. Everything was threatened with destruction. The rifle could not avail for anything, nor could his energy. In the presence of the storm, thunderbolts, hurricane, rain, darkness, and the lions, which might be concealed but a few paces away, he felt disarmed and helpless. The linen walls tugged by the wind splashed them with water from all sides, so, enclosing Nell in his arms, he led her from the tent; after which both nestled close to the trunk of the tree, awaiting death or divine mercy. At this moment, between one blow of the wind and another, Kali's voice reached them, barely audible amidst the splashing of the rain. "Great master! Up the tree! up the tree!" And simultaneously the end of a wet rope, lowered from above, touched the boy's shoulder. "Tie the 'bibi,' and Kali will pull her up!" the negro continued to shout. Stas did not hesitate a moment. Wrapping Nell in a saddle-cloth in order that the rope should not cut her body, he tied a girdle around her; after which he lifted her and shouted: "Pull!" The first boughs of the tree were quite low so Nell's aerial journey was brief. Kali soon seized her with his powerful arms and placed her between the trunk and a giant bough, where there was sufficient room for half a dozen of such diminutive beings. No wind could blow her away from there and in addition, even although water flowed all over the tree, the trunk, about fifteen feet thick, shielded her at least from new waves of rain borne obliquely by the wind. Having attended to the safety of the little "bibi," the negro again lowered the rope for Stas, but he, like a captain who is the last to leave a sinking ship, ordered Mea to go ahead of him. Kali did not at all need to pull her as in a moment she climbed the rope with skill and agility as if she were the full sister of a chimpanzee. For Stas it was considerably more difficult, but he was too well-trained an athlete not to overcome the weight of his own body together with the rifle and a score of cartridges with which he filled his pockets. In this manner all four found themselves in the tree. Stas was so accustomed to think of Nell in every situation that now he was occupied, above all, in ascertaining whether she was not in danger of falling, whether she had sufficient room and whether she could lie down comfortably. Satisfied in this respect, he began to wrack his brains as to how to protect her from the rain. But for this there was no help. It would have been easy to construct during the daytime some kind of roof over her head, but now they were enveloped in such darkness that they could not see each other at all. If the storm at last passed away and if they succeeded in starting the fire again, they might dry Nell's dress! Stas, with despair, thought that the little girl, soaked to the skin, would undoubtedly on the following day suffer from the first attack of fever. He feared that towards the morning, after the storm, it would be as cool as it was on the previous night. Thus far the wind was rather warm and the rain as though heated. Stas was surprised at its persistence as he knew that the more strongly a storm raged the shorter was its duration. After a long time the thunder abated and the buffets of the wind weakened, but the rain continued to fall, less copious, indeed, than before, but so heavy and thick that the leaves did not afford any protection against it. From below came the murmur of water as if the whole jungle were transformed into a lake. Stas thought that in the ravine certain death would have awaited them. Immense sorrow possessed him at the thought of what might have become of Saba, and he did not dare to speak of him to Nell. He, nevertheless, had a slight hope that the intelligent dog would find a safe haven among the rocks projecting above the ravine. There was not, however, a possibility of going to him with any aid. They sat, therefore, one beside the other amid the expanding boughs, drenched and waiting for the day. After the lapse of a few more hours the air began to cool and the rain finally ceased. The water too flowed down the slope to a lower place as they could not hear a splash or a murmur. Stas had observed on the previous days that Kali understood how to stir up a fire with wet twigs, so it occurred to him to order the negro to descend and try whether he would not succeed this time. But at the moment in which he turned to him something happened which froze the blood in the veins of all four. The deep silence of the night was rent suddenly by the squeaking of horses, horrible, shrill, full of pain, fears, and mortal dismay. Some mischief was afoot in the darkness; there resounded short rattlings in the throat, afterwards hollow groans, a snorting, a second squeak yet more penetrating, after which all was quiet. "Lions, great Master! Lions killing horses!" whispered Kali. There was something so horrible in this night attack, in the superior force of the monsters, and in the sudden slaughter of the defenseless animals that Stas for a time was struck with consternation, and forgot about the rifle. What, after all, would it have availed him to shoot in such darkness? Unless for this, that those midnight assassins, if the flash and report should frighten them, would abandon the horses already killed, and start after those which were scared away and had run from the camp as far as their fettered legs would permit them. Stas' flesh began to creep at the thought of what would have happened if they had remained below. Nell, nestling close to him, shook as if she already were suffering the first attack of fever, but the tree at least protected them from an attack of lions. Kali plainly had saved their lives. It was, however, a horrible night--the most horrible in the entire journey. They sat like drenched birds on a twig, listening to what was happening below. And there for some time a deep silence continued, but soon came a peculiar sound as though of lapping, smacking of torn-off pieces of flesh, together with the horses' heavy breathing and the groans of the monsters. The odor of the raw meat and blood reached up to the tree, as the lions feasted not farther than twenty paces from the zareba. And they feasted so long that in the end anger seized Stas. He seized the rifle and fired in the direction of the sounds. But he was answered only by a broken, irritated roar, after which resounded the cracking of bones, rattling in powerful jaws. In the depths glared the blue and red eyes of hyenas and jackals waiting for their turn. And thus the long hours of the night passed away. IV The sun finally rose and illuminated the jungle, groups of trees, and the forest. The lions had disappeared before the first ray began to gleam on the horizon. Stas commanded Kali to build a fire. Mea was ordered to take Nell's clothes out of the leather bag in which they were packed, to dry them, and to dress anew the little girl as soon as possible; while Stas himself, taking his rifle, proceeded to visit the camp and at the same time to view the devastation wrought by the storm and the two midnight assassins. Immediately beyond the zareba, of which only the pickets remained, lay the first horse almost half devoured; about a hundred paces farther the second, barely touched, and immediately behind him the third, disemboweled, and with crushed head. All presented a horrible sight; their eyes were open, full of settled terror, and their teeth were bared. The ground was trampled upon; in the depressions were whole puddles of blood. Stas was seized with such rage that at the moment he almost wished that the shaggy head of a marauder, sluggish after the nocturnal feast, would emerge from some cluster of trees that he might put a bullet in him. But he had to postpone his revenge to a later time for at present he had something else to do. It was necessary to find and capture the remaining horses. The boy assumed that they must have sought shelter in the forest, and that the same was true of Saba, whose body was nowhere to be seen. The hope that the faithful companion in misfortune had not fallen a victim to the predaceous beasts pleased Stas so much that he gained more courage. His happiness was yet augmented by the discovery of the donkey. It appeared that the sagacious, long-eared creature did not wish to fatigue himself by a too distant flight. He had ensconced himself outside of the zareba in a corner formed by the white-ant hillock and the tree and there, having his head and sides protected, had awaited developments, prepared in an emergency to repel an attack by kicking heroically with his heels. But the lions, apparently, did not perceive him at all, so when the sun rose and danger passed away he deemed it proper to lie down and rest after the dramatic sensations of the night. Stas, strolling about the camp, finally discovered upon the softened ground the imprint of horses' hoofs. The tracks led in the direction of the forest and afterwards turned towards the ravine. This was a favorable circumstance for the capture of the horses in the ravine did not present any great difficulties. Between ten and twenty paces farther he found in the grass the fetters which one of the horses had broken in his escape. This one must have run away so far that for the time being he must be regarded as lost. On the other hand, the two espied by Stas were behind a low rock, not in the hollow itself, but on the brink. One of them was rolling about, while the other was cropping the new light-green grass. Both looked unusually exhausted, as if after a long journey. But the daylight had banished fear from their hearts, so they greeted Stas with a short, friendly neigh. The horse which was rolling about started to his feet. The boy observed that this one also had freed himself from his fetters, but fortunately he apparently preferred to remain with his companion instead of running away wherever his eyes should lead him. Stas left both horses near the rock and went to the brink of the ravine to ascertain whether a farther journey by way of it was feasible. And he saw that owing to the great declivity the water had flowed away and the bottom was almost dry. After a while his attention was attracted to a white object entangled in the climbing plants in the recess of the opposite rocky wall. It appeared that it was the top of the tent which the wind had carried as far as that and driven into the thicket so that the water could not carry it away. The tent, at any rate, assured Nell of a better protection than a hut hurriedly constructed of boughs; so its recovery greatly delighted Stas. But his joy increased still more when from a lower recess partly hidden by lianas Saba sprang out, holding in his teeth some kind of animal whose head and tail hung from his jaws. The powerful dog, in the twinkling of an eye, reached the top, and laid at Stas' feet a striped hyena with broken back and gnawed foot. After which he began to wag his tail and bark joyfully as if he wanted to say: "I admit that I behaved like a coward before the lions, but to tell the truth, you sat perched on the tree like guinea-fowls. Look, however! I did not waste the night altogether." And he was so proud of himself that Stas was barely able to induce him to leave the bad-smelling animal on the spot and not to carry it as a gift to Nell. When they both returned a good fire was burning in the camp; water was bubbling in the utensils in which boiled durra grain, two guinea-fowls, and smoked strips of venison. Nell was already attired in a dry dress but looked so wretched and pale that Stas became alarmed about her, and, taking her hand to ascertain whether she had a fever, asked: "Nell, what ails you?" "Nothing, Stas; only I do want to sleep so much." "I believe you! After such a night! Thank God, your hands are cool. Ah, what a night it was! No wonder you want to sleep. I do also. But don't you feel sick?" "My head aches a little." Stas placed his palm on her head. Her little head was as cold as her hands; this, however, only proved great exhaustion and weakness, so the boy sighed and said: "Eat something warm and immediately afterwards lie down to sleep and you will sleep until the evening. To-day, at least, the weather is fine and it will not be as it was yesterday." And Nell glanced at him with fear. "But we will not pass the night here." "No, not here, for there lie the gnawed remains of the horses; we will select some other tree, or will go to the ravine and there will build a zareba such as the world has not seen. You will sleep as peacefully as in Port Said." But she folded her little hands and began to beg him with tears that they should ride farther, as in that horrible place she would not be able to close her eyes and surely would become ill. And in this way she begged him, in this way she repeated, gazing into his eyes, "What, Stas? Well?" so that he agreed to everything. "Then we shall ride by way of the ravine," he said, "for there is shade there. Only promise me that if you feel weak or sick, you will tell me." "I am strong enough. Tie me to the saddle and I will sleep easily on the road." "No. I shall place you on my horse and I shall hold you. Kali and Mea will ride on the other and the donkey will carry the tent and things." "Very well! very well!" "Immediately after breakfast you must take a nap. We cannot start anyway before noon. It is necessary to catch the horses, to fold the tent, to rearrange the packs. Part of the things we shall leave here for now we have but two horses altogether. This will require a few hours and in the meantime you will sleep and refresh yourself. To-day will be hot, but shade will not be lacking under the tree." "And you--and Mea and Kali? I am so sorry that I alone shall sleep while you will be tiring yourselves--" "On the contrary, we shall have time to nap. Don't worry about me. In Port Said during examination time I often did not sleep whole nights; of which my father knew nothing. My classmates also did not sleep. But a man is not a little fly like you. You have no idea how you look to-day--just like glass. There remain only eyes and tufts of hair; there is no face at all." He said this jestingly, but in his soul he feared, as by the strong daylight Nell plainly had a sickly countenance and for the first time he clearly understood that if it continued thus the poor child not only might, but must, die. At this thought his legs trembled for he suddenly felt that in case of her death he would not have anything to live for, or a reason for returning to Port Said. "For what would I then have to do?" he thought. For a while he turned away in order that Nell might not observe the grief and fear in his eyes, and afterwards went to the things deposited under the tree. He threw aside the saddle-cloth with which the cartridge box was covered, opened it, and began to search for something. He had hidden there in a small glass bottle the last of the quinine powders and had guarded it like an "eye in the head" for "the black hour," that is, for the emergency when Nell should be fever-stricken. But now he was almost certain that after such a night the first attack would come, so he determined to prevent it. He did this with a heavy heart, thinking of what would happen later, and were it not that it did not become a man and the leader of a caravan to weep, he would have burst into tears over this last powder. So, desiring to conceal his emotion, he assumed a very stern mien and, addressing the little girl, said: "Nell, before you eat, take the rest of the quinine." She, on the other hand, asked: "But if you catch the fever?" "Then I will shiver. Take it, I tell you." She took it without further resistance, for from the time he killed the Sudânese she feared him a little, notwithstanding all his efforts for her comfort and the kindness he evinced towards her. Afterwards they sat down to breakfast, and after the fatigue of the night, the hot broth of guinea-fowl tasted delicious. Nell fell asleep immediately after the refreshment and slept for several hours. Stas, Kali, and Mea during that time put the caravan in order. They brought from the ravine the top of the tent, saddled the horses, and put the packages on the donkey and buried under the roots of the tree those things which they could not take with them. Drowsiness terribly assailed them at the work, and Stas, from fear that they should fall asleep, permitted himself and them to take short naps in turn. It was perhaps two o'clock when they started on their further journey. Stas held Nell before him; Kali rode with Mea on the other horse. They did not ride at once down the ravine, but proceeded between its brink and the forest. The young jungle had grown considerably during the rainy night; the soil under it, however, was black and bore traces of fire. It was easy to surmise that Smain had passed that way with his division, or that the fire driven from far by a strong gale had swept over the dry jungle and, finally encountering a damp forest, had passed on by a not very wide track between it and the ravine. Stas wanted to ascertain whether traces of Smain's camp or imprints of hoofs could not be found on this track; and with pleasure he became convinced that nothing resembling them could be seen. Kali, who was well versed in such matters, claimed positively that the fire must have been borne by the wind and that since that time at least a fortnight must have elapsed. "This proves," observed Stas, "that Smain, with his Mahdists, is already the Lord knows where, and in no case shall we fall into his hands." Afterwards he and Nell began to gaze curiously at the vegetation, as thus far they had not ridden so close to a tropical forest. They rode now along its very edge in order to have the shade over their heads. The soil here was moist and soft, overgrown with dark-green grass, moss, and ferns. Here and there lay decomposed trunks, covered as though with a carpet of most beautiful orchids, with flowers brightly colored like butterflies and brightly colored cups in the center of the crown. Wherever the sun reached, the ground was gilded by other odd orchids, small and yellow, in which two petals protruding on the sides of a third petal created a resemblance to the head of a little animal with big ears ending abruptly. In some places the forest was lined with bushes of wild jasmine draped in garlands with thin, climbing plants, blooming rose-colored. The shallow hollows and depressions were overgrown with ferns, compressed into one impenetrable thicket, here low and expansive, there high, entwined with climbing plants, as though distaffs, reaching up to the first boughs of the trees and spreading under them in delicate green lace. In the depths there was a great variety of trees; date, raffia, fan-palm, sycamore, bread-fruit, euphorbia, immense varieties of senna, acacia; trees with foliage dark and glittering and light or red as blood grew side by side, trunk by trunk, with entangled branches from which shot yellow and purple flowers resembling candlesticks. In some groups the tree-tops could not be seen as the climbing plants covered them from top to bottom, and leaping from trunk to trunk formed the letters W and M and hung in form of festoons, portières, and whole curtains. Caoutchouc lianas just strangled the trees with thousands of serpentine tendrils and transformed them into pyramids, buried with white flowers like snow. About the greater lianas the smaller entwined and the medley became so thick that it formed a wall through which neither man nor animal could penetrate. Only in places where the elephants, whose strength nothing can resist, forced their way, were there beaten down in the thicket deep and winding passageways, as it were. The song of birds which so pleasantly enlivens the European forest could not be heard at all; instead, on the tree-tops resounded the strangest calls, similar to the sound of a saw, to the beating of a drum, to the clatter of a stork, to the squeaking of old doors, to the clapping of hands, to caterwauling, or even to the loud, excited talk of men. From time to time soared above the trees flocks of parrots, gray, green, white, or a small bevy of gaudily plumaged toucans in a quiet, wavy flight. On the snowy background of the rubber climbing plants glimmered like sylvan sprites, little monkey-mourners, entirely black with the exception of white tails, a white girdle on the sides, and white whiskers enveloping faces of the hue of coal. The children gazed with admiration at this virgin forest which the eyes of a white man perhaps had never beheld. Saba every little while plunged into the thicket from which came his happy barks. The quinine, breakfast, and sleep had revived little Nell. Her face was animated and assumed bright colors, her eyes sparkled. Every moment she asked Stas the names of various trees and birds and he answered as well as he could. Finally she announced that she wanted to dismount from the horse and pluck a bunch of flowers. But the boy smiled and said: "The siafu would eat you at once." "What is a siafu? Is it worse than a lion?" "Worse and not worse. They are ants which bite terribly. There are a great many of them on the branches from which they fall on people's backs like a rain of fire. But they also walk on the ground. Dismount from the horse and try merely to walk a little in the forest and at once you will begin to jump and whine like a monkey. It is easier to defend one's self against a lion. At times they move in immense ranks and then everything gives way to them." "And would you be able to cope with them?" "I? Of course. With the help of fire or boiling water." "You always know how to take care of yourself," she said with deep conviction. These words flattered Stas greatly; so he replied conceitedly and at the same time merrily: "If you were only well, then as to the rest depend upon me." "My head does not even ache now." "Thank God! Thank God!" Speaking thus they passed the forest, but one flank of which reached the hollow way. The sun was still high in the heaven and broiled intensely, as the weather cleared and in the sky not a cloud could be seen. The horses were covered with sweat and Nell began to complain of the heat. For this reason Stas, having selected a suitable place, turned to the ravine in which the western wall cast a deep shadow. It was cool there, and the water remaining in the depressions after the downpour was also comparatively cool. Over the little travelers' heads continually flew from one brink of the ravine to the other toucans with purple heads, blue breasts and yellow wings; so the boy began to tell Nell what he knew from books about their habits. "Do you know," he said, "there are certain toucans which during the breeding season seek hollows in trees; there the female lays eggs and sits upon them, while the male pastes the opening with clay so that only her head is visible, and not until the young are hatched does the male begin to peck with his long beak and free the mother." "And what does she eat during that time?" "The male feeds her. He continually flies about and brings her all kind of berries." "And does he permit her to sleep?" she asked in a sleepy voice. Stas smiled. "If Mrs. Toucan has the same desire that you have at this moment, then he permits her." In fact, in the cold ravine an unconquerable drowsiness oppressed the little girl, as from morning until early in the afternoon she had rested but little. Stas had a sincere desire to follow her example, but could not as he had to hold her, fearing that she might fall; besides, it was immensely uncomfortable for him to sit man-fashion on the flat and wide saddle which Hatim and Seki Tamala had provided for the little one in Fashoda. He did not dare to move and rode the horse as slowly as possible in order not to awaken her. She, in the meantime, leaning backwards, supported her little head upon his shoulder and slept soundly. But she breathed so regularly and calmly that Stas ceased to regret the last quinine powder. He felt that danger of fever was removed and commenced to reason thus: "The ravine continually leads upwards and even now is quite steep. We are higher and the country is drier and drier. It is necessary only to find some sort of elevation, well shaded, near some swift stream, and there establish quarters and give the little one a few weeks' rest, and perhaps wait through the whole massica (the spring rainy season). Not every girl could endure even one tenth of these hardships, but it is necessary that she should rest! After such a night another girl would have been stricken with fever and she--how soundly she sleeps!--Thank God!" And these thoughts brought him into a good humor; so looking down at Nell's little head resting on his bosom, he said to himself merrily and at the same time with certain surprise: "It is odd, however, how fond I am of this little fly! To tell the truth, I always liked her, but now more and more." And not knowing how to explain such a strange symptom he came to the following conclusion: "It is because we have passed together through so much and because she is under my protection." In the meantime he held that "fly" very carefully with his right hand around her waist in order that she should not slip from the saddle and bruise her little nose. They advanced slowly in silence; only Kali hummed under his nose--a song in praise of Stas. "Great master kills Gebhr, kills a lion and a buffalo! Yah! Yah! Much meat! Much meat! Yah! Yah!" "Kali," Stas asked in a low tone, "do the Wahimas hunt lions?" "The Wahimas fear lions but the Wahimas dig pits and if in the night time the lion falls in, then the Wahimas laugh." "What do you then do?" "The Wahimas hurl lot of spears until lion is like a hedgehog. Then they pull him out of the pit and eat him. Lion is good." And according to his habit, he stroked his stomach. Stas did not like this method of hunting; so he began to ask what other game there was in the Wahima country and they conversed further about antelopes, ostriches, giraffes, and rhinoceroses until the roar of a waterfall reached them. "What is that?" Stas exclaimed. "Are there a river and waterfall ahead of us?" Kali nodded his head in sign that obviously such was the fact. And for some time they rode more quickly, listening to the roar which each moment became more and more distinct. "A waterfall!" repeated Stas, whose curiosity was aroused. But they had barely passed one or two bends when their way was barred by an impassable obstruction. Nell, whom the motion of the horse had lulled to sleep, awoke at once. "Are we already stopping for the night?" she asked. "No, but look! A rock closes the ravine." "Then what shall we do?" "It is impossible to slip beside it for it is too close there; so it will be necessary that we turn back a little, get on top, and ride around the obstruction; but it is yet two hours to night; therefore we have plenty of time. Let us rest the horses a little. Do you hear the waterfall?" "I do." "We will stop near it for the night." After which he turned to Kali, ordered him to climb to the brink of the ridge and see whether, beyond, the ravine was not filled with similar obstructions; he himself began to examine the rock carefully, and after a while he exclaimed: "It broke off and tumbled down not long ago. Nell, do you see that fragment? Look how fresh it is. There is no moss on it, nor vegetation. I already understand, I understand!" And with his hand he pointed at a baobab tree growing on the brink of the ravine whose huge roots hung over the wall and were parallel with the fragment. "That root grew in a crevice between the wall and the rock, and growing stronger, it finally split the rock. That is a singular matter for stone is harder than wood; I know, however, that in mountains this often happens. After that anything can shake such a stone which barely keeps its place, and the stone falls off." "But what could shake it?" "It is hard to say. Maybe some former storm, perhaps yesterday's." At this moment Saba, who previously had remained behind the caravan, came running up; he suddenly stood still as if pulled from behind by the tail, scented; afterwards squeezed into the narrow passage between the wall and the detached rock, but immediately began to retreat with bristling hair. Stas dismounted from the horse to see what could have scared the dog. "Stas, don't go there," Nell begged; "a lion might be there." The boy, who was something of a swashbuckler and who from the previous day had taken extraordinary offense at lions, replied: "A great thing. A lion in daylight!" However, before he approached the passageway, Kali's voice resounded from above: "Bwana kubwa! Bwana kubwa!" "What is it?" Stas asked. The negro slid down the stalk of the climbing plant in the twinkling of an eye. From his face it was easy to perceive that he brought some important news. "An elephant!" he shouted. "An elephant?" "Yes," answered the young negro, waving his hands; "there thundering water, here a rock. The elephant cannot get out. Great master kill the elephant and Kali will eat him. Oh, eat, eat!" And at this thought he was possessed by such joy that he began to leap, slapping his knees with his palms and laughing as if insane, in addition rolling his eyes and displaying his white teeth. Stas at first did not understand why Kali said that the elephant could not get out of the ravine. So, desiring to see what had happened, he mounted his horse and entrusting Nell to Mea in order to have his hands free in an emergency, he ordered Kali to sit behind him; after which they all turned back and began to seek a place by which they could reach the top. On the way Stas questioned him how the elephant got into such a place and from Kali's replies he ascertained more or less what had happened. The elephant evidently ran before the fire by way of the ravine during the burning of the jungle; on the way he forcibly bumped against a loosened rock, which tumbled down and cut off his retreat. After that, having reached the end of the hollow, he found himself on the edge of a precipice below which a river ran, and in this manner was imprisoned. After a while they discovered an outlet but so steep that it was necessary to dismount from the horses and lead them after. As the negro assured them that the river was very near they proceeded on foot. They finally reached a promontory, bounded on one side by a river, on the other by the hollow, and glancing downward they beheld on the bottom of a dell an elephant. The huge beast was lying on its stomach and to Stas' great surprise did not start up at the sight of them. Only when Saba came running to the brink of the dell and began to bark furiously did he for a moment move his enormous ears and raise his trunk, but he dropped it at once. The children, holding hands, gazed long at him in silence, which finally was broken by Kali. "He is dying of hunger," he exclaimed. The elephant was really so emaciated that his spine protruded, his sides were shrunken, his ribs were distinctly outlined notwithstanding the thickness of his hide, and it was easy to conjecture that he did not rise because he did not now have sufficient strength. The ravine, which was quite wide at its opening, changed into a dell, locked in on two sides by perpendicular rocks, and on its bottom a few trees grew. These trees were broken; their bark was peeled and on the branches there was not a leaf. The climbing plants hanging from the rocks were torn to pieces and gnawed, and the grass in the dell was cropped to the last blade. Stas, examining the situation thoroughly, began to share his observations with Nell, but being impressed with the inevitable death of the huge beast he spoke in a low tone as if he feared to disturb the last moments of its life. "Yes, he really is dying of starvation. He certainly has been confined here at least two weeks, that is, from the time when the old jungle was burnt. He ate everything that there was to eat and now is enduring torments; particularly as, here above, bread-fruit trees and acacias with great pods are growing, and he sees them but cannot reach them." And for a while they again gazed in silence. The elephant from time to time turned towards them his small, languid eyes and something in the nature of a gurgle escaped from his throat. "Indeed," the boy declared, "it is best to cut short his pangs." Saying this, he raised the rifle to his face, but Nell clutched his jacket and, braced upon both of her little feet, began to pull him with all her strength away from the brink of the hollow. "Stas! Don't do that! Stas, let us give him something to eat! He is so wretched! I don't want you to kill him! I don't want it! I don't!" And stamping with her little feet, she did not cease pulling him, and he looked at her with great astonishment and, seeing her eyes filled with tears, said: "But, Nell!--" "I don't want it. I won't let him be killed! I shall get the fever if you kill him." For Stas this threat was sufficient to make him forego his murderous design in regard to the elephant before them and in regard to anything else in the world. For a time he was silent, not knowing what reply to make to the little one, after which he said: "Very well! very well! I tell you it is all right! Nell, let go of me!" And Nell at once hugged him and through her tear-dimmed eyes a smile gleamed. Now she was concerned only about giving the elephant something to eat as quickly as possible. Kali and Mea were greatly astonished when they learned that the Bwana kubwa not only would not kill the elephant, but that they were to pluck at once as many melons from the bread-fruit trees, as many acacia pods, and as much of all kinds of weeds as they were able. Gebhr's two-edged Sudânese sword was of great use to Kali at this labor, and were it not for that the work would not have proceeded so easily. Nell, however, did not want to wait for its completion and when the first melon fell from the tree she seized it with both her hands and, carrying it to the ravine, she repeated rapidly as if from fear that some one else might want to supplant her: "I! I! I!" But Stas did not in the least think of depriving her of this pleasure, but from fear that through too much zeal she might fall over with the melon, he seized her by the belt and shouted: "Throw!" The huge fruit rolled over the steep declivity and fell close to the elephant's feet, while the latter in the twinkling of an eye stretched out his trunk and seized it; afterwards he bent his trunk as if he wanted to place the melon under his throat and this much the children saw of him. "He ate it!" exclaimed the happy girl. "I suppose so," answered Stas, laughing. And the elephant stretched out his trunk towards them as if he wanted to beg for more and emitted in a powerful tone: "Hruumf!" "He wants more!" "I suppose so!" repeated Stas. The second melon followed in the track of the first and in the same manner afterwards disappeared in a moment a third, fourth, tenth; later acacia pods and whole bundles of grass and great leaves began to fly down. Nell did not allow any one to take her place, and when her little hands grew tired from the work, she shoved new supplies with her little feet; while the elephant ate and, raising his trunk, from time to time trumpeted his thunderous "hruumf" as a sign that he wanted to eat still more, but Nell claimed that it was a sign of gratitude. But Kali and Mea finally were fatigued with the work which they performed with great alacrity under the impression that Bwana kubwa wanted first to fatten the elephant and afterwards to kill him. At last, however, Bwana kubwa ordered them to stop, as the sun was setting and it was time to start the construction of the zareba. Fortunately this was not a difficult matter, for two sides of the triangular promontory were utterly inaccessible, so that it was necessary only to fence in the third. Acacias with big thorns also were not lacking. Nell did not retire a step from the ravine and, squatting upon its brink, announced from a distance to Stas what the elephant was doing. At frequent intervals her thin little voice resounded: "He is searching about with his trunk!" Or: "He is moving his ears. What big ears he has!" "Stas! Stas! He is getting up! Oh!" Stas approached hurriedly and seized Nell's hand. The elephant actually rose, and now the children could observe his immense size. They had previously seen huge elephants which were carried on vessels through the Suez Canal bound from India to Europe, but not one of them could compare with this colossus, who actually looked like a huge slate-colored rock walking on four feet. He differed from the others in the size of his tusks which reached five or more feet and, as Nell already observed, his ears, which were of fabulous proportions. His fore legs were high but comparatively thin, which was undoubtedly due to the fast of many days. "Oh, that is a Lilliputian!" laughed Stas. "If he should rear himself and stretch out his trunk, he might catch you by the feet." But the colossus did not think of rearing or catching any one by the feet. With an unsteady gait he approached the egress of the ravine, gazed for a while over the precipice, at the bottom of which water was seething; afterwards he turned to the wall close to the waterfall, directed his trunk towards it, and, having immersed it as best he could, began to drink. "It is his good fortune," Stas said, "that he can reach the water with his trunk. Otherwise he would have died." The elephant drank so long that finally the little girl became alarmed. "Stas, won't he harm himself?" she asked. "I don't know," he replied, laughing, "but since you have taken him under your care, warn him now." So Nell leaned over the edge and cried: "Enough, dear elephant, enough!" And the dear elephant, as if he understood what was the matter, stopped drinking at once, and instead, began to splash water over himself. First he splashed water on his feet, then on his back, and afterwards on both sides. But in the meantime it grew dark; so Stas conducted the little girl to the zareba where supper already awaited them. Both were in excellent humor--Nell because she had saved the elephant's life and Stas because he saw her eyes sparkling like two stars and her gladdened face which was ruddier and healthier than it had been at any time since their departure from Khartûm. A promise of a quiet and perfect night also conduced to the boy's contentment. The two inaccessible sides of the promontory absolutely secured them from attacks from those directions, and on the third side Kali and Mea reared so high a wall of thorny branches of acacias and of passion flowers that there could be no thought of any predacious beasts being able to surmount such a barrier. In addition the weather was fine and the heavens immediately after sunset were studded with countless stars. The air, which was cool, owing to the proximity of the waterfall, and which was saturated with the odor of the jungle and newly broken branches, was agreeable to breathe. "This fly will not get the fever here," Stas thought joyfully. Afterwards they commenced to converse about the elephant, as Nell was incapable of talking of anything else and did not cease going into transports over his stature, trunk, and tusks, which in reality were prodigious. Finally she asked: "Honestly, Stas, isn't he wise?" "As Solomon," answered Stas. "But what makes you think so?" "Because when I asked him not to drink any more, he obeyed me at once." "If before that time he had not taken any lessons in English and nevertheless understands it, that really is miraculous." Nell perceived that Stas was making merry with her, so she gave him a scolding; after which she said: "Say what you wish, but I am sure that he is very intelligent and will become tame at once." "Whether at once I don't know, but he may be tamed. The African elephants are indeed more savage than the Asiatic; nevertheless, I think that Hannibal, for instance, used African elephants." "And who was Hannibal?" Stas glanced at her indulgently and with pity. "Really," he said, "at your age, you are not supposed to know such things. Hannibal was a great Carthaginian commander, who used elephants in his war with the Romans, and as Carthage was in Africa, he must have used African--" Further conversation was interrupted by the resounding roar of the elephant, who, having eaten and drunk his fill, began to trumpet; it could not be known whether from joy or from longing for complete freedom. Saba started up and began to bark, while Stas said: "There you have it! Now he is calling companions. We will be in a nice predicament if he attracts a whole herd here." "He will tell them that we were kind to him," Nell responded hastily. But Stas, who indeed was not alarmed, as he reckoned that even if a herd should rush towards them, the glare of the fire would frighten them away, smiled spitefully and said: "Very well! very well! But if the elephants appear, you won't cry, oh no! Your eyes will only perspire as they did twice before." And he began to tease her: "I do not cry, only my eyes perspire--" Nell, however, seeing his happy mien, conjectured that no immediate danger threatened them. "When he gets tame," she said, "my eyes will not perspire, though ten lions should roar." "Why?" "For he will defend us." Stas quieted Saba, who would not stop replying to the elephant; after which he deliberated somewhat and spoke thus: "You did not think of one thing, Nell. Of course, we will not stay here for ages but will proceed farther; I do not say at once. On the contrary, the place is good and healthy; I have decided to stop here--a week, perhaps,--perhaps two, for you, and all of us as well, are entitled to a rest. Well, very good! As long as we stay here we will feed the elephant, though that will be a big task for us all. But he is locked up and we cannot take him with us. Well then, what later? We shall go and he will remain here and again will endure the pangs of hunger until he dies. Then we shall be all the more sorry for him." Nell saddened very much and for some time sat in silence, evidently not knowing what reply to make to these just remarks, but after a while she raised her head and, brushing aside the tufts of hair which fell over her eyes, turned her gaze, full of confidence, on the boy. "I know," she said, "that if you want to, you will get him out of the ravine." "I?" And she stretched out her little finger, touched Stas' hand with it, and repeated: "You." The sly little woman understood that her confidence would flatter the boy and from that moment he would ponder on how to free the elephant. V The night passed quietly and though, on the southern side of the sky, big clouds gathered, the morning was beautiful. By Stas' orders, Kali and Mea, immediately after breakfast, began to gather melons and acacia pods as well as fresh leaves and all kinds of fodder, which they deposited upon the brink of the ravine. As Nell firmly insisted upon feeding her new friend herself, Stas cut for her from a young bifurcated fig tree something in the shape of a pitchfork in order to make it easier for her to shove down the supplies to the bottom of the ravine. The elephant trumpeted from morn, evidently calling for his refreshments, and when afterwards he beheld on the brink that same little white being who had fed him the previous day, he greeted her with a joyful gurgle and at once stretched out his trunk towards her. In the morning light he appeared to the children still more prodigious than on the preceding day. He was lean but already looked brisker and turned his small eyes almost joyfully on Nell. Nell even claimed that his fore legs had grown thicker during the night, and began to shove fodder with such zeal that Stas had to restrain her and in the end when she got out of breath too much, take her place at the work. Both enjoyed themselves immensely; the elephant's "whims" amused them especially. In the beginning he ate everything which fell at his feet, but soon, having satisfied the first cravings of hunger, he began to grow fastidious. Chancing upon a plant which was not to his taste, he beat it over his fore leg and afterwards tossed it upwards with his trunk, as if he wanted to say, "Eat this dainty yourselves;" finally, after having appeased his hunger and thirst, he began to fan with his prodigious ears with evident contentment. "I am sure," said Nell, "that if we went down to him he would not hurt us." And she began to call to him: "Elephant, dear elephant, isn't it true you would not do any harm to us?" And when the elephant nodded his trunk in reply she turned to Stas: "There, you see he says 'Yes.'" "That may be," Stas replied. "Elephants are very intelligent animals and this one undoubtedly understands that we both are necessary to him. Who knows whether he does not feel a little gratitude towards us? But it would be better not to try yet, and particularly not to let Saba try, as the elephant surely would kill him. But with time they become even friendly." Further transports over the elephant were interrupted by Kali who, foreseeing that he should have to work every day to feed the gigantic beast, approached Stas with an ingratiating smile and said: "Great master, kill the elephant, and Kali will eat him instead of gathering grass and branches." But the "great master" was now a hundred miles from a desire to kill the elephant and, as in addition he was impulsive, he retorted: "You are a donkey." Unfortunately he forgot the Kiswahili word for donkey and said it in English. Kali, not understanding English, evidently took it for some kind of compliment or praise for himself, as a moment later the children heard how he, addressing Mea, boastfully said: "Mea has a dark skin and dark brain, but Kali is a donkey." After which he added with pride: "The great master himself said that Kali is a donkey." In the meantime Stas, ordering both to tend the little lady as the eye in the head and in case of any accident to summon him at once, took the rifle and went to the detached rock which blocked the ravine. Arriving at the place he inspected if attentively, examined all its cracks, inserted a stick into a crevice which he found near the bottom, and carefully measured its depths; afterwards he returned slowly to the camp and, opening the cartridge box, began to count the cartridges. He had barely counted three hundred when from a baobab tree growing about fifty paces from the tent Mea's voice resounded. "Master! Master!" Stas approached the giant tree, whose trunk, hollowed through decay near the ground, looked like a tower, and asked: "What do you want?" "Not far away can be seen zebras, and further on antelopes are feeding." "Good! I will take a rifle and go, for it is necessary to cure meat. But why did you climb the tree, and what are you doing there?" The girl answered in her sad, melodious voice: "Mea saw a nest of gray parrots and wanted to bring a young one to the little lady, but the nest is empty, so Mea will not get any beads for her neck." "You will get them because you love the little lady." The young negress came down the rugged bark as quickly as possible, and with eyes glistening with joy began to repeat: "Oh! Yes! Yes! Mea loves her very much--and beads also." Stas gently stroked her head, after which he took the rifle, closed the cartridge box, and started in the direction in which the zebras were pastured. After a half hour the report of a shot reached the camp, and an hour later the young hunter returned with the good news that he had killed a young zebra and that the locality was full of game; that he saw from a height besides zebras, a numerous herd of ariel antelopes as well as a group of water-bucks pasturing in the vicinity of the river. Afterwards he ordered Kali to take a horse, and despatched him for the slaughtered game, while he himself began to inspect carefully the gigantic baobab trunk, walk around it, and knock the rugged bark with the barrel of his rifle. "What are you doing?" Nell asked him. He replied: "Look what a giant! Fifteen men holding each other's hands could not encircle that tree, which perhaps remembers the times of the Pharaohs. But the trunk at the bottom is decayed and hollow. Do you see that opening? Through it one can easily reach the middle. We can there arrange a room in which we all can live. This occurred to me when I saw Mea among the branches, and afterwards when I stalked the zebra I was continually thinking of it." "Why, we are to escape to Abyssinia." "Yes. Nevertheless it is necessary to recuperate, and I told you yesterday that I had decided to remain here a week, or even two. You do not want to leave your elephant, and I fear for you during the rainy season, which has already commenced and during which fever is certain. To-day the weather is fine; you see, however, that the clouds are gathering thicker and thicker and who knows whether it will not pour before night? The tent will not protect you sufficiently and in the baobab tree if it is not rotten to the top, we can laugh at the greatest downpour. It will be also safer in it than in the tent for if in the evening we protect this opening with thorns and make a little window to afford us light, then as many lions as want to may roar and hover around. The spring rainy season does not last longer than a month and I am more and more inclined to think that it will be necessary to wait through it. And if so, it is better here than elsewhere, and better still in that gigantic tree than under the tent." Nell always agreed to everything that Stas wanted; so she agreed now; the more so, as the thought of remaining near the elephant and dwelling in a baobab tree pleased her immensely. She began now to think of how she would arrange the rooms, how she would furnish them, and how they would invite each other to "five o'clocks" and dinners. In the end they both were amused greatly and Nell wanted at once to inspect her new dwelling, but Stas, who with each day acquired more experience and prudence, restrained her from too sudden housekeeping. "Before we live there," he said, "it is first necessary to bid the present tenants to move out, if any such are found there." Saying this, he ordered Mea to throw into the interior of the baobab tree a few lighted boughs, which smoked profusely because the branches were fresh. In fact, it appeared that he did well as the gigantic tree was occupied by housekeepers upon whose hospitality no reliance could be placed. VI There were two apertures in the tree, one large, about a half a yard from the ground; the other smaller, and about as high as the first story of a city residence. Mea had scarcely thrown the lighted, smoking branches into the lower one when immediately out of the upper one big bats began to fly; squeaking and blinded by the luster of the sun, they flew aimlessly about the tree. But after a while from the lower opening there stole out, like lightning, a real tenant, in the person of a monstrous boa, who evidently, digesting the remnants of the last feast in a semi-somnolent state, had not become aroused and did not think of safety until the smoke curled in his nostrils. At the sight of the strong body, which, like a monstrous spring, darted out of the smoking interior of the tree, Stas grabbed Nell in his arms and began to run with her in the direction of the open jungle. But the reptile, itself terror-stricken, did not think of pursuing them; instead, winding in the grass and among the scattered packages, it slid away with unheard-of speed in the direction of the ravine, seeking to hide amid the rocky fissures and crannies. The children recovered their composure. Stas placed Nell on the ground and rushed for his rifle, and afterwards pursued the snake in the direction of the ravine, Nell following him. But after going a score of paces such an extraordinary spectacle struck their eyes that they stood still as if thunderstruck. Now high above the ravine appeared in the twinkling of an eye the body of the snake, and, describing a zigzag in the air, it fell again to the bottom. After a while it appeared a second time and again fell. The children, reaching the brink, saw with amazement that their new friend, the elephant, was amusing himself in this manner, for having first despatched the snake twice upon an aerial journey, at present he was crushing its head with his prodigious foot which resembled a log. Having finished this operation, he again lifted the still quivering body with his trunk; this time, however, he did not toss it upwards, but directly into the waterfall. After this, nodding both ways and fanning himself with his ears, he began to gaze keenly at Nell, and finally stretched out his trunk towards her as if claiming a reward for his heroic and, at the same time, sensible deed. Nell ran at once to the tent and returning with a box full of wild figs, began to throw a few at a time to him, while he searched for them in the grass and placed one after another in his mouth. Those which fell in deeper crevices, he blew out with such force that, with the figs, stones the size of a man's fist flew up. The children received this exhibition with applause and laughter. Nell went back several times for new supplies, not ceasing to contend with each fig that the elephant was entirely tamed and that they could even at that moment go down to him. "You see, Stas; we now shall have a defender. For he is afraid of nobody in the desert--neither lion, nor snake, nor crocodile. And he is very good and surely loves us." "If he is tamed," said Stas, "and if I can leave you under his care, then really I can go hunting in perfect peace, for a better defender for you I could not find in all Africa." After a while he added: "The elephants of this place are wild, but I have read that Asiatic elephants, for instance, have a strange weakness for children. It has never occurred in India that an elephant has harmed a child, and if one falls in a rage, as sometimes happens, the native keepers send children to pacify him." "Ah, you see! You see!" "In any case you did well in not allowing me to kill him." At this Nell's pupils flashed with joy like two little greenish flames. Standing on tiptoe, she placed both her hands on Stas' shoulders and, tilting her head backward, asked, gazing into his eyes: "I acted as if I had how many years? Tell me! As if I had how many years?" And he replied: "At least seventy." "You are always joking." "Get angry, get angry, but who will free the elephant?" Hearing this, Nell began at once to fawn like a little kitten. "You--and I shall love you very much and he will also." "I am thinking of that," Stas said, "but it will be hard work and I shall not do it at once, but only when we are ready to start upon a farther journey." "Why?" "Because if we should free him before he is entirely tame and becomes attached to us, he would go away at once." "Oh! He won't go away from me." "You think that he already is like me," retorted Stas with impatience. Further conversation was checked by the arrival of Kali, who brought with him the slain zebra and its colt, which had been partly devoured by Saba. It was the good fortune of the mastiff that he rushed after Kali, and was not present at the encounter with the python for he would have chased after him and, overtaking him, would have perished in his murderous coils before Stas could come to his aid. For eating the zebra he received, however, from Nell a tongue-lashing which after all he did not take too much to heart as he did not even hide his lolling tongue, with which he came running in from the hunt. Stas announced in the meantime to Kali that he intended to arrange a dwelling in the interior of the tree and related to him what had occurred during the smoking out of the trunk, as well as how the elephant had handled the snake. The idea of living in the baobab tree, which would afford a protection not only against the rain but also against the wild animals, pleased the negro very much; but on the other hand the conduct of the elephant did not meet his approval. "The elephant is foolish," he said, "so he threw the nioka (snake) into the thundering water, but Kali knows that nioka is good; so he will search for it in the thundering waters, and bake it as Kali is wise--and is a donkey." "It is agreed that you are a donkey," Stas answered, "but of course you will not eat the snake." "Nioka is good," repeated Kali. And pointing at the slain zebra, he added: "Better than that niama." After which both went into the baobab tree and occupied themselves in arranging the dwelling. Kali, having found on the river-side a flat stone the size of a sieve, placed it in the trunk, heaped burning coals upon it, and afterwards continually added more fuel, watching only that the decayed wood on the inside did not ignite and cause the conflagration of the whole tree. He said that he did this in order that "nothing should bite the great master and the bibi." In fact it appeared that this was not a useless precaution, for as soon as smoke filled the interior of the tree and spread even on the outside there began to creep out of the cracks in the bark a great variety of creatures; scarabees, black and cherry-colored, shaggy spiders big as plums, caterpillars of the thickness of a finger, covered as though with thorns, and loathsome and at the same time venomous scolopendras whose bite may even cause death. In view of what was occurring on the outside of the trunk it was easy to surmise how many similar creatures must have perished from the fumes of the smoke on the inside. Those which fell from the bark and lower branches upon the grass were crushed unmercifully with a stone by Kali, who was continually gazing at the upper and lower openings as if he feared that at any moment something strange might appear in either of them. "Why are you looking so?" Stas asked. "Do you think that another snake is hiding in the tree?" "No, Kali fears Mzimu!" "What is a Mzimu?" "An evil spirit." "Did you ever in your life see a Mzimu?" "No, but Kali has heard the horrible noise which Mzimu makes in the huts of fetish-men." "Nevertheless your fetish-men do not fear him." "The fetish-men know how to exorcise him, and afterwards go to the huts and say that Mzimu is angry; so the negroes bring them bananas, honey, pombe (beer made of sorghum plant), eggs, and meat in order to propitiate the Mzimu." Stas shrugged his shoulders. "I see that it is a good thing to be a fetish-man among your people. Perhaps that snake was Mzimu?" Kali shook his head. "In such case the elephant could not kill the Mzimu, but the Mzimu would kill the elephant. Mzimu is death." Some kind of strange crash and rumble within the tree suddenly interrupted his reply. From the lower aperture there burst out a strange ruddy dust, after which there resounded a second crash, louder than the former one. Kali threw himself in the twinkling of an eye upon his face and began to cry shrilly: "Aka! Mzimu! Aka! Aka! Aka!" Stas at first stepped back, but soon recovered his composure, and when Nell with Mea came running up he began to explain what might have happened. "In all probability," he said, "a whole mass of decayed wood in the interior of the trunk, expanding from the heat, finally tumbled down and buried the burning wood. And he thinks that it was Mzimu. Let Mea, however, pour water a few times through the opening; if the live embers are not extinct for want of air and the decayed wood is kindled, the tree might be consumed by fire." After which, seeing that Kali continued lying down and did not cease repeating with terror, "Aka! Aka!" he took the rifle with which he usually shot at guinea-fowl and, firing into the opening, said, shoving the boy with the barrel: "Your Mzimu is killed. Do not fear." And Kali raised his body, but remained on his knees. "Oh, great master! great! You do not even fear Mzimu!" "Aka! Aka!" exclaimed Stas, mimicking the negro. And he began to laugh. The negro became calm after a time and when he sat down to partake of the food prepared by Mea, it appeared that the temporary fright had not at all deprived him of his appetite, for besides a portion of smoked meat he consumed the raw liver of the zebra colt, not counting the wild figs, which a sycamore growing in the neighborhood furnished in great abundance. Afterwards with Stas they returned to the tree, about which there was yet a good deal of work to do. The removal of the decayed wood and the ashes, with hundreds of broiled scarabees and centipedes, together with a score of baked bats occupied over two hours' time. Stas was also surprised that the bats could live in the immediate neighborhood of the snake. He surmised, however, that the gigantic python either despised such trifling game or, not being able to wind himself around anything in the interior of the trunk, could not reach them. The glowing coals, having caused the fall of layers of decayed wood, cleaned out the interior splendidly, and its appearance delighted Stas, for it was as wide as a large room and could have given shelter not merely to four persons, but to ten men. The lower opening formed a doorway and the upper a window, thanks to which in the huge trunk it was neither dark nor stifling. Stas thought of dividing the whole, by means of the tent canvas, into two rooms, of which one was to be assigned to Nell and Mea and the other to himself, Kali, and Saba. The tree was not decayed to the top of the trunk; the rain, therefore, could not leak to the center, but in order to be protected completely, it was sufficient to raise and prop bark above both openings in such manner that it should form two eaves. The bottom of the interior he determined to strew with sand from the river bank which had been grilled by the sun, and to carpet its surface with dry moss. The work was really hard, especially for Kali, for he had, in addition, to cure the meat, water the horses, and think of fodder for the elephant who was incessantly trumpeting for it. But the young negro proceeded to work about the new abode with great willingness and even ardor; the reason for this he explained the same day to Stas in the following manner: "When the great master and the 'bibi,'" he said, holding his arms akimbo, "live in the tree, Kali will not have to build big zarebas for the night and he can be idle every night." "Then you like to be idle?" Stas asked. "Kali is a man, so Kali loves to be idle, as only women ought to work." "But you see, however, that I work for the 'bibi.'" "But because when the 'bibi' grows up she will have to work for the great master, and, if she does not want to, the great master will whip her." But Stas, at the very thought of whipping the "bibi," jumped as if scalded and shouted in anger: "Fool, do you know who the 'bibi' is?" "I do not," replied the black boy with fear. "Bibi--is--is--a good Mzimu." And Kali cowered. After finishing his work he approached Nell bashfully; then he fell on his face and began to repeat, not indeed in a terror-stricken, but in an entreating voice: "Aka! Aka! Aka!" And the "Good Mzimu" stared at him, with her beautiful, sea-green eyes wide open, not understanding what had happened nor what was the matter with Kali. VII The new abode, which Stas named "Cracow," was completed in the course of three days. But before that time the principal luggage was deposited in the "men's quarters" and during great downpours the young quartette staid in the gigantic trunk, perfectly sheltered. The rainy season began in earnest but it was not one of our long autumn rains during which the heavens are heavy with dark clouds and the tedious, vexatious bad weather lasts for weeks. There, about a dozen times during the day, the wind drives over the sky the swollen clouds, which water the earth copiously, after which the sun shines brightly, as if freshly bathed, and floods with a golden luster the rocks, the river, the trees, and the entire jungle. The grass grew almost before their eyes. The trees were clad with more abundant leaves, and, before the old fruit fell, buds of the new germinated. The air, owing to the tiny drops of water suspended in it, grew so transparent that even distant objects became entirely distinct and the view extended into the immeasurably far expanse. On the sky hung charming, seven-colored rainbows and the waterfall was almost continually attired with them. The brief dawn and twilight played with thousands of lights of such brilliance that the children had not seen anything like it, even on the Libyan Desert. The lower clouds, those nearest the earth, were dyed cherry-colored, the upper, better illuminated, overflowed in the shape of a lake of purple and gold, and the tiny woolly cloudlets changed colors like rubies, amethysts, and opals. During the night time, between one downpour of rain and another, the moon transformed into diamonds the drops of dew which clung on the mimosa and acacia leaves, and the zodiacal light shone in the refreshed transparent air more brightly than at any other season of the year. From the overflow which the river formed below the waterfall came the uneasy croaking of frogs and the doleful piping of toads, and fireflies, resembling shooting stars, flew from bank to bank amid the clumps of bamboo and arum. But when clouds covered the starry heaven and the rain began to fall it became very dusky and the interior of the baobab tree was as dark as in a cellar. Desiring to avoid this, Stas ordered Mea to melt the fat of the killed game and make a lamp of a small plate, which he placed beneath the upper opening, which was called a window by the children. The light from this window, visible from a distance in the darkness, drove away the wild animals, but on the other hand attracted bats and even birds so much that Kali finally was compelled to construct in the opening something in the nature of a screen of thorns similar to the one with which he closed the lower opening for the night. However, in daytime, during fair weather, the children left "Cracow" and strolled over the promontory. Stas started after antelope-ariels and ostriches, of which numerous flocks appeared near the river below, while Nell went to her elephant, who in the beginning trumpeted only for food and later trumpeted when he felt lonesome without his little friend. He always greeted her with sheer delight and pricked his enormous ears as soon as he heard from the distance her voice or her footsteps. Once, when Stas went hunting and Kali angled for fish beyond the waterfall, Nell decided to go to the rock which closed the ravine, to see whether Stas had done anything about its removal. Mea, occupied with preparations for dinner, did not observe her departure; while on the way, the little maid, gathering flowers, particularly begonia which grew abundantly in the rocky clefts, approached the declivity by which they at one time left the ravine and descending found herself near the rock. The great stone, detached from its native walls, obstructed the ravine as it had previously done. Nell, however, noticed that between the rock and the wall there was a passage so wide that even a grown-up person could pass through it with ease. For a while she hesitated, then she went in and found herself on the other side. But there was a bend there, which it was necessary to pass in order to reach the wide egress of the locked-in waterfall. Nell began to meditate. "I will go yet a little farther. I will peer from behind the rocks; I will take just one look at the elephant who will not see me at all, and I will return." Thus meditating, she advanced step by step farther and farther, until finally she reached a place where the ravine widened suddenly into a small dell and she saw the elephant. He stood with his back turned towards her, with trunk immersed in the waterfall, and drank. This emboldened her, so pressing closely to the wall, she advanced a few steps, and a few more yet, and then the huge beast, desiring to splash his sides, turned his head, saw the little maid, and, beholding her, moved at once towards her. Nell became very much frightened, but as there was no time now for retreat, pressing knee to knee, she curtsied to the elephant as best she could; after which she stretched out her little hand with the begonias and spoke in a slightly quivering voice. "Good day, dear elephant. I know you won't harm me; so I came to say good day--and I have only these flowers--" And the colossus approached, stretched out his trunk, and picked the bunch of begonias out of Nell's little fingers, and putting them into his mouth he dropped them at once as evidently neither the rough leaves nor the flowers were to his taste. Nell now saw above her the trunk like a huge black snake which stretched and bent; it touched one of her little hands and then the other; afterwards both shoulders and finally descending it began to swing gently to and fro. "I knew that you would not harm me," the little girl repeated, though fear did not leave her. Meanwhile the elephant drew back his fabulous ears, winding and unwinding alternately his trunk and gurgling joyfully as he always gurgled when the little girl approached the brink of the ravine. And as at one time Stas and the lion, so now these two stood opposite each other--he, an enormity, resembling a house or a rock, and she a mite whom he could crush with one motion, not indeed in rage but through inadvertence. But the good and prudent animal did not make angry or inadvertent motions, but evidently was pleased and happy at the arrival of the little guest. Nell gained courage gradually and finally raised her eyes upwards and, looking as though onto a high roof she asked timidly, raising her little hand: "May I stroke your trunk?" The elephant did not, indeed, understand English, but from the motion of her hand discerned at once what she wanted and shoved under her palm the end of his trunk, which was over two yards in length. Nell began to stroke the trunk; at first carefully with one hand, afterwards with both, and finally embraced it with both arms and hugged it with perfectly childish trust. The elephant stepped from one foot to the other and continually gurgled from joy. After a while he wound the diminutive body of the girl with his trunk and, lifting her up, began to swing her lightly right and left. "More! More!" cried Nell, intensely amused. And the play lasted quite a long time and afterwards the little girl, now entirely bold, invented a new one. Finding herself on the ground, she tried to climb on the elephant's fore legs, as on a tree, or, hiding behind them, she asked whether he could find her. But at these frolics she observed one thing, namely, that numerous thorns were stuck in his hind legs; from these the powerful beast could not free himself, first because he could not conveniently reach his hind legs with his trunk, and again because he evidently feared to wound the finger with which the trunk ended and without which he would lose his skill and cleverness. Nell was not at all aware that such thorns in the feet are a real plague to elephants in India and still more in the African jungles composed mainly of thorny plants. As, however, she felt sorry for the honest giant, without any thought, having squatted near his foot, she began to extract delicately at first the bigger splinters and afterwards the smaller, at which work she did not cease to babble and assure the elephant that she would not leave a single one. He understood excellently what she was concerned with, and bending his legs at the knee showed in this manner that on the soles between the hoofs covering his toes there were also thorns which caused him still greater pain. In the meantime Stas came from the hunt and at once asked Mea where the little lady was. Receiving a reply that she undoubtedly was in the tree, he was about to enter the interior of the baobab tree when at that moment it seemed to him that he heard Nell's voice in the depth of the ravine. Not believing his own ears, he rushed at once to the edge and, glancing down, was astounded. The little girl sat near the foot of the colossus which stood so quietly that if he did not move the trunk and ears, one would think that he was hewed out of stone. "Nell!" Stas shouted. And she, engaged with her work, answered merrily: "At once! At once!" To this the boy, who was not accustomed to hesitate in the presence of danger, lifted his rifle with one hand in the air and with the other grabbed a dry liana stalk, which was stripped of its bark, and, winding his legs about it, slid to the bottom of the ravine. The elephant moved his ears uneasily, but at that moment Nell rose and, hugging his trunk, cried hurriedly: "Don't be afraid, elephant! That is Stas." Stas perceived at once that she was in no danger, but his legs yet trembled under him, his heart palpitated violently, and before he recovered from the sensation, he began to speak in a choking voice, full of grief and anger: "Nell! Nell! How could you do this?" And she began to explain that she did not do anything wrong, for the elephant was good and was already entirely tamed; that she wanted to take only one look at him and return, but he stopped her and began to play with her, that he swung her very carefully, and if Stas wanted he would swing him also. Saying this, she took hold of the end of the trunk with one hand and drew it to Stas, while she waved the other hand right and left, saying at the same time to the elephant: "Elephant! Swing Stas also." The wise animal surmised from her gesture what she wanted of him, and Stas, caught by the belt of his trousers, in one moment found himself in mid-air. In this there was such a strange and amusing contrast between his still angry mien and this rocking above the earth that the little "Mzimu" began to laugh until the tears came, clapping all the time her hands and shouting as before: "More! More!" And as it is impossible to preserve an appropriate dignity and deliver a lecture on deportment at a time when one is suspended from the end of an elephant's trunk and involuntarily goes through the motions of a pendulum, the boy in the end began to laugh also. But after a certain time, noticing that the motions of the trunk were slackening and the elephant intended to deposit him on the ground, a new idea unexpectedly occurred to him, and, taking advantage of the moment at which he found himself close to the prodigious ear, he grabbed it with both hands and in the twinkling of an eye climbed over it onto the head and sat on the elephant's neck. "Aha!" he exclaimed from above to Nell; "let him understand that he must obey me." And he began to stroke the elephant's head with his palm with the mien of a ruler and master. "Good!" cried Nell from below, "but how will you get down now?" "That is small trouble," Stas answered. And slinging his legs over the elephant's forehead, he entwined the trunk with them and slid over it as if down a tree. "That is how I come down." After which both began to pick out the rest of the thorns from the legs of the elephant who submitted with the greatest patience. In the meantime the first drops of rain fell; so Stas decided to escort Nell to "Cracow"; but here an unexpected obstacle presented itself. The elephant did not want to part from her and every time she attempted to go away he turned her about with his trunk and drew her towards him. The situation became disagreeable, and the merry play in view of the stubbornness of the elephant might have ended unfortunately. The boy did not know what to do as the rain became each moment heavier and a downpour threatened them. Both withdrew, indeed, somewhat towards the egress, but gradually, and the elephant followed them. Finally Stas stood between him and Nell. He fixed his gaze upon the elephant's eyes and at the same time said to Nell in an undertone: "Don't run, but continually draw back to the narrow passageway." "And you, Stas?" the little maid asked. "Draw back!" repeated Stas with emphasis, "otherwise I shall have to shoot the elephant." The little maid, under the influence of this threat, obeyed the command; the more so as, having already unbounded confidence in the elephant, she was sure that under no circumstances would he do any harm to Stas. But the boy stood about four paces from the giant, not removing his eyes from him for a moment. In this manner a few minutes passed; a moment full of danger followed. The ears of the elephant moved a score of times, his little eyes glittered strangely, and suddenly his trunk was raised. Stas felt that he was turning pale. "Death!" he thought. But the colossus turned his trunk unexpectedly toward the brink where he was accustomed to see Nell and began to trumpet more mournfully than he had ever done before. Stas went peacefully to the passageway and behind the rock found Nell, who did not want to return to the tree without him. The boy had an uncontrollable desire to say to her: "See what you have done! On account of you I might have been killed." But there was no time for reproof as the rain changed into a downpour and it was necessary to return as quickly as possible. Nell was drenched to the skin though Stas wrapped her in his clothing. In the interior of the tree he ordered the negress to change Nell's dress while he himself unleashed Saba, whom previously he had tied from fear that in following his tracks he might scare away the game; afterwards he began to ransack all the clothing and luggage in the hope that he might find some overlooked pinch of quinine. But he did not find anything. Only at the bottom of the small gallipot which the missionary had given him in Khartûm there lay a little white powder which would scarcely suffice for whitening the tip of a finger. He nevertheless determined to fill the gallipot with hot water and give this gargle to Nell to drink. Then when the downpour had passed away and the sun began to shine again, he left the tree to look at the fish which Kali had brought. The negro had caught about twenty upon a line of thin wire. Most of them were small, but there were three about a foot long, silver speckled and surprisingly light. Mea, who was bred upon the banks of the Blue Nile, was conversant with these fishes; she said that they were good to eat and towards evening they leap very high above the water. In fact, at the scaling and cleaning of the first it appeared that they were so light because they had big air bladders. Stas took one of them about the size of an apple and brought it to show to Nell. "Look!" he said. "This was in the fish. We could make a pane for our window from about a dozen of these." And he pointed at the upper opening in the tree. But reflecting for a time he added: "And even something more." "What is it?" asked Nell. "A kite." "Such as you used to send up in Port Said? Oh good! Do." "I will. With thin, cut pieces of bamboo I will make a frame and I will use these membranes instead of paper for they are lighter and the rain will not soak them. Such a kite will go away up in the air and with a powerful wind will fly the Lord knows where--" Here he suddenly struck his forehead. "I have an idea." "What is it?" "You shall see. As soon as I figure it out better, I will tell you. Now that elephant of yours is making such a racket that one cannot even talk." Indeed, the elephant, from longing for Nell, and perhaps for both children, trumpeted so that the whole ravine shook, together with the adjacent trees. "We must show ourselves to him," Nell said. "That will quiet him." And they strolled to the ravine. But Stas, entirely absorbed in his thoughts, began in an undertone to say: "'Nelly Rawlinson and Stanislas Tarkowski of Port Said, having escaped from the dervishes in Fashoda, are at--'" And stopping abruptly, he asked: "How to designate the place?" "What, Stas?" "Nothing, nothing. I already know,--'are about a month's journey west of the Blue Nile and beg for immediate aid.' When the wind blows to the north or to the west I will send twenty, fifty, a hundred of such kites and you, Nell, shall help me to paste them." "Kites?" "Yes, and I tell you that they can be of greater service to us than ten elephants." In the meantime they reached the brink. And now began the shuffling of the elephant's feet, the nodding, the movements of the ears, the gurgling, and again the mournful trumpeting when Nell attempted to retire even for a moment. In the end the little maid began to explain to the "dear elephant" that she could not be with him all the time, for, of course, she had to sleep, eat, work, and keep house in "Cracow." But he became quiet only when she shoved down to him with a pitchfork provisions prepared by Kali; at night he again began to trumpet. The children that same evening named him "The King," as Nell was sure that before he got caught in the ravine he undoubtedly was the king of all the elephants in Africa. VIII During the few days following Nell passed all the moments during which the rain did not fall with the King, who did not oppose her departure, having understood that the little maiden would return a few times daily. Kali, who as a rule feared elephants, gazed at this one with amazement but in the end came to the conclusion that the mighty, "Good Mzimu" had bewitched the giant, so he began to visit him also. The King was well disposed in his behavior towards Kali as well as towards Mea, but Nell alone could do with him whatever she pleased, so that after a week she ventured even to bring Saba to him. For Stas this was a great relief as he could with perfect peace leave Nell under the protection, or, as he expressed it, "under the trunk of the elephant," and without any fear he went hunting and even at times took Kali with him. He was certain now that the noble animal would not desert them under any circumstances and began to consider how to free him from his confinement. And to speak properly, he long ago had discovered a way, but it required such sacrifices that he wrestled with his thoughts as to whether he would use it and afterwards postponed doing it from day to day. As he had no one to speak to about this, he finally decided to acquaint Nell with his intentions, though he regarded her as a mere child. "The rock can be blasted with powder, but for that it is necessary to spoil a great number of cartridges; that is, to extract the bullets, pour out the powder, and make one big charge out of it all. Such a charge I will insert in the deepest fissure which I can find in the middle; afterwards I will plug it and light a fire. Then the rock will burst into a few or even a score of pieces and we can lead the King out." "But if there is a great explosion, will he not get scared?" "Let him get scared," answered Stas quickly. "That bothers me the least. Really, it is not worth while to talk to you seriously." Nevertheless he continued, or rather thought aloud: "But if I do not use enough cartridges the rock will not burst and I shall waste them in vain; if I use a sufficient number, then not many will remain. And if I should be in want of them before the end of the journey, death clearly threatens us. For with what will I hunt, with what will I defend you in case of an attack? You well know, of course, that if it were not for this rifle and the cartridges we would have perished long ago, either at Gebhr's hands or from starvation. And it is very fortunate too that we have horses for without them we could not have carried all these things and the cartridges." At this Nell raised her finger and declared with great positiveness: "When I tell the King, he will carry everything." "How will he carry the cartridges, if very few of them remain?" "As to that, he will defend us." "But he won't fire from his trunk as I do from the rifle." "Then we can eat figs and big gourds which grow on the trees, and Kali will catch fish." "That is, as long as we stay near the river. We still have to pass the rainy season here, as these continual downpours would surely prostrate you with the fever. Remember, however, that later we shall start upon a further journey and we might chance upon a desert." "Such as Sahara?" Nell asked in alarm. "No; one where there are neither rivers, nor fruit-trees, and only low acacias and mimosas grow. There one can live only upon what is secured by hunting. The King will find grass there and I antelopes, but if I do not have anything to shoot them with, then the King will not catch them." And Stas, in reality, had something to worry about, as by that time, when the elephant was already tamed and had become friendly it was impossible to abandon him and doom him to death by starvation; and to liberate him meant the loss of a greater portion of the ammunition and exposing themselves to unavoidable destruction. So Stas postponed the work from day to day, repeating to himself in his soul each evening: "Perhaps to-morrow I may devise some other scheme". In the meantime to this trouble others were added. At first Kali was stung at the river below by wild bees to which he was led by a small gray-greenish bird, well-known in Africa and called bee-guide. The black boy, through indolence, did not smoke out the bees sufficiently and returned with honey, but so badly stung and swollen that an hour later he lost all consciousness. The "Good Mzimu," with Mea's aid, extracted stings from him until night and afterwards plastered him with earth upon which Stas poured water. Nevertheless, towards morning it seemed as if the poor negro were dying. Fortunately, the nursing and his strong constitution overcame the danger; he did not, however, recover his health until the lapse of ten days. The second mishap was met by the horses. Stas, who during Kali's sickness had to fetter the horses and lead them to water, observed that they began to grow terribly lean. This could not be explained by a lack of fodder as in consequence of the rains grass shot up high and there was excellent pasturage near the ford. And yet the horses wasted away. After a few days their hair bristled, their eyes became languid, and from their nostrils a thick slime flowed. In the end they ceased to eat and instead drank eagerly, as if fever consumed them. When Kali regained his health they were merely two skeletons. But he only glanced at them and understood at once what had happened. "Tsetse!" he said, addressing Stas. "They must die." Stas also understood, for while in Port Said he had often heard of the African fly, called "tsetse," which is such a terrible plague in some regions that wherever it has its permanent habitat the negroes do not possess any cattle at all, and wherever, as a result of temporary favorable conditions it multiplies unexpectedly, cattle perish. A horse, ox, or donkey bitten by a tsetse wastes and dies in the course of a fortnight or even in a few days. The local animals understand the danger which threatens them, for it happens that whole herds of oxen, when they hear its hum near a waterfall, are thrown into a wild stampede and scamper in all directions. Stas' horses were bitten; these horses and the donkey Kali now rubbed daily with some kind of plant, the odor of which resembled that of onions and which he found in the jungles. He said that the odor would drive away the tsetse, but notwithstanding this preventative remedy the horses grew thinner. Stas, with dread, thought of what might happen if all the animals should succumb; how then could he convey Nell, the saddle-cloth, the tent, the cartridges and the utensils? There was so much of them that only the King could carry them all. But to liberate the King it was necessary to sacrifice at least two-thirds of the cartridges. Ever-increasing troubles gathered over Stas' head like the clouds which did not cease to water the jungle with rain. Finally came the greatest calamity, in the presence of which all the others dwindled--fever! IX One night at supper Nell, having raised a piece of smoked meat to her lips, suddenly pushed it away, as if with loathing, and said: "I cannot eat to-day." Stas, who had learned from Kali where the bees were and had smoked them out daily in order to get their honey, was certain that the little one had eaten during the day too much honey, and for that reason he did not pay any attention to her lack of appetite. But she after a while rose and began to walk hurriedly about the camp-fire describing an ever larger circle. "Do not get away too far, for something might seize you," the boy shouted at her. He really, however, did not fear anything, for the elephant's presence, which the wild animals scented, and his trumpeting, which reached their vigilant ears, held them at a respectable distance. It assured safety alike to the people and to the horses, for the most ferocious beasts of prey in the jungle, the lion, the panther, and the leopard, prefer to have nothing to do with an elephant and not to approach too near his tusks and trunk. Nevertheless, when the little maid continued to run around, more and more hurriedly, Stas followed her and asked: "Say, little moth! Why are you flying like that about the fire?" He asked still jestingly, but really was uneasy and his uneasiness increased when Nell answered: "I don't know. I can't sit down in any place." "What is the matter with you?" "I feel so strangely--" And then suddenly she rested her head on his bosom and as though confessing a fault, exclaimed in a meek voice, broken by sobs: "Stas, perhaps I am sick--" "Nell!" Then he placed his palm upon her forehead which was dry and icy. So he took her in his arms and carried her to the camp-fire. "Are you cold?" he asked on the way. "Cold and hot, but more cold--" In fact her little teeth chattered and chills continually shook her body. Stas now did not have the slightest doubt that she had a fever. He at once ordered Mea to conduct her to the tree, undress her and place her on the ground, and afterwards to cover her with whatever she could find, for he had seen in Khartûm and Fashoda that fever-stricken people were covered with sheeps' hide in order to perspire freely. He determined to sit at Nell's side the whole night and give her hot water with honey to drink. But she in the beginning did not want to drink. By the light of the little lamp hung in the interior of the tree he observed her glittering eyes. After a while she began to complain of the heat and at the same time shook under the saddle-cloth and plaids. Her hands and forehead continued cold, but had Stas known anything about febrile disorders, he would have seen by her extraordinary restlessness that she must have a terrible fever. With fear he observed that when Mea entered with hot water the little girl gazed at her as though with a certain amazement and even fear and did not seem to recognize her. With him she spoke consciously. She said to him that she could not lie down and begged him to permit her to rise and run about; then again she asked whether he was not angry at her because she was sick, and when he assured her that he was not, her eyelashes were suffused with the tears which surged to her eyes, and she assured him that on the morrow she would be entirely well. That evening, or that night, the elephant was somehow strangely disturbed and continually trumpeted so as to awake Saba and cause him to bark. Stas observed that this irritated the patient; so he left the tree to quiet them. He silenced Saba easily, but as it was a harder matter to bid the elephant to be silent, he took with him a few melons to throw to him, and stuff his trunk at least for a time. Returning, he observed, by the light of the camp-fire, Kali who, with a piece of smoked meat on his shoulders, was going in the direction of the river. "What are you doing there, and where are you going?" he asked the negro. And the black boy stopped, and when Stas drew near to him said with a mysterious countenance: "Kali is going to another tree to place meat for the wicked Mzimu." "Why?" "That the wicked Mzimu should not kill the 'Good Mzimu.'" Stas wanted to say something in reply, but suddenly grief seized his bosom; so he only set his teeth and walked away in silence. When he returned to the tree Nell's eyes were closed, her hands, lying on the saddle-cloth, quivered indeed strongly, but it seemed that she was slumbering. Stas sat down near her, and from fear of waking her he sat motionless. Mea, sitting on the other side, readjusted every little while pieces of ivory protruding out of her ears, in order to defend herself in this manner from drowsiness. It became still; only from the river below, from the direction of the overflow, came the croaking of frogs and the melancholy piping of toads. Suddenly Nell sat up on the bedding. "Stas!" "I am here, Nell." And she, shaking like a leaf in the breeze, began to seek his hands and repeat hurriedly: "I am afraid! I am afraid! Give me your hand!" "Don't fear. I am with you." And he grasped her palm which this time was heated as if on fire; not knowing what to do he began to cover that poor, emaciated hand with kisses. "Don't be afraid, Nell! don't be afraid!" After which he gave her water with honey to drink, which by that time had cooled. This time Nell drank eagerly and clung to the hand with the utensil when he tried to take it away from her lips. The cool drink seemed to soothe her. Silence ensued. But after the lapse of half an hour Nell again sat up on the bedding and in her wide-open eyes could be seen terrible fright. "Stas!" "What is it, dear?" "Why," she asked in a broken voice, "do Gebhr and Chamis walk around the tree and peer at me?" To Stas in an instant it seemed as if thousands of ants were crawling over him. "What are you saying, Nell?" he said. "There is nobody here. That is Kali walking around the tree." But she, staring at the dark opening, cried with chattering teeth: "And the Bedouins too! Why did you kill them?" Stas clasped her with his arms and pressed her to his bosom. "You know why! Don't look there! Don't think of that! That happened long ago!" "To-day! to-day!" "No, Nell, long ago." In fact it was long ago, but it had returned like a wave beaten back from the shore and again filled with terror the thoughts of the sick child. All words of reassurance appeared in vain. Nell's eyes widened more and more. Her heart palpitated so violently that it seemed that it would burst at any moment. She began to throw herself about like a fish taken out of the water, and this continued almost until morning. Only towards the morning was her strength exhausted and her head dropped upon the bedding. "I am weak, weak," she repeated. "Stas, I am flying somewhere down below." After which she closed her eyes. Stas at first became terribly alarmed for he thought that she had died. But this was only the end of the first paroxysm of the dreadful African fever, termed deadly, two attacks of which strong and healthy people can resist, but the third no one thus far had been able to withstand. Travelers had often related this in Port Said in Mr. Rawlinson's home, and yet more frequently Catholic missionaries returning to Europe, whom Pan Tarkowski received hospitably. The second attack comes after a few days or a fortnight, while if the third does not come within two weeks it is not fatal as it is reckoned as the first in the recurrence of the sickness. Stas knew that the only medicine which could break or keep off the attack was quinine in big doses, but now he did not have an atom of it. For the time being, however, seeing that Nell was breathing, he became somewhat calm and began to pray for her. But in the meantime the sun leaped from beyond the rocks of the ravine and it was day. The elephant already demanded his breakfast and from the direction of the overflow which the river made resounded the cries of aquatic birds. Desiring to kill a brace of guinea-fowl for broth for Nell, the boy took his gun and strolled along the river towards a clump of shrubs on which these birds usually perched for the night. But he felt the effect of lack of sleep so much and his thoughts were so occupied with the little girl's illness that a whole flock of guinea-fowl passed close by him in a trot, one after another, bound for the watering place, and he did not observe them at all. This happened also because he was continually praying. He thought of the slaying of Gebhr, Chamis, and the Bedouins, and lifting his eyes upwards he said with a voice choking with tears: "I did this for Nell, oh Lord, for Nell! For I could not free her otherwise; but if it is a sin, punish me, but let her regain her health." On the way he met Kali, who had gone to see whether the wicked Mzimu ate the meat offered to him the previous night. The young negro, loving the little "bibi," prayed also for her, but he prayed in an entirely different fashion. He particularly told the wicked Mzimu that if the "bibi" recovered her health he would bring him a piece of meat every day, but if she died, though he feared him and though he might afterwards perish, he would first so flay his hide that the wicked Mzimu would remember it for ages. He felt greatly encouraged when the meat deposited the previous night disappeared. It might indeed have been carried away by some jackal, but the Mzimu might assume the shape of a jackal. Kali informed Stas of this propitious incident; the latter, however, stared at him as if he did not understand him at all and went on further. Passing a clump of shrubs in which he did not find any guinea-fowl, he drew nearer the river. Its banks were overgrown with tall trees from which were suspended like long stockings the nests of titmice, beautiful little yellow birds with black wings, and also wasps' nests resembling big roses, but colored like gray blotting-paper. In one place the river formed an expansion a few score paces wide, overgrown in part by papyrus. On this expansion aquatic birds always swarmed. There were storks just like our European storks, and storks with thick bills ending with a hook, and birds black as velvet, with legs red as blood, and flamingoes and ibises, and white spoon-bills with bills like spoons, and cranes with crowns on their heads, and a multitude of curlews, variegated and gray as mice, flying quickly back and forth as if they were tiny sylvan sprites on long, thin, snipe-like legs. Stas killed two large ducks, beautiful, cinnamon colored, and treading upon dead butterflies, of which thousands strewed the bank, he first looked around carefully to see whether there were any crocodiles in the shallows, after which he waded into the water and lifted his quarry. The shots had dispersed the birds; there remained only two marabous, standing between ten and twenty paces away and plunged in reverie. They were like two old men with bald heads pressed between the shoulders. They did not move at all. The boy gazed for a while at the loathsome fleshy pouches hanging from their breasts, and afterwards, observing that the wasps were beginning to circle around him more and more frequently, he returned to the camping place. Nell still slept; so handing the ducks to Mea, he flung himself upon a saddle-cloth and fell into a sound sleep. They did not wake until the afternoon--he first and Nell later. The little girl felt somewhat stronger and the strong broth revived her strength still more; she rose and left the tree, desiring to look at the King and at the sun. But only now in the daylight could be seen what havoc that one night's fever had wrought in her. Her complexion was yellow and transparent; her lips were black; there were circles furrowed under her eyes, and her face was as though it had aged. Even the pupils of her eyes appeared paler than usual. It appeared also, despite her assurances to Stas that she felt quite strong and notwithstanding the large cup of broth which she drank immediately after awakening, that she could barely reach the ravine unaided. Stas thought with despair of the second attack and that he had neither medicine nor any remedy by which he could prevent it. In the meantime the rain poured a dozen or more times a day, increasing the humidity of the air. X Days of suspense, heavy and full of fear, began. The second attack did not come until a week after and was not so strong as the first, but after it Nell felt still weaker. She wasted and grew so thin that she no longer was a little girl, but the shadow of a little girl. The flame of her life flickered so faintly that it appeared sufficient to blow at it to extinguish it. Stas understood that death did not have to wait for a third attack to take her and he expected it any day or any hour. He himself became emaciated and black, for misfortune exceeded his strength and his reason. So, gazing on her waxen countenance, he said to himself each day: "For this I guarded her like the eye in the head; in order to bury her here in the jungle." And he did not understand why it should be so. At times he reproached himself that he had not guarded her enough, that he had not been sufficiently kind to her, and at such moments such sorrow seized his heart that he wanted to gnaw his own fingers. Clearly there was too much of woe. And Nell now slept almost continuously and it may be that this kept her alive. Stas woke her a few times a day to give her nourishment. Then, as often as it did not rain, she begged him to carry her into the open air for now she could not stand on her own feet. It happened, moreover, that she fell asleep in his arms. She knew now that she was very sick and might at any moment die. In moments of greater animation she spoke of this to Stas, and always with tears, for she feared death. Once she said: "I shall not now return to papa, but tell him that I was very, very sorry--and beg him to come to me." "You will return," Stas answered. And he could not say anything more as he wanted to wail. And Nell continued in a scarcely audible, dreamy voice: "And papa will come and you will come sometime, will you not?" At this thought a smile brightened the little wan face, but after a while she said in a still lower tone: "But I am so sorry!" Saying this she rested her little head upon his shoulder and began to weep. He mastered his pain, pressed her to his bosom, and replied with animation: "Nell, I will not return without you--and I do not at all know what I would do in this world without you." Silence followed, during which Nell again fell asleep. Stas carried her to the tree, but he had barely gone outside when from the summit of the promontory Kali came running and waving his hands; he began to shout, with an agitated and frightened face: "Great master! Great master!" "What do you want?" Stas asked. And the negro, stretching out his hand and pointing to the south, said: "Smoke!" Stas shaded his eyes with his palm and straining his sight in the direction indicated really saw in the ruddy luster of the sun, which now stood low, a streak of smoke rising far in the jungle, amid the top of two still more distant hills which were quite high. Kali trembled all over, for he well remembered his horrible slavery with the dervishes; he was certain that this was their camping place. To Stas, also, it seemed that this could not be any one else than Smain, and at first he too became terribly frightened. Only this was wanting! Besides Nell's fatal disease, the dervishes! And again slavery, and again a return to Fashoda or to Khartûm, under the hand of the Mahdi or the lash of Abdullahi. If they caught them Nell would die at once, while he would remain a slave the rest of the days of his life; and if he did escape of what use was liberty to him without Nell? How could he look into the eyes of his father or Mr. Rawlinson, if the dervishes after her death should fling her to the hyenas. He himself would not even be able to say where her grave was. Such thoughts flitted through his head like lightning. Suddenly he felt an insurmountable desire to look at Nell, and directed his steps towards the tree. On the way he instructed Kali to extinguish the fire and not to dare to light it during the night, after which he entered the tree. Nell was not sleeping and felt better. She at once communicated this news to Stas. Saba lay close to her and warmed her with his huge body, while she stroked his head lightly, smiling when he caught with his jaws the subtile dust of the decayed wood floating in the streak of light which the last rays of the setting sun formed in the tree. She apparently was in a better frame of mind, as after a while she addressed Stas with quite a lively mien. "And perhaps I may not die." "You surely will not die," Stas replied; "since after the second attack you feel stronger, the third will not come at all." But she began to blink with her eyelids as if she were meditating over something and said: "If I had bitter powders like that which made me feel so well after the night with the lions--do you remember?--then I would not think the least bit of dying not even so much!" And she indicated upon her little finger just how little in that case she would be prepared to die. "Ah!" Stas declared, "I do not know what I would not give for a pinch of quinine." And he thought that if he had enough of it, he would at once treat Nell with two powders, even, and then he would wrap her in plaids, seat her before him on a horse, and start immediately in a direction opposite to the one in which the camp of the dervishes was located. In the meantime the sun set and the jungle was suddenly plunged in darkness. The little girl chattered yet for half an hour, after which she fell asleep and Stas meditated further about the dervishes and quinine. His distressed but resourceful mind began to labor and form plans, each one bolder and more audacious than the other. First he began to ponder over whether that smoke in the southern direction necessarily came from Smain's camp. It might indeed be dervishes, but it also might be Arabs from the ocean coast, who made great expeditions into the interior for ivory and slaves. These had nothing in common with the dervishes who injured their trade. The smoke might also be from a camp of Abyssinians or from some negro village at the foot-hills which the slave hunters had not yet reached. Would it not be proper for him to satisfy himself upon this point? The Arabs from Zanzibar, from the vicinity of Bagamoyo, from Witu and from Mombasa, and in general from the territory bordering on the ocean, were people who continuously came in contact with white men; so who knows whether for a great reward they would not conduct them to the nearest port? Stas knew perfectly well that he could promise such a reward and that they would believe his promise. There occurred to him another idea which touched him to the depth. In Khartûm he saw that many of the dervishes, particularly those from Nubia, suffered fever almost as badly as the white people and that they cured themselves with quinine which they stole from the Europeans, and if it were hidden by renegade Greeks or Copts they purchased it for its weight in gold. So it might be expected that the Arabs from the coast would be certain to have it. "I shall go," Stas said to himself, "I shall go, for Nell." And pondering more and more strongly upon the situation he, in the end, came to the conclusion that even if that was Smain's division, it was incumbent for him to go. He recollected that on account of the complete rupture of relations between Egypt and the Sudân, Smain in all probability knew nothing about their abduction from Fayûm. Fatma could not have had an understanding with him; therefore that abduction was her individual scheme, executed with the aid of Chamis, son of Chadigi, together with Idris, Gebhr, and the two Bedouins. Now these men did not concern Smain for the simple reason that among them he knew only Chamis, and the others he never saw in his life. He was concerned only about his own children and Fatma. But he might long for them now, and might be glad to return to them, particularly if in the service of the Mahdi he apparently did not meet with great fortune, since instead of commanding powerful troops or governing some vast region he was compelled to catch slaves the Lord knew where--far beyond Fashoda. "I will say to him," Stas thought, "that if you will lead us to any seaport on the Indian Ocean and return with us to Egypt, the government will pardon all your offenses; you will rejoin Fatma and the children, and besides, Mr. Rawlinson will make you rich; if not you will never again see your children and Fatma in your life." And he was certain that Smain would consider well before he rejected such an arrangement. Of course this was not altogether safe; it might even prove disastrous, but it might become a plank of rescue from that African whirlpool. Stas in the end began to wonder why the possibility of meeting with Smain should have frightened him at first and, as he was anxious for quick relief for Nell, he determined to go, even that night. It was easier, however, to say than to do it; it is one thing to sit at night in the jungle near a good fire behind a thorny zareba, and another to set forth amid darkness, in high grass, in which at such a time the lion, panther, and leopard, not to speak of hyenas and jackals, are seeking their prey. The boy, however, recollected the words of the young negro at the time when he went during the night to search for Saba and, having returned, said to him, "Kali feared but Kali went." And he repeated to himself, "I shall fear, but I will go." He waited, however, until the moon rose, as the night was extraordinarily dark, and only when the jungle was silvered by her luster did he call Kali and say: "Kali, take Saba into the tree, close the entrance with thorns, and guard the little lady with Mea as the eye in your head, while I go and see what kind of people are in that camp." "Great master, take Kali with you and the rifle which kills bad animals. Kali does not want to stay." "You shall stay!" Stas said firmly. "And I forbid you to go with me." After which he became silent, but presently said in a somewhat hollow voice: "Kali, you are faithful and prudent, so I am confident that you will do what I tell you. If I should not return and the little lady should die, you will leave her in the tree, but around the tree you will build a high zareba and on the bark you will carve a great sign like this." And taking two bamboos, he formed them into a cross, after which he continued thus: "If, however, I do not return and the 'bibi' does not die you shall honor her and serve her faithfully, and afterwards you shall conduct her to your people, and tell the Wahima warriors that they should go continually to the east until they reach the great sea. There you will find white men who will give you many rifles, much powder, beads, and wire, and as much cloth as you are able to carry. Do you understand?" And the young negro threw himself on his knees, embraced Stas' limbs, and began to repeat mournfully: "Bwana kubwa! You will return! You will return!" Stas was deeply touched by the black boy's devotion, so he leaned over him, placed his hand on his head, and said: "Go into the tree, Kali--and may God bless you!" Remaining alone, he deliberated for a while whether to take the donkey with him. This was the safer course, for lions in Africa as well as the tigers in India, in case they meet a man riding a horse or donkey, always charge at the animal and not at the man. But he propounded to himself the question, who in such case will carry Nell's tent and on what will she herself ride? After this observation he rejected at once the idea of taking the donkey and set off on foot in the jungle. The moon already rose higher in the heavens; it was therefore considerably lighter. Nevertheless, the difficulties began as soon as the boy plunged into the grass, which grew so high that a man on horseback could easily be concealed in it. Even in the daytime one could not see a step ahead in it, and what of the night, when the moon illuminated only the heights, and below everything was steeped in a deep shade? Under such conditions it was easy to stray and walk around in a circle instead of moving forward. Stas, nevertheless, was cheered by the thought that in the first place the camp, towards which he went, was at most three or four English miles distant from the promontory, and again that it appeared between the tops of two lofty hills; therefore, by keeping the hills in sight, one could not stray. But the grass, mimosa, and acacias veiled everything. Fortunately every few score of paces there stood white-ant hillocks, sometimes between ten and twenty feet high. Stas carefully placed the rifle at the bottom of each hillock; afterwards climbed to the top, and descrying the hills blackly outlined on the background of the sky, descended and proceeded farther. Fear seized him only at the thought of what would happen if clouds should veil the moon and the sky, for then he would find himself as though in a subterranean cavern. But this was not the only danger. The jungle in the night time, when, amidst the stillness can be heard every sound, every step, and almost the buzz which the insects creeping over the grass make, is downright terrifying. Fear and terror hover over it. Stas had to pay heed to everything, to listen, watch, look around in every direction, have his head on screws, as it were, and have the rifle ready to fire at any second. Every moment it seemed to him that something was approaching, skulking, hiding in ambush. From time to time he heard the grass stir and the sudden clatter of animals running away. He then conjectured that he had scared some antelopes which, notwithstanding posted guards, sleep watchfully, knowing that many yellow, terrible hunters are seeking them at that hour in the darkness. But now something big is darkly outlined under the umbrella-like acacia. It may be a rock and it may be a rhinoceros or a buffalo which, having scented a man, will wake from a nap and rush at once to attack him. Yonder again behind a black bush can be seen two glittering dots. Heigh! Rifle to face! That is a lion! No! Vain alarm! Those are fireflies for one dim light rises upwards and flies above the grass like a star shooting obliquely. Stas climbed onto ant-hillocks, not always to ascertain whether he was going in the right direction, but to wipe the cold perspiration from his brow, to recover his breath, and to wait until his heart, palpitating too rapidly, calmed. In addition he was already so fatigued that he was barely able to stand on his feet. But he proceeded because he felt that he must do so, to save Nell. After two hours he got to a place, thickly strewn with stones, where the grass was lower and it was considerably lighter. The lofty hills appeared as distant as before; on the other hand nearer were the rocky ridges running transversely, beyond which the second, higher hill arose, while both evidently enclosed some kind of valley or ravine similar to the one in which the King was confined. Suddenly, about three or four hundred paces on the right, he perceived on the rocky wall the rosy reflection of a flame. He stood still. His heart again beat so strongly that he almost heard it amid the stillness of the night. Whom would he see below? Arabs from the eastern coast? Smain's dervishes, or savage negroes who, escaping from their native villages, sought protection from the dervishes in the inaccessible thickets of the hills? Would he find death, or slavery, or salvation for Nell? It was imperative to ascertain this. He could not retreat now, nor did he desire to. After a while he stepped in the direction of the fire, moving as quietly as possible and holding the breath in his bosom. Having proceeded thus about a hundred paces he unexpectedly heard from the direction of the jungle the snorting of horses and again stopped. In the moonlight he counted five horses. For the dervishes this would not be enough, but he assumed that the rest were concealed in the high grass. He was only surprised that there were no guards near them nor had these guards lighted any fires above to scare away the wild animals. But he thanked the Lord that it was so, as he could proceed farther without detection. The luster on the rocks became more and more distinct. Before a quarter of an hour passed, Stas found himself at a place at which the opposite rock was most illuminated, which indicated that at its base a fire must be burning. Then, crawling slowly, he crept to the brink and glanced below. The first object which struck his eyes was a big white tent; before the tent stood a canvas field bed, and on it lay a man attired in a white European dress. A little negro, perhaps twelve years old, was adding dry fuel to the fire which illumined the rocky wall and a row of negroes sleeping under it on both sides of the tent. Stas in one moment slid down the declivity to the bottom of the ravine. XI For some time from exhaustion and emotion he could not utter a word, and stood panting heavily before the man lying on the bed, who also was silent and stared at him with an amazement bordering almost upon unconsciousness. Finally the latter exclaimed: "Nasibu! Are you there?" "Yes, master," answered the negro lad. "Do you see any one any one standing there before me?" But before the boy was able to reply Stas recovered his speech. "Sir," he said, "my name is Stanislas Tarkowski. With little Miss Rawlinson I have escaped from dervish captivity and we are hiding in the jungle. But Nell is terribly sick; and for her sake I beg for help." The unknown continued to stare at him, blinking with his eyes, and then rubbed his brow with his hand. "I not only see but hear!" he said to himself. "This is no illusion! What? Help? I myself am in need of help. I am wounded." Suddenly, however, he shook himself as though out of a wild dream or torpor, gazed more consciously, and, with a gleam of joy in his eyes, said: "A white boy!--I again see a white one! I welcome you whoever you are. Did you speak of some sick girl? What do you want of me?" Stas repeated that the sick girl was Nell, the daughter of Mr. Rawlinson, one of the directors of the Canal; that she already had suffered from two attacks of fever and must die if he did not obtain quinine to prevent the third. "Two attacks--that is bad!" answered the unknown. "But I can give you as much quinine as you want. I have several jars of it which are of no use to me now." Speaking thus, he ordered little Nasibu to hand him a big tin box, which apparently was a small traveling drug store; he took out of it two rather large jars filled with a powder and gave them to Stas. "This is half of what I have. It will last you for a year even." Stas had a desire to shout from sheer delight, so he began to thank him with as much rapture as if his own life were involved. The unknown nodded his head several times, and said: "Good, good, my name is Linde; I am a Swiss from Zurich. Two days ago I met with an accident. A wart-hog wounded me severely." Afterwards he addressed the lad: "Nasibu, fill my pipe." Then he said to Stas: "In the night-time the fever is worse and my mind becomes confused. But a pipe clears my thoughts. Truly, did you say that you had escaped from dervish captivity and are hiding in the jungle? Is it so?" "Yes, sir. I said it." "And what do you intend to do?" "Fly to Abyssinia." "You will fall into the hands of the Mahdists; whose divisions are prowling all along the boundary." "We cannot, however, undertake anything else." "Ah, a month ago I could still have given you aid. But now I am alone--dependent only upon Divine mercy and that black lad." Stas gazed at him with astonishment. "And this camp?" "It is the camp of death." "And those negroes?" "Those negroes are sleeping and will not awaken any more." "I do not understand--" "They are suffering from the sleeping sickness.* [* Recent investigations have demonstrated that this disease is inoculated in people by the bite of the same fly "tsetse" which kills oxen and horses. Nevertheless its bite causes the sleeping sickness only in certain localities. During the time of the Mahdist rebellion the cause of the disease was unknown.] Those are men from beyond the Great Lakes where this terrible disease is continually raging and all fell prey to it, excepting those who previously died of small-pox. Only that boy remains to me." Stas, just before, was struck by the fact that at the time when he slid into the ravine not a negro stirred or even quivered, and that during the whole conversation all slept--some with heads propped on the rock, others with heads drooping upon their breasts. "They are sleeping and will not awaken any more?" he asked, as though he had not yet realized the significance of what he had heard. And Linde said: "Ah! This Africa is a charnel house." But further conversation was interrupted by the stamping of the horses, which, startled at something in the jungle, came jumping with fettered legs to the edge of the valley, desiring to be nearer to the men and the light. "That is nothing--those are horses," the Swiss said. "I captured them from the Mahdists whom I routed a few weeks ago. There were three hundred of them; perhaps more. But they had principally spears, and my men Remingtons, which now are stacked under that wall, absolutely useless. If you need arms or ammunition take all that you want. Take a horse also; you will return sooner to your patient--how old is she?" "Eight," Stas replied. "Then she is still a child-- Let Nasibu give you tea, rice, coffee, and wine for her. Take of the supplies whatever you want, and to-morrow come for more." "I shall surely return to thank you once more from my whole heart and help you in whatever I can." And Linde said: "It is good even to gaze at a European face. If you had come earlier I would have been more conscious. Now the fever is taking hold of me, for I see double. Are there two of you above me? No, I know that you are alone and that this is only the fever. Ah! this Africa!" And he closed his eyes. A quarter of an hour later Stas started to return from this strange camp of sleep and death, but this time on horseback. The night was still dark, but now he paid no heed to any dangers which he might encounter in the high grass. He kept, however, more closely to the river, assuming that both ravines must lead to it. After all it was considerably easier to return, as in the stillness of the night came from a distance the roar of the waterfall; the clouds in the western sky were scattered and, besides the moon, the zodiacal light shone strongly. The boy pricked the horse on the flanks with the broad Arabian stirrups and rode at almost breakneck speed, saying in his soul: "What are lions and panthers to me? I have quinine for my little one!" And from time to time he felt the jars with his hand, as if he wanted to assure himself that he actually possessed them and that it was not all a dream. Various thoughts and pictures flitted through his brain. He saw the wounded Swiss to whom he felt immense gratitude and whom he pitied so heartily that, at first, during their conversation, he took him for a madman; he saw little Nasibu with skull as round as a ball, and the row of sleeping "pagahs," and the barrels of the Remingtons stacked against the rock and glistening in the fire. He was almost certain that the battle which Linde mentioned was with Smain's division, and it seemed strange to him to think that Smain might have fallen. With these visions mingled the constant thought of Nell. He pictured to himself how surprised she would be to behold on the morrow a whole jar of quinine, and that she probably would take him for a performer of miracles. "Ah," he said to himself, "if I had acted like a coward and had not gone to ascertain where that smoke came from I would not have forgiven myself during the rest of my life." After the lapse of a little less than an hour the roar of the waterfall became quite distinct and, from the croaking of frogs, he conjectured that he already was near the expansion where he had previously shot aquatic birds. In the moon's luster he even recognized in the distance the trees standing above it. Now it was necessary to exercise greater caution, as that overflow formed at the same time a watering place to which all the animals of the locality came, for the banks of the river elsewhere were steep and inaccessible. But it was already late and the beasts of prey evidently hid in rocky dens after their nocturnal quests. The horse snorted a little, scenting the recent tracks of lions or panthers; nevertheless, Stas rode on happily, and a moment later saw on the high promontory the big black silhouette of "Cracow." For the first time in Africa he had a sensation as if he had arrived at home. He reckoned that he would find all asleep, but he reckoned without Saba, who began to bark loud enough to awaken even the dead. Kali also appeared before the tree and exclaimed: "Bwana kubwa! On horseback!" In his voice there was, however, more joy than surprise, as he believed in Stas' powers so much that if the latter had even created a horse, the black boy would not have been very much surprised. But as joy in negroes manifests itself in laughter, he began to slap his thighs with his palms and laugh like a madman. "Tie this horse," Stas said. "Remove the supplies from him, build a fire, and boil water." After this he entered the tree. Nell awoke also and began to call him. Stas, drawing aside the canvas wall, saw by the light of the fire-pot her pale face, and thin, white hands lying on the plaids with which she was covered. "How do you feel, little one?" he asked merrily. "Good, and I slept well until Saba awoke me. But why do you not sleep?" "Because I rode away." "Where?" "To a drug store." "To a drug store?" "Yes, for quinine." The little girl did not indeed relish very much the taste of the quinine powders which she had taken before, but, as she regarded them as an infallible remedy for all the diseases in the world, she sighed and said: "I know that you have not got any quinine." Stas raised one of the jars towards the fire-pot and asked with pride and joy: "And what is this?" Nell could scarcely believe her eyes, while he said hurriedly, with beaming countenance: "Now you will be well! I shall wrap up at once a large dose in a fresh fig peel and you must swallow it. And you shall see with what you will drink it down. Why are you staring at me like at a green cat? Yes! I have a second jar. I got both from a white man, whose camp is about four miles from here. I have just returned from him. His name is Linde and he is wounded; nevertheless, he gave me a lot of good things. I went to him on foot, but I returned on horseback. You may think it is pleasant to go through the jungle at night. Brr! I would not go a second time for anything, unless I again needed quinine." Saying this, he left the astonished little maid while he went to the "men's quarters," selected from a supply of figs the smallest one, hollowed it out, and filled the center with quinine, taking care that the dose should not be greater than those powders which he had received in Khartûm. After which he left the tree, poured tea into a utensil with water, and returned to Nell with the remedy. And during that time she reflected upon everything which had happened. She was immensely curious as to who that white man was. From whence did Stas get the information about him? Would he come to them, and would he travel along with them? She did not doubt that since Stas had secured the quinine she would regain her health. But Stas during the night-time went through the jungle as if it were nothing. Nell, notwithstanding her admiration for him, had considered, not reflecting much over it, that everything he did for her was to be taken as a matter of course, for it is a plain thing that an older boy ought to protect a little girl. But now it occurred to her that she would have perished long ago; that he cared for her immensely; that he gratified her and defended her as no other boy of his age would have done or knew how to do. So great gratitude overflowed in her little heart, and when Stas entered again and leaned over her with the remedy she threw her thin arms around his neck and hugged him heartily. "Stas, you are very kind to me." While he replied: "And to whom am I to be kind? Why, I like that! Take this medicine!" Nevertheless he was happy; as his eyes glistened with satisfaction and again with joy and pride, he called, turning to the opening: "Mea, serve the 'bibi' with tea, now!" XII Stas did not start for Linde's camp the following day until noon, for he had to rest after the previous night's adventure. On the way, anticipating that the sick man might need fresh meat, he killed two guinea-fowl, which were really accepted with gratitude. Linde was very weak but fully conscious. Immediately after the greeting he inquired about Nell, after which he warned Stas that he should not regard quinine as an entirely sure cure for the fever and that he should guard the little one from the sun, from getting wet, from staying during the night in low and damp places, and finally from bad water. Afterwards Stas related to him, at his request, his own and Nell's history from the beginning to the arrival in Khartûm and the visit to the Mahdi; and afterwards from Fashoda to their liberation from Gebhr's hands, and their further wanderings. The Swiss gazed during the time of this narration with growing interest, often with evident admiration, and when the narrative reached an end he lit his pipe, surveyed Stas from head to foot, and said as if in a reverie: "If in your country there are many boys like you, then they will not be able to manage you very easily." And after a moment of silence he continued: "The best proof of the truth of your words is this, that you are here, that you are standing before me. And believe what I tell you: your situation is terrible; the road, in any direction, is likewise terrible; who knows, however, whether such a boy as you will not save yourself and that child from this gulf." "If Nell only will be well, then I shall do whatever I can," exclaimed Stas. "But spare yourself, for the task which you have before you is beyond the strength of a mature person. Do you know where you are at present?" "No, I remember that after our departure from Fashoda we crossed, near a great settlement called Deng, some kind of a river." "Sobat," interrupted Linde. "In Deng there were quite a number of dervishes and negroes. But beyond Sobat we entered into a region of jungles and proceeded whole weeks until we reached the ravine, in which you know what happened--" "I know. Afterwards you went along the ravine until you reached this river. Now listen to me; it appears that after crossing the Sobat with the Sudânese you turned to the southeast, but more to the south. You are at present in a locality unknown to travelers and geographers. The river, near which we are at present, runs northwest, and in all probability falls into the Nile. I say in all probability, for I myself do not know and now cannot satisfy myself upon that point, though I turned from the Karamojo Mountains to investigate its source. After the battle, I heard from the dervish prisoners that it is called Ogeloguen, but even they were not certain, as they venture into this region only for slaves. The Shilluk tribe occupy this generally sparsely settled country, but at present the region is desolate, as the population partly died of smallpox, partly was swept away by the Mahdists, and partly sought refuge in the Karamojo Mountains. In Africa it often happens that a region thickly settled to-day becomes desolate to-morrow. According to my calculations you are a hundred and eighty-six miles, more or less, from Lado. You might escape to the south to Emin, but as Emin himself is in all probability besieged by the dervishes, that is not to be thought of." "And to Abyssinia?" Stas asked. "That is also about the same distance away. Yet you must bear in mind that the Mahdi is waging war against the whole world and, therefore, against Abyssinia. I know also from the prisoners that along the western and southern frontiers greater or smaller hordes of dervishes are prowling and you might therefore easily fall into their hands. Abyssinia indeed is a Christian empire, but the savage southern tribes are either pagan or profess Islam and for that reason secretly favor the Mahdi,--No, you will not get through that way." "Well, what am I to do, and where shall I go with Nell?" Stas asked. "I told you that your situation is extremely difficult," Linde said. Saying this he put both hands to his head and for a long time lay in silence. "The ocean," he finally said, "is over five hundred and sixty miles from here; you would have to cross mountains, go among savage peoples, and even pass over deserts, for it is probable that there are waterless localities. But the country nominally belongs to England. You might chance upon transports of ivory to Kismayu, to Lamu and Mombasa--perhaps upon missionary expeditions. Realizing that on account of the dervishes I would not be able to explore the course of this river because it turns to the Nile, I, too, wanted to go eastward to the ocean." "Then we shall return together," Stas exclaimed. "I shall never return. The wart-hog has so badly torn my muscles and veins that an infection of the blood must set in. Only a surgeon could save me by amputating my leg. Now everything has coagulated and become numb, but during the first days I bit my hands from pain--" "You surely will get well." "No, my brave lad, I surely will die and you will cover me well with stones, so that the hyenas cannot dig me out. To the dead it may be all the same, but during life it is unpleasant to think of it. It is hard to die so far away from your own--" Here his eyes were dimmed as though with a mist, after which he continued thus: "But I already have become resigned to the idea--so let us speak about you, not about me. I will give you this advice. There remains for you only the road to the east, to the ocean. But take a good rest before starting and gain strength, otherwise your little companion will die in the course of a few weeks. Postpone the journey until the end of the rainy season, and even longer. The first summer months, when the rain ceases to fall and the water still covers the marshes, are the healthiest. Here, where we are, is a plateau lying about twenty-two hundred and eighty-nine feet above the sea. At the height of forty-two hundred and fifty feet the fever does not exist and when brought from the lower places its course is weaker. Take the little English girl up into the mountains." Talking apparently fatigued him very much, so he again broke off and for some time impatiently brushed away the big blue flies; the same kind as those which Stas saw among the burnt débris of Fashoda. After this he continued thus: "Pay close attention to what I tell you. About a day's journey towards the south there is an isolated mountain, not higher than twenty-six hundred and twenty feet; it looks like a pan turned upside down. Its sides are steep, and the only way of reaching it is by a rocky ridge so narrow that in some places two horses can barely proceed on it side by side. On its flat top, which is about thirty-five hundred feet wide, there was a negro village, but the Mahdists slaughtered and carried away the residents. It may be that this was done by that same Smain whom I defeated, but those slaves I did not capture because he had previously despatched them under an escort to the Nile. Settle on that mountain. There is a spring of excellent water, a few manioc fields, and a multitude of bananas. In the huts you will find a great many human bones, but do not fear infection from the corpses, as after the dervishes there were ants there, which drove us from the place. And now, not a living creature! Remain in that village a month or two. At such a height there is no fever. Nights are cool. There your little one will recover her health, and you will gain new strength." "And what am I to do afterwards, and where shall I go?" "After that it will be as God disposes. Try to get through to Abyssinia in places situated farther than where the dervishes have reached, or ride to the east--I heard that the coast Arabs are reaching some kind of lake in their search for ivory which they purchase from the Samburu and Wahima tribes." "Wahima? Kali comes from the Wahima tribe." Here Stas began to narrate to Linde the manner in which he inherited Kali after Gebhr's death and that Kali had told him that he was the son of the ruler of all the Wahimas. But Linde received this information more indifferently than Stas expected. "So much the better," he said, "as he may be helpful to you. Among the blacks there are honest souls, though as a rule you cannot depend upon their gratitude; they are children who forget what happened the day before." "Kali will not forget that I rescued him from Gebhr's hands, I am sure of that." "Perhaps," Linde said, and pointing at Nasibu added: "He also is a good child; take him with you after my death." "Do not speak of death, sir." "My dear boy," answered the Swiss, "I desire it--if it would only come without great agony; consider that now I am completely unarmed, and if any one of the Mahdists whom I routed should accidentally stray to this hollow, alone he could stab me like a sheep." Here he pointed to the sleeping negroes. "They will not wake any more, or rather--I speak incorrectly--all of them awake for a short time before their death and in their mental aberration fly to the jungle, from which they never more return. Of two hundred men, sixty remained to me. Many ran away, many died of smallpox, and some fell asleep in other ravines." Stas with pity and awe began to gaze at the sleepers. Their bodies were ashen-hued, which in negroes indicates paleness. Some had their eyes closed, others half open; but these latter slept deeply, for their eyeballs were not susceptible to the light. The knees of some were swollen. All were frightfully thin, so that their ribs could be counted through their skins. Their hands and feet quivered without cessation very rapidly. The big blue flies swarmed thickly on their eyes and lips. "Is there no help for them?" Stas asked. "There is none. On Victoria Nyanza this disease depopulates whole villages. Sometimes more severely, sometimes less. It most frequently takes hold of the people of the villages situated in the underwood on the banks." The sun had passed to the western sky, but still before night Linde had related to Stas his history. He was a son of a merchant of Zurich. His family came from Karlsruhe, but from the year 1848 had resided in Switzerland. His father amassed a great fortune in the silk trade. He educated his son for an engineer, but young Henry was attracted from early youth by travel. After completing his studies in a polytechnical school, having inherited his father's entire fortune, he undertook his first journey to Egypt. It was before the Mahdi's time, so he reached as far as Khartûm, and hunted with Dongolese in the Sudân. After that he devoted himself to the geography of Africa and acquired such an expert knowledge of it that many geographical societies enrolled him among their members. This last journey, which was to end so disastrously for him, began in Zanzibar. He had reached as far as the Great Lakes and intended to penetrate into Abyssinia along the Karamojo Mountains, which up to that time were unknown, and from there to proceed to the ocean coast. But the natives of Zanzibar refused to go any farther. Fortunately, or unfortunately, there was a war between the kings of Uganda and Unyoro. Linde rendered important services to the king of Uganda, who in exchange for them presented him with over two hundred bodyguards. This greatly facilitated the journey and the visit to the Karamojo Mountains, but afterwards smallpox appeared in the ranks, after that the dreadful sleeping sickness, and finally the wreck of the caravan. Linde possessed considerable supplies of various kinds of preserved food, but from fear of the scurvy he hunted every day for fresh meat. He was an excellent shot but not a sufficiently careful sportsman, and it happened that when a few days before he thoughtlessly drew near a wild boar which had fallen from his shot, the beast started up and tore his legs frightfully, and afterwards trampled upon his loins. This happened near the camp and in the sight of Nasibu, who, tearing his shirt and making bandages of it, was able to check the flow of blood and lead the wounded man to the tent. In the foot, however, coagulum was formed from the internal flow of blood and gangrene threatened the patient. Stas insisted upon dressing his wounds and announced that he would come daily, or, so as not to leave Nell only under the care of the two blacks, he proposed to convey him to "Cracow," on saddle-cloth, stretched between two horses. Linde agreed to the dressing of the wounds, but would not agree to the removal. "I know," he said, pointing at the negroes, "that those men must die, but until they die, I cannot doom them to be torn to pieces alive by hyenas, which during the night-time are held back by the fire." And he began to repeat feverishly: "I cannot! I cannot! I cannot!" But he became calm immediately, and continued in a strange voice: "Come here to-morrow morning--I have a request to make of you, and if you can perform it, God may lead you out of this African gulf, and grant me an easy death. I wished to postpone this request until to-morrow, but as I may be unconscious to-morrow I make it to-day. Take water in some utensil, stop before each one of those poor sleeping fellows, sprinkle water over him, and say these words: 'I baptize thee, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost!'" Here emotion checked his speech and he became silent. "I reproach myself," he said after a while, "that I did not take leave in that manner of those who died of small-pox and of those who fell into their final slumber. But now death is hovering over me, and I desire to go together with even that remnant of my caravan upon the last great journey." Saying this he pointed with his hand at the ruddy sky, and two tears coursed slowly over his cheeks. Stas wept like a beaver. XIII The next morning's sun illuminated a strange spectacle. Stas walked along the rocky walls, stopped before each negro, moistened his forehead with water, and pronounced over him the sacramental words. And they slept with quivering hands and limbs, with heads drooping on their breasts or tilted upwards, still alive but already resembling corpses. And thus took place this baptism of the sleepers--in the morning stillness, in the luster of the sun, in the desert gloom. The sky that day was cloudless, a grayish blue, and as though sad. Linde was still conscious, but grew weaker and weaker. After the wounds were dressed, he handed to Stas papers enclosed in a tin case, entrusted them to his care, and said nothing more. He could not eat, but thirst tormented him terribly. Before sunset he became delirious. He shouted at some imaginary children not to sail too far away on some unknown lake, and afterwards fell into chills, and clasped his head with both hands. On the following day he did not recognize Stas at all, and at noon, three days later, he died without recovering consciousness. Stas mourned for him sincerely, and afterwards with Kali carried him to a neighboring narrow cave, the opening of which they closed with thorns and stones. Stas took little Nasibu to "Cracow," while Kali was ordered to watch the supplies at the camp and keep a big fire burning near the sleepers. Stas bustled continually between the two ravines, conveying luggage and particularly the rifle cartridges, from which he extracted powder and made a mine for the purpose of blasting the rock which imprisoned the King. Happily Nell's health improved considerably after daily doses of quinine, and the greater variety of food increased her strength. Stas left her reluctantly and with fear, and on riding away would not permit her to leave the tree and closed the opening with thorny acacia boughs. Owing to the pressure of work which devolved upon him, he had to leave her, however, to the care of Mea, Nasibu, and Saba, upon whom after all he depended the most. Rather than to leave her alone for any length of time, he preferred to ride a score of times each day to Linde's camp for the luggage. He also overworked himself terribly, but his iron constitution endured all toil. Nevertheless, not until the tenth day were all the packs distributed; those of less value were hidden in caves, and those of more importance were brought to "Cracow"; the horses, too, were led onto the promontory and a considerable number of Remington rifles were carried by them, which rifles were to be borne later by the King. During that time in Linde's camp, from time to time, some of the sleeping negroes would start up in an ante-mortem paroxysm of the disease, fly into the jungle, and return no more; there were some who died on the spot, and others, rushing blindly, crushed their heads on the rocks in the camp itself or in the neighborhood. These Kali had to bury. After two weeks only one remained, but that one soon died in his sleep from exhaustion. Finally the time arrived for blasting the rock and the liberation of the King. He was so tame now that at Stas' order he seized him with his trunk and placed him on his neck. He also had become accustomed to bearing things which Kali pulled on his back over a bamboo ladder. Nell insisted that he was too heavily burdened, but in truth to him it was like a fly, and only the luggage inherited from Linde could form a respectable load for him. With Saba, at the sight of whom in the beginning he displayed uneasiness, he became quite friendly, and played with him in this manner: he would overturn him on the ground with his trunk, and Saba would pretend that he was biting. At times, however, he would unexpectedly souse the dog with water, which act was regarded by the latter as a joke of the poorest taste. The children were principally pleased because the beast, being quick of comprehension and seriously minded, understood everything that was wanted of him and seemed to comprehend, not only every order, but even every nod. In this respect elephants surpass immeasurably all other domesticated animals, and the King, beyond comparison, surpassed Saba, who wagged his tail to all of Nell's admonitions and afterwards did whatever he pleased. The King discerned perfectly, for instance, that the person whom it was most necessary to obey was Stas, and that the person about whom all cared the most was Nell. So he most carefully complied with Stas' orders, and loved Nell the most. To Kali he paid less heed and Mea he slighted entirely. Stas, after making the mine, inserted it in the deepest fissure, after which he plastered it wholly with clay, leaving only a small opening through which hung a fuse twisted of dry palm fiber and rubbed with fine powder. The decisive moment finally arrived. Stas personally lit the powdered rope, after which he ran as far as his legs could carry him to the tree in which previously he had fastened all the others. Nell was afraid that the King might be frightened too much, but the boy calmed her first with the statement that he had selected a day on which the morning was accompanied by a thunderstorm, and then with the assurance that wild elephants often hear the peal of thunder when the heavenly elements are unfettered over the jungle. They sat, however, with palpitating hearts, counting minute after minute. A terrific roar so agitated the atmosphere that the sturdy baobab tree shook from top to bottom and remnants of the unscraped decayed wood poured upon their heads. Stas, at that moment, jumped out of the tree and, avoiding the bends of the ravine, ran to the passageway. The results of the explosion appeared extraordinary. One half of the lime rock was reduced to minute fragments; the other half had burst into about a score of greater or smaller pieces, which the force of the explosion scattered to quite a distance. The elephant was free. The overjoyed boy now rushed to the edge of the ravine, where he found Nell with Mea and Kali. The King was startled a little and, retreating to the very brink of the ravine, stood with uplifted trunk, gazing in the direction from which came the sound of such unusual thunder. But when Nell began to call to him, when she came to him through the passageway, already opened, he became entirely quiet. More startled than the King were the horses, of which two dashed into the jungle, and it was not until sunset that Kali caught them. That very same day Nell led the King "out into the world." The colossus followed her obediently, like a little puppy, and afterwards bathed in the river, and alone secured his supper in this singular manner: bracing his head against a big sycamore tree, he broke it like a feeble reed and afterwards carefully nibbled the fruit and the leaves. Towards evening he returned, however, to the tree, and shoving, every little while, his enormous nose through an opening, sought for Nell so zealously and persistently that Stas finally was compelled to give his trunk a sound smack. Kali, however, was the most overjoyed with the result of that day, for upon his shoulders had fallen the work of gathering provisions for the giant, which was by no means an easy task. So then Stas and Nell heard him, while lighting the fire for supper, sing a new hymn of joy, composed of the following words: "The great master kills men and lions. Yah! Yah! The great master crushes rocks. Yah! Yah! The elephant, himself, breaks trees and Kali can be idle and eat. Yah! Yah!" The rainy season, or the so-called "massica," was drawing to an end. There were yet cloudy and rainy days, but there were also days entirely clear. Stas decided to remove to the mountain indicated to him by Linde, and this purpose he carried out soon after the King's liberation. Nell's health did not present any obstacles now, as she felt decidedly better. Selecting, therefore, a clear day, they started at noon. They were not afraid now that they would stray, as the boy had inherited from Linde, among various articles, a compass and an excellent field-glass, through which it was easy to descry distant localities. Besides Saba and the donkey they were accompanied by five pack-horses and the elephant. The latter, besides the luggage on his back, on his neck bore Nell, who between his two enormous ears looked as though she were sitting in a big arm-chair. Stas without regret abandoned the promontory and the baobab tree, for it was associated with the recollection of Nell's illness. On the other hand, the little girl gazed with sad eyes at the rocks, at the trees, at the waterfall, and announced that she would return there when she should be "big." Sadder still was little Nasibu, who had loved sincerely his former master, and, at present riding on the donkey in the rear, he turned around every little while and looked with tears in his eyes towards the place where poor Linde would remain until the day of the great judgment. The wind blew from the north and the day was unusually cool. Thanks to this they did not have to stop and wait from ten to three, until the greatest heat was over, and they could travel a longer distance than is customary with caravans. The road was not long, and a few hours before sunset Stas espied the mountain towards which they were bound. In the distance on the background of the sky was outlined a long chain of other peaks, and this mountain rose nearer and lonely, like an island in a jungle sea. When they rode closer it appeared that its steep sides were washed by a loop of the river near which they previously had settled. The top was perfectly flat, and seen from below appeared to be covered by one dense forest. Stas computed that since the promontory, on which their baobab tree grew, was about twenty-three hundred feet high and the mountain about twenty-six hundred feet, they would dwell at an elevation of about forty-nine hundred feet and in a climate not much warmer, therefore, than that of Egypt. This thought encouraged him and urged him to take possession of this natural fortress as quickly as possible. They easily found the only rocky ridge which led to it and began the ascent. After the lapse of half an hour they stood on the summit. That forest seen from below was really a forest--but of bananas. The sight of them delighted all exceedingly, not excepting the King, and Stas was particularly pleased, for he knew that there is not in Africa a more nourishing and healthy food nor a better preventative of all ailments than the flour of dried banana fruit. There were so many of them that they would suffice even for a year. Amidst the immense leaves of these plants was hidden the negro village; most of the huts had been burned or ruined at the time of the attack, but some were still whole. In the center stood the largest, belonging at one time to the king of the village; it was prettily made of clay, with a wide roof forming around the walls a sort of veranda. Before the huts lay here and there human bones and skeletons, white as chalk, for they had been cleaned by the ants of whose invasion Linde spoke. From the time of the invasion many weeks had already elapsed; nevertheless, in the huts could be smelt the leaven of ants, and one could find in them neither the big black cock-roaches, which usually swarm in all negro hovels, nor spiders nor scorpions nor the smallest of insects. Everything had been cleaned out by the terrible "siafu." It was also a certainty that there was not on the whole mountain-top a single snake, as even boas fall prey to these invincible little warriors. After conducting Nell and Mea into the chief's hut, Stas ordered Kali and Nasibu to remove the human bones. The black boys carried out this order by flinging them into the river, which carried them farther. While thus employed, however, they found that Linde was mistaken in declaring that they would not find a living creature on the mountain. The silence which reigned after the seizure of the people by the dervishes and the sight of the bananas had allured a great number of chimpanzees which built for themselves, on the loftier trees, something like umbrellas or roofs, for protection against rain. Stas did not want to kill them, but decided to drive them away, and with this object in view he fired a shot into the air. This produced a general panic, which increased still more when after the shot Saba's furious bass barking resounded, and the King, incited by the noise, trumpeted threateningly. But the apes, to make a retreat, did not need to seek the rocky ridge; they dashed over the broken rocks towards the river and the trees growing near it with such rapidity that Saba's fangs could not reach any of them. The sun had set. Kali and Nasibu built a fire to prepare for supper. Stas, after unpacking the necessary articles for the night, repaired to the king's hut, which was occupied by Nell. It was light and cheerful in the hut, for Mea had lit, not the fire-pot which had illuminated the interior of the baobab tree, but a large traveling lamp inherited from Linde. Nell did not at all feel fatigued from the journey in a day so cool, and fell into perfect good humor, especially when Stas announced that the human bones, which she feared, had been taken away. "How nice it is here!" she exclaimed. "Look, even the floor is covered with resin. It will be fine here." "To-morrow I shall fully examine our possessions," he answered; "judging, however, by what I have seen to-day, one could dwell here all his life." "If our papas were here, then we could. But how will you name this possession?" "The mountain ought to be called Mount Linde in geographies; and let this village be named after you, Nell." "Then I shall be in the geographies?" asked she with great glee. "You will, you will," Stas replied in all seriousness. XIV The next day it rained a little, but there were hours when the weather was clear, so Stas early in the morning started to visit his possessions and at noon had viewed thoroughly all the nooks. The inspection on the whole created a favorable impression. First, in respect to safety, Mount Linde was as though the chosen spot of all Africa. Its sides were accessible only to chimpanzees. Neither lions nor panthers could climb over its precipitous sides. As to the rocky ridge, it was sufficient to place the King at its entrances to be able to sleep safely on both ears. Stas came to the conclusion that there he could repulse even a small division of dervishes, as the road leading to the mountain was so narrow that the King could barely pass on it and a man armed with a good weapon need not permit a living soul to reach the top. In the middle of the "island" gushed a spring, cool and pure as crystal, which changed into a stream and, running sinuously amid the banana groves, finally fell over the steep hanging rocks to the river, forming a narrow waterfall resembling a white tape. On the southern side of the "island" lay a field, covered abundantly with manioc, the roots of which supply the negroes with their favorite food, and beyond the fields towered immeasurably high cocoa palms with crowns in the shape of magnificent plumes of feathers. The "island" was surrounded by a sea of jungle and the view from it extended over an immense expanse. From the east loomed lividly the Karamojo Mountain chain. On the south could also be seen considerable elevations, which, to judge from their dark hue, were covered with forests. On the other hand, on the western side the view ran as far as the horizon's boundary, at which the jungle met the sky. Stas descried, however, with the help of the field-glass, numerous hollows and, scattered sparsely, mighty trees rising above the grass like churches. In places, where the grasses had not yet shot up too high, could be perceived even with the naked eye whole herds of antelopes and zebras or groups of elephants and buffaloes. Here and there giraffes cut through the dark green surface of the sea of grass. Close by the river a dozen or more water-bucks disported and others every little while thrust their horny heads out of the depths. In one place where the water was calm, fishes like those which Kali had caught leaped every little while out of the water, and, twinkling in the air like silvery stars, fell again into the river. Stas promised to himself to bring Nell there when the weather had settled and show her this whole menagerie. On the "island," on the other hand, there were none of the larger animals; instead there were a great number of butterflies and birds. Big parrots, white as snow, with black beaks and yellow crests flew above the bushes of the grove; tiny, wonderfully plumaged widow-birds swung on the thin manioc stalks, changing color and glittering like jewels, and from the high cocoa trees came the sounds of the African cuckoos and the gentle cooing of the turtle-dove. Stas returned from his inspection trip with joy in his soul. "The climate," he said, "is healthy; the security is perfect, the provisions are abundant, and the place is as beautiful as Paradise." Returning to Nell's hut he learned to his surprise that there were larger animals on the "island"; two, in fact, for little Nasibu had discovered in a banana thicket while Stas was absent a goat with a kid, which the dervishes had overlooked. The goat was a little wild, but the kid at once became friendly with Nasibu, who was immeasurably proud of his discovery and of the fact that through his instrumentality "bibi" would now have excellent fresh milk daily. "What shall we do now, Stas?" Nell asked one day, when she had settled down for good to her housekeeping on the "island." "There is plenty of work to do," the boy answered, after which, spreading out the fingers of one hand, he began to count on them all the work awaiting them. "In the first place Kali and Mea are pagans, and Nasibu, as a native of Zanzibar, is a Mohammedan. It is necessary to enlighten them, teach them the faith, and baptize them. Then, it is necessary to smoke meat for our future journey and therefore I must go hunting; thirdly, having a good supply of rifles and cartridges, I want to teach Kali to shoot in order that there shall be two of us to defend you; and fourthly--you probably forgot about the kites?" "About the kites?" "Yes, those which you will glue, or better still, you will sew. That shall be your work." "I don't want to play only." "That won't be all play, but work most useful for all. Don't think that it will end with one kite for you must be ready for fifty or more." "But why so many?" asked the girl, whose curiosity was aroused. So Stas began to explain his plans and hopes. He would write on each kite their names, how they had escaped from the hands of the dervishes, where they were, and whither they were bound. He would also inscribe a request for help and that a message be despatched to Port Said. After that he would fly these kites every time the wind was blowing from the west to the east. "Many of them," he said, "will fall not far off; many will be stopped by the mountains, but let only one of them fly to the coast and fall into European hands--then we are saved." Nell was enchanted with the idea and announced that in comparison with the wisdom of Stas not even that of the King could be mentioned. She also was quite certain that a multitude of the kites would fly even to their papas, and she promised to glue them from morning until night. Her joy was so great that Stas, from fear that she might get a fever, was compelled to restrain her ardor. And from that time the work that Stas spoke of began in earnest. Kali, who was ordered to catch as many leaping fish as possible, ceased to catch them on a line and instead made a high fence of thin bamboo, or rather something in the nature of a trellis, and this sluice he pulled across the river. In the middle of the trellis was a big opening through which the fishes had to swim in order to get into the free water. In this opening Kali placed a strong net plaited of tough palm ropes, and in this manner was assured of a bountiful catch. He drove fish into the treacherous net with the help of the King, who, led into the water, muddied and stirred it so that not only those silvery leapers but all other creatures vanished as far as they could to an unmuddied depth. On account of this, some damage also occurred, as several times escaping crocodiles overturned the trellis, or at times the King did this himself; cherishing for crocodiles some sort of inbred hatred, he pursued them, and when they were in shallow waters he seized them with his trunk, tossed them onto the bank, and trampled upon them furiously. They found also in the nets tortoises, from which the young exiles made an excellent broth. Kali dressed the fish and dried them in the sun, while the bladders were taken to Nell, who cut them open, stretched them upon a board, and changed them into sheets as large as the palms of two hands. She was assisted at this by Stas and Mea, as the work was not at all easy. The membranes were thicker, indeed, than that of the bladders of our river fish, but after drying up they became very frail. Stas after some time discovered that they ought to be dried in the shade. At times, however, he lost patience, and if he did not abandon the design of making kites from the membranes it was because he regarded them as lighter than paper and of better proof against rain. The dry season of the year was already approaching, but he was uncertain whether rain did not fall during the summer particularly in the mountains. However, he glued kites with paper, of which a large amount was found among Linde's effects. The first one, big and light, was let go in a western wind; it shot up at once very high, and when Stas cut the string, flew, carried by a powerful current of air, to the Karamojo mountain chain. Stas watched its flight with the aid of the field-glass until it became as small as a butterfly, a little speck, and until finally it dissolved in the pale azure of the sky. The following day he let go others made of fish bladder, which shot up still higher, but on account of the transparency of the membranes soon disappeared entirely from view. Nell worked, however, with extraordinary zeal, and in the end her little fingers acquired such skill that neither Stas nor Mea could keep up with her work. She did not lack strength now. The salubrious climate of Mount Linde simply regenerated her. The period during which the fatal third attack could come, had definitely passed. That day Stas hid himself in a banana thicket and wept from joy. After a fortnight's stay on the mountain he observed that the "Good Mzimu" looked entirely different from what she did below in the jungle. Her cheeks were plumper, her complexion from yellow and transparent became rosy again, and from under the abundant tufts of hair, merry eyes full of luster gazed upon the world. The boy blessed the cool nights, the translucent spring-water, the flour of dried bananas, and, above all, Linde. He himself became lean and swarthy, which was evidence that the fever would not take hold of him, as sufferers from that disease do not tan from the sun--and he was growing up and becoming manly. Activity and physical labor intensified his bravery and strength. The muscles of his hands and limbs became like steel. Indeed, he was already a hardened African traveler. Hunting daily and shooting only with bullets, he became also a matchless shot. He did not at all fear the wild animals, for he understood that it was more dangerous for the shaggy-haired and the spotted hunters of the jungle to meet him than for him to meet them. Once he killed with a single shot a big rhinoceros, which, aroused from a light nap under an acacia, charged at him unexpectedly. He treated with indifference the aggressive African buffaloes, which at times disperse whole caravans. Aside from the gluing of kites and other daily engagements, he and Nell also began the work of converting Kali, Mea, and Nasibu. But it was harder than they expected. The black trio listened most willingly to the instructions, but received them in their own negro way. When Stas told them of the creation of the world, about paradise and about the snake, the teaching proceeded fairly well, but when he related how Cain killed Abel, Kali involuntarily stroked his stomach and asked quite calmly: "Did he eat him afterwards?" The black boy always claimed, indeed, that the Wahimas never ate people, but evidently memory of that custom still lingered among them as a national tradition. He likewise could not understand why God did not kill the wicked "Mzimu," and many similar things. His conception of good and evil was too African; in consequence of which there once occurred between the teacher and pupil this colloquy: "Tell me," asked Stas, "what is a wicked deed?" "If any one takes away Kali's cow," he answered after a brief reflection, "that then is a wicked deed." "Excellent!" exclaimed Stas, "and what is a good one?" This time the answer came without any reflection: "If Kali takes away the cow of somebody else, that is a good deed." Stas was too young to perceive that similar views of evil and good deeds were enunciated in Europe not only by politicians but by whole nations. Nevertheless, slowly, very slowly, the light dawned in their benighted minds, and that which they could not comprehend with their heads they understood with their warm hearts. After a time they were fitted for the baptismal rites, which were performed with great solemnity. The god-parents gave to each child sixteen yards of white percale and a string of blue beads. Mea, nevertheless, felt somewhat disappointed, for in the simplicity of her soul she thought that after the baptism her skin would at once turn white, and great was her astonishment when she observed that she remained as black as before. Nell comforted her, however, with the assurance that now she possessed a white soul. XV Stas instructed Kali also how to shoot from a Remington rifle, and this instruction proceeded more easily than the teaching of the catechism. After ten days' shooting at a mark and at crocodiles which slept on the sandy river banks, the young negro killed a big antelope cob; after that a few ariels and finally a wart-hog. The encounter with the latter, however, almost resulted in the same kind of accident which befell Linde, for the wart-hog, which Kali approached carelessly after the shot, started up suddenly and charged at him with tail upraised. Kali, flinging away the rifle, sought refuge in a tree, where he sat until his cries brought Stas, who, however, found the wild boar already dead. Stas did not yet permit the boy to hunt for buffaloes, lions, and rhinoceroses. He himself did not shoot at the elephants which came to the watering place, because he had promised Nell that he would never kill one. When, however, in the morning or during the afternoon hours, from above he espied, through the field-glass, herds of zebras, hartbeests, ariels, or springboks grazing in the jungle, he took Kali with him. During these excursions he often questioned the boy about the Wahima and Samburu nations, with which, desiring to go eastward, to the ocean coast, they necessarily must come in contact. "Do you know, Kali," he asked a certain day, "that after twenty days on horseback we could reach your country?" "Kali does not know where the Wahimas live," the young negro answered, sadly shaking his head. "But I know that they live in the direction in which the sun rises in the morning, near some great water." "Yes! Yes!" exclaimed the boy with amazement and joy; "Basso-Narok! That in our language means, great and black water. The great master knows everything." "No, for I do not know how the Wahimas would receive us if we came to them." "Kali would command them to fall on their faces before the great master and before the 'Good Mzimu.'" "And would they obey?" "Kali's father wears a leopard's hide--and Kali, too." Stas understood this to mean that Kali's father was a king, and that Kali was his oldest son and the future ruler of the Wahimas. So he continued to ask further: "You told me that white travelers visited you and that the older people remember them." "Yes, and Kali has heard that they had a great deal of percale on their heads." "Ah!" thought Stas, "so those were not Europeans, but Arabs, whom the negroes on account of their lighter complexion and white dress mistook for white men." Inasmuch, however, as Kali did not remember them and could not give any more specific details about them, Stas propounded to him other questions. "Have not the Wahimas killed any of these men dressed in white?" "No! Neither the Wahimas nor the Samburus can do that." "Why?" "For they said that if their blood should soak into the ground the rain would cease to fall." "I am glad to hear that they believe so." Stas thought for a while, after which he asked: "Would the Wahimas go with us to the sea, if I promised them a big quantity of percale, beads, and rifles?" "Kali goes and the Wahimas also, but the great master would first have to subdue the Samburus, who are settled on the other side of the water." "And who lives beyond the Samburus?" "Beyond the Samburus there are no mountains, and there is a jungle, and in it lions." With this the conversation ended. Stas more and more frequently thought of the great journey towards the east, remembering that Linde had said that they might meet coast Arabs trading in ivory, and perhaps a missionary expedition. He knew that such a journey would be a series of terrible hardships for Nell and full of new dangers, but he realized that they could not remain all their lives on Mount Linde and it was necessary to start soon on the journey. The time, after the rainy season, when water covers the pestilential swamps, and is to be found everywhere, was the most suitable for the purpose. The heat could not yet be felt on the high table-land; the nights were so cool still that it was necessary to be well covered. But in the jungle below it was considerably hotter, and he knew well that intense heat would soon come. The rain now seldom bedewed the earth and the water level in the river lowered daily. Stas assumed that in summer the river would change into one of those "khors," of which he saw many in the Libyan Desert, and that only in the very middle of it would flow a narrow stream of water. Nevertheless, he postponed the departure from day to day. On Mount Linde it was so well with all, themselves as well as the animals! Nell not only was rid of the fever but of anaemia also; Stas' head never ached; Kali's and Mea's skins began to shine like black satin; Nasibu looked like a melon walking on thin legs, and the King, no less than the horses and the donkey, grew fat. Stas well knew that they would not until the end of the journey find another island like this amidst the jungle sea. And he viewed the future with fear; moreover, they had in the King great assistance and in case of necessity a defense. Thus a week more elapsed before they commenced preparations for the journey. In moments free from packing their effects they did not cease, however, to send out kites with the announcement that they were going eastward towards some lake, and towards the ocean. They continued to fly them because they were favored by a strong western wind, resembling at times a hurricane, which seized and carried them to the mountains and far beyond the mountains. In order to protect Nell from the scorching heat, Stas constructed from pieces of a tent a palanquin in which the little maid was to ride on the elephant. The King, after a few trials, became accustomed to this not great burden, as well as to the fastening of the palanquin on his back with strong palm ropes. This load after all was a feather in comparison to others with which it was intended to burden him and upon the distribution and tying of which Kali and Mea were engaged. Little Nasibu was commissioned to dry bananas and grind them into flour between two flat stones. At the plucking of the heavy bunches of fruit he was assisted by the King, at which work they overfed themselves to such an extent that, in the neighborhood of the huts, bananas were soon entirely gone, and they had to go to another plantation lying on the opposite extremity of the table-land. Saba, who had nothing to do, most frequently accompanied them on these excursions. But Nasibu, for his zeal, almost paid with his life, or at least with captivity of a singular kind. For it happened that once when he was plucking bananas above the brink of a steep hanging rock he suddenly beheld in the rocky gap a hideous face, covered with black hair, blinking at him with its eyes, and displaying white fangs as though smiling. The boy was stupefied from terror at first and then began to scurry away as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran between ten and twenty paces when a hairy arm wound around him, he was lifted off his feet, and the monster, black as night, began to fly with him to the precipice. Fortunately the gigantic ape, having seized the boy, could run only on two feet, in consequence of which Saba, who was in the vicinity, easily overtook it and buried his fangs in its back. A horrible fight began, in which the dog, notwithstanding his powerful stature and strength, would surely have had to succumb, for a gorilla vanquishes even a lion. Simians as a rule, however, do not relinquish their quarry even though their lives and liberty are in danger. The gorilla, being caught from behind, could not easily reach Saba; nevertheless, having grabbed him by the neck with its left hand it had already raised him, when the ground gave a dull sound under heavy steps and the King appeared. One light thwack with the trunk sufficed to prostrate with a shattered skull and neck the terrible "forest demon," as the negroes call the gorilla. The King, however, for greater certainty or through inborn fury, pinned the gorilla with his tusks to the ground and afterwards did not cease to wreak his vengeance upon it until Stas, disquieted by the roar and howling, came running up with a rifle and ordered him to stop. The huge gorilla, with the whites of the eyes rolled up and fangs displayed, terrible still, though not alive, lay in a puddle of blood which Saba lapped and which crimsoned the King's tusks. The elephant trumpeted triumphantly and Nasibu, ashen from terror, related to Stas what had happened. The latter pondered for a while whether or not to bring Nell and show her this monstrous ape, but abandoned the intention, for suddenly he was seized by fear. Of course, Nell often strolled alone over the island. So something similar might befall her. It appeared, therefore, that Mount Linde was not so safe a shelter as it seemed in the first instance. Stas returned to the hut and related the incident to Nell, while she listened with curiosity and fear, opening wide her eyes and repeating every little while: "You see what would have happened without the King." "True! With such a nurse one need not fear about a child. So then, until we leave, do not move a step without him." "When shall we leave?" "The supplies are ready; the packs distributed; so it is necessary only to load the animals and we can start even to-morrow." "To our papas!" "If God permits," Stas answered gravely. XVI Nevertheless, they did not start until several days after this conversation. The departure, after a short prayer in which they warmly commended themselves to God, took place at daybreak, six o'clock in the morning. Stas rode at the head, on horseback, preceded by Saba. After him the King ambled gravely, moving his ears and bearing on his powerful back a canvas palanquin and in the palanquin Nell with Mea; they were followed by Linde's horses one after another, tied together with a long palm rope and carrying numerous packs; and the procession closed with little Nasibu on the donkey, as fat as himself. On account of the early hour, the heat was not at first oppressive, though the day was clear and from beyond the Karamojo Mountains the sun rolled magnificently, not shaded by a cloudlet. But an eastern breeze mollified the intense heat of its rays. At moments there rose quite a strong wind, under whose breath the grass lay low and the whole jungle became wavy like the sea. After the copious rains all vegetation grew so exuberantly that, in lower places especially, not only the horses were hidden in the grass, but even the King; so that above the waving green surface could be seen only the white palanquin, which moved forward like a launch on a lake. After an hour's journey, on a dry, not high elevation, they chanced upon gigantic thistles having stems as thick as the trunk of a tree and flowers the size of a man's head. On the sides of some mountains which from a distance appeared barren they saw furze-bushes about twenty-six feet high. Other plants which in Europe belong to the smallest varieties assumed here proportions corresponding to the thistles and furze-bushes; and gigantic, isolated trees rose above the jungle, looking like churches. Particularly prominent were fig-trees, called "daro," whose weeping boughs, touching the ground and changing into new trunks, covered immense spaces, so that each tree formed as it were a separate grove. This region, from a distance, seemed like one forest; nearer, however, it appeared that the great trees grew a dozen or even some score paces apart. In the northern direction very few of them could be seen and the region assumed the character of a mountainous steppe, covered with an even jungle over which rose only umbrella-like acacias. The grass there was more greenish, shorter, and evidently better for pasturage, for Nell from the King's back and Stas from heights on which he rode, saw far greater herds of antelopes than up to that time they had met elsewhere. The animals sometimes grazed alone and at times mingled together; gnus, cobs, ariels, antelope-cows, hartbeests, springboks, and great kudus. Zebras and giraffes also were not lacking. The herds, at the sight of the caravan, stopped feeding, raised their heads, and pricking their ears, gazed at the white palanquin with extraordinary amazement, after which in a moment they scampered away, and having run between ten and twenty paces they again stood still, staring at this object unknown to them, until, having gratified their curiosity, they began to graze calmly. From time to time a rhinoceros started up suddenly before the caravan with a crash and in a rage, but in spite of its impetuous nature and its readiness to attack everything which comes within range of its vision, it ran away shamefully at the sight of the King, whom only the commands of Stas restrained from pursuit. An African elephant detests a rhinoceros, and if he finds its fresh tracks, trusting to superior strength, he follows until he finds his adversary and commences a combat in which the rhinoceros is almost always the victim. It was not easy for the King, who undoubtedly was already responsible for the death of many, to renounce this habit, but now he was so tame and was so accustomed to regard Stas as his master, that hearing his voice and observing the threatening look in his eyes, he dropped his uplifted trunk and walked ahead quietly. Stas did not lack a desire to witness a fight between giants, but he feared for Nell. If the elephant started on a full run, the palanquin might be wrecked, and what is worse, the huge beast might bump it against a bough, and then Nell's life would be in terrible danger. Stas knew from descriptions of hunts which he had read in Port Said that the tiger-hunters in India fear, more than the tigers, that the elephant in a panic or in pursuit may dash the howdah against a tree. Finally, the full run of the giant is so heavy that no one without impairment of his health could long endure such rides. On the other hand, the presence of the King removed a multitude of dangers. The malignant and bold buffaloes, which they met that day bound for the little lake at which all the animals of the vicinity gathered at evening, also scampered away at sight of him and, making a circuit of the whole lake, drank on the other side. At night the King, with one hind leg tied to a tree, guarded the tent in which Nell slept. This was a watch so secure that though Stas ordered a fire to be built, he regarded the erection of a zareba as a superfluous precaution, though he knew that the lions would not be missing in a region abounding with such numerous herds of antelopes. In fact, it happened that very night that some lions began to roar among the gigantic junipers* [*Junipers in the Karamojo Mountains in Abyssinia attain the height of one hundred and sixty feet. See Elisée Reclus.] growing on the hillsides. Notwithstanding the blazing fire the lions, allured by the odor of horses, drew nearer to the camp; but, when the King became tired of hearing their voices and suddenly, amid the stillness, his threatening, thunder-like clarion tones resounded, they hushed as though abashed, apparently understanding that with such an individual it was best not to have any direct dealings. The children slept excellently the balance of the night, and only at daybreak did they proceed upon their further journey. But for Stas anxiety and worry again began. In the first place, he perceived that they were traveling slowly and that they could not make more than six miles a day. Proceeding in this manner they would be able indeed to reach the Abyssinian frontier after a month, but as Stas was determined to follow Linde's advice in every respect, and Linde had positively claimed that they would not be able to go through to Abyssinia, there remained only the road to the ocean. But according to the calculation of the Swiss they were over six hundred and twenty miles from the ocean, and that in a direct line; then Mombasa being situated farther south, the goal was still further; therefore, the entire journey would require over three months. With alarm Stas thought that it would be three months of excessive heat, toil, and dangers from negro tribes which they might encounter. They were still in a desolate country from which the population had been driven by the smallpox and news of the dervish raids; but Africa, on the whole, is quite populous, so sooner or later they must reach localities inhabited by unknown races, ruled usually by savage and cruel petty kings. It was an uncommon task to extricate one's self with life and liberty from such difficulties. Stas relied simply upon this: that if he chanced upon the Wahima people, he would drill a few tens of warriors in shooting, and afterwards induce them by great promises to accompany him to the ocean. But Kali had no idea where the Wahimas lived; neither could Linde, who had heard something of the tribe, indicate the way to them, nor could he designate specifically the locality occupied by them. Linde had mentioned some great lake, of which he knew only from narratives, and Kali contended with positiveness that one side of that lake, which he called Basso-Narok, was occupied by the Wahimas, and the other by the Samburus. Now Stas was troubled by this: that in the geography of Africa, which in the school in Port Said was taught very thoroughly, there was no mention made of such a lake. If Kali only had spoken of it, he would have assumed that it was Victoria Nyanza, but Linde could not err for he had just come from Victoria, northward, along the Karamojo Mountains, and, from reports of natives of those mountains, he had come to the conclusion that this mysterious lake was situated further east and north. Stas did not know what to think of it all; he feared, however, that he might not chance upon the Wahimas at the lake; he feared also the savage tribes, the waterless jungle, the insurmountable mountains, the tsetse flies which destroy animals; he feared the sleeping sickness, the fever for Nell, the heat, and that immeasurable expanse which still separated them from the ocean. But after leaving Mount Linde, naught else remained to do than to go ahead continually eastward. Linde indeed had said that this journey was beyond the strength of an experienced and energetic traveler, but Stas had already acquired a great deal of experience, and as to energy, why, as Nell was concerned, he determined to use as much of it as might be necessary. In the meantime it was essential to spare the strength of the little girl; so he decided to travel only from six until ten o'clock in the forenoon, and to make the second march from three to six in the afternoon only in case that at the first stopping place there was no water. But in the meantime, as the rain fell during the massica quite copiously, they found water everywhere. The little lakes, formed by the downpours in the valleys, were still well filled, and from the mountains flowed here and there streams, pouring crystalline, cool water in which bathing was excellent and at the same time absolutely safe, for crocodiles live only in the greater waters in which fish, which form their usual food, are to be found. Stas, however, did not permit the little girl to drink crude water as he had inherited from Linde a filter whose action always filled Kali and Mea with amazement. Both seeing how the filter, immerged in a turbid, whitish liquid, admitted to the reservoir only pure and translucent water, lay down with laughter and slapped their knees with the palms of their hands in sign of surprise and joy. On the whole, the journey at the beginning progressed easily. They had from Linde considerable supplies of coffee, tea, sugar, bouillon, various preserves, and all kinds of medicine. Stas did not have to save his packs for there were more of them than they could take along; they did not lack also various implements, weapons of all calibers, and sky-rockets, which on encountering negroes might prove very useful. The country was fertile; game, therefore fresh meat, was everywhere in abundance, likewise fruit. Here and there in the low lands they chanced upon marshes, but still covered with water, therefore not infecting the air with their noxious exhalations. On the table-land there were none of the mosquitoes which inoculate the blood with fever. The heat from ten o'clock in the morning became unbearable but the little travelers stopped during the so-called "white hours" in the deep shade of great trees, through the dense foliage of which not a ray of the sun could penetrate. Perfect health also favored Nell, Stas, and the negroes. XVII On the fifth day Stas rode with Nell on the King, for they had chanced upon a wide belt of acacias, growing so densely that the horses could move only on a path beaten down by the elephant. The hour was early, the morning radiant and dewy. The children conversed about the journey and the fact that each day brought them nearer to the ocean and to their fathers, for whom both continually longed. This, from the moment of their abduction from Fayûm, was the inexhaustible subject of all their conversations, which always moved them to tears. And they incessantly repeated in a circle that their papas thought that they already were dead and both were grieving and in spite of hope were despatching Arabs to Khartûm for news while they were now far away, not only from Khartûm but from Fashoda, and after five days would be still farther until finally they would reach the ocean, or perhaps before that time, some kind of place from which they could send despatches. The only person in the whole caravan who knew what still awaited them was Stas;--Nell, on the other hand, was most profoundly convinced that there was nothing in the world which "Stes" could not accomplish and she was quite certain that he would conduct her to the coast. So many times, anticipating events, she pictured to herself in her little head what would happen when the first news of them arrived and, chirping like a little bird, related it to Stas. "Our papas are sitting," she said, "in Port Said and weeping, when in comes a boy with a despatch. What is it? My papa or your papa opens it and looks at the signatures and reads 'Stas and Nell.' Then they will rejoice! Then they will start up to prepare to meet us! Then there will be joy in the whole house and our papas will rejoice and everybody will rejoice and they will praise you and they will come and I shall hug tightly papa's neck, and after that we shall always be--together and--" And it ended in this: that her chin commenced to quiver, the beautiful eyes changed into two fountains, and in the end she leaned her head on Stas' arm and wept from sorrow, longing, and joy at the thought of the future meeting. And Stas, allowing his imagination to roam into the future, divined that his father would be proud of him; that he would say to him: "You behaved as became a Pole;" and intense emotion possessed him and in his heart was bred a longing, ardor, and courage as inflexible as steel. "I must," he said to himself, "rescue Nell. I must live to see that moment." And at such moments it seemed to him that there were no dangers which he was not able to overcome nor obstacles which he could not surmount. But it was yet far to the final victory. In the meantime they were making their way through the acacia grove. The long thorns of these trees even made white marks upon the King's hide. Finally the grove became thinner and across the branches of the scattered trees could be seen in the distance a green jungle. Stas, notwithstanding that the heat was very oppressive, slipped out of the palanquin and sat on the elephant's neck to see whether there were any herds of antelopes or zebras within view, for he wished to replenish his supply of meat. In fact, on the right side he espied a herd of ariels, composed of a few head, and among them two ostriches, but when they passed the last clump of trees and the elephant turned to the left, a different sight struck the eyes of the boy. At the distance of about a third of a mile he observed a large manioc field and at the border of the field between ten and twenty black forms apparently engaged at work in the field. "Negroes!" he exclaimed, turning to Nell. And his heart began to beat violently. For a while, he hesitated as to whether he should turn back and hide again in the acacias, but it occurred to him that, sooner or later, he would have to meet the natives in populated districts and enter into relations with them, and that the fate of the whole traveling party might depend upon how those relations were formed; so, after brief reflection, he guided the elephant towards the field. At the same moment Kali approached and, pointing his hand at a clump of trees, said: "Great master! That is a negro village and there are women working at the manioc. Shall I ride to them?" "We will ride together," Stas answered, "and then you shall tell them that we come as friends." "I know what to tell them, master," exclaimed the young negro with great self-assurance. And turning the horses towards the workers, he placed the palms of his hands around his lips and began to shout: "Yambo, he yambo sana!" At this sound, the women engaged in hoeing the manioc field started up suddenly and stood as if thunderstruck, but this lasted only the twinkling of an eye, for afterwards, flinging away in alarm the hoes and baskets, they began to run away, screaming, to the trees amidst which the village was concealed. The little travelers approached slowly and calmly. In the thicket resounded the yelling of some hundred voices, after which silence fell. It was interrupted finally by the hollow but loud rumble of a drum, which did not cease even for a moment. It was evidently a signal of the warriors for battle, for three hundred of them suddenly emerged from the thicket. All stood in a long row before the village. Stas stopped the King at the distance of one hundred paces and began to gaze at them. The sun illuminated their well-shaped forms, wide breasts, and powerful arms. They were armed with bows and spears. Around their thighs some had short skirts of heath, and some of monkey skin. Their heads were adorned with ostrich and parrot feathers, or great scalps torn off baboons' skulls. They appeared warlike and threatening, but they stood motionless and in silence, for their amazement was simply unbounded and subdued the desire for fighting. All eyes were fastened upon the King, on the white palanquin, and the white man sitting on his neck. Nevertheless, an elephant was not an unknown animal to them. On the contrary, they continually live in dread of elephants, whole herds of which destroy at night their manioc fields as well as banana and doom-palm plantations. As the spears and arrows do not pierce the elephant's hide, the poor negroes fight the depredators with the help of fire, with the aid of cries imitating a cockerel's crow, by digging pits, and constructing traps made of the trunks of trees. But that an elephant should become slave of man and permit one to sit on his neck was something which none of them ever saw before, and it never entered into the mind of any of them that anything like that was possible. So the spectacle which was presented to them passed so far beyond their understanding and imagination that they did not know what to do: whether to fight or to run where their eyes should lead them, though it would result in leaving them to the caprice of fate. So in uncertainty, alarm, and amazement they only whispered to each other: "Oh, mother! What creatures are these which have come to us, and what awaits us at their hands?" But at this Kali, having ridden within a spear's throw of them, stood up in the stirrups and began to shout: "People! people! Listen to the voice of Kali, the son of Fumba, the mighty king of the Wahimas on the shores of Bassa-Narok. Oh listen, listen, and if you understand his speech, pay heed to each word that he utters." "We understand," rang the answer of three hundred mouths. "Let your king stand forth; let him tell his name and let him open his ears and lips that he may hear better." "M'Rua! M'Rua!" numerous voices began to cry. M'Rua stepped in front of the ranks, but not more than three paces. He was a negro, already old, tall and powerfully built, but evidently did not suffer from too much courage, as the calves of his legs quivered so that he had to implant the edge of a spear in the ground and support himself on the shaft in order to stand on his legs. After his example, the other warriors also drove the spears into the ground in sign that they wanted to hear peaceably the words of the arrival. And Kali again raised his voice. "M'Rua, and you, M'Rua's men, you heard that to you speaks the son of the king of the Wahimas, whose cows cover as thickly the mountains around the Bassa-Narok as the ants cover the body of a slain giraffe. And what says Kali, the son of the king of Wahima? Lo, he announces to you the great and happy tidings that there comes to your village the 'Good Mzimu.'" After which he yelled still louder: "That is so! The Good Mzimu! Ooo!" In the stillness which ensued could be perceived the great sensation which Kali's words created. The wave of warriors surged back and forth, for some, impelled by curiosity, advanced a few paces, while others retreated in fear. M'Rua supported himself with both hands on the spear--and for some time the hollow silence continued. Only after a while a murmur passed through the ranks and individual voices began to repeat "Mzimu! Mzimu!" and here and there resounded shouts of "Yancig! Yancig!" expressive at the same time of homage and welcome. But Kali's voice again predominated over the murmurs and shouts: "Look and rejoice! Lo, the 'Good Mzimu' sits there in that white hut on the back of the great elephant and the great elephant obeys her as a slave obeys a master and like a child its mother! Oh, neither your fathers nor you have seen anything like that." "We have not seen! Yancig! Yancig!" And the eyes of all warriors were directed at the "hut," or rather at the palanquin. And Kali, who during the religious instructions on Mount Linde had learned that faith moves mountains, was deeply convinced that the prayer of the little white "bibi" could procure everything from God; so he spoke thus further and in perfect sincerity: "Listen! Listen! The 'Good Mzimu' is riding on an elephant in the direction in which the sun rises, beyond the mountains out of the waters; there the 'Good Mzimu' will tell the Great Spirit to send you clouds, and those clouds during a drought will water with rain your millet, your manioc, your bananas, and the grass in the jungle, in order that you may have plenty to eat and that your cows shall have good fodder and shall give thick and fat milk. Do you want to have plenty of food and milk--oh, men?" "He! We do, we do!" "And the 'Good Mzimu' will tell the Great Spirit to send to you the wind, which will blow away from your village that sickness which changes the body into a honey-comb. Do you want him to blow it away--oh, men?" "He! Let him blow it away!" "And the Great Spirit at the prayer of the 'Good Mzimu' will protect you from attacks and slavery and from depredations in your fields and from the lion and from the panther and from the snake and from the locust--" "Let her do that." "So, listen yet and look who sits before the hut between the ears of the terrible elephant. Lo, there sits bwana kubwa, the great and mighty white master, whom the elephant fears!" "He!" "Who has thunder-bolts in his hand and kills with it bad men--" "He!" "Who kills lions--" "He!" "Who lets loose fiery snakes--" "He!" "Who crushes rocks--" "He!" "Who, however, will do you no harm, if you will honor the 'Good Mzimu.'" "Yancig! Yancig!" "And if you will bring to him an abundance of dry flour from bananas, eggs of chickens, fresh milk, and honey." "Yancig! Yancig!" "So approach and fall on your faces before the 'Good Mzimu!'" M'Rua and his warriors started and, not ceasing to "yancig" for a moment, advanced between ten and twenty paces, but they approached cautiously, for a superstitious fear of the "Mzimu" and downright terror before the elephant impeded their steps. The sight of Saba startled them anew as they mistook him for a "wobo," that is, a big, yellowish-brown leopard, which lives in that region as well as in Southern Abyssinia, and whom the natives fear more than a lion, for it prefers human flesh above all other, and with unheard-of daring attacks even armed men. They quieted, however, seeing that the little obese negro held the terrible "wobo" on a rope. But they were acquiring a still greater idea of the power of the "Good Mzimu," as well as of the white master, and, staring now at the elephant then at Saba, they whispered to each other: "If they bewitched even the 'wobo' who in the world can oppose them?" But the most solemn moment did not come until Stas, turning to Nell, first bowed profoundly and afterwards drew aside the curtain-like walls of the palanquin and exhibited to the eyes of the crowd the "Good Mzimu." M'Rua and all the warriors fell on their faces so that their bodies formed a long, living deck. Not one of them dared to move, and fear prevailed in all hearts all the more when the King, either at Stas' order or of his own volition, raised his trunk and began to trumpet strongly; and after his example Saba emitted the deepest bass of which he was capable. Then from all breasts issued, resembling entreating groans, "Aka! Aka! Aka!" and this continued until Kali again addressed them. "Oh, M'Rua, and you, children of M'Rua! You have paid homage to the 'Good Mzimu'; therefore rise, gaze, and fill your eyes, for whoever does that gains the blessing of the Great Spirit. Drive away, also, fear from your breasts and bellies and know that wherever the 'Good Mzimu' sojourns, human blood cannot be shed." At these words, and particularly as a result of the announcement that in the presence of the "Good Mzimu" no one can meet death, M'Rua rose, and after him the other warriors, and began to gaze, bashfully but eagerly at the kind divinity. Indeed, they would have to acknowledge, if Kali again should ask them about it, that neither their fathers nor they ever had beheld anything like it. For their eyes were accustomed to monstrous figures of idols, made of wood and shaggy cocoanuts, and now there appeared before them on an elephant's back a bright divinity, gentle, sweet, and smiling, resembling a white bird, and at the same time a white flower. So, too, their fears passed away, their breasts breathed freely; their thick lips began to grin and their hands were involuntarily stretched out towards the charming phenomenon. "Oh! Yancig! Yancig! Yancig!" Nevertheless, Stas, who was watching everything with the closest possible attention, observed that one of the negroes, wearing a pointed cap of rats' skin, slunk away from the ranks immediately after Kali's last words and, crawling like a snake in the grass, turned to an isolated hut standing apart, beyond the enclosure, but surrounded likewise by a high stockade bound by climbing plants. In the meantime the "Good Mzimu," though greatly embarrassed by the role of a divinity, at Stas' request stretched out her little hand and began to greet the negroes. The black warriors watched with joy in their eyes each movement of that little hand, firmly believing it possessed powerful "charms," which would protect them and secure them against a multitude of disasters. Some, striking their breasts and hips, said: "Oh, mother, now it will be well--for us and our cows." M'Rua, now entirely emboldened, drew near the elephant and prostrated himself once more before the "Good Mzimu" and after that, bowing to Stas, spoke in the following manner: "Would the great master, who leads the white divinity on the elephant, be pleased to eat a small piece of M'Rua, and would he consent that M'Rua should eat a small piece of him, in order that they should become brothers, among whom there is no falsehood and treachery?" Kali at once translated these words, but perceiving from Stas' countenance that he did not have the slightest desire to eat a small piece of M'Rua, turned to the old negro and said: "Oh, M'Rua! Do you really think that the white master, whom the elephant fears, who holds thunderbolts in his hands, who kills lions, to whom the 'wobo' wags its tail, who lets loose fiery snakes and crushes rocks, could form a blood brotherhood with a mere king? Reflect, oh, M'Rua, whether the Great Spirit would not punish you for your audacity, and whether it is not enough of glory for you if you eat a small piece of Kali, the son of Fumba, the ruler of the Wahimas, and if Kali, the son of Fumba, eats a small piece of you?" "Are you not a slave?" M'Rua asked. "The great master did not seize Kali, neither did he buy him; he only saved his life; therefore Kali is conducting the 'Good Mzimu' and the master to the country of the Wahimas in order that the Wahimas and Fumba should pay honors to them and give them great gifts." "Let it be as you say and let M'Rua eat a small piece of Kali and Kali a small piece of M'Rua." "Let it be so," repeated the warriors. "Where is the fetish-man?" the king asked. "Where is the fetish-man? Where is the fetish-man? Where is Kamba?" numerous voices began to call. Then something occurred which might change entirely the state of affairs, embroil the friendly relations, and make the negroes enemies of the newly arrived guests. From the hut standing apart and surrounded by a separate stockade, there suddenly resounded an infernal din. It was like the roar of a lion, like thunder, like the rumbling of a drum, like the laughter of a hyena, the howling of a wolf, and like the shrill creaking of rusty iron hinges. The King hearing these dreadful sounds, began to trumpet, Saba barked, the donkey, on which Nasibu sat, brayed. The warriors leaped as if scalded, and pulled the spears out of the ground. Confusion ensued. Stas' ears were assailed by the uneasy shouts of: "Our Mzimu! Our Mzimu!" The esteem and favor, with which they looked at the arrivals, vanished in one moment. The eyes of the savages began to cast suspicious and hostile glances. Threatening murmurs began to rise among the crowd and the horrible noise in the isolated hut increased more and more. Kali was terrified and, approaching Stas quickly, said in a voice broken with emotion: "Master! the fetish-man has awakened the wicked Mzimu, who fears that he will lose gifts and is roaring in a rage. Master, quiet the fetish-man and the wicked Mzimu with great gifts, for otherwise these men will turn against us." "Quiet them?" Stas asked. And suddenly he was possessed by anger at the perversity and greed of the fetish-man; and the unexpected danger roused him to the bottom of his soul. His swarthy face assumed the same expression which it had when he shot Gebhr, Chamis, and the Bedouins. His eyes glittered ominously; his lips were compressed and his cheeks paled. "Ah! I'll quiet them!" he said. And without any reflection he drove the elephant towards the hut. Kali, not desiring to remain alone among the negroes, ran after him. From the breasts of the savage warriors there came a shout--it was not known whether of alarm or of rage, but, before they recovered their wits, the stockade under the pressure of the elephant's head crashed and tumbled; after that the clay walls of the hut crumbled and amid dust the roof flew up in the air; and after a while M'Rua and his men saw the black trunk raised high and at the end of the trunk the fetish-man, Kamba. And Stas, observing on the floor a big drum made of the hollowed trunk of a tree with monkey skin stretched over it, ordered Kali to hand it to him and, returning, stopped directly among the amazed warriors. "Men!" he said in a loud voice, "it is not your Mzimu who roars; it is this rogue who makes the noise on the drum to wheedle gifts out of you, and whom you fear like children!" Saying this, he seized the rope drawn through the dried-up skin of the drum and began to twirl it around with all his strength. The same sounds which had previously so startled the negroes resounded now, and even more shrilly, as they were not muffled by the walls of the hut. "Oh, how stupid are M'Rua and his children!" shouted Kali. Stas gave the drum back to Kali while the latter began to make a noise with it with such zeal that for a while a word could not be heard. When finally he had enough, he flung the drum at M'Rua's feet. "This is your Mzimu," he exclaimed, with great laughter. After which he began with the usual negro exuberance of words to address the warriors; at which he was not at all sparing of jeers at them and at M'Rua. He declared to them, pointing at Kamba, that "that thief in the cap made of rat's skin" cheated them through many rainy and dry seasons and they fed him on beans, flesh of kids, and honey. Is there another king and nation as stupid in the world? They believed in the power of the old deceiver and in his charms, and look now, how that great fetish-man hangs from the elephant's trunk and is crying "Aka!" to arouse the pity of the white master. Where is his power? Where are his charms? Why does not any wicked Mzimu roar in his defense? Ah! What is this, their Mzimu? A clout of monkey skin and piece of wood hollowed through decay which the elephant will tread to pieces. Among the Wahimas, neither the women nor the children would be afraid of such a Mzimu, and M'Rua and his men fear him. There is only one genuine Mzimu and one really great and powerful master. Let them pay honors to them; let them bring as many gifts as they possibly can, as otherwise calamities, of which they hitherto have not heard, will befall them. For the negroes even these words were unnecessary as the fetish-man, together with his wicked Mzimu, appeared so vastly weaker than the new divinity and the white master, that it sufficed most fully to make them desert him and load him with contempt. So they commenced anew to "yancig" with even greater humility and haste. But as they were angry at themselves because they had allowed Kamba to cheat them for so many years, they wanted, by all means, to kill him. M'Rua himself begged Stas to allow him to bind and keep him until he could devise a sufficiently cruel death. Nell, however, was determined to spare his life, and as Kali had announced that wherever the "Good Mzimu" sojourns human blood cannot be shed, Stas consented only to the expulsion of the hapless fetish-man from the village. Kamba, who expected that he would die in the most ingeniously devised tortures, fell on his face before the "Good Mzimu" and, blubbering, thanked her for saving his life. From beyond the stockade women and children poured, for the news of the arrival of the extraordinary guests had already spread over the whole village, and the desire to see the white Mzimu overcame their terror. Stas and Nell for the first time saw a settlement of real savages, which even the Arabs had not succeeded in reaching. The dress of these negroes consisted only of heath or skins tied around their hips; all were tattooed. Men as well as women had perforated ears, and in the opening, chunks of wood or bone so big that the expanded lobes reached the shoulders. In the lower lips they carried "peleles," that is, wooden or bony rings as large as saucers. The more distinguished warriors and their wives had around their throats collars of iron or brass wire so high and stiff that they could barely move their heads. They apparently belonged to the Shilluk tribe, which extends far into the east, for Kali and Mea understood their speech excellently and Stas partly. They did not have, however, limbs as long as their kindred living on the overflowing banks of the Nile; they were broader in the shoulders, not so tall, and generally less like wading birds. The children looked like fleas and, not being yet disfigured by "peleles," were, without comparison, better looking than the older people. The women, having first from a distance sated their eyes with looking at the "Good Mzimu," began to vie with the warriors in bringing gifts to her, consisting of kids, chickens, eggs, black beans, and beer brewed of millet. This continued until Stas stopped the afflux of supplies; as he paid for them liberally with beads and colored percale, and Nell distributed between ten and twenty looking-glasses inherited from Linde, immense joy reigned in the whole village; and around the tent, in which the little travelers sought shelter, shouts, happy and full of enthusiasm, continually resounded. After that, the warriors performed a war-dance in honor of the guests and fought a sham battle, and finally they proceeded to form a blood brotherhood between Kali and M'Rua. Owing to the absence of Kamba, who for this ceremony was usually indispensable, his place was taken by an old negro sufficiently conversant with the adjuration. The latter, having killed a kid and extracted its liver, divided it into fair-sized morsels; after which he began to turn a kind of spinning-wheel with his hand and foot and, gazing now at Kali and then at M'Rua, addressed them in a solemn voice: "Kali, son of Fumba, do you desire to eat a piece of M'Rua, the son of M'Kuli, and you, M'Rua, son of M'Kuli, do you desire to eat a piece of Kali, the son of Fumba?" "We do," announced the future brethren. "Do you desire that the heart of Kali should be the heart of M'Rua and the heart of M'Rua the heart of Kali?" "We do." "And the hands and the spears and the cows?" "And the cows!" "And everything which each one possesses and will possess?" "And what he possesses and will possess." "And that there should not be between you falsehood, nor treachery, nor hatred?" "Nor hatred!" "And that one shall not pilfer from the other?" "Never!" "And that you shall be brethren?" "Yes!" The wheel turned more and more rapidly. The warriors, gathered around, watched its revolutions with ever-increasing interest. "Ao!" exclaimed the aged negro, "if one of you deceives the other by lies, if he betrays him, if he steals from him, if he poisons him, may he be accursed!" "May he be accursed!" repeated all the warriors. "And if he is a liar and is plotting treason, let him not swallow the blood of his brother, and let him spit it out before our eyes." "Oh, before our eyes!" "And let him die!" "Let him die!" "Let him be torn to pieces by a wobo!" "Wobo!" "Or a lion!" "Or a lion!" "May he be trampled upon by an elephant and a rhinoceros and a buffalo!" "Oh--and a buffalo!" repeated the chorus. "May he be bit by a snake!" "Snake!" "And may his tongue become black!" "Black!" "And his eyes sink to the back of his head!" "To the back of his head!" "And may he walk on his heels upward!" "Ha! on his heels upward!" Not only Stas but Kali bit his lips in order not to burst out laughing. In the meantime adjurations were repeated, more and more horrible, and the wheel kept spinning so quickly that the eyes could not keep pace with its whirl. This continued until the old negro entirely lost his strength and breath. Then he squatted on the ground, and for some time nodded his head in both directions in silence. After a while, however, he rose and taking a knife, cut with it the skin at Kali's shoulder and smearing a piece of kid's liver with his blood, shoved it into M'Rua's mouth; the other piece smeared in the king's blood he shoved into Kali's mouth. Both swallowed so quickly that their wind-pipes began to play, and their eyes bulged out; after which they grabbed hold of hands in sign of loyal and everlasting friendship. The warriors on the other hand began to shout with glee: "Both swallowed; neither spat it out; therefore they are sincere and there is no treachery between them." And Stas in his soul thanked Kali that he had acted as his proxy at this ceremony, for he felt that at the swallowing of "a piece" of M'Rua he undoubtedly would have given proof of insincerity and treachery. From that moment, however, the little travelers were not threatened on the part of the savages with deceit or any unexpected attacks; on the contrary they were treated with a hospitality and an esteem almost god-like. This esteem increased when Stas, after making an observation on a barometer, a great heritage from Linde, predicted rain, and when rain fell that very same day quite copiously, as though the massica* [*The spring rainy season, which had just passed.] desired to shake off the rest of its supplies upon the earth, the negroes were convinced that this downpour was the gift of the "Good Mzimu" and their gratitude to Nell was unbounded. Stas joked with her about this, saying that since she had become a negro divinity he would proceed alone on his further journey and leave her in M'Rua's village, where the negroes would erect for her a chapel of ivory, and would bring beans and bananas to her. But Nell had no uncertainty, and, standing on her little toes, whispered in his ear, according to her custom, only four words: "You won't leave me!" After which she began to leap from joy, saying that since the negroes were so kind, the whole journey to the ocean would be easy and quick. This happened in front of the tent and in the presence of the crowd, so old M'Rua, seeing a jumping Mzimu, began at once to leap as high as he could with his crooked shanks in the conviction that through that act he gave proof of his piety. In emulation of their superior "the ministers" started to leap, and after them the warriors, and later the women and children; in a word, the whole village for some time was jumping as if all had lost their wits. This example given by the divinity amused Stas so much that he lay down and roared with laughter. Nevertheless, during the night-time he rendered to the pious king and his subjects a real and enduring service, for when the elephants made depredations upon their banana field he drove towards them on the King and shot a few rockets among the herd. The panic caused by the "fiery snakes" surpassed even his expectation. The huge beasts, seized by a frenzy of terror, filled the jungle with a roar and the noise of hoofs, and, escaping blindly, tumbled down and trampled upon one another. The mighty King chased after his flying companions with extraordinary alacrity, not sparing blows of his trunk and tusks. After such a night one could be certain that not an elephant would appear in the banana and doom-palm plantations belonging to the village of old M'Rua. In the village great joy also reigned, and the negroes passed the whole night in dancing and drinking beer of millet and palm wine. Kali learned from them, however, many important things; it appeared that some of them had heard of some great water lying east and surrounded by mountains. For Stas this was proof that the lake, of which no mention was made in the geography which he had studied, actually existed; also, that going in the direction which they had selected, they would finally encounter the Wahima people. Inferring from the fact that Mea's and Kali's speech differed very little from M'Rua's speech, he came to the conclusion that the name of "Wahima" was in all probability the designation of a locality, and that the peoples living on the shores of "Bassa-Narok" belonged to the great Shilluk tribe, which begins on the Nile and extends, it is not known how far, to the east. XVIII The population of the whole village escorted afar the "Good Mzimu" and took leave of her with tears, begging vehemently that she would deign to come sometime to M'Rua, and to remember his people. Stas for some time hesitated whether he should point out to the negroes the ravine in which he had hidden the wares and supplies left by Linde, which owing to want of porters he could not take with him, but reflecting that the possession of such treasures might evoke envy and discord among them, awaken covetousness, and embroil the peace of their lives, he abandoned this design, and, instead, shot a big buffalo and left its meat for a farewell feast. The sight of such a large amount of "mama" also really delighted them. For the following three days the caravan again proceeded through a desolate country. The days were scorching, but, owing to the high altitude of the region, the nights were so cold that Stas ordered Mea to cover Nell with two shaggy coverlets. They now often crossed mountainous ravines, sometimes barren and rocky, sometimes covered with vegetation so compact that they could force their way through it only with the greatest difficulty. At the brinks of these ravines they saw big apes and sometimes lions and panthers. Stas killed one of them at the entreaty of Kali, who afterwards dressed himself in its hide in order that the negroes might at once know that they had to do with a person of royal blood. Beyond the ravines, on high table-lands, negro villages again began to appear. Some lay near together, some at the distance of a day or two. All were surrounded by high stockades for protection against lions, and these were so entwined with creepers that even close at hand they looked like clumps of a virgin forest. Only from the smoke rising from the middle of the village could one perceive that people dwelt there. The caravan was everywhere received more or less as at M'Rua's village; that is, at first with alarm and distrust and afterwards with admiration, amazement, and esteem. Once only did it happen that the whole village, at the sight of the elephant, Saba, the horses, and the white people, ran away to an adjacent forest, so that there was no one to converse with. Nevertheless, not a spear was aimed against the travelers, for negroes, until Mohammedanism fills their souls with cruelties and hatred against infidels, are rather timid and gentle. So it most frequently happened that Kali ate a "piece" of the local king and the local king a "piece" of Kali, after which the relations were of the most friendly character. To the "Good Mzimu," the negroes furnished evidence of homage and piety in the shape of chickens, eggs, and honey, extracted from wooden logs suspended from the boughs of great trees with the aid of palm ropes. The "great master," the ruler of the elephant, thunder, and fiery snakes, aroused mainly fear, which soon, however, changed into gratitude when they became convinced that his generosity equaled his might. Where the villages were closer to one another the arrival of the extraordinary travelers was announced from one village to the other by the beating of drums, for the negroes give notice of everything with the aid of drumming. It happened also that the entire populace would come out to meet them, being well disposed in advance. In one village, numbering one thousand heads, the local ruler, who was fetish-man and king in the same person, consented to show them "the great fetish," which was surrounded by such extraordinary veneration and fear that the people did not dare to approach the ebony chapel, covered with a rhinoceros hide, and make offerings any nearer than fifty paces. The king stated that this fetish not long before fell from the moon, that it was white and had a tail. Stas declared that he himself at the command of the "Good Mzimu" sent it, and in saying that he did not deviate from the truth, for it appeared that the "great fetish" was plainly one of the kites, despatched from Mount Linde. Both children were pleased with the thought that other kites in a suitable wind might fly still further. They determined to fly others from heights in the farther course of time. Stas made and sent out one that very same night, which convinced the negroes that the "Good Mzimu" and the white master also came to earth from the moon, and that they were divinities who could not be served with sufficient humility. But more delightful to Stas than these marks of humility and homage was the news that Bassa-Narok lay only about thirteen days' distance and that the denizens of the village in which they stopped at times received from that direction salt in exchange for doom-palm wine. The local king had even heard of Fumba, as the ruler of the people called "Doko." Kali confirmed this by saying that more distant neighbors so called the Wahimas and Samburus. Less consoling was the news that on the shores of the great water a war was raging, and to go to Bassa-Narok it was necessary to cross immense, wild mountains and steep ravines, full of rapacious beasts. But Stas now did not much heed rapacious beasts, and he preferred mountains, though the wildest, to the low plain country where fever lay in wait for travelers. In high spirits they started. Beyond that populous village they came to only one settlement, very wretched and hanging like a nest on the edge of a chasm. After that the foot-hills began, cut rarely by deep fissures. On the east rose a hazy chain of peaks, which from a distance appeared entirely black. This was an unknown region to which they were bound, not knowing what might befall them before they reached Fumba's domains. In the highlands which they passed trees were not lacking, but with the exception of dragon-trees and acacias standing alone they stood in clusters, forming small groves. The travelers stopped amid these clumps for refreshment and rest as well as for the abundant shade. Amid the trees birds swarmed. Various kinds of pigeons, big birds with beaks, which Stas called toucans, starlings, turtle-doves, and countless beautiful "bingales" flitted in the foliage or flew from one clump to another, singly and in flocks, changing color like the rainbow. Some trees appeared from a distance to be covered with many-colored flowers. Nell was particularly charmed by the sight of paradisaical fly-catchers and rather large, black birds, with a crimson lining to the wings, which emitted sounds like a pastoral fife. Charming woodpeckers, rosy on top and bright blue beneath, sped in the sun's luster, catching in their flight bees and grasshoppers. On the treetops resounded the screams of the green parrot, and at times there reached them sounds as though of silvery bells, with which the small green-gray birds hidden under Adansonia leaves greeted one another. Before sunrise and after sunset flocks of native sparrows flew by, so countless that were it not for their twitter and the rustle of their little wings they would be mistaken for clouds. Stas assumed that it was their pretty little bills which rang so, while in daytime they were scattered on single clumps. But other birds flying in little flocks, which gave real concerts, filled both children with the greatest surprise and ecstasy. Every little flock consisted of five or six females and one male, with glittering metallic feathers. They sat on a single acacia in this particular manner: the male was perched on the top of the tree and the others lower, and after the first notes, which seemed like the tuning of their little throats, the male began a song and the others listened in silence. Only when he had finished did they repeat together in a chorus the last refrain of his song. After a brief pause, he resumed and finished, and they again repeated; after this the whole flock flew in a light wavy flight to the nearest acacia and the concert, composed of the soloist and chorus, again resounded in the southern stillness. The children could not listen enough to this. Nell, catching the leading tune of the concert, joined with the chorus and warbled in her thin little voice the notes resembling the quickly repeated sound of "tui, tui, tui, twiling-ting! ting!" Once the children, following the winged musicians from tree to tree, went away over half a mile from the camp, leaving in it the three negroes, the King, and Saba. Stas was about to start on a hunting trip and did not want to take Saba with him, for fear that his barking might scare away the game. When the little flock finally flew to the last acacia on the other side of a wide ravine, the boy stopped Nell and said: "Now I will escort you to the King and after that I shall see whether there are any antelopes or zebras in the high jungle, for Kali says that the smoked meats will not last longer than two days." "Why, I am big now," answered Nell, who was always anxious to make it appear that she was not a little child, "so I will return alone. We can see the camp perfectly from here, and the smoke also." "I am afraid that you may stray." "I won't stray. In a high jungle we might stray, but here, see how low the grass is!" "Still, something may happen to you." "You yourself said that lions and panthers do not hunt in the daytime. Besides, you hear how the King is trumpeting from longing after us. What lion would dare to hunt there where the sound of the King reaches?" And she began to importune: "Stas, dear, I will go alone, like a grown-up." Stas hesitated for a while but finally assented. The camp and smoke really could be seen. The King, who longed for Nell, trumpeted every little while. In the low grass there was no danger of going astray, and as to lions, panthers, and hyenas, there plainly could be no talk of them as these animals seek prey during the night. The boy after all knew that nothing would afford the little maid greater pleasure than if he acted as though he did not regard her as a little child. "Very well," he said, "go alone, but go directly, and do not tarry on the way." "And may I pluck just those flowers?" she asked, pointing at a cusso bush, covered with an immense number of rosy flowers. "You may." Saying this, he turned her about, pointed out to her once more for greater certainty the clump of trees from which the smoke of the camp issued and from which resounded the King's trumpeting, after which he plunged into the high jungle growing on the brink of the ravine. But he had not gone a hundred paces when he was seized by uneasiness. "Why, it was stupid on my part," he thought, "to permit Nell to walk alone in Africa. Stupid, stupid. She is such a child! I ought not to leave her for a step unless the King is with her. Who knows what may happen! Who knows whether under that rosy bush some kind of snake is not lying! Big apes can leap out of the ravine and carry her away from me or bite her. God forbid! I committed a terrible folly." And his uneasiness changed into anger at himself, and at the same time into a terrible fear. Not reflecting any longer, he turned around as if stung by a sudden evil presentiment. Walking hurriedly, he held the rifle ready to fire, with that great dexterity which he had acquired through daily hunting, and advanced amid the thorny mimosas without any rustle, exactly like a panther when stealing to a herd of antelopes at night. After a while he shoved his head out of the high underwood, glanced about and was stupefied. Nell stood under a cusso bush with her little hand outstretched; the rosy flowers, which she had dropped in terror, lay at her feet, and from the distance of about twenty paces a big tawny-gray beast was creeping towards her amid the low grass. Stas distinctly saw his green eyes fastened upon the little maid's face, which was as white as chalk, his narrow head with flattened ears, his shoulder-blades raised upward on account of his lurking and creeping posture, his long body and yet longer tail, the end of which he moved with a light, cat-like motion. One moment more one spring and it would be all over with Nell. At this sight the boy, hardened and inured to danger, in the twinkling of an eye understood that if he did not regain self-command, if he did not muster courage, if he shot badly and only wounded the assailant, even though heavily, the little maid must perish. But he could master himself to that degree that under the influence of these thoughts his hands and limbs suddenly became calm like steel springs. With one glance of the eye he detected a dark spot in the neighborhood of the beast's ear,--with one light motion he directed the barrel of the rifle at it and fired. The report of the shot, Nell's scream, and a short, shrill bleat resounded at the same moment. Stas jumped towards Nell, and covering her with his own body, he aimed again at the assailant. But the second shot was entirely unnecessary, for the dreadful cat lay like a rag, flattened out, with nose close to the ground and claws wedged in the grass--almost without a quiver. The bursting bullet had torn out the back of its head and the nape of its neck. Above its eyes, gory, torn, white convolutions of its brain oozed out. And the little hunter and Nell stood for some time, gazing now at the slain beast, then at each other, not being able to utter a word. But after that something strange happened. Now this same Stas, who a moment before would have astonished the most experienced hunter in the whole world by his calmness and coolness, suddenly became pale; his limbs began to tremble, tears flowed from his eyes, and afterwards he seized his head with the palms of his hands and began to repeat: "Oh, Nell! Nell! If I had not returned!" And he was swayed by such consternation, such belated despair, that every fiber within him quivered as if he had a fever. After an unheard-of exertion of his will and all the powers of his soul and body a moment of weakness and relaxation had come. Before his eyes was the picture of the dreadful beast, resting with blood-stained muzzle in some dark cave and tearing Nell's body to pieces. And of course, this could have happened and would have happened if he had not returned. One minute, one second more and it would have been too late. This thought he plainly could not banish. Finally it ended in this, that Nell, recovering from her fear and alarm, had to comfort him. The little upright soul threw both her little arms around his neck and, weeping also, began to call to him loudly, as if she wanted to arouse him from slumber. "Stas! Stas! Nothing is the matter with me. See, nothing is the matter with me. Stas! Stas!" But he came to himself and grew calm only after a long time. Immediately after that Kali, who heard the shot not far from the camp and knew that the "Bwana kubwa" never fired in vain, came leading a horse to carry away the game. The young negro, glancing at the slain beast, suddenly retreated, and his face at once became ashen. "Wobo!" he shouted. The children now approached the carcass, already growing rigid. Up to that time Stas did not have an accurate idea as to what kind of beast of prey had fallen from his shot. At the first glance of the eye it seemed to the boy that it was an exceptionally large serval; nevertheless, after closer examination he saw that it was not, for the slain beast exceeded the dimensions of even a leopard. His tawny skin was strewn with chestnut-hued spots, but his head was narrower than that of a leopard, which made him resemble somewhat a wolf; his legs were higher, paws wider, and his eyes were enormous. One of them was driven to the surface by a bullet, the other still stared at the children, fathomless, motionless, and awful. Stas came to the conclusion that this was a species of panther unknown to zoölogy, just as Lake Bassa-Narok was unknown to geography. Kali gazed continually with great terror at the beast stretched upon the ground, repeating in a low voice, as if he feared to awaken it: "Wobo! The great master killed a wobo!" But Stas turned to the little maid, placed his hand on her head, as though he desired definitely to assure himself that the wobo had not carried her away, and then said: "You see, Nell. You see that even if you are full-grown, you cannot walk alone through the jungle." "True, Stas," answered Nell with a penitent mien, "but I can go with you or the King." "Tell me how it was? Did you hear him draw near?" "No-- Only a golden fly flew out of those flowers. So I turned around after it and saw how he crept out of the ravine." "And what then?" "He stood still and began to look at me." "Did he look long?" "Long, Stas. Only when I dropped the flowers and guarded myself from him with my hands did he creep towards me." It occurred to Stas that if Nell were a negress she would have been pounced upon at once, and that in part she owed her preservation to the astonishment of the beast, which seeing before it for the first time a being unknown to it, for a while was uncertain what to do. A chill passed through the boy's bones. "Thank God! Thank God that I returned!" After which he asked further: "What were you thinking of at that moment?" "I wanted to call you, and--I could not--but--" "But what?" "But I thought that you would protect me--I myself do not know--" Saying this she again threw her little arms around his neck, and he began to stroke her tufts of hair. "You are not afraid, now?" "No." "My little Mzimu! My Mzimu! You see what Africa is." "Yes, but you will kill every ugly beast?" "I will." Both again began to examine closely the rapacious beast. Stas, desiring to preserve its skin as a trophy ordered Kali to strip it off, but the latter from fear that another wobo might creep out of the ravine begged him not to leave him alone, and to the question whether he feared a wobo more than a lion, said: "A lion roars at night and does not leap over stockades, but a wobo in the white day can leap over a stockade and kill a great many negroes in the middle of the village, and after that he seizes one of them and eats him. Against a wobo a spear is no protection, nor a bow, only charms, for a wobo cannot be killed." "Nonsense," said Stas, "look at this one; is he not well slain?" "The white master kills wobo; the black man cannot kill him," Kali replied. It ended in this, that the gigantic cat was tied by a rope to the horse and the horse dragged him to the camp. Stas, however, did not succeed in preserving his hide, for the King, who evidently surmised that the wobo wanted to carry off his little lady, fell into such a frenzy of rage that even Stas' orders were unable to restrain him. Seizing the slain beast with his trunk he tossed it twice into the air; after which he began to strike it against a tree and in the end trampled upon it with his legs and changed it into a shapeless, jelly-like mass. Stas succeeded in saving the jaws, which with the remnants of the head he placed on an ant-column on the road, and the ants cleaned the bones in the course of an hour so thoroughly that not an atom of flesh or blood remained. XIX Four days later Stas stopped for a longer rest on a hill somewhat similar to Mount Linde, but smaller and narrower. That same night Saba after a hard battle killed a big male baboon, whom he attacked at a time when the baboon was playing with the remnants of a kite, the second in order of those which they had sent before starting for the ocean. Stas and Nell, taking advantage of the stay, determined to glue new ones continually, but to fly them only when the monsoon blew from the west to the east. Stas placed great reliance upon this, that even if but one of them should fall into European or Arabian hands it would undoubtedly attract extraordinary attention and would cause an expedition to be despatched expressly for their rescue. For greater certainty, besides English and French inscriptions he added Arabian, which was not difficult for him, as he knew the Arabian language perfectly. Soon after starting from the resting-place, Kali announced that in the mountain chain, which he saw in the east, he recognized some of the peaks which surrounded Bassa-Narok; nevertheless, he was not always certain, as the mountains assumed different shapes, according to the place from which they were viewed. After crossing a small valley overgrown with cusso bushes and looking like a lake of roses, they chanced upon a hut of lone hunters. There were two negroes in it and one of them was sick, having been bitten by a thread-like worm.* [* Filandria medineusis, a worm as thin as thread, and a yard long. Its bite sometimes causes gangrene.] But both were so savage and stupid and in addition so terrified by the arrival of the unexpected guests, so certain that they would be murdered, that at first it was impossible to ascertain anything from them. But a few slices of smoked meat unloosened the tongue of the one who was not only sick, but famished, as his companion doled out food to him very stingily. From him, therefore, they learned that about a day's journey away there lay straggling villages, governed by petty kings, who were independent of one another; and afterwards, beyond a steep mountain, the domain of Fumba began, extending on the west and south of the great water. When Stas heard this, a great load fell off his heart and new courage entered his soul. At any rate, they now were almost on the threshold of the land of the Wahimas. It was difficult to foresee how their further journey would progress; nevertheless, the boy in any event could expect that it would not be harder or even longer than that terrible journey from the banks of the Nile which they had undergone, thanks to his exceptional resourcefulness, and during which he had saved Nell from destruction. He did not doubt that, thanks to Kali, the Wahimas would receive them with the greatest hospitality and would give every assistance to them. After all, he already well understood the negroes, knew how to act towards them, and was almost certain that, even without Kali, he would have been able somehow to take care of himself among them. "Do you know," he said to Nell, "that we have passed more than one-half of the way from Fashoda, and that during the journey which is still before us we may meet very savage negroes, but now will not encounter any dervishes." "I prefer negroes," the little maid replied. "Yes, while you pass as a goddess. I was kidnapped from Fayûm with a little lady whose name was Nell, and now am conducting some kind of Mzimu. I shall tell my father and Mr. Rawlinson that they never should call you anything else." Her eyes began to sparkle and smile: "Perhaps we may see our papas in Mombasa." "Perhaps. If it were not for that war on the shores of Bassa-Narok, we would be there sooner. Too bad that Fumba should be engaged in one at this time!" Saying this, he nodded at Kali. "Kali, did the sick negro hear of the war?" "He heard. It is a big war, very big--Fumba with Samburus." "Well, what will happen? How shall we get through the Samburu country?" "The Samburus will run away before the great master, before the King and before Kali." "And before you?" "And before Kali, because Kali has a rifle which thunders and kills." Stas began to meditate upon the part which would devolve upon him in the conflict between the Wahima and Samburu tribes and determined to conduct his affairs in such a manner as not to retard his journey. He understood that their arrival would be an entirely unexpected event which would at once assure Fumba of a superiority. Accordingly it was necessary only to make the most of a victory. In the villages, of which the sick hunter spoke, they derived new information about the war. The reports were more and more accurate, but unfavorable for Fumba. The little travelers learned that he was conducting a defensive campaign, and that the Samburus under the command of their king, named Mamba, occupied a considerable expanse of the Wahima country and had captured a multitude of cows. The villagers said that the war was raging principally on the southern border of the great water where on a wide and high rock King Fumba's great "boma"* [* The same as a zareba in the Sudân. A great boma may also be a sort of fortress or fortified camp.] was situated. This intelligence greatly grieved Kali, who begged Stas to cross the mountain separating them from the seat of the war as quickly as possible, assuring him, at the same time, that he would be able to find the road on which he could lead not only the horses but the King. He was already in a region which he knew well and now distinguished with great certainty peaks which were familiar to him from childhood. Nevertheless, the passage was not easy, and if it were not for the aid of the inhabitants of the last village, won by gifts, it would have been necessary to seek another road for the King. These negroes knew better than Kali the passes leading from that side of the mountain, and after two days' arduous travel, during which great cold incommoded them during the nights, they successfully led the caravan to a depression in a crest of a mountain and from the mountain to a valley lying in the Wahima country. Stas halted in the morning for a rest in this desolate valley, surrounded by underwood, while Kali, who begged to be allowed to scout on horseback in the direction of his father's "boma," which was about a day's distance, started that very night. Stas and Nell waited for him the whole day with the greatest uneasiness and feared that he had perished or fallen into the hands of the enemy, and when finally he appeared on a lean and panting horse, he himself was equally fatigued and so dejected that the sight of him excited pity. He fell at once at Stas' feet and began to implore for help. "Oh, great master," he said, "the Samburus have defeated Fumba's warriors; they killed a multitude of them and dispersed those they did not kill. They besiege Fumba in a boma on Boko Mountain. Fumba and his warriors have nothing to eat in the boma and will perish if the great master does not kill Mamba and all the Samburus with Mamba." Begging thus, he embraced Stas' knees, while the latter knitted his brow and meditated deeply as to what was to be done, for in everything he was particularly concerned about Nell. "Where," he finally asked, "are Fumba's warriors whom the Samburus dispersed?" "Kali found them and they will be here at once." "How many are there?" The young negro moved the fingers of both hands and the toes of both his feet about a score of times, but it was evident that he could not indicate the exact number for the simple reason that he could not count above ten and every greater amount appeared to him as "wengi," that is, a multitude. "Well, if they come here, place yourself at their head and go to your father's relief." "They fear the Samburus and will not go with Kali, but with the great master they will go and kill 'wengi, wengi' of Samburu." Stas pondered again. "No," he finally said, "I can neither take the 'bibi' to a battle nor leave her alone, and I will not do it for anything in the world." At this Kali rose and folding his hands began to repeat incessantly: "Luela! Luela! Luela!" "What is 'Luela'?" Stas asked. "A great boma for Wahima and Samburu women," the young negro replied. And he began to relate extraordinary things. Now Fumba and Mamba had been engaged in continual warfare with each other for a great many years. They laid waste to the plantations of each other and carried away cattle. But there was a locality on the southern shore of the lake, called Luela, at which even during the fiercest war the women of both nations assembled in the market-place with perfect safety. It was a sacred place. The war raged only between men; no defeats or victories affected the fate of the women, who in Luela, behind a clay enclosure surrounding a spacious market-place, found an absolutely safe asylum. Many of them sought shelter there during the time of hostilities, with their children and goods. Others came from even distant villages with smoked meat, beans, millet, manioc, and various other supplies. The warriors were not allowed to fight a battle within a distance of Luela which could be reached by the crowing of a rooster. They were likewise not permitted to cross the clay rampart with which the market-place was surrounded. They could only stand before the rampart and then the women would give them supplies of food attached to long bamboo poles. This was a very ancient custom and it never happened that either side violated it. The victors also were always concerned that the way of the defeated to Luela should be cut off and they did not permit them to approach the sacred place within a distance which could be reached by a rooster's crow. "Oh, great master!" Kali begged, again embracing Stas' knees, "great master, lead 'the bibi' to Luela, and you yourself take the King, take Kali, take the rifle, take fiery snakes and rout the wicked Samburus." Stas believed the young negro's narrative, for he had heard that in many localities in Africa war does not include women. He remembered how at one time in Port Said a certain young German missionary related that in the vicinity of the gigantic mountain, Kilima-Njaro, the immensely warlike Massai tribe sacredly observed this custom, by virtue of which the women of the contending parties walked with perfect freedom in certain market-places and were never subject to attack. The existence of this custom on the shores of Bassa-Narok greatly delighted Stas, for he could be certain that no danger threatened Nell on account of the war. He determined also to start with the little maid without delay for Luela, all the more because before the termination of the war they could not think of a further journey for which not only the aid of the Wahimas but that of the Samburus was necessary. Accustomed to quick decisions, he already knew how he should act. To free Fumba, to rout the Samburus but not to permit a too bloody revenge, and afterwards to command peace and reconcile the belligerents, appeared to him an imperative matter not only for himself but also most beneficial for the negroes. "Thus it should be and thus it shall be!" he said to himself in his soul, and in the meantime, desiring to comfort the young negro for whom he felt sorry, he announced that he did not refuse aid. "How far is Luela from here?" he asked. "A half day's journey." "Listen, then! we will convey the 'bibi' there at once, after which I shall ride on the King and drive away the Samburus from your father's boma. You shall ride with me and shall fight with them." "Kali will kill them with the rifle!" And passing at once from despair to joy, he began to leap, laugh, and thank Stas with as much ardor as though the victory was already achieved. But further outbursts of gratitude and mirth were interrupted by the arrival of the warriors, whom he had gathered together during his scouting expedition and whom he commanded to appear before the white master. They numbered about three hundred; they were armed with shields of hippopotamus leather, with javelins and knives. Their heads were dressed with feathers, baboon manes, and ferns. At the sight of an elephant in the service of a man, at the sight of the white faces, Saba, and the horses, they were seized by the same fear and the same amazement which had possessed the negroes in those villages through which the children previously passed. But Kali warned them in advance that they would behold the "Good Mzimu" and the mighty master "who kills lions, who killed a wobo, whom the elephant fears, who crushes rocks, lets loose fiery snakes," etc. So, instead of running away, they stood in a long row in silence, full of admiration, with the whites of their eyes glistening, uncertain whether they should kneel or fall on their faces. But at the same time they were full of faith that if these extraordinary beings would help them then the victories of the Samburus would soon end. Stas rode along the file on the elephant, just like a commander who is reviewing his army, after which he ordered Kali to repeat his promise that he would liberate Fumba, and issued an order that they should start for Luela. Kali rode with a few warriors in advance to announce to the women of both tribes that they would have the inexpressible and unheard-of pleasure of seeing the "Good Mzimu," who would arrive on an elephant. The matter was so extraordinary that even those women who, being members of the Wahima tribe, recognized Kali as the lost heir to the throne, thought that he was jesting with them and were surprised that he wanted to jest at a time that was so heavy for the whole tribe and Fumba. When, however, after the lapse of a few hours they saw a gigantic elephant approaching the ramparts and on it a white palanquin, they fell into a frenzy of joy and received the "Good Mzimu," with such shouts and such yells that Stas at first mistook their voices for an outburst of hatred, and the more so as the unheard-of ugliness of the negresses made them look like witches. But these were manifestations of extraordinary honor. When Nell's tent was set in a corner of the market-place under the shade of two thick trees, the Wahima and Samburu women decorated it with garlands and wreaths of flowers, after which they brought supplies of food that would have sufficed a month, not only for the divinity herself but for her retinue. The enraptured women even prostrated themselves before Mea, who, attired in rosy percale and a few strings of blue beads, as a humble servant of the Mzimu, appeared to them as a being far superior to the common negresses. Nasibu, out of regard for his childish age, was admitted behind the rampart and at once took advantage of the gifts brought for Nell so conscientiously that after an hour his little abdomen resembled an African war drum. XX Stas, after a brief rest under the ramparts of Luela, started with Kali before sunset at the head of three hundred warriors for Fumba's boma, for he wanted to attack the Samburus during the night, relying upon the fact that in the darkness the fiery snakes would create a greater sensation. The march from Luela to Mount Boko, on which Fumba was defending himself, counting the rests, required nine hours, so that they appeared before the fortress at about three o'clock in the morning. Stas halted the warriors and, having ordered them to preserve the deepest silence, began to survey the situation. The summit of the mountain on which the defenders had sought refuge was dark; on the other hand the Samburus burnt a multitude of camp-fires. Their glare illuminated the steep walls of the rock and the gigantic trees growing at its foot. From a distance came the hollow sounds of drums and the shouts and songs of warriors who evidently were not sparing in their indulgence of pombe,* [* A beer of millet with which the negroes intoxicate themselves.] desiring already to celebrate a near and decisive victory. Stas advanced at the head of his division still farther, so that finally not more than a hundred paces separated him from the last camp-fires. There were no signs of camp sentinels and the moonless night did not permit the savages to catch sight of the King who, besides, was screened by the underwood. Stas, sitting on his neck, quietly issued the final orders, after which he gave Kali the signal to light one of the sky-rockets. A red ribbon flew up, hissing, high in the dark sky, after which, with an explosive sound, it scattered into a bouquet of red, blue, and golden stars. All voices became hushed and a moment of gloomy silence ensued. A few seconds later two more fiery snakes flew out, as though with an infernal hiss, but this time they were aimed horizontally directly at the Samburu camp; simultaneously resounded the King's roar and the loud cries of the three hundred Wahimas who, armed with assagais,* [* Negro spears.] maces, and knives, rushed ahead with irrepressible speed. A battle began, which was the more terrible because it took place in the darkness, as all the camp-fires in the confusion were at once trampled out. But, at the very beginning, blind terror at the sight of the fiery snakes seized the Samburus. What was happening passed entirely beyond their understanding. They only knew that they were attacked by some terrible beings and that horrible and unavoidable destruction threatened them. A greater part of them ran away before they could be reached by the spears and maces of the Wahimas. A hundred and a few tens of warriors, whom Mamba succeeded in rallying about him, offered stubborn resistance; when, however, in the flashes of the shots, they saw a gigantic beast and on him a person dressed in white, and when their ears were dinned with the reports of the weapon which Kali from time to time discharged, their hearts sank. Fumba on the mountain, seeing the first sky-rocket, which burst in the heights, fell on the ground from fright and lay as though dead for a few minutes. But, regaining consciousness, he imagined from the desperate yells of the warriors one thing, namely, that some kind of spirits were exterminating the Samburus below. Then the thought flashed through his mind that if he did not come to the aid of those spirits, he might incur their wrath, and as the extermination of the Samburus was his salvation, he mustered all his warriors about him and sallied forth from a secret side exit of the boma and cut off the road of a greater part of the fugitives. The battle now changed into a massacre. The Samburu drums ceased to beat. In the darkness, which was rent only by the red flashes cast by Kali's rifle, resounded the howls of the men being killed, the hollow blows of the maces against shields and the groans of the wounded. Nobody begged for mercy, for mercy is unknown to negroes. Kali, from a fear that in the darkness and confusion he might wound his own people, finally ceased to fire, and seizing Gebhr's sword rushed with it into the midst of the enemies. The Samburus could now flee from the mountains towards their frontiers only by way of one wide pass, but as Fumba blocked this pass with his warriors, out of the whole host only those were safe who, throwing themselves upon the ground, permitted themselves to be taken alive, though they knew that a cruel slavery awaited them, or even immediate death at the hands of the victors. Mamba defended himself heroically until a blow of a mace crushed his skull. His son, young Faru, fell into Fumba's hand, who ordered him bound, as a future sacrifice of gratitude to the spirits which had come to his assistance. Stas did not drive the terrible King into the battle; he permitted him only to trumpet to increase the terror of the enemies. He himself did not fire a single shot from his rifle at the Samburus, for in the first place he had promised little Nell on leaving Luela that he would not kill any one, and again he actually had no desire to kill people who had done no harm to him or Nell. It was enough that he assured the Wahimas a victory and freed Fumba, who was besieged in a great boma. Soon, also, when Kali came running with news of a definite victory, he issued an order for the cessation of the battle, which raged yet in the underwood and rocky recesses and which was prolonged by the implacable hatred of old Fumba. However, before Kali succeeded in quelling it, it was daylight. The sun, as is usual under the equator, rolled quickly from beyond the mountains, and flooded with a bright light the battle-field on which lay over two hundred Samburu corpses pierced by spears or crushed by maces. After a certain time, when the battle finally ceased and only the joyful yells of the Wahimas disturbed the morning's quiet, Kali again appeared, but with a face so dejected and sad that it could be perceived even from a distance that some kind of misfortune had overtaken him. In fact, when he stood before Stas, he began to strike his head with his fists and exclaim sorrowfully: "Oh, great master!--Fumba kufa! Fumba kufa!" (is slain). "Slain?" Stas repeated. Kali related what had happened, and from his words it appeared that the cause of the occurrence was only the inveterate hatred of Fumba, for after the battle had ceased, he still wanted to give the last blow to two Samburus, and from one of them he received the stroke of a spear. The news spread among all the Wahimas in the twinkling of an eye and around Kali a mob gathered. A few moments later six warriors bore on spears the old king, who was not killed but fatally wounded. Before his death he desired to see the mighty master, the real conqueror of the Samburus, sitting on an elephant. Accordingly uncommon admiration struggled in his eyes with the dusk with which death was dimming them, and his pale lips, stretched by "pelele," whispered lowly: "Yancig! Yancig!" But immediately after that his head reclined backward, his mouth opened wide--and he died. Kali, who loved him, with tears threw himself upon his breast. Among the warriors some began to strike their heads, others to proclaim Kali king and to "yancig" in his honor. Some fell before the young ruler on their faces. No one raised a voice in opposition, as the right to rule belonged to Kali not only by law, as the oldest son of Fumba, but also as a conqueror. In the meantime, in the huts of the fetish-men in the boma on the mountain-top, resounded the savage din of the wicked Mzimu, the same as Stas had heard in the first negro village, but this time it was not directed against him but was demanding the death of the prisoners for killing Fumba. The drums began to rumble. The warriors formed in a long host of three men in a row and commenced a war dance around Stas, Kali, and Fumba's corpse. "Oa, Oa! Yach, yach!" all voices repeated; all heads nodded right and left in unison, the whites of their eyes glistened, and the sharp points of the spears twinkled in the morning sun. Kali rose and turning to Stas, said: "Great master, bring the 'bibi' to the boma and let her dwell in Fumba's hut. Kali is king of the Wahimas and the great master is Kali's king." Stas nodded his head in sign of assent but remained a few hours, for he and the King were entitled to a rest. He did not leave until towards the evening. During his absence the bodies of the slain Samburus were removed and thrown into a neighboring deep abyss, over which at once a swarm of vultures flocked; the fetish-men made preparations for Fumba's funeral and Kali assumed authority as the only master of the life and death of all his subjects. "Do you know what Kali is?" Stas asked the little maid on the return journey from Luela. Nell gazed at him with surprise. "He is your boy." "Aha! A boy! Kali is now king of all the Wahimas." This news delighted Nell immensely. This sudden change, thanks to which the former slave of the cruel Gebhr, and later the humble servant of Stas, became a king, seemed to her something extraordinary and at the same time exceedingly amusing. Nevertheless, Linde's remark that negroes were like children who were incapable of remembering what transpired the day before, did not appear just in its application to Kali, for as soon as Stas and Nell stopped at the foot of Mount Boko the young monarch hurried to meet them; he greeted them with the usual marks of humility and joy and repeated the words which he had previously uttered: "Kali is the king of the Wahimas, and the great master is Kali's king." And he surrounded both with an adoration almost divine and prostrated himself, particularly before Nell, in the presence of all the people, for he knew from experience, acquired during the journey, that the great master cared more for the little "bibi" than for himself. Leading them solemnly to the capital boma on the summit he surrendered to them Fumba's hut, which resembled a great shed divided into several rooms. He ordered the Wahima women, who came with them from Luela, and who could not look enough at the "Good Mzimu," to place a utensil with honey and sour milk in the first room, and when he learned that the "bibi," tired by the journey, had fallen asleep, he commanded all the inhabitants to observe the deepest silence under the penalty of cutting out their tongues. But he decided to honor them still more solemnly, and with this in view, when Stas, after a brief rest, came out of the shed, he approached him and, prostrating himself, said: "To-morrow Kali shall order Fumba to be buried and shall cause as many slaves to be cut down for Fumba and for Kali as both have fingers on their hands, but for the 'bibi' and for the great master, Kali shall order Faru, the son of Mamba, to be cut to pieces and 'wengi, wengi' of other Samburus who were captured by the Wahimas." And Stas knitted his brows and began to gaze with his steely eyes into Kali's eyes; after which he answered: "I forbid you to do that." "Master," the young negro said in an uncertain voice, "the Wahimas always cut down slaves. The old king--dies cut them down; the young succeeds--cut them down. If Kali did not command them to be cut down, the Wahimas would think that Kali is not king." Stas looked more and more sternly: "What of it?" he asked. "Did you not learn anything on Mount Linde, and are you not a Christian?" "I am, oh, great master!" "Listen, then! The Wahimas have black brains, but your brains ought to be white. You, as soon as you became their king, should enlighten them and teach them what you learned from me and from the 'bibi' They are like jackals and like hyenas--make men of them. Tell them it is not allowable to cut down captives, for the Great Spirit to whom I and the 'bibi' pray avenges the blood of the defenseless. The white people do not murder slaves, and you want to be worse to them than Gebhr was to you--you, a Christian! Shame on you, Kali. Change the ancient and abominable customs of the Wahimas for good ones and God will bless you for this and the 'bibi' will not say that Kali is a savage, stupid, bad negro." A horrible din in the huts of the fetish-men deafened his words. Stas waved his hand and continued: "I hear! That is your wicked Mzimu, which wants the blood and heads of the captives. But you, of course, know what that means and it will not frighten you. Well, I say this to you: take a bamboo stick, go to each hut and thrash the hides of the fetish-men until they begin to roar louder than their drums. Cast out the drums into the middle of the boma, in order that all the Wahimas may see and understand how these knaves have deceived them. Tell your foolish Wahimas, at the same time, that which you yourself announced to M'Rua's people, that wherever the 'Good Mzimu' sojourns no human blood can be shed." Stas' words evidently persuaded the young king, as he glanced at him boldly and said: "Kali will beat, oh, beat the fetish-men; throw out the drums and tell the Wahimas that there where the 'Good Mzimu' is it is not allowable to kill anyone. But what shall Kali do with Faru and with the Samburus who killed Fumba?" Stas, who already had formed his plans for everything and who only waited for this question, answered at once: "Your father perished and his father perished, therefore it is a head for a head. You shall conclude a blood alliance with Faru, after which the Wahimas and Samburus shall dwell in harmony; they shall peacefully cultivate manioc, and hunt. You shall tell Faru of the Great Spirit, who is the Father of all white and black people, and Faru shall love you like a brother." "Kali now has a white brain," answered the young negro. And with this the conversation ended. A while later again resounded wild roars; this time they were not the roars of the wicked Mzimu but only of both fetish-men, whom Kali cudgelled with all his might and main. The warriors, who below continually surrounded the King in a compact circle, came running up as fast as their legs could carry them to see what was happening, and soon became convinced with their own eyes and from the confessions of the fetish-men that the bad Mzimu before which heretofore they trembled was only a hollowed-out trunk with monkey skin stretched over it. And young Faru, when he was informed that in honor of the "Good Mzimu" and the great master his head would not be dashed to pieces, but that Kali was to eat a piece of him and he a piece of Kali, could hardly believe his ears, and on learning to whom he was indebted for his life, lay on his face on the ground before the entrance to Fumba's hut, and remained there until Nell came out and ordered him to rise. Then he embraced with his black hands her little foot and placed it on his head in sign that through his entire life he desired to remain her slave. The Wahimas were greatly astonished at the commands of the young king, but the presence of the unknown guests whom they regarded as the most powerful sorcerers in the world had the effect of disarming all opposition. The older people, however, were displeased with the new customs, and both fetish-men, understanding that their prosperous days were forever over, swore in their souls a terrible revenge against the king and the new arrivals. In the meantime they buried Fumba with great solemnity at the foot of the rock below the boma. Kali placed above his grave a cross made of bamboo, while the negroes left a few utensils with pombe and smoked meat "in order that he should not annoy and haunt them during the night-time." Mamba's body, after the conclusion of the blood brotherhood between Kali and Faru, was surrendered to the Samburus. XXI "Nell, can you enumerate our journeys from Fayûm?" Stas asked. "I can." Saying this the little maid raised her eyebrows and began to count on her little fingers. "At once. From Fayûm to Khartûm--that is one; from Khartûm to Fashoda--that is the second; from Fashoda to that ravine in which we found the King--that is the third; and from Mount Linde to the lake--that is the fourth." "Yes. There probably is not another fly in the world which has flown over such a piece of Africa." "That fly would look queer without you." Stas began to laugh. "A fly on an elephant! A fly on an elephant!" "But not a tsetse! Honestly, Stas--not a tsetse." "No," he answered, "a very agreeable fly." Nell, pleased with the praise, propped her little nose on his arm; after which she asked: "When shall we start on our fifth journey?" "As soon as you have rested thoroughly, and I can instruct those men whom Kali has promised to me how to shoot a little." "And shall we ride long?" "Long, Nell--long! Who knows whether it will not be the longest journey?" "And you, as usual, will be equal to it." "I must be." Somehow Stas had managed to shift for himself as best he could, but this fifth journey required great preparations. They were to venture into unknown regions in which they were threatened with manifold dangers, so the boy desired to be protected against them better than he previously had been. With this in view he gave instructions in shooting from Remington rifles to forty young Wahimas who were to form the principal armed force and in a measure Nell's body-guard. More rifle-men he could not have, as the King carried only twenty-five rifles and the horses bore only fifteen. The rest of the army was to consist of one hundred Wahimas and a hundred Samburus, armed with spears and bows, whom Faru promised to furnish, and whose presence removed many difficulties of travel through the wide and wild country inhabited by the Samburu tribe. Stas, not without a certain pride, thought that having escaped during his journey from Fashoda with only Nell and the two negroes, without any means, he might come to the ocean coast at the head of two hundred armed men with an elephant and horses. He pictured to himself what would be said by the English people who prized resourcefulness highly, but above all he thought of what his father and Mr. Rawlinson would say. The thought of this sweetened all his toils. Nevertheless, he was not at all at ease as to his own and Nell's fate, for he surely would pass through the possessions of the Wahimas and the Samburus without any difficulties, but after that, what? Upon what tribes would he yet chance, into what regions would he enter, and how much travel still remained? Linde's directions were too vague. Stas was greatly worried because he actually did not know where he was, as that part of Africa appeared on the maps from which he studied geography entirely like a blank page. He also had no idea what this Lake Bassa-Narok was and how great it was. He was on its southern border, at which the width of the overflow might amount to ten miles. But neither the Wahimas nor the Samburus could tell him how far the lake extended to the north. Kali, who knew the Kiswahili language passably well, answered all questions with, "Bali! bali!" which meant "far! far!" but this was all that Stas could elicit from him. As the mountains on the north, shutting off the view, appeared quite near, he assumed that it was a small, brackish lake, like many others in Africa. A few years later it appeared how great an error he committed* [* It was the great lake which was discovered in 1888 by the celebrated traveler Teleki and which he named Lake Rudolf.]. For the time being, however, he was not concerned so much about ascertaining the exact dimensions of Bassa-Narok as whether some river did not flow out of it, which afterwards coursed to the ocean. The Samburus--subjects of Faru--claimed that east of their country lay a waterless desert which no one had yet traversed. Stas, who knew negroes from the narratives of travelers, from Linde's adventures, and partly from his own experience, was aware that when the dangers and the hardships began, many of his men would desert to return home, and perhaps not one would remain. In such case he would find himself in the wilds and desert with only Nell, Mea, and little Nasibu. Above all he understood that a lack of water would disperse the caravan at once, and for that reason he inquired so eagerly about the river. Going along its course, they really might avoid those horrors to which travelers in waterless regions are exposed. But the Samburus could not tell him anything definite; he himself could not make any longer explorations of the eastern shore of the lake, for other employment kept him at Boko. He reckoned that in all probability none of the kites that he flew from Mount Linde and from the negro villages had crossed the chain of mountains surrounding Bassa-Narok. For this reason it was necessary to make and fly new ones, for these the wind could now carry across the flat desert far away--perhaps as far as the ocean. Now this work he had to supervise personally. For though Nell could glue them perfectly, and Kali had learned how to fly them, neither of them were able to inscribe on them all that it was necessary to write. Stas regarded this as a matter of great importance which it was not allowable to neglect. So this labor occupied so much of his time that the caravan was not ready for the journey until three weeks had elapsed. But on the eve of the day on which they were to start at daybreak the young King of the Wahimas appeared before Stas and, bowing profoundly, said: "Kali goes with the master and the 'bibi' as far as the water on which great pirogues of the white people float." Stas was touched by this proof of attachment; nevertheless, he thought that he had no right to take the boy with him upon such an immense journey, a return from which might be uncertain. "Why do you want to go with us?" he asked. "Kali loves the great master and the 'bibi'." Stas placed the palm of his hand on Kali's woolly head. "I know, Kali, that you are an honest and good boy. But what will become of your kingdom and who will govern the Wahimas in your place?" "M'Tana, brother of Kali's mother." Stas knew that strife for rulership raged among the negroes and power lured them the same as the white people; so he pondered for a while and said: "No, Kali. I cannot take you with me. You must remain with the Wahimas in order to make good people of them." "Kali will return to them." "M'Tana has many sons-- Well, what will happen if he himself should desire to become king and leave the kingdom to his sons, and should induce the Wahimas to expel you?" "M'tana is good. He would not do that." "But if he should do it?" "Then Kali will again go to the great water--to the great master and the 'bibi.'" "We shall not be there then." "Then Kali will sit beside the water and weep from grief." Speaking thus he crossed his hands above his head; after a while he whispered: "Kali loves the great master and the 'bibi' very much--very much!" And two big tears glistened in his eyes. Stas hesitated how to act. He was sorry for Kali, nevertheless, he did not assent to his entreaty. He understood--not to speak of the dangers of return--that if M'Tana or the fetish-men stirred up the negroes, then the boy was threatened not only with expulsion from the country but with death. "It is better for you to remain," he said, "better without question." But while he was saying this, Nell entered. Through the thin mat which separated the rooms she had heard perfectly the whole conversation, and now seeing tears in Kali's eyes she began to wipe his eyelids with her little fingers, and afterward turned to Stas: "Kali is going with us," she said with great firmness. "Oho!" answered Stas, somewhat ruffled, "that does not depend upon you." "Kali is going with us," she repeated. "No, he will not go." Suddenly she stamped her little foot. "I want it." And she burst into a genuine flood of tears. Stas stared at her with the greatest amazement, as though he did not understand what had happened to the little maid who was always so good and gentle, but seeing that she stuck both of her little fists in her eyes and, like a little bird, caught the air with her opened mouth, he began to exclaim with great haste: "Kali is going with us! He is going! He is going! Why are you crying? How unbearable you are! He is going! My, how pale you are! He is going! Do you hear?" And thus it happened. Stas was ashamed until the evening of his weakness for the "Good Mzimu," and the "Good Mzimu" having carried her point, was as quiet, gentle, and obedient as ever. XXII The caravan started at daybreak on the following day. The young negro was happy, the little female despot was now gentle and obedient, and Stas was full of energy and hope. They were accompanied by one hundred Samburus and one hundred Wahimas--forty of the latter were armed with Remingtons from which they could shoot passably well. The white commander who drilled them during three weeks knew, indeed, that in a given case they would create more noise than harm, but thought that in meeting savages noise plays no less a part than bullets, and he was pleased with his guards. They took with them a great supply of manioc, cakes baked of big, fat white ants and ground into flour, as well as a great quantity of smoked meats. Between ten and twenty women went with the caravan. They carried various good things for Nell and water-bags made of antelope skin. Stas, from the King's back, kept order, issued commands--perhaps not so much because they were necessary, but because he was intoxicated by the role of a commander--and with pride viewed his little army. "If I wanted to," he said to himself, "I could remain the king of all the people of Doko, like Beniowsky in Madagascar." And a thought flitted through his head whether it would not be well to return here sometime, conquer a great tract of country, civilize the negroes, found in that locality a new Poland, or even start at the head of a drilled black host for the old. As he felt, however, that there was something ludicrous in the idea and as he doubted whether his father would permit him to play the role of the Macedonian Alexander in Africa, he did not confide his plans to Nell, who certainly would be the only person in the world ready to applaud them. And besides, before subjugating that region of Africa, it was necessary above all things to get out of it, so he occupied himself with nearer matters. The caravan stretched out in a long string. Stas, sitting on the King's neck, decided to ride at the end in order to have everything and everybody in sight. Now when the people passed by him, one after another, he observed, not without surprise, that the two fetishmen, M'Kunje and M'Pua--the same who had received a drubbing at Kali's hands--belonged to the caravan and that they set out with packs on their heads together with the others on the road. So he stopped them and asked: "Who ordered you to go?" "The king," they answered, bowing humbly. But under the mask of humility their eyes glittered savagely and their faces reflected such malice that Stas at once wanted to drive them away, and if he did not do it, it was only because he did not want to undermine Kali's authority. Nevertheless, he summoned him at once. "Did you order the fetish-men to go with us?" he asked. "Kali ordered it, for Kali is wise." "Then I shall ask you why your wisdom did not leave them at home?" "Because if M'Kunje and M'Pua remain they would instigate the Wahimas to kill Kali upon his return, but if we take them with us Kali will be able to watch them." Stas meditated for a while and said: "Perhaps you are right; nevertheless, do not lose sight of them, day or night, for they have a wicked look." "Kali will have bamboo sticks," the young negro replied. The caravan proceeded. Stas at the last moment ordered the guard, armed with Remingtons, to close the procession, as they were men chosen by him, and most reliable. During the drills, which lasted quite long, they had become attached in a certain degree to this young commander, and at the same time, as the nearest to his august person, they regarded themselves as something better than the others. At present they were to watch over the whole caravan and seize those who should take a fancy to desert. It was to be foreseen that when the hardships and dangers began deserters would not be lacking. But the first day everything proceeded in the best possible manner. The negroes with the burdens on their heads, each one armed with a bow and a few smaller javelins or so-called assagais, extended in a long serpentine column amidst the jungle. For some time they skirted along the southern shore of the lake over the level ground, but as the lake was surrounded on all sides by high peaks they had to climb mountains when they turned to the east. The old Samburus, who knew that locality, claimed that the caravan would have to cross high passes between the mountains which they called Kullal and Inro, after which they would enter into the Ebene country, lying south of Borani. Stas understood that they could not go directly east for he remembered that Mombasa was situated a few degrees beyond the equator and therefore considerably south of that unknown lake. Possessing a few compasses which Linde left, he did not fear that he would stray from the proper road. The first night they lodged upon a wooded hill. With the coming of darkness a few scores of camp-fires blazed, at which the negroes roasted dried meat and ate a dough of manioc roots, picking it out of the utensils with their fingers. After appeasing their hunger and thirst they were gossiping among themselves as to where the "Bwana kubwa" would lead them and what they would receive from him for it. Some sang, squatting and stirring up the fire, while all talked so long and so loudly that Stas finally had to command silence in order that Nell should sleep. The night was very cold, but the next day, when the first rays of the sun illuminated the locality, it became warm at once. About sunrise the little travelers saw a strange sight. They were just approaching a little lake over a mile wide, or rather a great slough formed by the rains in the mountain valley, when suddenly Stas, sitting with Nell on the King, and looking about the region through a field-glass, exclaimed: "Look, Nell! Elephants are going to the water." In fact, at a distance of about five hundred yards could be seen a small herd composed of five heads, approaching the little lake slowly one after the other. "These are some kind of strange elephants," Stas said, gazing at them with keen attention; "they are smaller than the King, their ears are far smaller, and I do not see any tusks at all." In the meantime the elephants entered the water but did not stop at the shore, as the King usually did, and did not begin to splash with their trunks, but going continually ahead they plunged deeper and deeper until finally only their backs protruded above the water like boulders of stone. "What is this? They are diving!" Stas exclaimed. The caravan approached considerably towards the shore and finally was close by it. Stas halted it and began to stare with extraordinary astonishment now at Nell, then at the lake. The elephants could not be seen at all; in the smooth watery pane even with the naked eye could be distinguished five spots like round red flowers, jutting above the surface and rocking with a light motion. "They are standing on the bottom and those are the tips of their trunks," Stas said, not believing his own eyes. Then he shouted to Kali: "Kali, did you see them?" "Yes, master, Kali sees. Those are water-elephants,"* [* Africa contains many uninvestigated secrets. Rumors of water-elephants reached the ears of travelers but were given no credence. Recently M. Le Petit, sent to Africa by the Museum of Natural History, Paris, saw water-elephants on the shores of Lake Leopold in Congo. An account of this can be found in the German periodical "Kosmos," No. 6.] answered the young negro quietly. "Water-elephants?" "Kali has seen them often." "And do they live in water?" "During the night they go to the jungle and feed and during the day they live in the lake the same as a kiboko (hippopotamus). They do not come out until after sunset." Stas for a long time could not recover from his surprise, and were it not that it was urgent for him to proceed on his way he would have halted the caravan until night in order to view better these singular animals. But it occurred to him that the elephants might emerge from the water on the opposite side, and even if they came out nearer it would be difficult to observe them closely in the dusk. He gave the signal for the departure, but on the road said to Nell: "Well! We have seen something which the eyes of no European have ever seen. And do you know what I think?--that if we reach the ocean safely nobody will believe us when I tell them that there are water-elephants in Africa." "But if you caught one and took him along with us to the ocean?" Nell said, in the conviction that Stas as usual would be able to accomplish everything. XXIII After ten days' journey the caravan finally crossed the depressions in the crests of mountains and entered into a different country. It was an immense plain, broken here and there by small hills, but was mainly level. The vegetation changed entirely. There were no big trees, rising singly or in clumps over the wavy surface of the grass. Here and there projected at a considerable distance from each other acacias yielding gum, with coral-hued trunks, umbrella-like, but with scant foliage and affording but little shade. Among the white-ant hillocks shot upwards here and there euphorbias, with boughs like the arms of a candle-stick. In the sky vultures soared, and lower there flew from acacia to acacia birds of the raven species with black and white plumage. The grass was yellow and, in spike, looked like ripe rye. But, nevertheless, that dry jungle obviously supplied food for a great number of animals, for several times each day the travelers met considerable herds of antelopes, hartbeests, and particularly zebras. The heat on the open and treeless plain became unbearable. The sky was cloudless, the days were excessively hot, and the night did not bring any rest. The journey became each day more and more burdensome. In the villages which the caravan encountered, the extremely savage populace received it with fear, but principally with reluctance, and if it were not for the large number of armed guards as well as the sight of the white faces, the King, and Saba, great danger would have threatened the travelers. With Kali's assistance Stas was able to ascertain that farther on there were no villages and that the country was waterless. This was hard to believe, for the numerous herds which they encountered must have drunk somewhere. Nevertheless, the account of the desert, in which there were no rivers nor sloughs, frightened the negroes and desertions began. The first example was set by M'Kunje and M'Pua. Fortunately their escape was detected early, and pursuers on horseback caught them not far from the camp; when they were brought back Kali, with the aid of the bamboo sticks, impressed upon them the impropriety of their conduct. Stas, assembling all the guards, delivered a speech to them, which the young negro interpreted into the native language. Taking advantage of the fact that at the last stopping place lions roared all night about the camp, Stas endeavored to convince his men that whoever ran away would unavoidably become their prey, and even if he passed the night on acacia boughs the still more terrible "wobo" would find him there. He said afterwards that wherever the antelopes live there must be water, and if in the further course of their journey they should chance upon a region entirely destitute of water, they could take enough of it with them in bags of antelope skin for two or three days' journey. The negroes, hearing his words, repeated every little while, one after another: "Oh, mother, how true that is, how true!" but the following night five Samburus and two Wahimas ran away, and after that every night somebody was missing. M'Kunje and M'Pua did not, however, try their fortune a second time for the simple reason that Kali at sunset ordered them to be bound. Nevertheless, the country became drier and drier, and the sun scorched the jungle unmercifully. Even acacias could not be seen. Herds of antelopes appeared continually but in smaller numbers. The donkey and the horses yet found sufficient food, as under the high, dry grass was hidden in many places lower grass, greener and less dry. But the King, though he was not fastidious, grew lean. When they chanced upon an acacia he broke it with his head, and nibbled diligently its leaves and even the pods of the previous year. The caravan indeed came upon water every day, but frequently it was so bad that it had to be filtered or else it was unfit even for the elephant to drink. Afterwards it happened several times that the men, sent in advance, returned under Kali's command, not finding a slough nor a stream hidden in the earth's fissures, and Kali with troubled face would announce: "Madi apana" (no water). Stas understood that this last journey would not be any easier than the previous ones and began to worry about Nell, as changes were taking place in her. Her little face, instead of tanning from the sun and wind, became each day paler and her eyes lost their usual luster. On the dry plain, free from mosquitoes, she was not threatened with fever, but it was apparent that the terrible heat was wasting the little maid's strength. The boy, with compassion and with fear, now gazed at her little hands, which became as white as paper, and bitterly reproached himself because, having lost so much time in the preparation and in drilling the negroes to shoot, he had exposed her to a journey in a season of the year so parching. Amid these fears day after day passed. The sun drank up the moisture and the life out of the soil more and more greedily and unmercifully. The grass shriveled and dried up to such a degree that it crumbled under the hoofs of the antelopes, and herds, rushing by, though not numerous, raised clouds of dust. Nevertheless, the travelers chanced once more upon a little river, which they recognized by a long row of trees growing on its banks. The negroes ran in a race towards the trees and, reaching the bank, lay flat on it, dipping their heads and drinking so greedily that they stopped only when a crocodile seized the hand of one of their number. Others rushed to their companion's rescue and in one moment they pulled out of the water the loathsome lizard, which, however, did not let go of the man's hand though his jaws were opened with spears and knives. The matter was only terminated by the King who, placing his foot on him, crushed him as easily as if he were a mouldy mushroom. When the men finally quenched their thirst, Stas ordered the erection in the shallow water of a round enclosure of high bamboos with only one entrance from the bank, in order that Nell might bathe with perfect safety. And at the entrance he stationed the King. The bath greatly refreshed the little maid and a rest restored her strength somewhat. To the great joy of the whole caravan and Nell, "Bwana kubwa" decided to stop two days near this water. At this news the men fell into excellent humor and at once forgot the toils they had endured. After taking a nap and refreshments the negroes began to wander among the trees above the river, looking for palms bearing wild dates and so-called "Job's tears," from which necklaces are made. A few of them returned to the camp before sunset, carrying some square objects which Stas recognized as his own kites. One of these kites bore the number 7, which was evidence that it was sent out from Mount Linde, as the children flew from that place a few score. Stas was hugely overjoyed at this sight and it gave him renewed courage. "I did not expect," he said to Nell, "that kites could fly such a distance. I was certain that they would remain on the summits of Karamojo and I only let them fly prepared for any accident. But now I see that the wind can carry them where it wants to and I have a hope that those which we sent from the mountains surrounding Bassa-Narok, and now on the road, will fly as far as the ocean." "They surely will," Nell answered. "God grant," the boy acquiesced, thinking of the dangers and hardships of the further journey. The caravan started from the river on the third day, taking with them a great supply of water in leather bags. Before nightfall they again entered upon a region grilled by the sun, in which not even acacias grew, and the ground in some places was as bare as a threshing-floor. Sometimes they met passion-flowers with trunks imbedded in the ground and resembling monstrous pumpkins two yards in diameter. In these huge globes there shot out lianas as thin as string, which, creeping over the ground, covered immense distances, forming a thicket so impenetrable that it would be difficult even for mice to penetrate it. But notwithstanding the beautiful color of these plants, resembling the European acanthus, there were so many thorns in them that neither the King nor the horses could find any nourishment in them. Only the donkey nibbled them cautiously. Sometimes in the course of several English miles they did not see anything except coarse, short grass and low plants, like immortelles, which crumbled upon being touched. After a night's bivouac, during the whole of the following day a living fire descended from heaven. The air quivered as on the Libyan Desert. In the sky there was not even a cloudlet. The earth was so flooded with light that everything appeared white, and not a sound, not even the buzz of insects, interrupted this deadly stillness surfeited with an ill-omened luster. The men were dripping with sweat. At times they deposited their packs of dried meats and shields in one pile to find a little shade under them. Stas issued orders to save the water, but the negroes are like children, who have no thought of the morrow. Finally it was necessary to surround with a guard those who carried the supplies of water and to apportion the water to each one separately. Kali attended to this very conscientiously, but this consumed a great deal of time and delayed the march, and therefore the finding of some kind of watering-place. The Samburus complained in addition that the Wahimas got more than their share to drink, and the Wahimas that the Samburus were favored. These latter began to threaten to return, but Stas declared to them that Faru would cut off their heads. He himself ordered the men armed with Remingtons to go on guard and not let any one leave. The next night was passed upon a level plain. They did not build a boma, or, as the Sudânese say, a zareba, for there was nothing to build one with. The duties of sentinel were performed by the King and Saba. This was sufficient, but the King, who received only a tenth of the water he needed, trumpeted for it until sunrise, and Saba, with hanging tongue, turned his eyes towards Stas and Nell in mute appeal for even one drop. The little maid wanted Stas to give him a mouthful from a rubber flask left by Linde, which Stas carried with a string across his shoulder, but he was saving this remnant for the little one in the dark hour; therefore he declined. On the fourth day towards evening only five bags with water remained, or not quite half a cupful for each member of the party. As the nights, however, at any rate were cooler than the days, and the thirst at such times vexed them less than under the burning rays of the sun, and as the people had received in the morning a small quantity of water, Stas ordered those bags saved for the following day. The negroes grumbled at this order, but fear of Stas was still great; so they did not dare to rush at this last supply, especially as near it stood a guard of two men armed with Remingtons, the guard being changed every hour. The Wahimas and Samburus cheated their thirst by pulling out blades of poor grass and chewing its roots. Nevertheless, there was almost no moisture in it, as the inexorable sun burnt it, even below the earth's surface.* [*About the waterless plains in this region see the excellent book, entitled "Kilima-Njaro," by the Rev. Mr. Le Roy, at present Bishop of Gabon.] Sleep, though it did not quench their thirst, at least permitted them to forget it; so when night followed, the men, weary and exhausted with the whole day's march, dropped as though lifeless, wherever they stopped, and fell into deep slumber. Stas also fell asleep, but in his soul he had too many worries and was disturbed too much to sleep peacefully and long. After a few hours he awoke and began to meditate on what was to come, and where he could secure water for Nell, and for the whole caravan, together with the people and the animals. His situation was hard and perhaps horrible, but the resourceful boy did not yet yield to despair. He began to recall all the incidents, from the time of their abduction from Fayûm until that moment: the great journey across the Sahara, the hurricane in the desert, the attempts to escape, Khartûm, the Mahdi, Fashoda, their liberation from Gebhr's hands; afterwards the further journey after Linde's death until reaching Lake Bassa-Narok and that place at which they were passing the night. "So much did we undergo, so much have we suffered," he soliloquized, "so often did it seem that all was lost and that there was no help; nevertheless, God aided me and I always found help. Why, it is impossible that, after having passed over such roads and gone through so many terrible dangers, we should perish upon this the last journey. Now we have yet a little water and this region--why, it is not a Sahara, for if it were the people would know about it." But hope was mainly sustained in him by this, that on the southeast he espied through the field-glass some kind of misty outlines as though of mountains. Perhaps they were hundreds of English miles away, perhaps more. But if they succeeded in reaching them, they would be saved, as mountains are seldom waterless. How much time that would consume was something he could not compute for it all depended upon the height of the mountains. Lofty peaks in such transparent atmosphere as that of Africa can be seen at an immeasurable distance; so it was necessary to find water before that time. Otherwise destruction threatened them. "It is necessary," Stas repeated to himself. The harsh breathing of the elephant, who exhaled from his lungs as best he could the burning heat, interrupted every little while the boy's meditations. But after a certain time it seemed to him that he heard some kind of sound, resembling groans, coming from the direction in which the water-bags lay covered in the grass for the night. As the groans were repeated several times, he rose to see what was happening and, walking towards the grass plot a few score paces distant from the tent, he perceived two dark bodies lying near each other and two Remington barrels glistening in the moonlight. "The negroes are always the same," he thought; "they were to watch over the water, more precious now to us than anything in the world, and both went to sleep as though in their own huts. Ah! Kali's bamboo will have some work to do to-morrow." Under this impression he approached and shook the foot of one of the sentinels, but at once drew back in horror. The apparently sleeping negro lay on his back with a knife sticking in his throat up to the handle and beside him was the other, likewise cut so terribly that his head was almost severed from the trunk. Two bags with water had disappeared; the other three lay in the littered grass, slashed and sunken. Stas felt that his hair stood on end. XXIV In response to his shout Kali was the first to come rushing; after him came the two guardsmen who were to relieve the previous watch, and a few moments later all the Wahimas and Samburus assembled at the scene of the crime, shouting and yelling. A commotion, full of cries and terror, ensued. The people were concerned not so much about the slain and the murderers as about the water which soaked into the parched jungle soil. Some negroes threw themselves upon the ground and, clawing out with their fingers lumps of earth, sucked out the remnants of moisture. Others shouted that evil spirits had murdered the guards and slashed the bags. But Stas and Kali knew what it all meant. M'Kunje and M'Pua were missing from those men howling above that grass patch. In that which had happened there was something more than the murder of two guards and the theft of water. The remaining slashed bags were evidence that it was an act of revenge and at the same time a sentence of death for the whole caravan. The priests of the wicked Mzimu revenged themselves upon the good one. The fetish-men revenged themselves upon the young king who exposed their frauds and did not permit them to deceive the ignorant Wahimas. Now the wings of death stretched over the entire caravan like a hawk over a flock of doves. Kali recollected too late that, having his mind troubled and engrossed with something else, he forgot to have the fetish-men bound, as from the time of their flight he had ordered them to be each evening. It was apparent that both sentinels, watching the water, through inbred negro carelessness, lay down and fell asleep. This facilitated the work of the rogues and permitted them to escape unpunished. Before the confusion subsided somewhat and the people recovered from their consternation, considerable time elapsed; nevertheless, the assassins could not be far away, as the ground under the cut bags was moist and the blood which flowed from both of the slain did not yet coagulate. Stas issued an order to pursue the runaways not only for the purpose of punishing them, but also to recover the last two bags of water. Kali, mounting a horse and taking with him about thirteen guardsmen, started in pursuit. Stas at first wanted to take part in it, but it occurred to him that he could not leave Nell alone among the excited and enraged negroes; so he remained. He only directed Kali to take Saba along with him. He himself remained, for he feared a downright mutiny, particularly among the Samburus. But in this he was mistaken. The negroes as a rule break out easily, and sometimes for trivial causes, but when crushed by a great calamity and particularly when the inexorable hand of death weighs upon them, they submit passively; not only those whom Islam teaches that a struggle with destiny is vain, but all others. Then neither terror nor the moments of torture can arouse them from their torpor. It happened thus at this time. The Wahimas, as well as the Samburus, when the first excitement passed away and the idea that they must die definitely found lodgment in their minds, lay down quietly on the ground waiting for death; in view of which not a mutiny was to be feared, but rather that on the morrow they would not want to rise and start upon their further journey. Stas, when he observed this, was seized by a great pity for them. Kali returned before daybreak and at once placed before Stas two bags torn to pieces, in which there was not a drop of water. "Great Master," he said, "madi apana!" Stas rubbed his perspiring forehead with his hand; after which he said: "And M'Kunje and M'Pua?" "M'Kunje and M'Pua are dead," Kali replied. "Did you order them to be killed?" "A lion or 'wobo' killed them." And he began to relate what happened. The bodies of the two murderers were found quite far from the camp at the place where they met death. Both lay close to each other, both had skulls crushed from behind, lacerated shoulders, and gnawed spines. Kali assumed that when the "wobo" or lion appeared before them in the moonlight they fell on their faces before it and began to entreat it that it should spare their lives. But the terrible beast killed both, and afterwards, having appeased its hunger, scented water and tore the bags to pieces. "God punished them," Stas said, "and the Wahimas should be convinced that the wicked Mzimu is incapable of rescuing any one." And Kali added: "God punished them, but we have no water." "Far ahead of us in the east I saw mountains. There must be water there." "Kali sees them also, but it is many, many days to them." A moment of silence followed. "Master," spoke out Kali, "let the 'Good Mzimu'--let the 'bibi' beg the Great Spirit for rain or for a river." Stas left him, making no reply. But before the tent he saw Nell's little figure; the shouts and yells had awakened her some time before. "What has happened, Stas?" she asked, running up to him. And he placed his hand on her little head and solemnly said: "Nell, pray to God for water; otherwise we all shall perish." So the little maiden upraised her pale little face and, fastening her eyes on the moon's silvery shield, began to implore for succor Him who in heaven causes the stars to revolve and on earth tempers the wind for the shorn lamb. After a sleepless, noisy, and anxious night the sun rolled upon the horizon suddenly, as it always does under the equator, and a bright day followed. On the grass there was not a drop of dew; on the sky not a cloudlet. Stas ordered the guards to assemble the men and delivered a short speech to them. He declared to them that it was impossible to return to the river now, for they of course well knew that they were separated from it by five days' and nights' journey. But on the other hand no one knew whether there was not water in the opposite direction. Perhaps even not far away they would find some stream, some rivulet or slough. Trees, indeed, could not be seen, but it often happens upon open plains where the strong gale carries away the seeds, trees do not grow even at the water-side. Yesterday they saw some big antelopes and a few ostriches running towards the east, which was a sign that yonder there must be some watering place, and in view of this whoever is not a fool and whoever has in his bosom a heart, not of a hare but of a lion or buffalo, will prefer to move forward, though in thirst and pain, rather than to lie down and wait there for vultures or hyenas. And saying this, he pointed with his hand at the vultures, a few of which coursed already in an ill-omened circle above the caravan. After these words the Wahimas, whom Stas commanded to rise, stood up almost as one man, for, accustomed to the dreadful power of kings, they did not dare to resist. But many of the Samburus, in view of the fact that their king Faru remained at the lake, did not want to rise, and these said among themselves: "Why should we go to meet death when she herself will come to us?" In this manner the caravan proceeded, reduced almost one-half, and it started from the outset in torture. For twenty-four hours the people had not had a drop of water or any other fluid in their mouths. Even in a cooler climate this, at labor, would have been an unendurable suffering; and how much more so in this blazing African furnace in which even those who drink copiously perspire the water so quickly that almost at the same moment they can wipe it off their skin with their hands. It was also to be foreseen that many of the men would drop on the way from exhaustion and sunstroke. Stas protected Nell as best he could from the sun and did not permit her to lean for even a moment out of the palanquin, whose little roof he covered with a piece of white percale in order to make it double. With the rest of the water, which he still had in the rubber bottle, he prepared a strong tea for her and handed it to her when cooled off, without any sugar, for sweets increase thirst. The little girl urged him with tears to drink also; so he placed to his lips the bottle in which there remained scarcely a few thimblefuls of water, and, moving his throat, pretended that he drank it. At the moment when he felt the moisture on his lips it seemed to him that his breast and stomach were aflame and that if he did not quench that flame he would drop dead. Before his eyes red spots began to flit, and in his jaws he felt a terrible pain, as if some one stuck a thousand pins in them. His hands shook so that he almost spilt these last drops. Nevertheless, he caught only two or three in his mouth with his tongue; the rest he saved for Nell. A day of torture and toil again passed, after which, fortunately, a cooler night came. But the following morning the intense heat became terrible. There was not a breath of air. The sun, like an evil spirit, ravaged with living flame the parched earth. The borders of the horizon whitened. As far as the eyes reached not even euphorbias could be seen. Nothing--only a burnt, desolate plain, covered with tufts of blackened grass and heather. From time to time there resounded in the immeasurable distance light thunder, but this in fair skies proclaims not storms but a drought. About noon, when the heat became the greatest, it was necessary to halt. The caravan broke ranks in gloomy silence. It appeared that one horse fell and about thirteen of the guards remained on the road. During the rest nobody thought of eating. The people had sunken eyes and cracked lips and on them dried clots of blood. Nell panted like a bird, so Stas surrendered to her the rubber bottle, and exclaiming: "I drank! I drank!" he ran to the other side of the camp, for he feared that if he remained he would snatch that water from her or would demand that she should share it with him. This perhaps was his most heroic act during the course of the journey. He himself, however, began to suffer horribly. Before his eyes there flew continually the red patches. He felt a tightening of his jaws so strongly that he opened and closed them with difficulty. His throat was dry, burning; there was no saliva in his mouth; the tongue was as though wooden. And of course this was but the beginning of the torture for him and for the caravan. The thunder announcing the drought resounded incessantly on the horizon's border. About three o'clock, when the sun passed to the western side of the heavens, Stas ordered the caravan to rise and started at its head towards the east. But now hardly seventy men followed him, and every little while some one of them lay down beside his pack to rise nevermore. The heat decreased a few degrees but was still terrible. The still air was permeated as though with the gas of burning charcoal. The people had nothing to breathe and the animals began to suffer no less. In an hour after the start again one of the horses fell. Saba panted and his flanks heaved; from his blackened tongue not a drop of froth fell. The King, accustomed to the dry African jungle, apparently suffered the least, but he began to be vicious. His little eyes glittered with a kind of strange light. To Stas, and particularly to Nell, who from time to time talked to him, he answered still with a gurgle, but when Kali carelessly came near him he grunted menacingly and waved his trunk so that he would have killed the boy if he had not jumped aside in time. Kali's eyes were bloodshot, the veins in his neck were inflated, and his lips cracked the same as the other negroes. About five o'clock he approached Stas and, in a hollow voice which with difficulty issued out of his throat, said: "Great master, Kali can go no further. Let the night come here." Stas overcame the pain in his jaws and answered with an effort: "Very well. We will stop. The night will bring relief." "It will bring death," the young negro whispered. The men threw the loads off their heads, but as the fever in their thickened blood already reached the highest degree, on this occasion they did not immediately lie down on the ground. Their hearts and the arteries in their temples, hands, and limbs pulsated as if in a moment they would burst. The skin of their bodies, drying up and shrinking, began to itch; in their bones they were sensible of an excessive disquiet and in their entrails and throats a fire. Some walked uneasily among the packets; others could be seen farther away in ruddy rays of the setting sun as they strolled one after another among the dried tufts as though seeking something, and this continued until their strength was entirely exhausted. Then they fell in turn on the ground and lay in convulsions. Kali sat, squatting near Stas and Nell, catching the air with open mouth, and began to repeat entreatingly between one breath and the other: "Bwana kubwa, water." Stas gazed at him with a glassy stare and remained silent. "Bwana kubwa, water!" And after a while: "Kali is dying." At this, Mea, who for an unknown reason endured thirst the easiest and suffered the least of all, approached, sat close to him, and, embracing his neck with her arms, said in her quiet, melodious voice. "Mea wants to die together with Kali." A long silence followed. In the meantime the sun set and night covered the region. The sky became dark-blue. On its southern side the Cross glistened. Above the plain a myriad of stars twinkled. The moon came out from under the earth and began to satiate the darkness with light, and on the west with the waning and pale twilight extended the zodiacal luminosity. The air was transformed into a great luminous gulf. The ever-increasing luster submerged the region. The palanquin, which remained forgotten on the King's back, and the tents glistened, just as whitewashed houses glisten in a bright night. The world sank into silence and sleep encompassed the earth. And in the presence of this stillness and this quiet of nature the people howled from pain and waited for death. On the silvery background of the darkness the gigantic black form of the elephant was strongly outlined. The moon's beams illuminated besides the tents, Stas' and Nell's dresses and, amid tufts of heather, the dark, shriveled bodies of the negroes and, scattered here and there, piles of packages. Before the children sat, propped on his fore legs, Saba, and, raising his head towards the moon's shield, he howled mournfully. In Stas' soul oscillated only the remnants of thought, changed into a gloomy and despairing feeling that this time there was no help and that all those prodigious toils and efforts, those sufferings, those acts of will and courage, which he had performed during the terrible journey--from Medinet to Khartûm, from Khartûm to Fashoda, and from Fashoda to the unknown lake--would avail naught, and that an inexorable end of the struggle and of life was approaching. And this appeared to him all the more horrible because this end came during the time of the final journey, at the termination of which lay the ocean. Ah! He would not now conduct little Nell to the coast; he would not convey her by a steamer to Port Said, would not surrender her to Mr. Rawlinson; he himself would not fall into his father's arms and would not hear from his lips that he had acted like a brave boy and like a true Pole! The end, the end! In a few days the sun would shine only upon the lifeless bodies and afterwards would dry them up into a semblance of those mummies which slumber in an eternal sleep in the museums in Egypt. From torture and fever his mind began to get confused. Ante-mortem visions and delusions of hearing crowded upon him. He heard distinctly the voices of the Sudânese and Bedouins yelling "Yalla! Yalla!" at the speeding camels. He saw Idris and Gebhr. The Mahdi smiled at him with his thick lips, asking: "Do you want to drink at the spring of truth?"--Afterwards the lion gazed at him from the rock; later Linde gave him a gallipot of quinine and said: "Hurry, hurry, for the little one will die." And in the end he beheld only the pale, very dear little face and two little hands stretched out towards him. Suddenly he trembled and consciousness returned to him for a moment, for hard by murmured the quiet whisper of Nell, resembling a moan: "Stas--water!" And she, like Kali previously, looked to him only for help. But as twelve hours before he had given her the last drop, he now started up suddenly, and exclaimed in a voice in which vibrated an outburst of pain, despair, and affliction: "Oh, Nell, I only pretended that I was drinking! For three days I have had nothing in my mouth!" And clasping his head with both hands he ran away in order not to look at her sufferings. He rushed blindly among tufts of grass and heather until he fell upon one of the tufts. He was unarmed. A leopard, lion, or even a big hyena would find in him an easy prey. But only Saba came running to him. Having smelt at him on all sides, he again began to howl, as if summoning aid for him. Nobody, however, hurried with aid. Only from above, the moon, quiet and indifferent, looked on him. For a long time the boy lay like dead. He was revived only by a cooler breath of wind, which unexpectedly blew from the east. Stas sat up and after a while attempted to rise to return to Nell. The cooler wind blew a second time. Saba ceased howling and, turning towards the east, began to dilate his nostrils. Suddenly he barked once or twice a short, broken bass and dashed ahead. For some time he could not be heard, but soon his barking again resounded. Stas rose and, staggering on his numb legs, began to look after him. Long journeys, long stays in the jungle, the necessity of holding all his senses in continual restraint, and continual dangers had taught the boy to pay careful heed to everything which was taking place about him. So, notwithstanding the tortures he felt at that moment, notwithstanding his half-conscious mind, through instinct and habit he watched the behavior of the dog. And Saba, after the lapse of a certain time, again appeared near him, but was somewhat strangely agitated and uneasy. A few times he raised his eyes at Stas, ran around, again rushed ahead, scenting and barking in the heather; again he came back and finally, seizing the boy's clothes, began to pull him in a direction opposite to the camp. Stas completely recovered his senses. "What is this?" he thought. "Either the dog's mind, from thirst, is disordered or he has scented water. But no! If water was near he would have run to it to drink and would have wet jaws. If it was far away, he would not have scented it--water has no smell. He is not pulling me to antelopes, for he did not want to eat during the evening. Nor to beasts of prey. Well, what is it?" And suddenly his heart began to beat in his bosom yet more strongly. "Perhaps the wind brought him the odor of men?--Perhaps--in the distance there is some negro village?--Perhaps one of the kites has flown as far--Oh, merciful Christ! Oh, Christ!--" And under the influence of a gleam of hope he regained his strength and began to run towards the camp, notwithstanding the obstinacy of the dog, who incessantly barred his way. In the camp Nell's form loomed white before him and her weak voice reached him: after a while he stumbled over Kali lying on the ground, but he paid no heed to anything. Reaching the pack in which the sky-rockets were, he tore it open and drew out one of them. With trembling hands he tied it to a bamboo stick, planted it in a crack in the ground, struck a match and lit the string of the tube hanging at the bottom. After a while a red snake flew upwards with a sputter and a sizzle. Stas seized a bamboo pole with both hands in order not to fall and fixed his eyes on the distance. His pulse and his temples beat like sledge hammers; his lips moved in fervent prayer. His last breath, and in it his whole soul, he sent to God. One minute passed, another, a third, and a fourth. Nothing! Nothing! The boy's hand dropped, his head bowed to the ground, and immense grief flooded his tortured breast. "In vain! In vain!" he whispered. "I will go and sit beside Nell and we will die together." At this moment far, far away on the silvery background of the moonlit night, a fiery ribbon suddenly soared upward and scattered into golden stars, which fell slowly, like great tears, upon the earth. "Succor!" Stas shouted. And immediately these people, who were half-dead a short time before, dashed pell-mell in a race across tufts of shrubs and grass. After the first sky-rocket, a second and third appeared. After that the breeze brought a report as though of tapping, in which it was easy to divine distant shots. Stas ordered all the Remingtons to be fired, and from that time the colloquy of rifles was not interrupted at all and became more and more distinct. The boy, sitting on a horse, which also as though by a miracle recovered its strength, and keeping Nell before him, dashed across the plain towards the saving sounds. Beside him rushed Saba and after him trumpeted the gigantic King. The two camps were separated by a space of a few miles, but as from both sides they drew to each other simultaneously, the whole trip did not last long. Soon the rifle shots could not only be heard but seen. Yet one last sky-rocket flew out in the air not farther than a few hundred paces. After that numerous lights glistened. The slight elevation of the ground hid them for a while, but when Stas passed it he found himself almost in front of a row of negroes holding in their hands burning torches. At the head of the row were two Europeans, in English helmets and with rifles in their hands. With one glance of the eye Stas recognized them as being Captain Glenn and Doctor Clary. XXV The object of the Captain Glenn and Doctor Clary expedition was not at all to find Stas and Nell. It was a large and abundantly equipped government expedition despatched to explore the eastern and northern slopes of the gigantic mountain Kilima-Njaro, as well as the little-known vast regions lying north of that mountain. The captain as well as the doctor knew indeed about the abduction of the children from Medinet el-Fayûm, as intelligence of it was published in the English and Arabian papers, but they thought that both were dead or were groaning in slavery under the Mahdi, from whom thus far not a European had been rescued. Clary, whose sister married Rawlinson in Bombay and who was very much charmed by little Nell during the trip to Cairo, felt keenly her loss. But with Glenn, he mourned also for the brave boy. Several times they sent despatches from Mombasa to Mr. Rawlinson asking whether the children were found, and not until the last unfavorable reply, which came a considerable time before the starting of the caravan, did they finally lose all hope. And it never even occurred to them that the children imprisoned in distant Khartûm could appear in that locality. Often, however, they conversed about them in the evening after finishing their daily labors, for the doctor could by no means forget the beautiful little girl. In the meantime the expedition advanced farther and farther. After a long stay on the eastern slope of Kilima-Njaro, after exploring the upper courses of the Sabak and Tany rivers, as well as Kenia Mountain, the captain and doctor turned in a northerly direction, and after crossing the marshy Guasso-Nijiro they entered upon a vast plain, uninhabited and frequented by countless herds of antelopes. After three months of travel the men were entitled to a long rest, so Captain Glenn, discovering a small lake of wholesome brown water, ordered tents to be pitched near it and announced a ten days' stop. During the stop the white men were occupied with hunting and arranging their geographical and scientific notes, and the negroes devoted themselves to idleness, which is always so sweet to them. Now it happened one day that Doctor Clary, shortly after he arose, when approaching the shore, observed between ten and twenty natives of Zanzibar, belonging to the caravan, gazing with upturned faces at the top of a high tree and repeating in a circle: "Ndege? Akuna ndege? Ndege?" (A bird? Not a bird? A bird?) The doctor was short-sighted, so he sent to his tent for a field-glass; afterwards he looked through it at the object pointed out by the negroes and great astonishment was reflected upon his countenance. "Ask the captain to come here," he said. Before the negroes reached him the captain appeared in front of the tent, for he was starting on an antelope-hunt. "Look, Glenn," the doctor said, pointing with his hand upwards. The captain, in turn, turned his face upwards, shaded his eyes with his hand, and was astonished no less than the doctor. "A kite," he exclaimed. "Yes, but the negroes do not fly kites. So where did it come from?" "Perhaps some kind of white settlement is located in the vicinity or some kind of mission." "For three days the wind has blown from the west, or from a region unknown and in all probability as uninhabited as this jungle. You know that here there are no settlements or missions." "This is really curious." "We had better get that kite." "It is necessary. Perhaps we may ascertain where it came from." The captain gave the order. The tree was a few tens of yards high, but the negroes climbed at once to the top, removed carefully the imprisoned kite, and handed it to the doctor who, glancing at it, said: "There is some kind of inscription on it. We'll see." And blinking with his eyes he began to read. Suddenly his face changed, his hands trembled. "Glenn," he said, "take this, read it, and assure me that I did not get a sunstroke and that I am in my sound mind." The captain took the bamboo frame to which a sheet was fastened and read as follows: "Nelly Rawlinson and Stanislas Tarkowski, sent from Khartûm to Fashoda and conducted from Fashoda east from the Nile, escaped from the dervishes. After long months' travel they arrived at a lake lying south of Abyssinia. They are going to the ocean. They beg for speedy help." At the side of the sheet they found the following addition written in smaller letters: "This kite, the 54th in order, was flown from the mountains surrounding a lake unknown to geography. Whoever finds it should notify the Directory of the Canal at Port Said or Captain Glenn in Mombasa. Stanislas Tarkowski." When the captain's voice died away, the two friends gazed at each other in silence. "What is this?" Doctor Clary finally asked. "I do not believe my own eyes!" the captain answered. "This, of course, is no illusion." "No." "It is plainly written, 'Nelly Rawlinson and Stanislas Tarkowski.'" "Most plainly." "And they may be somewhere in this region." "God rescued them, so it is probable." "Thank Him for that," exclaimed the doctor fervently. "But where shall we seek them?" "Is there no more on the kite?" "There are a few other words but in the place torn by the bough. It is hard to read them." Both leaned their heads over the sheet and only after a long time were they able to decipher: "The rainy season passed long ago." "What does that mean?" "That the boy lost the computation of time." "And in this manner he endeavored to indicate the date, therefore this kite may have been sent up not very long ago." "If that is so, they may not be very far from here." The feverish, broken conversation lasted for a while, after which both began to scrutinize the document and discuss every word inscribed upon it. The thing appeared, however, so improbable that if it were not for the fact that this occurred in a region in which there were no Europeans at all--about three hundred and seventy-five miles from the nearest coast--the doctor and the captain would have assumed that it was an ill-timed joke, which had been perpetrated by some European children who had read the newspapers describing the abduction, or by wards of missions. But it was difficult not to believe their eyes; they had the kite in hand and the little rubbed inscriptions were plainly in black before them. Nevertheless, there were many things which they could not comprehend. Where did the children get the paper for the kite? If it had been furnished to them by a caravan, then they would have joined it and would not have appealed for help. For what reason did the boy not attempt to fly with his little companion to Abyssinia? Why did the dervishes send them east of the Nile into an unknown region? In what manner did they succeed in escaping from the hands of the guards? Where did they hide? By what miracle through long months of journey did they not die from starvation, or become the prey of wild animals? Why were they not killed by savages? To all these questions there was no reply. "I do not understand it, I do not understand it," repeated Doctor Clary; "this is perhaps a miracle of God." "Undoubtedly," the captain answered. After which he added: "But that boy! For that, of course, was his work." "And he did not abandon the little one. May the blessings of God flow upon his head!" "Stanley--even Stanley would not have survived three days under these circumstances." "And nevertheless they live." "But appeal for help. The stop is ended. We start at once." And so it happened. On the road both friends scrutinized the document continually in the conviction that they might obtain from it an inkling of the direction in which it was necessary for them to go with help. But directions were lacking. The captain led the caravan in a zigzag way, hoping that he might chance upon some trace, some extinct fire, or a tree with a sign carved on the bark. In this manner they advanced for a few days. Unfortunately they entered afterwards upon a plain, entirely treeless, covered with high heather and tufts of dried grass. Uneasiness began to possess both friends. How easy it was to miss each other in that immeasurable expanse, even with a whole caravan; and how much more so two children, who, as they imagined, crept like two little worms somewhere amid heather higher than themselves! Another day passed. Neither fires at night nor tin boxes, with notes in them, fastened on the tufts helped them any. The captain and the doctor at times began to lose hope of ever succeeding in finding the children and, particularly, of finding them alive. They sought for them zealously, however, during the following days. The patrols, which Glenn sent right and left, finally reported to him that farther on began a desert entirely waterless; so when they accidentally discovered cool water in a cleft it was necessary to halt in order to replenish their supplies for the further journey. The cleft was rather a fissure, a score of yards deep and comparatively narrow. At its bottom flowed a warm spring, seething like boiling water, for it was saturated with carbonic acid. Nevertheless, it appeared that the water, after cooling, was good and wholesome. The spring was so abundant that the three hundred men of the caravan could not exhaust it. On the contrary the more water they drew from it the more it flowed, and filled the fissure higher. "Perhaps sometime," Doctor Clary said, "this place will be a resort for the health-seeker, but at present this water is inaccessible for animals because the walls of the fissure are too steep." "Could the children chance upon a similar spring?" "I do not know. It may be that more of them can be found in this locality. But if not, then without water they must perish." Night fell. Fires were lit. Nevertheless, a boma was not erected, for there was nothing to build one with. After the evening refreshments, the doctor and the captain sat upon folding chairs, and lighting their pipes, began to converse of that which lay most upon their hearts. "Not a trace," declared Clary. "It had occurred to me," Glenn replied, "to send ten of our men to the ocean coast with a despatch that there is news of the children. But I am glad that I did not do that, as the men would perish on the way, and, even if they reached the coast, why should we awaken vain hopes?" "And revive the pain--" The doctor removed the white helmet from his head and wiped his perspiring forehead. "Listen," he said; "if we should return to that lake and order the men to hew down trees and at night light a gigantic bonfire, perhaps the children might descry it." "If they were near we would find them anyway, and if they are far off the rolling ground would hide the fire. Here the plain is seemingly level, but in reality is in knobs, wavy as the ocean. Besides, by retreating we would definitely lose the possibility of finding even traces of them." "Speak candidly. You have no hope?" "My dear sir, we are grown-up, strong, and resourceful men, and think of what would become of us if we two were here alone, even with weapons--but without supplies and men--" "Yes! alas--yes! I picture to myself the two children going in such a night across the desert." "Hunger, thirst, and wild animals." "And nevertheless the boy writes that under such conditions they proceeded for long months." "There is also something in that which passes my comprehension." For a long time could be heard amid the stillness only the sizzling of the tobacco in the pipes. The doctor gazed into the depth of the night, after which he said in a subdued voice: "It is already late, but sleep has deserted me. And to think that they, if alive, are straying somewhere in the moonlight amid these dry heathers--alone--such children! Do you remember, Glenn, the little one's angelic countenance?" "I remember it, and cannot forget." "Ah, I would allow my hand to be cut off, if--" And he did not finish, for Glenn started up suddenly as if scalded. "A sky-rocket in the distance!" he shouted. "A sky-rocket!" repeated the doctor. "Some kind of caravan is ahead of us." "Which might have found the children." "Perhaps. Let us hurry to them." "Forward!" The captain's orders resounded in one moment throughout the camp. The Zanzibarians sprang up suddenly on their feet. Soon torches were lit. Glenn in reply to the distant signal directed that a few rockets, one after the other, be sent up; and afterwards that the salvo of rifle shots be continued. Before a quarter of an hour elapsed the whole camp was on the way. From the distance shots replied. There was no doubt that this was some kind of European caravan, appealing, from unknown reasons, for help. The captain and the doctor raced forward, swept alternately by fear and hope. Would they find the children or would they not? The doctor said in his soul that, if not, they in the further journey could seek only for their remains amid those terrible heather-bushes. After a half-hour one of those knobs, of which they had spoken before, obstructed the further view of the friends. But they were already so near that they heard distinctly the clatter of a horse's hoofs. In a few minutes, and on the top of the elevation, appeared a rider, holding before him a white object. "Torches up," commanded Glenn. In the same moment the rider brought his horse into the circle of light. "Water! Water!" "The children!" Doctor Clary cried. "Water!" Stas repeated. And he almost hurled Nell into the captain's arms and leaped out of the saddle. But immediately he staggered, and fell like a corpse upon the ground. CONCLUSION Joy in the camp of Captain Glenn and Doctor Clary was boundless, but the curiosity of both Englishmen was subjected to a severe test. For if previously they could not comprehend how the children by themselves could cross those vast wilds and deserts separating that region from the Nile and Fashoda, then at present they could not at all understand in what manner "the little Pole," as they called Stas, not only accomplished that but appeared before them as the leader of a caravan, armed with European weapons--with an elephant bearing a palanquin, with horses, tents, and a considerable supply of provisions. At the sight of this, the captain spread out his arms and said every little while: "Clary, I have seen a great deal but I have not seen such a boy,"--and the honest doctor repeated with no less astonishment: "And he rescued the little one from slavery and saved her!" After which he hastened to the tents to see how the children were and whether they slept well. And the children, having appeased their thirst and hunger and changed their clothes, slept as though slain, during the whole of the following day; the people in their caravan did the same. Captain Glenn tried to question Kali about Stas' deeds and adventures during the journey, but the young negro, opening one eye, only answered: "The great master can do everything,"--and again fell asleep. It positively became necessary to postpone questions and explanations for a few days. In the meantime the two friends conferred over the return journey to Mombasa. They had, as it was, penetrated farther and explored more territory than they were commissioned to; they decided, therefore, to return without delay. The captain indeed was lured very much by that lake unknown to geography, but a regard for the health of the children and a desire to return them as quickly as possible to their afflicted fathers prevailed. The doctor insisted, however, that it would be necessary to rest on the cool heights of Kenia Mountain or Mount Kilima-Njaro. From there they also decided to send news to the parents and summon them to come to Mombasa. The return journey began, after due rest and baths in the warm springs, on the third day. It was at the same time a day of parting from Kali. Stas persuaded the little one that to take him farther with them--to the ocean or to Egypt--would be selfishness on their part. He said to her that in Egypt, and even in England, Kali would be nothing more than a servant, while when he assumed the government of his nation, he, as king, could spread and establish Christianity, soften the savage customs of the Wahimas, and make of them not only a civilized but a good people. The same thing he repeated in substance to Kali. At the leave-taking, however, a multitude of tears were shed of which even Stas was not ashamed, for he and Nell had passed with Kali through many evil and good moments and not only had learned to appreciate his honest heart, but had conceived a sincere affection for him. The young negro lay long at the feet of his "Bwana kubwa" and the "Good Mzimu." Twice he returned to look at them for a while, but finally the moment of separation came and the two caravans started in opposite directions. It was only during the journey that the narrative of the adventures of the two little travelers began. Stas, at one time prone to be a trifle boastful, now did not brag at all. He simply had performed too many great deeds, he had undergone too much, and was too developed not to understand that words should not be greater than acts. There was, after all, enough of deeds, though related in the most modest manner. Each day during the scorching "white hours" and at evening during the stops there glided before the eyes of Captain Glenn and Doctor Clary pictures, as it were, of those occurrences and incidents through which the children had passed. So they saw the kidnapping from Medinet-el-Fayûm and the awful journey on camel-back across the desert--and Khartûm and Omdurmân, resembling hell on earth, and the ill-boding Mahdi. When Stas related his reply to the Mahdi, when the latter tried to induce him to change his faith, both friends rose and each of them warmly shook Stas' right hand, after which the captain said: "The Mahdi is not living!" "The Mahdi is not living?" Stas repeated with astonishment. "Yes," spoke out the doctor. "He choked himself with his own fat, or, in other words, he died of heart trouble, and the succession of his government has been assumed by Abdullahi." A long silence ensued. "Ha!" said Stas. "He did not expect when he despatched us for our destruction to Fashoda that death would first overtake him." And later he added: "But Abdullahi is still more cruel than the Mahdi." "For that reason mutinies and massacres have already begun," the captain replied, "and the whole edifice which the Mahdi reared will sooner or later tumble down." "And after that who will succeed?" "England," the captain answered.* [*The reign of Abdullahi continued for ten years. The decisive blow to the dervish power was delivered by Lord Kitchener, who almost totally annihilated them in a great bloody battle and afterwards ordered the Mahdi's tomb to be razed.] In the further course of the journey, Stas told about his journey to Fashoda, about the death of old Dinah, of their start from Fashoda to uninhabited regions, and their search for Smain in them. When he reached that part where he killed the lion and afterwards Gebhr, Chamis, and the two Bedouins, the captain interrupted him with only two words: "All right!" after which he again squeezed his right hand, and with Clary listened with increasing interest about the taming of the King, about settling in Cracow, about Nell's fever, of finding Linde, and the kites which the children sent up from Karamojo Mountains. The doctor who, with each day, became more and more deeply attached to little Nell, was impressed so much by everything which threatened her most, that from time to time he had to strengthen himself with a few swallows of brandy, and when Stas began to narrate how she almost became the prey of the dreadful "wobo" or "abasanto," he caught the little maid in his arms as if in fear that some new beast of prey was threatening her life. And what he and the captain thought of Stas was best evidenced by two despatches, which within two weeks after their arrival at the foot-hills of Kilima-Njaro they expressly sent to the captain's deputy in Mombasa with instructions that the latter should transmit them to the fathers. The first one, edited carefully, for fear that it should create too astounding a sensation, and forwarded to Port Said, contained the following words: "Thanks to boy, favorable news about children. Come to Mombasa." The second, more explicit, addressed to Aden, was of this purport: "Children are with us. Well. Boy a hero." On the cool heights at the foot of Kilima-Njaro they stopped fifteen days, as Doctor Clary insisted that this was imperative for Nell's health, and even for Stas'. The children with their whole souls admired this heaven-kissing mountain, which possesses all the climates of the world. Its two peaks, Kibo and Kima-Wenze, during daytime were most frequently hidden in thick fogs. But when in fair nights the fogs suddenly dispersed and from the twilight the eternal snows on Kima-Wenze blushed with a rosy luster at a time when the whole world was plunged in darkness, the mountain appeared like a bright altar of God, and the hands of both children at this sight involuntarily were folded in prayer. For Stas the days of worry, uneasiness and exertion had passed. They had yet before them a month of travel to Mombasa and the road led through the charming but unhealthy forest of Taveta; but how much easier it was to travel now, with a numerous caravan well provided with everything and over familiar trails, than formerly to stray in the wilderness with only Kali and Mea. Besides, Captain Glenn was now responsible for the journey. Stas rested and hunted. Aside from this, having found among the implements of the caravan a chisel and hammers, he was in the cooler hours engaged in chiseling upon a great gneiss rock the inscription "Jeszcze Polska nie zginela,"* [* "Poland is not yet lost." The title of the most popular Polish national march.--_Translator's note_.] for he wished to leave some trace of their sojourn in that region. The Englishmen, to whom he translated the inscription, were astonished that it never occurred to the boy to perpetuate his own name on that rock. But he preferred to carve the words he had chosen. He did not cease, however, to take care of Nell and awoke in her such unbounded confidence that when Clary asked her whether she did not fear the storms on the Red Sea, the little maid raised her beautiful, calm eyes and only answered, "Stas will know what to do." Captain Glenn claimed that truer evidence of what Stas was to the little one and greater praise for the boy no one would be able to pronounce. Though the first despatch to Pan Tarkowski at Port Said had been worded with much care, it nevertheless created such a powerful sensation that joy almost killed Nell's father. But Pan Tarkowski, though he was an exceptionally self-controlled person, in the first moments after the receipt of the despatch, knelt in prayer and began to beseech God that the intelligence should not prove to be a delusion, a morbid chimera, bred from sorrow, longing, and pain. Why, they had both toiled so hard to learn that the children were even alive! Mr. Rawlinson had despatched to the Sudân whole caravans, while Pan Tarkowski, disguised as an Arab, had penetrated with the greatest danger to his life as far as Khartûm, but all was futile. The men who could have given any news died of smallpox, of starvation, or perished during the continual massacres, and of the children there was not the slightest clue. In the end both fathers lost all hope and lived only on recollections, in the deep conviction that here in life now nothing awaited them and that only death would unite them with those dearest beings who were everything for them in the world. In the meantime unexpected joy, almost beyond their strength, fell upon them. But it was linked with uncertainty and amazement. Neither could by any means comprehend in what manner news of the children came from that part of Africa, that is, Mombasa. Pan Tarkowski supposed that they might have been ransomed or stolen by some Arabian caravan which from the eastern coast ventured into the interior for ivory and penetrated as far as the Nile. The words of the despatch, "Thanks to boy," he explained in this manner: that Stas had notified the captain and the doctor by letter where he with Nell could be found. Nevertheless, many things it was impossible to unravel. On the other hand, Pan Tarkowski understood quite clearly that the information not only was favorable, but very favorable, as otherwise the captain and the doctor would not have dared to awaken hopes in them, and above all would not have summoned them to Mombasa. The preparations for the journey were brief, and the second day after the receipt of the despatches both engineers, with Nell's teacher, were on the deck of a great steamer of the "Peninsular and Oriental Company," which was en route for India and on the way stopped at Aden, Mombasa, and Zanzibar. At Aden awaited them the second despatch: "Children are with us. Well. Boy a hero." After reading it Mr. Rawlinson walked about almost out of his senses from joy, and, squeezing Pan Tarkowski's palm, he repeated: "You see, it was he who saved her. To him I owe her life." Pan Tarkowski, not desiring to display too much weakness, answered only, setting his teeth, "Yes! The boy acquitted himself bravely," but when he retired to the privacy of his cabin he wept from happiness. At last the hour arrived when the children fell into the embraces of their fathers. Mr. Rawlinson seized his recovered little treasure in his arms and Pan Tarkowski long clasped his heroic boy to his bosom. Their misfortune disappeared as pass away whirlwinds and storms of the desert. Their lives were filled anew with serenity and happiness; longing and separation had augmented their joy. But the children were surprised that the hair of their "papas" had whitened completely during the separation. They returned to Suez on a splendid French steamer belonging to the "Messageries Maritimes Company," which was full of travelers from the islands Réunion, Mauritius, Madagascar, and Zanzibar. When the news spread that on board were children who had escaped from dervish slavery Stas became an object of general curiosity and universal praise. But the happy quartette preferred to lock themselves in a great cabin which the captain gave up to them and spend there the cooler hours in narrations. Nell, too, took part in them, chirping like a little bird, and at the same time, to the amusement of all, beginning each sentence with an "and." So, sitting on her father's knees and raising to him her beautiful little eyes, she spoke in this manner: "And, papa, they kidnapped us and conveyed us on camels--and Gebhr struck me--and Stas defended me--and we came to Khartûm and there people died of hunger--and Stas worked to get dates for me--and we were at the Mahdi--and Stas did not want to change his religion--and the Mahdi sent us to Fashoda--and afterwards Stas killed a lion and all of them--and we lived in a big tree, which is called Cracow--and the King was with us--and I had a fever and Stas cured me--and killed a wobo and conquered the Samburus--and was always very kind to me--papa!" In the same fashion she spoke about Kali, Mea, the King, Saba, Mount Linde, the kites, and the final journey until their meeting with the captain's and doctor's caravan. Mr. Rawlinson, listening to this chirping, checked his tears with difficulty, while Pan Tarkowski could not contain himself from pride and happiness, for even from these childish narratives it appeared that were it not for the bravery and energy of the boy the little one ran the risk of perishing, not once but a thousand times, without help. Stas gave a more specific and complete account of everything. And it happened that during the narration of the journey from Fashoda to the waterfall, a great load fell off his heart, for when he told how he shot Gebhr and his companions, he hemmed and hawed and began to look uneasily at his father, while Pan Tarkowski knitted his brow, pondered a while, and after that gravely said: "Listen, Stas! It is not allowable for any one to be lavish with death, but if anybody menaces your fatherland or puts in jeopardy the life of your mother, sister, or the life of a woman entrusted to your care, shoot him in the head and ask no questions. Do not reproach yourself on that account." Mr. Rawlinson immediately after the return to Port Said took Nell to England, where he settled permanently. Stas was sent by his father to a school in Alexandria, where his deeds and adventures were less known. The children corresponded almost daily, but circumstances combined to prevent their seeing each other for ten years. The boy, after finishing school in Egypt, entered the Polytechnic in Zurich, after which, having secured his diploma, he was engaged in the construction of tunnels in Switzerland. When ten years had passed, Pan Tarkowski retired from the service of the Canal Company, and he and Stas visited their friends in England. Mr. Rawlinson invited them to his home, near Hampton Court, for the whole summer. Nell had finished her eighteenth year and had grown into a maiden as charming as a flower, and Stas became convinced, at the expense of his own peace, that a man, who had completed twenty-four years, could nevertheless still think of ladies. He even thought of beautiful and dear Nell so incessantly that finally he decided to run away to whatever place his eyes would lead him. But while in that state of mind, Mr. Rawlinson one day placed both of his palms on Stas' shoulders and, looking him straight in the eyes, said with an angelic benignity: "Tell me, Stas, whether there is a man in the world to whom I could give my treasure and darling with greater confidence?" The young couple married and remained in England until Mr. Rawlinson's death and a year later they started upon a long journey. As they promised to themselves to visit those localities in which they had spent their earliest years and afterwards at one time had wandered as children, they proceeded first of all to Egypt. The state of the Mahdi and Abdullahi had already been overthrown, and after its fall England, as Captain Glenn stated, "succeeded." A railroad was built from Cairo to Khartûm. The "sudds," or the Nilotic obstructions of growing water plants, were cleared so that the young couple could in a comfortable steamer reach not only Fashoda but the great Lake Victoria Nyanza. From the city of Florence lying on the shores of that lake they proceeded by a railroad to Mombasa. Captain Glenn and Doctor Clary had already removed to Natal, but in Mombasa there lived under the solicitous care of the local English authorities the King. The giant at once recognized his former master and mistress and particularly greeted Nell with such joyful trumpeting that the mangrove trees in the neighborhood shook as if they were swept by the wind. He recognized also old Saba, who outlived almost two-fold the years usually allotted to a dog and, though a trifle blind, accompanied Stas and Nell everywhere. Here also Stas learned the Kali enjoyed good health; that under the English Protectorate he ruled the entire region south of Lake Rudolf, and that he had introduced missionaries who were spreading Christianity among the local savage tribes. After this journey the young couple returned to Europe and, with Stas' venerable father, settled permanently in Poland. THE END Typographical error silently corrected: Part II Chapter 1: =Stas rose at once= replaced by =Saba rose at once= Chapter 4: =is n't he wise= replaced by =isn't he wise= Chapter 5: =is n't it true= replaced by =isn't it true= 
34668	----	The Young Yagers A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa By Captain Mayne Reid Published by Ticknor and Fields, Boston, USA This edition dated 1857 The Young Yagers, by Captain Mayne Reid. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ THE YOUNG YAGERS, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID. CHAPTER ONE. THE CAMP OF THE YOUNG YAGERS. Near the confluence of the two great rivers of Southern Africa--the _Yellow_ and _Orange_--behold the camp of the "young yagers!" It stands upon the southern bank of the latter stream, in a grove of Babylonian willows, whose silvery foliage, drooping gracefully to the water's edge, fringes both shores of the noble river as far as the eye can reach. A tree of rare beauty is this _Salix Babylonica_--in gracefulness of form scarce surpassed even by the palms, the "princes of the forest." In our land, as we look upon it, a tinge of sadness steals over our reflections. We have grown to regard it as the emblem of sorrow. We have named it the "weeping willow," and draped the tomb with its soft pale fronds, as with a winding-sheet of silver. Far different are the feelings inspired by the sight of this beautiful tree amid the _karoos_ of Southern Africa. That is a land where springs and streams are "few and far between;" and the _weeping_ willow--sure sign of the presence of water--is no longer the emblem of sorrow, but the symbol of joy. Joy reigns in the camp under its shade by the banks of the noble Orange River, as is proved by the continuous peals of laughter that ring clear and loud upon the air, and echo from the opposite shores of the stream. Who are they that laugh so loudly and cheerfully? _The young yagers_. And who are the young yagers? Let us approach their camp and see for ourselves. It is night, but the blaze of the camp-fire will enable us to distinguish all of them, as they are all seated around it. By its light we can take their portraits. There are six of them--a full "set of six," and not one appears to be yet twenty years of age. They are all boys between the ages of ten and twenty--though two or three of them, and, maybe, more than that number, think themselves quite men. Three of the party you will recognise at a glance as old acquaintances. They are no other than Hans, Hendrik, and Jan, our _ci-devant_ "Bush-boys." It is several years since we saw them last, and they have grown a good deal since then; but none of them has yet reached the full stature of manhood. Though no longer "Bush-boys," they are yet only boys; and Jan, who used to be called "little Jan," still merits and receives that distinctive appellation. It would stretch Jan to his utmost to square off against a four-foot measuring-stick; and he could only manage it by standing upon the very tips of his toes. Hans has grown taller, but, perhaps, thinner and paler. For two years he has been at college, where he has been very busy with his books, and has greatly distinguished himself by carrying off the first prizes in everything. Upon Hendrik there is a decided change. He has outgrown his elder brother both in length and breadth, and comes very near looking like a full-grown man. He is yet but eighteen years old, straight as a rush, with a decided military air and gait. The last is not to be wondered at, as Hendrik has now been a cornet in the Cape Mounted Rifles for more than a year, and still holds that commission, as may be learnt by looking at his forage-cap, with its golden embroidery over the peak. So much for our old acquaintances the "Bush-boys!" But who are the other three that share with them the circle of the camp-fire? Who are their companions? for they are evidently on terms of companionship, and friendship too. Who are they? A word or two will tell that. They are the _Van Wyks_. The three sons of Diedrik Van Wyk. And who, then, is Diedrik Van Wyk? That must also be explained. Diedrik is a very rich boor--a "vee-boor"--who every night shuts up within his spacious _kraals_ more than three thousand horses and horned cattle, with five times that number of sheep and goats! In fact, Diedrik Van Wyk is accounted the richest vee-boor, or grazier, in all the Graaf Reinet. Now the broad _plaatz_, or farm, of Diedrik Van Wyk lies contiguous to that of our old acquaintance, Hendrik Von Bloom; and it so chances that Hendrik and Diedrik are fast friends and inseparable companions. They see each other once a-day, at the least. Every evening Hendrik rides over to the "kraal" of Diedrik, or Diedrik to that of Hendrik, to enjoy a smoke together out of their ponderous pipes of meerschaum, or a "zoopje" of _brandewyn_ distilled from their own peaches. They are, in fact, a pair of regular old comrades,--for Van Wyk in early life has seen military service as well as Von Bloom,--and, like all old soldiers, they love to repeat their camp stories, and "fight their battles o'er again." Under such circumstances it is not to be wondered at, that the children of both should be intimate acquaintances. But, in addition to the friendship of their fathers, there is a tie of relationship between the two families,--the two mothers were cousins,--so that the children are what is usually termed second cousins,--a very interesting sort of affinity. And it is not an unlikely thing that the relationship between the families of Von Bloom and his friend Van Wyk may one day become still closer and more interesting; for the former has for his daughter, as all the world knows, the beautiful flaxen-haired cherry-cheeked Truey, while the latter is the father of the pretty brunette Wilhelmina--also an only daughter. Now there chance to be three boys in each family; and though both boys and girls are by far too young to think of getting married yet, there are suspicions abroad that the families of Von Bloom and Van Wyk will, at no very distant day, be connected by a double marriage--which would not be displeasing to either of the old comrades, Hendrik and Diedrik. I have said there are three boys in each family. You already know the Von Blooms, Hans, Hendrik, and Jan. Allow me to introduce you to the Van Wyks. Their names are Willem, Arend, and Klaas. Willem is the eldest, and, though not yet eighteen, is quite a man in size. Willem is, in fact, a boy of very large dimensions, so large that he has received the _sobriquet_ of "Groot Willem" (Big William) therefrom. All his companions call him "Groot Willem." But he is strong in proportion to his size,--by far the strongest of the young yagers. He is by no means tidy in his dress. His clothes, consisting of a big jacket of homespun cloth, a check shirt, and an enormously wide pair of leathern trousers, hang loosely about him, and make him look larger than he really is. Even his broad-brimmed felt hat has a slouching set upon his head, and his _feldtschoenen_ are a world too wide for his feet. And just as easy as his dress is the disposition of the wearer. Though strong as a lion, and conscious of his strength, Groot Willem would not harm a fly, and his kindly and unselfish nature makes him a favourite with all. Groot Willem is a mighty hunter, carries one of the largest of guns, a regular Dutch "roer," and also an enormous powder-horn, and pouch full of leaden bullets. An ordinary boy would stagger under such a load, but it is nothing to Groot Willem. Now it may be remembered that Hendrik Von Bloom is also a "mighty hunter;" and I shall just whisper that a slight feeling of rivalry--I shall not call it jealousy, for they are good friends--exists between these two Nimrods. Hendrik's favourite gun is a rifle, while the roer of Groot Willem is a "smooth bore;" and between the merits of these two weapons camp-fire discussions are frequent and sharp. They are never carried beyond the limits of gentlemanly feeling, for loose and slovenly as is Groot Willem in outward appearance, he is a gentleman within. Equally a gentleman, but of far more taste and style, is the second brother of the Van Wyks, Arend. In striking appearance and manly beauty he is quite a match for Hendrik Von Bloom himself, though in complexion and features there is no resemblance between them. Hendrik is fair, while Arend is very dark-skinned, with black eyes and hair. In fact, all the Van Wyks are of the complexion known as "brunette," for they belong to that section of the inhabitants of Holland sometimes distinguished as "Black Dutch." But upon Arend's fine features the hue sits well, and a handsomer youth is not to be seen in all the Graaf Reinet. Some whisper that this is the opinion of the beautiful Gertrude Von Bloom; but that can only be idle gossip, for the fair Truey is yet but thirteen, and therefore can have no opinion on such a matter. Africa, however, is an early country, and there _might_ be something in it. Arend's costume is a tasty one, and becomes him well. It consists of a jacket of dressed antelope-skin,--the skin of the springbok; but this, besides being tastefully cut and sewed, is very prettily embroidered with slashes of beautiful leopard-skin, while broad bands of the same extend along the outside seams of the trousers, from waist to ankle, giving to the whole dress, a very rich and striking effect. Arend's head-dress is similar to that worn by Hendrik Von Bloom, viz: a military forage-cap, upon the front of which are embroidered in gold bullion a bugle and some letters; and the explanation of that is, that Arend, like his second cousin, is a cornet in the Cape Rifles, and a dashing young soldier he is. Now the portrait of Klaas in pen and ink.--Klaas is just Jan's age and Jan's exact height, but as to circumference therein exists a great difference. Jan, as you all know, is a thin, wiry little fellow, while Klaas, on the contrary, is broad, stout, and burly. In fact, so stout is he, that Jan repeated two and a half times would scarce equal him in diameter! Both wear cloth roundabouts and trousers, and little broad-brimmed hats; both go to the same school; and, though there is a considerable difference between them in other respects, both are great boys for bird-catching and all that sort of thing. As they only carry small shot-guns, of course they do not aspire to killing antelopes or other large animals; but, small as their guns are, I pity the partridge, guinea-hen, or even bustard, that lets either of them crawl within reach of it. Now it has been hinted that between the hunters Groot Willem and Hendrik there is a slight feeling of rivalry in regard to matters of _venerie_. A very similar feeling, spiced perhaps with a little bit of jealousy, has long existed between the bird-catchers, and sometimes leads to a little coolness between them, but that is usually of very short duration. Hans and Arend have no envious feelings--either of one another or of anybody else. Hans is too much of a philosopher: besides, the accomplishment in which he excels, the knowledge of natural history, is one in which he is without a rival. None of the rest make any pretensions to such knowledge; and the opinion of Hans on any matter of science is always regarded as a final judgment. As to Arend, he is not particularly proud of any acquirement. Handsome, brave, and generous, he is nevertheless a right modest youth,--a boy to be beloved. And now you know who are the _young yagers_. CHAPTER TWO. SWARTBOY THE BUSHMAN AND CONGO THE KAFFIR. I have said that the young yagers were encamped on the southern bank of the Great Orange River. What were they doing there? The spot they occupied was many a long day's journey from their home in the Graaf Reinet, and many a day's journey beyond the frontier of the Cape Colony. There were no settlements near. No white men ever wandered so far, except an occasional "smouse," or trader--a class of men who extend their bartering expeditions almost to the central parts of the African Continent. Sometimes, too, the "trek-boor," or nomade grazier, may have driven his flocks to this remote place, but for all that it could not be considered a settled country. It was still a wilderness. And what were the young Von Blooms and Van Wyks doing in the wilderness? _Jaging_ to be sure, and nothing else,--they were simply out on a hunting expedition. It was an expedition that had been long talked of and planned. Since their grand hunt of the elephant, the "Bush-boys" had not followed any game. Hendrik had been with his regiment, and Hans and Jan busy with their respective studies. So with Arend Van Wyk as with Hendrik, and Klaas as with Jan. Groot Willem alone, from time to time, had been jaging springboks and such other game as is to be found among the settlements. But the present was a grand expedition intended to be carried far beyond the settled part of the colony--in fact, as far as they thought fit to go. The boys had received the full sanction of their parents, and had been fitted out in proper style--each having a good horse, and each three a large wagon to carry all their camp utensils, and serve as a tent to sleep in. Each wagon had its driver, and full span of ten long-horned oxen; and these, with a small pack of rough-looking _buck-dogs_, might be seen in the camp--the oxen tied to the disselbooms of the wagons, and the dogs grouped in various attitudes around the fire. The horses were also fastened some to the wheels, and others to trees that grew near. Two other objects in the camp are well worthy of a word or two; in fact, they are two individuals of very great importance to the expedition--as without them the wagons would be a troublesome affair. They are the drivers of these vehicles, and each is as proud of his whip-craft as Jehu could possibly have been of his. In one of these drivers you will recognise an old acquaintance. The large head and high cheek-bones, with the flat spread nostrils between; the small oblique Mongolian eyes; the short curly wool-knots, planted sparsely over the broad skull; the yellow complexion; the thick "chunky" form, scarce four feet in height, and sparely clad in red flannel shirt and brown leathern "crackers;" with all these features and characters before your mind, you cannot fail to recognise an old favourite--the Bushman, _Swartboy_. Swartboy it was; and, though several years have rolled over the Bushman's bare head since we saw him last, there is no visible change observable in Swartboy. The thinly scattered "kinks" of browny black wool still adorn Swartboy's crown and occiput, but they are no thinner-- the same good-natured grin is observed upon his yellow face--he is still the same faithful servant--the same expert driver--the same useful fellow that he ever was. Swartboy, of course, drives the wagon of the Von Blooms. Now the driver of the Van Wyk vehicle is about as unlike Swartboy as a bear to a bluebottle. In the first place, he is above a third taller than the Bushman, standing over six feet,--not in his stockings, for he never wears stockings, but in sandals, which he does wear. His complexion is darker than that of the Hottentot, although it is not black, but rather of a bronze colour; and the hair of his head, although somewhat "woolly," is longer than Swartboy's, and less inclined to _take root at both ends_! Where the line of Swartboy's nose is concave, that of the other is convex, and the nose itself almost aquiline. A dark piercing eye, a row of white teeth regularly set, lips of moderate thickness, a well-proportioned form, and erect attitude, give to this individual, an aspect of grandeur and gravity, both of which are in complete contrast with the comic picture presented by the short stout body and grinning countenance of the Bushman. The costume of the tall man has something graceful about it. It consists of a tunic-like skirt suspended around the waist and hanging down to mid-thigh. There is something peculiar in this skirt. It has the appearance of a fringe or drapery of long white hairs, not plaited or woven, but hanging free and full. It is, in fact, the true costume of a savage; and consists simply of a number of antelope's tails--the white tails of the gnoo--strung together around the waist, and allowed to fall to their full length down the thighs. A sort of "tippet" of the same surrounding the shoulders, with copper rings on the ankles and armlets encircling the wrist, a bunch of ostrich-feathers waving from his crown, and a string of beads around his neck, complete the costume of Congo the Kaffir--for to that nation of romantic savages belonged the wagon-driver of the Van Wyks. What! a Kaffir the driver of a wagon? you will exclaim. You can hardly realise the idea, that a Kaffir--a warrior, as you may deem him--could be employed in so menial an office as wagon-driving! But it is even so. Many Kaffirs are so engaged in the Cape Colony,--indeed, many thousands; and in offices of a more degrading kind than driving a wagon team--which by the way, is far from being considered an unworthy employment in South Africa, so far that the sons of the wealthiest boors may often be seen mounted upon the voor-kist and handling the long bamboo whip with all the ability of a practised "jarvey." There is nothing odd about Congo the Kaffir being wagon-driver to the Van Wyks. He was a refugee, who had escaped from the despotic rule of the blood-stained monster Chaaka. Having in some way offended the tyrant, he had been compelled to flee for his life; and, after wandering southward, had found safety and protection among the colonists. Here he had learnt to make himself a useful member of civilised society, though a lingering regard for ancient habits influenced him still to retain the costume of his native country--the country of the Zooloo Kaffir. No one could have blamed him for this; for, as he stood with his ample leopard-skin _kaross_ suspended togalike from his shoulders, the silvery skirt draping gracefully to his knees, and his metal rings glittering under the blaze of the camp-fire, a noble picture he presented,--a savage but interesting picture. No one could blame Congo for wishing to display his fine form in so becoming a costume. And no one did. No one was jealous of the handsome savage. Yes,--one. There was one who did not regard him with the most amiable feelings. There was a rival who could not listen to Congo's praise with indifference. One who liked not Congo. That rival was Swartboy. Talk of the rivalry that existed between the hunters Hendrik and Groot Willem, of that between Klaas and Jan. Put both into one, and it would still fall far short of the constant struggles for pre-eminence that were exhibited between the rival "whips," Swartboy the Bushman, and Congo the Kaffir. Swartboy and Congo were the only servants with the expedition. Cooks or other attendants the young yagers had none. Not but that the rich landdrost,--for it must be remembered that Von Bloom was now chief magistrate of his district,--and the wealthy boor could have easily afforded a score of attendants upon each trio of hunters. But there were no attendants whatever beyond the two drivers. This was not on the score of economy. No such thing. It was simply because the old soldiers, Hendrik Von Bloom and Diedrik Van Wyk, were not the men to pamper their boys with too much luxury. "If they must go a-hunting, let them rough it," said they; and so they started them off, giving them a brace of wagons to carry their _impedimenta_--and their spoils. But the young yagers needed no attendance. Each knew how to wait upon himself. Even the youngest could skin an antelope and broil its ribs over the fire; and that was about all the cookery they would require till their return. The healthy stomach of the hunter supplies a sauce more appetising than either Harvey or Soyer could concoct with all their culinary skill. Before arriving at their present camp the young yagers had been out several weeks; but, although they had hunted widely, they had not fallen in with any of the great game, such as giraffes, buffaloes, or elephants; and scarce an adventure worth talking about. A day or two before a grand discussion had taken place as to whether they should cross the great river, and proceed farther northward, in search of the camelopard and elephant, or whether they should continue on the southern side, jaging springboks, hartebeests, and several other kinds of antelopes. This discussion ended in a resolve to continue on to the north, and remain there till their time was up,--the time of course being regulated by the duration of college and school vacations, and leave of absence from the "Corps." Groot Willem had been the principal adviser of this course, and Hans his backer. The former was desirous of jaging the elephant, the buffalo, and giraffe,--a sport at which he was still but a novice, as he had never had a fair opportunity of hunting these mighty giants of the wood; while Hans was equally desirous of an exploring expedition that would bring him in contact with new forms of vegetable life. Strange as it may appear, Arend threw in his vote for returning home; and, stranger still, that the hunter Hendrik should join him in this advice! But almost every thing can be explained, if we examine it with care and patience; and the odd conduct of the two "cornets" was capable of explanation. Hans slyly hinted that it was possible that a certain brunette, Wilhelmina, might have something to do with Hendrik's decision; but Groot Willem, who was a rough plain-spoken fellow, broadly alleged, that it was nothing else than Truey that was carrying Arend's thoughts homeward; and the consequence of these hints and assertions was, that neither Hendrik nor Arend offered any further opposition to going northward among the elephants, but, blushing red to the very eyes, both were only too glad to give in their assent and terminate the discussion. Northward then became the word:--northward for the land of the tall giraffe and the mighty elephant! The young yagers had arrived on the southern bank of the Orange River, opposite to a well-known "drift," or crossing-place. There chanced to be a freshet in the river; and they had encamped, and were waiting until the water should fall and the ford become passable. CHAPTER THREE. HOW CONGO CROSSED A "DRIFT." Next morning, by break of day, our yagers were astir, and the first object upon which they rested their eyes was the river. To their joy it had fallen several feet, as they could tell by the water-mark upon the trees. The streams of South Africa, like those of most tropical and sub-tropical countries, and especially where the district is mountainous, rise and fall with much greater rapidity than those of temperate climes. Their sudden rise is accounted for by the great quantity of water which in tropical storms is precipitated within a short period of time--the rain falling, not in light sparse drops, but thick and heavy, for several hours together, until the whole surface of the country is saturated, and every rivulet becomes a torrent. Of these storms we have an exemplification in our summer thunder-showers--with their big rain-drops, when in a few minutes the gutter becomes a rivulet and the rut of the cartwheel a running stream. Fortunately these "sunshiny" showers are of short duration. They "last only half-an-hour," instead of many hours. Fancy one of them continuing for a whole day or a week! If such were to be the case, we should witness floods as sudden and terrible as those of the tropics. The quick fall in the streams of South Africa is easily accounted for-- the principal reason being that the clouds are their feeders, and not, as with us, springs and lakes. Tropic rivers rarely run from reservoirs; the abrupt cessation of the rain cuts off their supply, and the consequence is the sudden falling of their waters. Evaporation by a hot sun, and large absorption by the dry earth, combine to produce this effect. Now the young yagers saw that the "Gareep" (such is the native name of the Orange River) had fallen many feet during the night; but they knew not whether it was yet fordable. Though the place was a "drift" used by Hottentots, Bechuanas, traders, and occasionally "trek-boors," yet none of the party knew any thing of its depth, now that the freshet was on. There were no marks to indicate the depth--no means by which they could ascertain it. They could not see the bottom, as the water was of a yellow-brown colour, in consequence of the flood. It might be three feet--it might be six--but as the current was very rapid, it would be a dangerous experiment to wade in and measure its depth in that way. What were they to do then? They were impatient to effect a crossing. How were they to do so in safety? Hendrik proposed that one of them should try the ford on horseback. If they could not wade it, they might swim over. He offered to go himself. Groot Willem, not to be outdone by Hendrik in daring, made a similar proposal. But Hans, who was the eldest of the party, and whose prudent counsels were usually regarded by all, gave his advice against this course. The experiment would be too perilous, he said. Should the water prove too deep, the horses would be compelled to swim, and with so rapid a current they might be carried far below the "drift,"--perhaps down to where the banks were high and steep. There they should not be able to climb out, and both horse and rider might perish. Besides, urged Hans, even should a rider succeed by swimming to reach the opposite side in safety, the oxen and wagons could not get over in that way, and where would be the use of crossing without _them_? None whatever. Better, therefore, to wait a little longer until they should be certain that the river had subsided to its usual level. That they could ascertain by the water ceasing to fall any further, and another day would decide the point. It would only be the loss of another day. Hans's reasoning was good, and so was his counsel. Hendrik and Groot Willem acknowledged this, and agreed to act upon it; but for all that, Groot Willem, who was longing to get among the giraffes, buffaloes, and elephants, felt a strong desire to attempt the crossing; and Hendrik, too, was similarly inclined, from the sheer love of adventure--for Hendrik's fault was that of being over-courageous. Both would have risked the river--even to swimming it--had it been practicable for the teams to have crossed, but as that was not believed possible, they agreed, though with rather a bad grace, to wait upon the water another day. But, after all, they were not to wait a day,--scarcely an hour. In an hour from that time they had crossed the drift--wagons, oxen, and all-- and were trekking over the plain on the opposite side! What had led to their so suddenly changing their resolution? How had they ascertained that the drift was fordable? For a knowledge of that fact they were indebted to Congo the Kaffir. While engaged in their discussion as to the depth of the river, the latter had been observed standing upon the bank and throwing large pebbles into the stream. Thinking it was merely some freak or superstition on the part of the savage, none of them had taken any notice of him, Swartboy excepted. The Bushman was watching the Kaffir, with glances that bespoke a keen interest in his movements. At length a loud scornful laugh, from Swartboy, accompanying a series of rather rough phrases, directed the attention of the young yagers upon the Kaffir. "My footy, Congo! ole fool you! b'lieve you tell depth so? tink so, ole skellum? Ha! ha! ha! you bania groot ole humbug! Ha! ha! ha!" The Kaffir took no notice of this rather insulting apostrophe, but continued to fling his pebbles as before; but the young yagers, who were also watching him, noticed that he was not throwing them carelessly, but in a peculiar manner, and their attention now became fixed upon him. They saw that each time as the pebble parted from his fingers, he bent suddenly forward, with his ear close to the surface, and in this attitude appeared to listen to the "plunge" of the stone! When the sound died away, he would rise erect again, fling another pebble _farther out than the last_, and then crouch and listen as before? "What's the Kaffir about?" asked Hendrik of Groot Willem and Arend, who, being his masters, were more likely to know. Neither could tell. Some Zooloo trick, no doubt; Congo knew many a one. But what he meant by his present demonstration neither could tell. Swartboy's conjecture appeared to be correct, the Kaffir was _sounding the depth of the drift_. "Hilloa, there! Congo!" cried Groot Willem. "What are ye after, old boy?" "Congo find how deep drift be, baas Willem," was the reply. "Oh! you can't tell that way; can you?" The Kaffir made answer in the affirmative. "Bah!" ejaculated Swartboy, jealous of the interest his rival was beginning to excite; "da's all nonsense; ole fool know noffin 't all 'bout it,--dat he don't." The Kaffir still took no notice of Swartboy's gibes--though they no doubt nettled him a little--but kept on casting the pebbles, each one, as already stated, being flung so as to fall several feet beyond the one that preceded it. He continued at this, until the last pebble was seen to plunge within a yard or two of the opposite side of the current, here more than a hundred yards wide. Then raising himself erect, and turning his face to the young yagers, he said in firm but respectful tones-- "Mynheeren, you drift may cross--now." All regarded him with incredulous glances. "How deep think you it is?" inquired Hans. The Kaffir made answer by placing his hands upon his hips. It would reach so high. "My footy!" exclaimed Swartboy, in derision. "It's twice dar depth. Do you want drown us, ole fool?" "May drown _you_--nobody else!" quietly replied the Kaffir, at the same time measuring Swartboy with his eye, and curling his lip in derision of the Bushman's short stature. The young yagers burst out into a loud laugh. Swartboy felt the sting, but for some moments was unable to retort. At length he found words-- "All talk, you ole black, all talk! You make groot show,--you berry wise,--you want wagon sweep off,--you want drown da poor oxen,--you pretend so deep. If tink so, go wade da drift,--go wade yourself! Ha!" Swartboy thought by this challenge he had put the finisher on the Kaffir. He believed that the latter would not dare to try the ford, in spite of his assertion about its depth. But Swartboy was doomed to disappointment and humiliation. Scarcely had he uttered the sneering challenge when the Kaffir, having bent a glance upon the rest, and seeing, that they regarded him with looks of expectation, turned round and dashed down the bank to the edge of the water. All saw that he was bent upon crossing. Several of them uttered cries of warning, and cautioned him to desist. But the Zooloo spirit was roused, and the savage did not heed the warning cries. He did not hurry madly into the current, however; but set about the business with caution and design. They saw him stoop down by the edge of the water, and the next moment rise erect again, holding in his hands a large stone that could not have weighed much less than a hundredweight. This, to the astonishment of all, he raised upon the crown of his head, and, holding it in that position, marched boldly into the water! All saw the object of his carrying the stone,--which was, of course, to enable him by its additional weight to stem the strong current! In this he was quite successful, for although the water at certain places rose quite to his waist, in less than five minutes he stood high and dry on the opposite bank. A cheer greeted him, in which all but Swartboy joined, and another received him on his return; and then the oxen were inspanned, and the horses saddled and mounted, and wagons, oxen, dogs, horses, and yagers, all crossed safely over, and continued their route northward. CHAPTER FOUR. A BRACE OF "BLACK MANES." If the young yagers had met with but few adventures south of the Gareep, they were not long north of it before they fell in with one of sufficient interest to be chronicled. It occurred at their very first camp after crossing. They had chosen for their camp the side of a "vley," in the midst of a wide plain, where there chanced to be both grass and water, though both of a rather indifferent kind. The plain was tolerably open, though here and there grew clumps of low bushes, and between these stood at intervals the dome-shaped houses of white ants--those of the _Termes mordax_--rising to the height of several feet above the surface. They had just outspanned and permitted their oxen to wander upon the grass, when the voice of Swartboy was heard exclaiming-- "De leuw! de leuw!" All looked where Swartboy pointed. There, sure enough, was a lion,--a large "schwart-fore-life," or _black-maned_ one,--right out upon the plain, and beyond the place where the oxen were browsing. There was a clump of "bosch" just behind the lion. Out of this he had come at sight of the oxen; and, having advanced a few yards, he had lain down among the grass, and was now watching the animals as a cat would a mouse, or a spider the unconscious fly. They had scarcely set their eyes upon him when another was seen issuing from the "bosch," and, with stealthy trot, running up to the side of her companion. _Her_ companion, I say, because the second was a lioness, as the absence of a mane and the tiger-like form testified. She was scarcely inferior in size to the lion, and not a bit less fierce and dangerous in any encounter she might chance to fall in with. Having joined the lion, she squatted beside him; and both now sat upon their tails, like two gigantic cats, with full front towards the camp, and evidently eyeing the oxen with hungry looks. Horses, hunters, drivers, and dogs, were all in sight; but what cared the lions for that? The tempting prey was before them, and they evidently meditated an attack,--if not just then, whenever the opportunity offered. Most certainly they contemplated supping either upon ox-beef or horse-flesh. Now these were the first lions that had been encountered upon the expedition. "Spoor" had been seen several times, and the terrible roar had been heard once or twice around the night-camp; but the "king of beasts" now appeared for the first time _in propria persona_, with his queen along with him, and of course his presence was productive of no small excitement in the yager camp. It must not be denied that this excitement partook largely of the nature of a "panic." The first fear of the hunters was for their own skins, and in this both Bushman and Kaffir equally shared. After a time, however, this feeling subsided. The lions would not attack the camp. They do so only on very rare occasions. It was the camp _animals_ they were after, and so long as these were present, they would not spring upon their owners. So far there was no danger, and our yagers recovered their self-possession. But it would not do to let the carnivorous brutes destroy their oxen,-- that would not do. Something must be done to secure them. A kraal must be made at once, and the animals driven into it. The lions lay quietly on the plain, though still in a menacing attitude. But they were a good way off--full five hundred yards--and were not likely to attack the oxen so close to the camp. The huge wagons--strange sight to them--no doubt had the effect of restraining them for the present. They either waited until the oxen should browse nearer, or till night would enable them to approach the latter unobserved. As soon, then, as it was perceived that they were not bent upon an immediate attack, Groot Willem and Hendrik mounted their horses, rode cautiously out beyond the oxen, and quietly drove the latter to the other side of the vley. There they were herded by Klaas and Jan; while all the rest, Swartboy and Congo included, went to work with axe and bill-hook in the nearest thicket of "wait-a-bit" thorns. In less than half-an-hour a sufficient number of bushes were cut to form, with the help of the wagons, a strong kraal; and inside this, both horses and oxen were driven,--the former made fast to the wheel-spokes, while the latter were clumped up loosely within the enclosure. The hunters now felt secure. They had kindled a large fire on each side of the kraal, though they knew that this will not always keep lions off. But they trusted to their guns; and as they would sleep inside the canvass tents of their wagons, closing both "voor" and "achter-claps," they had nothing to fear. It would be a hungry lion, indeed, that would have attempted to break the strong kraal they had made; and no lion, however hungry, would ever think of charging into a wagon. Having made all secure, therefore, they seated themselves around one of their fires, and set about cooking their dinner, or rather dinner-supper, for it was to include both meals. Their journey prevented them from dining earlier. They chanced to have little else than _biltong_, or dried meat, to cook. The long wait by the drift had consumed their stock of fine springbok venison, which they had laid in some days before. It is true they had venison in camp, but it was that of the "reitbok," or reed-buck--so called from its habit of frequenting the long reeds by the banks of rivers; and it was while they were journeying through a belt of these after crossing the drift, that this one had been shot by Hendrik. A small antelope the reitbok is--the _Antilope eleotragus_ of naturalists. It stands less than three feet in height, formed much like the springbok, but with a rougher coat of hair, of an ashy grey colour, and silver white underneath. Its horns, however, are not lyrate, as in the springbok, but rise first in the plane of its forehead, and then curve boldly forward to the tips. They are about twelve inches in length, wrinkled at the base, prominently ringed in the middle, and smooth near the points. The reitbok, as its name implies, inhabits the reedy bottoms by the margins of streams and rivers, and its food consists of plants growing in humid and marshy situations. Hence its flesh is inferior to that of most South African antelopes, and it was not a favourite with the young yagers. Although it had been brought along, they preferred even the dry biltong, and it was left to the less delicate appetites of Swartboy and Congo. Now the hunters, Hendrik and Groot Willem, would have gone out to look for a springbok, or some other game, but the presence of the lions prevented that; and so the boys were obliged to content themselves with a slice of the biltong; and each, having cut him a short stick for a spit, set about broiling his piece over the coals. During all this time the lion and lioness kept the position they had taken on the plain, scarce once having changed their attitude. They were waiting patiently the approach of night. Groot Willem and Hendrik had both advised making an attack upon them; but in this case they again gave way to the more prudent counsel of Hans, strengthened, perhaps, by his reminding them of the instructions they had received from both their fathers at setting out. These instructions were,--never to attack a lion without good reason for so doing, but always to give the "ole leuw" a wide berth when it was possible to do so. It is well known that the lion will rarely attack man when not first assailed; and therefore the advice given to the young yagers was sound and prudent? and they followed it. It wanted yet an hour or two of sunset. The lions still sat squatted on the grass, closely observed by the hunters. All at once the eyes of the latter became directed upon a new object. Slowly approaching over the distant plain, appeared two strange animals, similar in form, and nearly so in size and colour. Each was about the size of an ass, and not unlike one in colour,--especially that variety of the ass which is of a buff or fulvous tint. Their forms, however, were more graceful than that of the ass, though they were far from being light or slender. On the contrary, they were of a full, round, bold outline. They were singularly marked about the head and face. The ground colour of these parts was white, but four dark bands were so disposed over them as to give the animals the appearance of wearing a headstall of black leather. The first of these bands descended in a streak down the forehead; another passed through the eyes to the corners of the mouth; a third embraced the nose; while a fourth ran from the base of the ears passing under the throat--a regular throat-strap--thus completing the resemblance to the stall-halter. A reversed mane, a dark list down the back, and a long black bushy tail reaching to the ground, were also characters to be observed. But what rendered these animals easily to be distinguished from all others was the splendid pair of horns which each carried. These horns were straight, slender, pointing backwards almost horizontally. They were regularly ringed till within a few inches of their tips, which were as sharp as steel spits. In both they were of a deep jet colour, shining like ebony, and full three feet in length. But what was rather singular, the horns of the smaller animal--for there was some difference in their size--were longer than those of the larger one! The former was the female, the latter the male, therefore the horns of the female were more developed than those of the male--an anomaly among animals of the antelope tribe, for antelopes they were. The young yagers had no difficulty in distinguishing their kind. At the first glance they all recognised the beautiful "oryx," one of the loveliest animals of Africa, one of the fairest creatures in the world. CHAPTER FIVE. LIONS STALKING THE GEMSBOK. On seeing the "gemsbok"--for by such name is the oryx known to the Cape colonists--the first thought of the young yagers was how they should kill or capture one of them. Beautiful as these creatures looked upon the plain, our hunters would have fancied them better on the spit--for they well knew that the venison of the gemsbok is delicious eating--not surpassed by that of any other antelope, the eland perhaps excepted. The first thought of the yagers, then, was a steak of gemsbok venison for dinner. It might throw their dinner a little later, but it would be so much of a better one than dry biltong, that they were willing to wait. The slices of jerked meat, already half-broiled, were at once put aside, and guns were grasped in the place of roasting-sticks. What was the best course to be pursued? That was the next question. It would scarce be possible to stalk the gemsboks. They are among the most wary of antelopes. They rarely approach near any cover that might shelter an enemy; and when alarmed they strike off in a straight line, and make for the open desert plains--their natural home. To stalk them, is a most difficult thing, and rarely attempted by the hunter. They can only be captured by a swift horse, and after a severe chase. Even from the swiftest horse they often make their escape; for in the first burst of a mile or two they can run like the wind. A good horse, however, has more "bottom" than they, and if well managed will in time overtake them. The hunters having seized their guns, next thought of their horses. Should they saddle and ride out after the gemsboks? That would have been their course at once, and without further consideration, had they not observed that the antelopes were coming directly towards them. If they continued in the same course much longer, they, the yagers, need not stir from the spot. The game would approach within shot and save them the trouble of a chase. This would be very agreeable, as the hunters were hungry, and their horses tired after a hard day's journeying. There was some probability that the gemsboks would give them the chance they wished for. The camp was well hidden among the bushes. The smoke of the fire alone showed its situation, but the antelopes might not perceive this, or if so, might not regard it as a thing to be feared. Besides, as Groot Willem and Hendrik observed, the vley was close by, and both believed the antelopes were on their way to the water. The student Hans, however, corrected them in this belief, by telling them that the oryx is an animal _that never drinks_,--that it is quite independent of springs, streams, or vleys,--one of those creatures which Nature has formed to dwell in the desert, where no water exists! It was not likely then that the gemsboks were coming to the vley. The hunters need make no calculation on that. At all events, they were certainly approaching the camp. They were heading straight for it, and were already less than a thousand yards from the spot. There would scare be time to saddle before they should come within shot, or else start off alarmed at the appearance of the smoke. The hunters, therefore, gave up all thoughts of a chase; and, crouching forward to the outer edge of the grove, they knelt down behind the bushes to await the approach of the antelopes. The latter still kept steadily on, apparently unconscious of danger. Surely they had not yet perceived the smoke, else they would have shown symptoms either of curiosity or alarm! The wind was blowing in the same direction in which they marched, or their keen sense of smell would have warned them of the dangerous proximity of the hunter's camp. But it did not; and they continued with slow but unaltered pace to approach the spot, where no less than six dark muzzles--a full battery of small arms--were waiting to give them a volley. It was not the destiny of either of the gemsboks to die by a leaden bullet. Death, sudden and violent awaited them, though not from the hand of man. It was to come from a different quarter. As the yagers lay watching the approach of the antelopes, their eyes had wandered for a moment from the lions; but a movement on the part of these again drew attention to them. Up to a certain period they had remained in an upright attitude, squatted upon their tails, but all at once they were observed to crouch flat down, as if to conceal themselves under the grass, while their heads were turned in a new direction. They were turned towards the gemsboks. They had caught sight of the latter as they approached over the plain; and it was evident that they contemplated an attack upon them. Now if the antelopes continued on in the same course, it would carry them quite clear of the lions, so that the latter would have no advantage. A gemsbok can soon scour off from a lion, as the latter is at best but a poor runner, and secures his prey by a sudden spring or two, or else not at all. Unless, therefore, the lions could obtain the advantage of getting within bounding distance of the antelopes without being seen by them, their chances of making a capture would be poor enough. They knew this, and to effect that purpose--that of getting near--now appeared to be their design. The lion was observed to crawl off from the spot in a direction that would enable him to get upon the path of the gemsboks, between them and the camp. By a series of manoeuvres,-- now crawling flat along the grass, like a cat after a partridge; now pausing behind a bush or an ant-heap to survey the game; then trotting lightly on to the next,--he at length reached a large ant-hill that stood right by the path in which the antelopes were advancing. He seemed to be satisfied of this, for he stopped here and placed himself close in to the base of the hill, so that only a small portion of his head projected on the side towards the game. His whole body, however, and every movement he made, were visible to the hunters from _their_ ambush in the grove. But where was the lioness? She was no longer by the _bosch_ where first seen. Where had she gone? Not with the lion? No. On the contrary, she had gone in a direction nearly opposite to that taken by him. Their eyes had been busy with his movements, and they had not noticed hers. Now, however, that the lion had come to a halt, they looked abroad for his mate, and saw her far out upon the plain. They saw that she was progressing in the same way the lion had done,--now crawling among the grass, now trotting swiftly from bush to bush, and pausing a moment behind each, but evidently bending her course so as to arrive _in the rear_ of the antelopes! The "strategy" of the lions was now perceived. They had evidently planned it before separating. The lion was to place himself in ambush upon the path, while the lioness swept round to the rear and forced the antelopes forward; or should the latter become alarmed and retreat, the lion could then show himself in pursuit, and run the frightened game back into the clutches of the lioness. The thing was well calculated, and although it was likely to rob the hunters of their game, they had grown so interested in the movements of the carnivora and their intended victims, that they thought only of watching the spectacle to its end. The ambuscade was well planned, and in a few minutes its success was no longer doubtful. The gemsboks advanced steadily towards the ant-hill, occasionally switching about their black bushy tails; but that was to rid their flanks of the flies, and not from any apprehension of danger. The lioness had completed the great _detour_ she had made, and was now seen crouching after them, though still far to the rear. As the antelopes drew near the ant-hill, the lion was observed to draw back his head until it was nearly concealed under his black shaggy mane. They could not possibly have seen him where he lay, nor he them, and he now appeared to trust to his ears to inform him of their approach. He waited till both were opposite, and broadside toward him, at the distance of less than twenty paces from the hill. Then his tail was seen to vibrate with one or two quick jerks, his head shot suddenly forth, his body spread out apparently to twice its natural size, and the next moment he rose like a bird into the air! With one bound he cleared the wide space that separated him from the nearest of the gemsboks, alighting on the hind-quarters of the terrified animal. A single blow of his powerful paw brought the antelope on its haunches; and another, delivered almost at the same instant, stretched its body lifeless on the plain! Without looking after the other, or seeming to care further about it, the lion sprang upon the body of his victim, and, clutching its throat between his jaws, commenced drinking its warm blood. It was the bull gemsbok which the lion had pulled down, as this was the one that happened to be nearest the hill. As the lion sprang upon her companion, the cow of course started with affright, and all supposed they would see her the next moment scouring off over the plains. To their astonishment she did no such thing. Such is not the nature of the noble oryx. On the contrary, as soon as she recovered from the first moments of alarm, she wheeled round towards the enemy; and, lowering her head to the very ground, so that her long horns projected horizontally in front, she rushed with all her strength upon the lion! The latter, in full enjoyment of his red draught, saw nothing of this manoeuvre. The first intimation he had of it was to feel a pair of spears pierced right through his ribs, and it is not likely he felt much more. For some moments a confused struggling was observed, in which both lion and oryx seemed to take part; but the attitudes of both appeared so odd, and changed so rapidly, that the spectators could not tell in what manner they were combating. The roar of the lion however had ceased, and was now succeeded by the more shrill tones of the lioness, who, bounding forward upon the spot, mixed at once in the melee. A single touch of her claws brought the cow oryx to the earth, and ended the strife; and the lioness now stood over the victims screaming her note of triumph. Was it a note of triumph? There was something odd in its tone-- something singular in the movements of the creature that uttered it-- something strange about the whole thing. Why was the lion silent? His roar had ceased, and he lay embracing the carcass of the bull gemsbok, and apparently drinking its blood. Yet he was perfectly without motion, not a muscle could be seen to move, not a quiver of his tawny hide betokened that he breathed or lived! Was he dead? CHAPTER SIX. AN ANGRY LIONESS. Certainly there was something mysterious about the matter. The lion still kept his position; no motion could be observed, no sound escaped him; whereas the lioness uttered incessantly her shrill growling, at the same time pacing to and fro, round and round, the confused heap of bodies! She made no attempt to feed, though her prey lay bleeding before her. Surely her lord was not the cause of her abstinence! Did he insist upon having both the carcasses to himself? Sometimes it is so. Sometimes an old male plays the selfish tyrant, and keeps the younger and weaker members of his family off, till he has gorged himself, permitting them to make a "second table" of his leavings. In the present instance this was not likely. There were two whole carcasses,--large fat carcasses,--enough for both. Besides, the lioness was evidently the lion's own mate--his wife. It was scarcely probable he would treat her so. Among human beings instances of such selfishness,--such a gross want of gallantry, are, I regret to say, by no means rare; but the young yagers could not believe the lion guilty of such shabby conduct--the lion, Buffon's type of nobility! No such thing. But how was it? The lioness still growled and paced about, ever and anon stooping near the head of her partner, which was not visible from the camp, and placing her snout in contact with his as if kissing him. Still there was no sign of any response, no motion on his part; and, after watching for a good while without perceiving any, the hunters at length became satisfied that the lion was dead. He was dead--as Julius Caesar or a door-nail, and so, too, was the brace of gemsboks. The lioness was the only living thing left from that sanguinary conflict! As soon as the hunters became satisfied of this, they began to deliberate among themselves what was best to be done. They wished to get possession of the venison, but there was no hope of their being able to do so, as long as the lioness remained upon the ground. To have attempted to drive her off at that moment would have been a most perilous undertaking. She was evidently excited to madness, and would have charged upon any creature that had shown itself in her neighbourhood. The frenzied manner in which she paced about, and lashed her sides with her tail, her fierce and determined look, and deep angry growl, all told the furious rage she was in. There was menace in her every movement. The hunters saw this, and prudently withdrew themselves--so as to be near the wagons in case she might come that way. They thought that by waiting awhile she would go off, and then they could drag the antelopes up to camp. But after waiting a good while, they observed no change in the conduct of the fierce brute. She still paced around as before, and abstained from touching the carcasses. As one of the yagers observed, she continued to "play the dog in the manger,"--would neither eat herself, nor suffer anybody else to eat. This remark, which was made by little Jan, elicited a round of laughter that sounded in strange contrast with the melancholy howl of the lioness, which still continued to terrify the animals of the camp. Even the dogs cowered among the wheels of the wagons, or kept close to the heels of their masters. It is true that many of these faithful brutes, had they been set on, would have manfully battled with the lioness, big as she was. But the young yagers well knew that dogs before the paws of an angry lion are like mice under the claws of a cat. They did not think of setting them on, unless they had themselves made an attack; and that, the advice of Hans, coupled with the counsels they had received before leaving home, prevented them from doing. They had no intention of meddling with the lioness; and hoped she would soon retire, and leave the game, or part of it, on the ground. After waiting a long while, and seeing that the lioness showed no symptoms of leaving the spot, they despaired of dining on oryx venison, and once more set to broiling their slices of biltong. They had not yet commenced eating, when they perceived a new arrival upon the scene of the late struggle. Half-a-dozen hyenas appeared upon the ground; and although these had not yet touched the carcasses, but were standing a little way off--through fear of the lioness--their hungry looks told plainly what their intention was in coming there. Now the presence of these hideous brutes was a new point for consideration. If the lioness should allow them to begin their feast upon the antelopes, in a very short while scarce a morsel of either would remain. The yagers, although they had resigned all hope of dining on the gemsbok venison, nevertheless looked forward to making their supper of it; but if the hyenas were permitted to step in, they would be disappointed. How were the brutes to be kept off? To drive them off would be just as perilous an undertaking as to drive off the lioness herself. Once more Groot Willem and Hendrik talked about attacking the latter; but, as before, were opposed by Hans, who had to use all his influence with his companions before he could induce them to abandon the rash project. At this moment an unexpected proposal put an end to their discussion. The proposal came from Congo the Kaffir. It was neither less nor more than that he himself should go forth and do battle with the lioness! "What! alone?" "Alone." "You are mad, Congo. You would be torn to pieces!" "No fear, Mynheeren. Congo the leuw kill without getting scratch. You see, young masters." "What! without arms? without a gun?" "Congo not know how use one," replied the Kaffir, "you see how I do 'im," he continued. "All Congo ask you not come in way. Young masters, here stay and Congo leave to himself. No danger. Mynheeren, Congo fear if go yonder help him--leuw very mad. Congo not care for that--so much mad, so much better--leuw no run away." "But what do you intend to do, Congo?" "Mynheeren soon all see--see how Congo kill lion." The hunters were disposed to look upon the Kaffir as about to make a reckless exposure of his life. Swartboy would have treated the proposal as a boast, and laughed thereat, but Swartboy remembered the humiliation he had had in the morning on account of similar conduct; and though he feared to be farther outstripped in hunter-craft by his rival, he had the prudence upon this occasion to conceal his envy. He bit his thick lips, and remained silent. Some of the boys, and especially Hans, would have dissuaded Congo from his purpose; but Groot Willem was inclined to let him have his way. Groot Willem knew the Kaffir better than any of the others. He knew, moreover, that savage as he was, he was not going to act any foolish part for the mere sake of braggadocio. He could be trusted. So said Groot Willem. This argument, combined with a desire to eat gemsbok venison for supper, had its effect. Arend and Hans gave in. Congo had full permission to battle with the lioness. CHAPTER SEVEN. HOW CONGO THE KAFFIR KILLED A LIONESS. Congo had now become an object of as great interest as in the morning. Greater in fact, for the new danger he was about to undergo--a combat with an enraged lioness--was accounted still greater than that of fording the Gareep, and the interest was in proportion. With eager eyes the young yagers stood watching him as he prepared himself for the encounter. He was but a short while in getting ready. He was seen to enter the Van Wyk wagon, and in less than three minutes come out again fully armed and equipped. The lioness would not have long to wait for her assailant. The equipment of the Kaffir must needs be described. It was simple enough, though odd to a stranger's eye. It was neither more nor less than the equipment of a Zooloo warrior. In his right hand he held a bunch of _assegais_,--in all six of them. What is an "assegai?" It is a straight lance or spear, though not to be used as one. It is smaller than either of these weapons, shorter and more slender in the shaft, but like them armed with an iron head of arrow shape. In battle it is not retained in the hand, but flung at the enemy, often from a considerable distance. It is, in short, a "javelin," or "dart,"--such as was used in Europe before fire-arms became known, and such as at present forms the war weapon of all the savage tribes of Southern Africa, but especially those of the Kaffir nations. And well know they how to project this dangerous missile. At the distance of a hundred yards they will send it with a force as great, and an aim as unerring, as either bullet or arrow! The assegai is flung by a single arm. Of these javelins Congo carried six, spanning their slender shafts with his long muscular fingers. The assegais were not the oddest part of his equipment. That was a remarkable thing which he bore on his left arm. It was of oval form, full six feet in length by about three in width, concave on the side towards his body, and equally convex on the opposite. More than any thing else did it resemble a small boat or canoe made of skins stretched over a framework of wood, and of such materials was it constructed. It was, in fact, a shield,--a Zooloo shield--though of somewhat larger dimensions than those used in war. Notwithstanding its great size it was far from clumsy, but light, tight, and firm,--so much so that arrow, assegai, or bullet, striking it upon the convex side, would have glanced off as from a plate of steel. A pair of strong bands fastened inside along the bottom enabled the wearer to move it about at will; and placed upright, with its lower end resting upon the ground, it would have sheltered the body of the tallest man. It sheltered that of Congo, and Congo was no dwarf. Without another word he walked out, the huge _carapace_ on his left arm, five of the assegais clutched in his left hand, while one that he had chosen for the first throw he held in his right. This one was grasped near the middle, and carried upon the balance. No change had taken place in the situation of affairs out upon the plain. In fact, there had not been much time for any. Scarce five minutes had elapsed from the time the Kaffir stated his purpose, until he went forth to execute it. The lioness was still roaming about, uttering her frightful screams. The hyenas were still there. The moment the Kaffir was seen approaching, the cowardly hyenas fled with a howl, and soon disappeared under the bosch. Far different with the lioness. She seemed to pay no regard to the approach of the hunter. She neither turned her head, nor looked in the direction he was coming. Her whole attention was absorbed by the mass of bodies upon the plain. She yelled her savage notes as she regarded them. She was no doubt lamenting the fate of her grim and swarthy partner, that lay dead before her eyes. At all events, she did not seem to notice the hunter, until he had got within twenty paces of the spot! At that distance the Kaffir halted, rested his huge shield upon the ground--still holding it erect--poised the assegai a moment in his right hand, and then sent it whizzing through the air. It pierced the side of the tawny brute, and hung quivering between her ribs. Only for a moment. The fierce animal doubled round upon herself, caught the shaft in her teeth, and broke it off as if it had been a straw! The blade of the assegai still remained in the flesh, but the lioness waited no longer. She had now perceived her enemy; and, uttering a vengeful scream, she sprang towards him. With one tremendous bound she cleared three-fourths of the space that lay between them, and a second would have carried her upon the shoulders of the Kaffir; but the latter was prepared to receive her, and, as she rose to her second leap, he disappeared suddenly from the scene! As if by magic he had vanished; and had not the boys been watching his every movement, they would have been at a loss to know what had become of him. But they knew that under that oval convex form, whose edges rested upon the earth, lay Congo the Kaffir. There lay he, like a tortoise in its shell, clutching the straps with all his might, and pressing his carapace firmly against the ground! The lioness was more astonished than the spectators. At the second leap she pitched right down upon the shield, but the drum-like noise made by her weight, and the hard firm substance encountered by her claws, quite disconcerted her, and springing aside she stood gazing at the odd object with looks of alarm! She stood but for a moment, and then, uttering a savage growl of disappointment, turned tail upon it, and trotted off! This growl guided Congo. The shield was raised from the ground--only on one side, and but a very little way at first--just enough to enable the hunter to see the stern of the retreating lioness. Then the Kaffir rose quickly to his feet, and, holding the shield erect, prepared for the casting of a second assegai. This was quickly thrown and pierced the animal in the flank, where shaft and all remained sticking in the flesh. The lioness turned with redoubled fury, once more charged upon her assailant, and, as before, was met by the hard convex surface of the shield. This time she did not immediately retreat, but stood menacing the strange object, striking it with her clawed hoofs, and endeavouring to turn it over. Now was the moment of peril for Congo. Had the lioness succeeded in making a capsize, it would have been all up with him, poor fellow! But he knew the danger, and with one hand clutching the leathern straps, and the other bearing upon the edge of the frame, he was able to hold firm and close,--closer even "than a barnacle to a ship's copper." After venting her rage in several impotent attempts to break or overturn the carapace, the lioness at length went growling away towards her former position. Her growls, as before, guided the actions of Congo. He was soon upon his feet, another assegai whistled through the air, and pierced through the neck of the lioness. But, as before, the wound was not fatal, and the animal, now enraged to a frenzy, charged once more upon her assailant. So rapid was her advance that it was with great difficulty Congo got under cover. A moment later, and his ruse would have failed, for the claws of the lion rattled upon the shield as it descended. He succeeded, however, in planting himself firmly, and was once more safe under the thick buffalo hide. The lioness now howled with disappointed rage; and after spending some minutes in fruitless endeavours to upset the shield, she once more desisted. This time, however, instead of going away, the angry brute kept pacing round and round, and at length _lay down within three feet of the spot_. Congo was besieged! The boys saw at a glance that Congo was a captive. The look of the lioness told them this. Though she was several hundred yards off, they could see that she wore an air of determination, and was not likely to depart from the spot without having her revenge. There could be no question about it,--the Kaffir was in "a scrape." Should the lioness remain, how was he to get out of it? He could not escape by any means. To raise the shield would be to tempt the fierce brute upon him. Nothing could be plainer than that. The boys shouted aloud to warn him of his danger. They feared that he might not be aware of the close proximity of his enemy. Notwithstanding the danger there was something ludicrous in the situation in which the Kaffir was placed; and the young hunters, though anxious about the result, could scarce keep from laughter, as they looked forth upon the plain. There lay the lioness within three feet of the shield, regarding it with fixed and glaring eyes, and at intervals uttering her savage growls. There lay the oval form, with Congo beneath, motionless and silent. A strange pair of adversaries, indeed! Long time the lioness kept her close vigil, scarce moving her body from its crouching attitude. Her tail only vibrated from side to side, and the muscles of her jaws quivered with subdued rage. The boys shouted repeatedly to warn Congo; though no reply came from the hollow interior of the carapace. They might have spared their breath. The cunning Kaffir knew as well as they the position of his enemy. Her growls, as well as her loud breathing, kept him admonished of her whereabouts; and he well understood how to act under the circumstances. For a full half-hour this singular scene continued; and as the lioness showed no signs of deserting her post, the young yagers at length determined upon an attack, or, at all events, a feint that would draw her off. It was close upon sunset, and should night come down what would become of Congo? In the darkness he might be destroyed. He might relax his watchfulness,--he might go to sleep, and then his relentless enemy would have the advantage. Something must be done to release him from his narrow prison,--and at once. They had saddled and mounted their horses, and were about to ride forth, when the sharp-eyed Hans noticed that the lioness was much farther off from the shield than when he last looked that way. And yet she had not moved,--at all events, no one had seen her stir--and she was still in the very same attitude! How then? "Ha! look yonder! the shield is moving!" As Hans uttered these words the eyes of all turned suddenly upon the carapace. Sure enough, it was moving. Slowly and gradually it seemed to glide along the ground, like a huge tortoise, though its edges remained close to the surface. Although impelled by no visible power, all understood what this motion meant,--Congo was the moving power! The yagers held their bridles firm, and sat watching with breathless interest. In a few minutes more the shield had moved full ten paces from the crouching lioness. The latter seemed not to notice this change in the relative position of herself and her cunning adversary. If she did, she beheld it rather with feelings of curiosity or wonder than otherwise. At all events, she kept her post until the curious object had gone a wide distance from her. She might not have suffered it to go much farther; but it was now far enough for her adversary's purpose, for the shield suddenly became erect, and the Kaffir once more sent his assegai whirring from his hand. It was the fatal shaft. The lioness chanced to be crouching broadside towards the hunter. His aim was true, and the barbed iron pierced through her heart. A sharp growl, that was soon stifled,--a short despairing struggle, that soon ended, and the mighty brute lay motionless in the dust! A loud "hurrah!" came from the direction of the camp, and the young yagers now galloped forth upon the plain, and congratulated Congo upon the successful result of his perilous conflict. The group of dead bodies was approached, and there a new surprise awaited the hunters. The lion was dead, as they had long since conjectured,--the sharp horns of the oryx had done the work; but what astonished all of them was, that the horns that had impaled the body of the great lion still remained sticking in his side. The oryx had been unable to extricate them, and would thus have perished along with her victim, even had the lioness not arrived to give the fatal blow! This, both Congo and Swartboy assured the party, was no uncommon occurrence, and the bodies of the lion and gemsbok are often found upon the plains locked in this fatal embrace! The cow gemsbok, yielding the more tender venison, was soon skinned and cut up; and as the delicious steaks spurted over the red coals of their camp-fire, the young yagers became very merry, and laughed at the singular incidents of the day. CHAPTER EIGHT. A SHORT CHAT ABOUT LIONS. Before going to supper the hunters dragged the carcasses of both lion and lioness close up to the camp-fire. A good pull it was, but they managed it by attaching strong "rheims" of raw hide around the necks of the creatures, and sliding them with the grain of the hair. Their object in bringing them to the fire was, that they might have light to skin them,--not that they deem the lion-hides of any great value, except as trophies of their expedition--and they were not going to leave such trophies on the plain. Had the lions been permitted to remain all night where they had been killed, the hyenas would have eaten them up before morning,--skins and all. It is a fable which tells that the hyena will not eat the dead lion. The filthy brute will eat anything, even one of his own kind,--perhaps the most unpalatable morsel he could well find. Of course the oryx were also brought up to the camp to be skinned and cut up. The bull, as large and heavy as a dead ass, gave them a good pull for it. But it afforded Groot Willem an opportunity of exhibiting his enormous strength; and the big boy, seizing the tow-rope, dragged the oryx after him with as much ease as if it had been a kitten at the end of a string of twine. Both the gemsboks were regularly "butchered" and cut into quarters, to be carried to the next camp, and there dried. They would have dried the meat on the spot, but the water where they had halted was not good, and they did not wish to remain there another day. The horns of the oryx are also esteemed trophies of the chase, and those of both that were killed being perfect specimens--long, handsomely ringed, and black as ebony--were added to the collection which the young yagers were forming, and stowed safely away in the wagons. The heads, with the skins left on, were carefully cleaned and preserved, at no distant day to become ornaments in the _voor-huis_, or entrance-hall, either of the Von Bloom or Van Wyk mansions. All these matters being arranged, the yagers sat down to supper around the camp-fire. The roast ribs and steaks of the gemsbok venison proved delicious, and the whole party, as already stated, were contented and merry. Of course lions were the subject of conversation, and all laughed again and again whenever they thought of Congo and his encounter. All of them, little Jan and Klaas excepted, had stories to tell of adventures with lions, for these animals were still to be found in the Graaf Reinet, and both Groot Willem and Arend had been present at more than one lion-hunt. Hans and Hendrik had met them in many an encounter during the great elephant expedition, and Swartboy was an old Hottentot lion-hunter. But Congo seemed to know more of the lion than even Swartboy, though the latter would have gone wild had such a thing been hinted at by any one of the party; and many a rival story of strange interest fell from the lips of both Kaffir and Bushman at that same camp-fire. Some of the party had heard of a mode of lion-hunting practised by the Bechuana tribes, and, indeed, in Congo's own country. There was nothing very novel about the mode. A number of people,--naked savages they were,-- attacked the lion wherever they met him, either in the bush or on the open plain, and there fought him to the death. These people carried for arms only the assegai, and, as a sort of defensive weapon, a mop of black ostrich-feathers fastened upon the end of a slender stick, and somewhat resembling a large fly-brush. The object of this was to disconcert the lion when rushing upon the hunter. By sticking it in the ground at the right moment, the lion mistakes the clump of ostrich-feathers for his real assailant, and, charging upon it, permits the hunter to escape. Such a _ruse_ is far inferior to the trick of the carapace, but that singular mode of defence against the lion was only practised by such cunning hunters as Congo. Now, as already stated, the plan practised by the Bechuana savages had nothing very novel or strange in it. Any strangeness about it consisted in the fact of the imprudence of such a mode of attack; for it was said that the hunters did not stand off at a distance and cast their assegais, on the contrary, they retained these weapons in their hands, and used them as spears, approaching the lion close enough to thrust them into his body! The consequence was, that in every encounter with their terrible antagonist, several hunters were either killed or badly mangled. This was the thing that appeared strange to our young yagers. They could not understand why any hunters should attack the fierce lion thus boldly and recklessly, when they might avoid the encounter altogether! They could not understand why even savages should be so regardless of life. Was it true that any people hunted the lion in that way? They asked Congo if it was true. He replied that it was. Now this required explanation,--and Congo was requested to give it, which he did as follows. The hunters spoken of were not _volunteers. They did not attack the lion of their own will and pleasure, but at the command of the tyrant that ruled them_. It was so in Congo's country, where the sanguinary monster, Chaaka, had sway. The _whole people of Chaaka were his slaves_, and he thought nothing of putting a thousand of them to death in a single morning to gratify some petty spleen or dislike! He had done so on more than one occasion, often adding torture. The tales of horrors practised by these African despots would be incredible were it not for the full clear testimony establishing their truth; and, although it forms no excuse for slavery, the contemplation of such a state of things in Africa lessens our disgust for the system of American bondage. Even the atrocious slave-trade, with all the horrors of the "middle passage," appears mild in comparison with the sufferings endured by the subjects of such fearful tyrants as Chaaka, Dingaan, or Moselekatse! Congo related to the young yagers that it was customary for Chaaka's people to act as the herdsmen of his numerous flocks, and that when any of his cattle were killed by a lion,--a frequent occurrence,--the unfortunate creatures who herded them were commanded to hunt the lion, and bring in his head, or _suffer death_ in case of failure; and this sentence was sure to be carried into effect. This explained the apparently reckless conduct of the hunters. Congo further stated that he had been compelled to take part in several of these lion-hunts, in each of which the lives of men were sacrificed. He spoke of one in particular where no less than ten hunters had been killed before the lion was _captured_;--captured, not killed, for on this occasion the despot had taken a whim into his head, and ordered the fierce animal to be _taken alive_! His command was, that if the lion were not brought before him alive, and without a wound or scratch, every man engaged in the hunt should suffer death! As the unfortunate hunters well knew the threat was no idle one, they caught the lion in their naked arms, and succeeded in tying him, but not until ten of their number had fallen victims to their involuntary zeal! To these and other tales of lions did the young yagers listen as they sat around the blazing camp-fire. CHAPTER NINE. THE UNICORN. The oryx next became the subject of conversation, and Swartboy could tell more about it than any one. Of the oryx Congo knew very little, as the region most frequented by this beautiful antelope lies farther west than the country of the Kaffir tribes. Its headquarters are in the land of the Namaquas, though it is thinly scattered all around the borders of the Great Kalihari Desert. The oryx is a desert-dwelling antelope, can live without water, and grows fat even on the plants that thinly vegetate over the barren soil. It is a bold creature--often beats off the lion, or kills him by impalement on its long bayonet-like horns. Of the truth of this fact our yagers had that day had proof. The oryx when hunted does not, like many other antelopes, make for either water or cover. It strikes in a straight line for its desert home, trusting to its heels for safety. And its confidence in them is seldom misplaced. A swift horse alone can overtake and bring it to a stand; unless it be very fat, and then it is more easily "blown." An interesting point occurred in the conversation about the oryx. Arend and some of the others had read in several books of travellers that the oryx was supposed to be the fabled "unicorn," derived from Egyptian sculptures. They asked if this was the case. Their question was not put to Swartboy, you may be sure, but to Hans the naturalist, of course. Hans regarded the supposition as a very silly one. A mere fancy of some early South African traveller, that had been repeated, parrot-like, in the books of other travellers and the writings of several closet-naturalists. The supposition of the oryx being the original of the unicorn rested only upon the fact that its horns when seen _en profile_ appear as but one; and the unicorn is so figured on the Egyptian sculptures. Now this argument can be advanced in favour of several other antelopes, and therefore falls at once to the ground as regards the oryx. Hans mentioned several reasons why the gemsbok could not be the "fabled unicorn." Its form, and particularly the shape of its head, are quite unlike the sculptures of that famous creature. Its horns, both in length and "set," even when seen _en profile_, differ altogether from that of the unicorn, which points forward, whereas the horns of the oryx extend backward almost horizontally, and sometimes even touching the flanks of the animal. "No," continued Hans; "if the Egyptian unicorn be not a fable--if it be the representation of any animal in Africa, that animal is the gnoo; and I regard it as something singular that the resemblance between the gnoo--I mean the common species, not the `brindled'--and the fabled unicorn, has not long since been noticed by naturalists and travellers. "I should fancy that no one could look upon the pictures of both without being struck by this resemblance. Their forms, both of head and body, the elegant rounding of limb, the split hoof, the long tufted tails, the proud arching necks, with full flowing mane,--all these points go to show that the gnoo was copied for the unicorn. The _one_ horn is the only circumstance that appears to invalidate my theory, but even in this respect the gnoo bears a much greater resemblance to the unicorn than does the oryx. The horns of the gnoo are set in such a manner that it often appears a _unicorn_. Their tips do not rise above the level of the skull; and in consequence of this, and also from the manner in which the animal frequently carries its head, only one horn is visible, the other being, inconspicuous against the dark ground of the head and mane. Often only half the horn appears at a distance, and is then seen pointing forward and `set,' very similarly to the brow ornaments of the unicorn. "The horn of the unicorn is usually represented quite straight in modern paintings; but this is not correct, according to the Egyptian sculpture, where a curve is given,--a positive imitation of the curve in the horns of the oryx! Even though it were straight, this would scarce invalidate my theory, for the horns of the young oryx are straight also, and we might suppose a young one to be represented. "I do not beg the question in this way, however," continued Hans, "for I know that whatever animal the Egyptians meant on their sculptures must have been well known to them, and it is not likely that they would have pictured a specimen of immature age. The singular character of the gnoo, its odd and eccentric habits, as well as the eccentricity of its form and appearance, must have drawn attention to it from the earliest times, and such an animal would not fail to be pictured by the Egyptians. As to the one horn, I regard the existence of that, either as the result of imperfect observation on the part of the Egyptian sculptors, or, what is more likely, a want of knowledge of their art. Egyptian sculpture is at best but a rude affair, and the peculiar curve and set of the oryx horns are difficult to depict. Even in this very hour of high art, our painters do not give the most correct delineation of the head of a gemsbok. So, you see, I make out a tolerably clear case, that the gnoo of South Africa is the original of that mysterious celebrity--the _unicorn_." The naturalist had fairly established his point, to the satisfaction of all the young yagers, who then asked him some questions about the unicorn mentioned in the Bible. "As to the unicorn of Scripture," replied Hans, "that is a very different affair. There can be no mistake about the animal meant by Job when he wrote, `Canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in the furrow? or will he harrow the valleys after thee? Wilt thou trust him because his strength is great? or wilt thou leave thy labour to him?' This is, in reality, a unicorn--the _one-horned rhinoceros_." Resuming the subject of the oryx, Hans informed his companions that this animal formed the type of a genus of animals called _Oryx_, of which there were three other species,--the "addax," the "abu-harb," and the "algazel." The "addax" (_Oryx addax_) is a native of Central Africa generally, and is nearly as large as the oryx; but its horns, instead of being straight, are twisted spirally. They are smaller in the female, which is agreeable to the usual disposition of these appendages, though contrary to that of the horns of the gemsbok. The colour of the addax is greyish-white over the body, and reddish-brown upon the head and neck, with a white patch across the face. It is not gregarious, but lives in pairs on the sandy deserts, for traversing which its broad hoofs are peculiarly adapted. It was known to the ancients, and Pliny speaks of it under the name _Strepsiceros_. The "abu-harb" (_Oryx leucoryx_) is also a large powerful antelope, with long sharp horns slightly curved backward. Its colour is cream-white, with a brown mark on the forehead, another on the cheeks, and a rust-brown colour over the neck and throat. In form it bears a good deal of resemblance to the oryx, and was really the animal known by this name to the Greeks and Romans. But naturalists now apply the name "oryx" to the gemsbok or Cape oryx, (_Oryx Capensis_). The "abu-harb" is a native of Kordofan and Sennaar, and it is one of those that are found upon the sculptures of Nubia and Egypt. Unlike the addax, it is gregarious in its habits, and lives in large herds. The fourth species of oryx is the "algazel," (_Oryx algazella_). This is also a native of Central Africa, but less is known of it than of any of the other three; and there are naturalists who regard it as merely a variety of the "abu-harb." When Hans had finished his learned discourse, it was full time for retiring to rest, so the whole party crept into their wagons, and went to sleep. CHAPTER TEN. THE CAMEL-BIRDS. On leaving the "drift" where they had crossed the Orange River, our hunters "treked" in a north-easterly direction. Had they gone due north they would soon have reached the rim of the Great Kalihari Desert--the Saara of Southern Africa. Of course they could not have penetrated this, and would necessarily have been compelled to head in a new direction, either to the east or west. But they had long since determined on an easterly course, as the region lying to the eastward of the desert had the reputation of being a grand country for the large animals--the buffalo, the elephant, and the camelopard; and the rivers in that part were filled with huge sea-cows (hippopotami) and gigantic crocodiles. That was the very country the young yagers wanted to be in. They were not travelling without a guide. Congo was their guide. He knew every inch of the route. He had promised to bring them into a country abounding in elephants and giraffes; and no doubt was entertained that the Kaffir would keep his promise. Next day they were on the move at an early hour. They made a long day's march, and, halting a little before sunset, outspanned in a grove of mokhala-trees, standing upon the very edge of a bleak desert, that stretched before them as far as they could see,--and indeed much further. This desert had a very arid and parched appearance, the only vegetation upon it being solitary plants of the arborescent aloe, with its large coral-red flower-spike, palm-like zamias, some species of cactus-like euphorbias, and here and there small clumps of _Acacia horrida_, or "wait-a-bit" thorns, as these bushes are jocosely termed, from the disposition of their curved spines to hook upon the clothes of any one passing them. Both plants and bushes grew far apart, and wide tracts of the plain appeared without even any of these to vary its brown monotony. It was a sort of outlying spur of the Kalihari Desert, and they would have to cross it before they should reach the country promised by their guide. There would be _fifty_ miles without vley, spring, or stream--_fifty_ miles from water to water. They had outspanned by the last spring, which gurgled out among the roots of the mokhala-trees upon the very edge of the desert. There they intended remaining for a couple of days to dry the flesh of the gemsboks, and also to recruit their animals and prepare them for the long waterless journey of the desert,--a perilous passage. It was near sunset when they had finished "outspanning," having formed their camp in the centre of the mokhala grove, and not far from the spring. Hans, in a contemplative mood, had wandered to the edge of the grove; and, seating himself under one of the trees, whose full umbrella-like top cast a fine shade, was gazing out upon the wide treeless waste. He had not been long in this situation, when his attention was attracted to three upright forms that appeared upon the plain at the distance of some hundred yards from the grove. They were bipeds, for he saw them from head to heel. Not human bipeds, however, but birds. They were _ostriches_. The merest child could have told that much--anybody--for who does not recognise the great African ostrich at the first glance? The size and form of the _Struthio camelus_ are too peculiar to admit of its being taken for any other bird. The American "rhea," or the Australian "emeu," might pass for its half-grown young, but a full-sized African ostrich is not to be mistaken for any of its pigmy relatives, either in Australia, New Zealand, the Indian archipelago, or America. It is the great bird of birds--the biggest that carries feathers. Of course Hans knew the three to be ostriches the moment his eye rested upon them--a cock and two hens. This was easily told, for there is as much difference between the male and female of these birds, as between the brilliant peacock and his dingy spouse. The greater size of the former; the deep black colour of his body contrasting strongly with the snow-white plumes of his wings and tail,--and in the desert these _are_ snow-white--distinguish him at once from his female companions. Their colour is a nearly uniform greyish brown, and they want those splendid jet and snowy plumes that adorn the back of their lord and master, and which have been from all time so highly prized as ornaments by both savage and civilised people. A cock and two hens they were, that presented themselves before the eyes of the young naturalist. They were marching slowly along. They were not affrighted. They evidently had seen nothing of the camp. How could they, as it was behind the trees in the centre of the grove? They occasionally bent their long necks to one side or the other, and cropped a leaf, or picked up a seed, but then continued their course. From their following a straight line Hans concluded they were not feeding in the regular way, but bent towards some point, perhaps to their night resting-place. When first observed, they were coming in a side direction, that is, transversely to the direction in which Hans himself was facing. In a short time they had passed before him, and were now widening the distance, and getting farther off into the desert. Hans at first thought of calling to the others, who were all busy about the wagons, and had not seen the ostriches. He was thinking also of some plan by which the birds might be captured or killed. After a moment's consideration, he gave up the idea of either one thing or the other. The sight of an ostrich was nothing new to any of the party. Jan and Klaas might have cared for it, but both were tired after their long hot ride, and had already fallen asleep on the grass. Better not disturb them, thought Hans. As to the killing or capturing the ostriches, after a moment's reflection, Hans also gave up that design. The birds were already passing--to have stalked within shot upon the naked plain would have been impossible, for Hans well knew the wary nature of the ostrich; and to have attempted a chase with their tired horses would have been equally idle. Hans, therefore, held his peace, and sat still; following with his eyes the retreating forms of the three great camel-birds. Their long strides soon carried them far off, but before they had receded half-a-mile, the eyes of the naturalist were removed from them, and turned on a different object. CHAPTER ELEVEN. THE SMALLEST OF FOXES. The object which now fixed the attention of the naturalist was a quadruped,--a very small one, not bigger than a medium-sized cat, but altogether different in form and proportions. Unlike the cats, it had a long sharp snout, and a thick bushy tail. It stood higher upon its legs, too, than do animals of the cat kind, but the most remarkable _feature_ about it was its ears. These were remarkable for their length, which was out of all proportion to the size of the creature. Its whole body was barely one foot long, and yet the ears stood full six inches above the crown of its head! They stood quite erect, broad, stiff, and pointed, and ending in an acute angle at the tips. Its colour was a beautiful Isabella above, and cream-white underneath. No; the creature was not like a cat, nor a dog neither, though it was more like the latter than the former. But there is an animal related to the canine family to which it bore a very strong resemblance, and that is the fox, for it _was_ a fox, the very smallest in the world, the "caama" of Southern Africa. And yet, correctly speaking, it was not a fox neither, but a _fennec_. What is a "fennec?" That is an interesting question, and one about which naturalists have bothered their brains a good deal. It is an animal of which there are several species existing throughout Africa; and of which the celebrated traveller Bruce,--who, everybody thought, _lied_ so largely, but about whom conceited ignorance has since changed its opinion,--first gave an account. It differs from the foxes in several respects, but the most remarkable difference is found in the form of the eye. In the true foxes the pupil is linear or elliptical, while that of the fennec is round, thus showing the difference of habit--for the foxes are in reality _nocturnal_ animals, while the fennecs are _diurnal_. Some species of foxes, however, are twilight prowlers, and one or two of the fennecs are also crepuscular. It is, therefore, scarce possible to draw a line of demarcation between the two. The fennecs, however, have been formed into a separate genus, termed _Megalotis_, from the extreme size of their ears. It is to be hoped that the question is thus settled that has so much bothered the closet-naturalists; who, taking their ideas from the anatomy of the fennec, have classed it according to their several fancies; one making it a dog, another a cat, a third a fox, a fourth a civet, a fifth a hyena, and a sixth placing it among the galagos! Let us call it a "fennec," or diurnal fox, and say farther that although there are several species of _true foxes_ in Africa, and several of _jackal-foxes_, there are also several of fennecs. Three are well known. The fennec of Bruce, (_Megalotis zerda_), first described by that traveller as seen by him in Abyssinia, but also indigenous to South Africa; the "zabora," (_Megalotis famelicus_), a native of Nubia and Kordofan, and supposed to be the animal represented on Egyptian temples, which has been taken for the figure of the jackal; and the "caama fennec," (_Megalotis caama_). A fourth species, "Lalande's zerda," (_Megalotis Lalandii_), has been "hooked out" of this genus, and made to form one of itself, (_Agriodus_), not because its habits in anywise differ from the _Megalotides_, but because it chances to differ slightly from them in the form and arrangement of its "ivories." Now of all these fennecs the one which was passing before the eyes of Hans was the "caama," the smallest of the whole tribe either of fennecs or foxes. Crouching just like a fox, now trotting nimbly a few paces, now halting and squatting close to the ground, as though fearful of being observed, the little creature passed on. What was it after? What prey was it in pursuit of? On watching it for a few moments, Hans saw to his great surprise that it was after the ostriches! It was going the same way they had gone, its sharp snout set towards, and its eyes evidently bent upon, them. Whenever they stopped it did the same, squatting down as it did so, as if to avoid their observation; and when they moved on, it also trotted forward, halting at intervals behind stones and bushes and earnestly regarding the birds in advance. Beyond a doubt it was trailing them! But what could this little creature want with the ostriches? Certainly not to attack them, though it was following after them just as a fox would a covey of partridges. It could not be that, however; as a kick from the mighty leg of one of these birds would have hoisted the fennec fifty yards over the plain, like a ball from a cricket-bat. No; it could not be following them with hostile intentions,--puny pigmy that it appeared beside the big camel-birds! For what, then, was it trailing them? Of course it was not running on the scent, but the view. On their track it certainly was, and as certainly was it "dogging" them. For what purpose? This was just what the naturalist Hans wished to know; and he remained closely observing the movements of this miniature "microscopic" fox. Talking of a microscope reminds me that Hans at that moment took out of his pocket a telescope,--a small one, which he habitually carried. This he did, because, in a few minutes, the ostriches were very distant over the plain, and their pursuer the fennec was no longer visible to the naked eye. With the glass, however, Hans could still make it out, and could see that it was manoeuvring just as when it passed him. All at once the ostriches came to a stop; and, after an apparent consultation among themselves, the cock squatted down, and his long legs were no longer seen. He was flat down upon his breast, and even through his small pocket-glass Hans could tell that his body looked more spread and bulky than before. Was he covering eggs? Was there a nest? The appearance of the ground about the sitting bird favoured that belief. There was a slight prominence around the body of the bird having the semblance of a bird's nest; but Hans knew that the nest of the ostrich is of very simple construction,--a mere cavity scratched out in the sand, and scarce to be recognised from any great distance. Several white objects lying around the spot led Hans to the conclusion that there _was_ a nest. These objects did not seem larger than "jack-stones," but Hans, calculating well the distance that separated them from his eye, believed them to be ostrich-eggs, and therefore as large as paving-stones. Hans knew that around the nest of the ostrich scattered eggs are usually found--said by some to be there laid as a deposit for the food of the expected progeny during their early days of chickhood! The two hens, after moving about awhile also squatted down, but they appeared only to kneel with their great legs doubled under them; whereas the cock sat low and flat upon his breast. This only more convinced Hans that there was a nest, and that the cock ostrich was taking his turn of duty, while the hens were simply gone to roost in the usual manner. That the cock covered the eggs was nothing surprising to the young naturalist, who knew that it is the habit of the male of these birds to do so, and that he usually takes his turn during the night, when it is colder, and his greater size and strength are required to keep the eggs warm, as well as to protect the nest from prowling beasts of prey. One or other of the hens would very likely relieve him about daybreak. Of course both the hens were mothers in prospective of the future brood, as the cock ostrich is a terrible "Mormon;" and frequently does the polygamous on a large scale, having sometimes as many as a dozen wives. Our old fellow was rather a moderate Mormon, as he appeared to be satisfied with two--though bigamy, no doubt, is quite as sinful as polygamy. Hans concluded that there was a nest, and full of eggs in process of being hatched. It was no evidence against this, that the birds had been away from it together. The day had been a very warm one, and during the middle part of the day--particularly in hot weather--the ostrich wanders away from its eggs, leaving the sun to do its work for it. The hotter the country, the less does the ostrich require to "set;" and in parts of Africa within the torrid zone where the heat reaches a very high degree, the ostrich has very little to do with the hatching of its eggs, but buries them in the burning sand, and makes the sun its "incubator!" But what had become of our fennec--poor little fellow? So asked Hans of himself, as he swept the plain with his telescope. While watching the late movements of the birds, he had altogether forgotten the beast. After a time he was just able to make out its small whitish body stretched upon the ground, under the lee of a little bush, and apparently resolved upon passing the night there. Had there been any hole near, it would have preferred lodging in that--for the fennec is an animal that makes its home in a "burrow." Night had suddenly come on, and the darkness prevented Hans from observing farther the movements of either beast or bird; so putting up his glass, he rejoined his companions in the camp. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE WINGLESS BIRDS. Hans, on returning to the camp, gave an account of what he had seen. All were interested in the relation, but particularly the boys Klaas and Jan, who were not over satisfied that they had not themselves been witnesses of the affair. Hans might very well have told them of it. They wouldn't have minded being waked up to see the ostriches, especially as they passed so near. It wasn't every day one could get such a view of these fine birds--they were so shy no one could get near them, and Hans might very well have come into camp and told them, or called them, Klaas and Jan, to the spot. Hans didn't care whether they ever saw any thing worth seeing--he didn't. So grumbled Klaas and Jan, because Hans had not waked them out of their sweet _siesta_, to see three ostriches stalking over the plain, and not doing any thing in particular. But boys are boys, and so long as they _are_ boys, they will feel a wonderful interest in birds--especially when these birds stand nearly ten feet high, and weigh three hundred pounds, as ostriches do. Had it been a buffalo, or a giraffe, or even an elephant, neither Klaas nor Jan would have so much cared. Beasts are all very well in their way, and may interest full-grown hunters, like Hendrik and Groot Willem, but for "boy hunters," with light fowling-pieces and Number 5 shot, birds are the game--though their Number 5 shot would hardly have tickled an ostrich. No matter for that. They wanted to see the great camel-bird. Hans ought to have apprised them. It was "right mean" of him not to do so,-- right mean, said Jan, and Klaas backed the opinion. How long they might have grumbled, and given vent to their reproaches, can only be guessed at; but the conversation turning upon ostriches assumed a very pleasing character; and Klaas and Jan, becoming deeply interested in it, soon got over their little "miff" with Hans-- especially as it was he who was now interesting them. Upon the subject of ostriches. Hans had read a good deal, and was well acquainted with the character and habits of these most interesting birds. Swartboy stood next in his knowledge of the ostrich, for Swartboy in early life had been a "dweller of the desert,"--the home of the Bushman as well as the great camel-bird. Swartboy was only too happy at the opportunity thus offered of showing off his knowledge, for the late wonderful performances of his Kaffir rival had quite thrown him into the shade. So what with Hans's book-knowledge and Swartboy's practical experience, the young yagers became pretty well acquainted with the whole "history" of the bird. "The ostrich," said Hans, "is an African bird, though also found in the adjacent countries of Asia. Several species of birds somewhat like it, belonging to South America, Australia and the islands of the Indian Archipelago, have been called `ostriches' in the language of travellers. I shall have a word about these presently. "All over the African continent, as well as Arabia, Syria, and Persia, dwells the ostrich, wherever there are desert plains--for this bird is peculiarly a denizen of the desert, and never makes its home in wooded, marshy, or even fertile districts. "It has been known from the earliest times, and must have been more numerous in the days of Heliogabalus than now, since that tyrant had the brains of six hundred ostriches served up at a single feast!" "Oh, the glutton!" exclaimed Jan. "What a gourmand!" echoed Klaas. "I should think after the feast he had more brains in his stomach than in his head," quietly remarked Arend. "No doubt of it," added Hendrik. Hans continued:-- "The ancients knew the ostrich as the `camel-bird,' (_Struthio camelus_). This name was given to it on account of its fancied resemblance to the camel; and in its hoof-like two-toed feet, its long naked thighs and neck, and the pad or cushion on its chest, corresponding to the callosity on the breast of the camel, it does bear a resemblance to this animal. Like it, too, the ostrich is formed for the desert. Aristotle and Pliny described the ostrich as half bird, half quadruped." As soon as Hans had given the more scientific part of the natural history of the ostrich, Swartboy's knowledge of the habits of the bird was produced, and from both were collected the details that follow. Ostriches are gregarious--flocks of _fifty_ may be seen upon the plains, peacefully associating with zebras, quaggas, wildebeests, blue wildebeests, and several other plain-frequenting antelopes. The males are polygamous, and usually have from two to six wives. These lay twelve to sixteen eggs each, in a nest which is only a hole scooped out in the sand about six feet in diameter. Not more than half the eggs are deposited in the nest. The others lie scattered around, and are never hatched. Swartboy alleged that these were intended to feed the young when they came out of the shell: but Hans dissented from this opinion. The naturalist believed that those scattered about were superfluous eggs, which were not deposited in the nest because one bird could not cover all that the whole family of hens would lay; and that once the "setting" was complete, the superfluous eggs were dropped about anywhere. There is a good deal of probability in this conjecture of the young naturalist. It is certain that the scattered eggs are those last laid, and that the birds continue to drop them after the incubation has commenced, but whether they form the food of the young is a disputed point. One bird can cover from thirty to forty, placed as they usually are upon their ends, and Swartboy said that he had often found this number in a nest, but more frequently thirty was the "setting." The male takes part in the incubation, sitting during the night; when his greater size and strength enable him the better to protect the eggs from cold. The "hens" relieve one another during the day, but when the sun is hot all leave the nest to itself, for hours at a time. Hans stated, that in the more tropical regions the eggs are forsaken for long spells, and the hot sand and _sun_ do the work of the parent birds; and that on this account the period of incubation is not fixed, but ranges from thirty to forty days. The young when hatched are well developed, and in a day or two become as large as guinea-hens, leaving the nest and running about in charge of the parent birds. At this period the old ones are very careful of their offspring. When an enemy approaches, the hen that has charge of the flock will endeavour to attract the intruder upon herself, making a feint of being wounded, spreading and drooping her wings, and tumbling from side to side along the ground, while the cock draws off the chicks in an opposite direction! Partridges, wild ducks, and many other birds, do the same. The eggs of the ostrich are of a dull white colour. They are not all of equal size, nor are the birds either. A medium-sized ostrich-egg is six inches long, and weighs about three pounds. It is excellent eating when broiled among hot cinders, and is a meal for a man,--some say two, some three, while others allege that it is not enough for one. But "a meal for a man" is a very uncertain standard, and depends a good deal on the capacity of the man's stomach and the state of his appetite. A better standard is found in the estimate that one ostrich-egg is equal in quantity to twenty-four of the common domestic fowl. The shells of the ostrich-eggs are very strong, and used by the Bushmen and other natives of the desert as water-vessels--the only vessels that some of them have. A full-grown cock ostrich stands over nine feet in height, and weighs three hundred pounds. The legs of such a bird are immensely thick and muscular, and the thigh-joint equals in size the largest leg of mutton. The ostrich is thought to be the swiftest runner in creation, but there are doubts about this. Certain it is that it cannot be overtaken by a horse in a fair tail-on-end chase; but the bird makes "doubles" in running, and by observing these, the mounted hunter sometimes gets near it by making a cut upon it, and delivers his fire as it passes. To run an ostrich down, however, is considered an impossibility, even by the Arab on his fleet steed. Its bottom is equal to its speed, as it can keep up the pace for hours together. The muscular strength of its great long legs is well adapted for running fast and far; and while on the run, its hoofs make a clatter like those of a trotting horse, while large stones are flung violently to the rear! When at full speed it spreads its white wing-plumes, raising them over its back, but this is only done to balance it, as it could not fly a single yard. Its principal weapon of defence is the leg with its hoof-like foot. With this it can kick like a mule, and the blow will break a man's leg, or send the breath out of his body, as would the kick of a horse! But the principal security of the ostrich lies in its splendid power of vision, combined with its peculiar habitat. It is always on the naked plain, with nothing to interrupt the view, and its keen eye enables it to perceive an enemy long before the latter can get near enough to do it an injury. So sharp is its sight, it can see even farther than it can be seen, large as it is! A most difficult matter it is to get within shooting distance of these wary birds. Sometimes a shot is obtained by lying in wait for them at vleys, or springs, where they come to drink. Many people deny that they ever drink, as they are met with at great distances from water; but it should be remembered that what may appear a great distance to a tired traveller may be nothing to a fleet ostrich, who can fling the miles behind like a race-horse. Others have observed the ostrich come to drink at a particular place once every day; and it is well known that in captivity they swallow large quantities of water. After drinking they do not run so well, and hunters take advantage of this and run them down after leaving the pool. There are hunters residing upon the desert karoos, who hunt the ostrich as a profession. The feathers are of considerable value, as well as the skin, which is tough and strong, and tans into a fine species of leather, out of which jackets and other garments are made. A skin without the feathers is worth about one pound sterling; and the long white plumes of the wings and tail,--of which there are five-and-forty (the finest are from the wings,)--are often sold for a shilling apiece on the spot. Groot Willem observed that the ostrich may be easily domesticated, and he had frequently seen tame ones about the kraals of the frontier boors. They are a useless pet, however; and, although quite harmless as far as man is concerned, they become troublesome in the farm-yard, where they trample the poultry to death, and sometimes gobble up chicks and young ducks, not from any carnivorous propensity, but on account of their extreme voracity: an old rag would be swallowed in the same way. The proper food of the ostrich is tops of shrubby plants, with grain and seeds, though they "bolt" many odd and indigestible substances. They are fond of salt, like most wild animals, and are often seen in large flocks around the salt-pans, or "salines," many of which exist upon the desert plains of Africa. The flesh of the young ostrich is very palatable, but that of an old bird is rather tough and rank. Their eggs, however, are esteemed a delicacy, though some think them heavy. The voice of the ostrich under ordinary circumstances is a deep sonorous chuckle, though at times it gives out a roar resembling that of the lion. When wounded or brought to bay, it hisses like an enraged gander. So much for the ostrich; and now Hans proceeded, as he had promised, to say a word or two about its relatives. The "rhea" is its South American representative, but it has been lately discovered that there are two distinct species in South America, the "nandu," (_Rhea Americana_), and the "petise," or Darwin's rhea, (_Rhea Darwinii_). They resemble each other in form, colour, and general habits, but differ in size and geographical range. The nandu is the larger, and dwells upon the wide plains of La Plata, whereas the petise is confined to the southern part of Patagonia. The nandu resembles the African bird in form, and its dingy brown colour is not far from that of the hen ostrich. Its size, however, is much less, being only five feet in height. The plumes of its wings are less beautiful and valuable than those of its African cousin, though they are also a marketable article, being used for fly-brushes and other household implements. The habits of the rhea show a great similarity to those of the _Struthio_, and it is quite a folly to make separate genera of them. The rhea is gregarious, polygamous, scoops a slovenly nest in the ground, hatches from twenty to thirty eggs, scatters many others around, runs swiftly when pursued, hisses and kicks violently when assailed, and is shy and wary. All these are habits of the ostrich. The rhea, however, has some peculiarities. It feeds upon small fish cast up on the mud banks of rivers, and on roots and grass. It also takes freely to the water, and can cross rapid streams by swimming. The gauchos hunt it with both _lazo_ and _bolas_. Darwin's rhea is less in size, but very similar in colour, form, and habits. It also swims well, and frequents plains near the coast. It is beyond doubt a very closely allied species to _Rhea Americana_, but a bird of a colder habitat. The nandu is not found in North America, nor any species of bird allied to the ostrich. In this respect Nature has neglected the vast desert plains of prairie-land. Even in South America the range of the rhea is limited, and does not extend to the equator, though it comes much farther within the tropics than is generally imagined. It has lately been seen on the savannahs of the Madeira River, far to the north of the La Plata plains. Another cousin of the ostrich is the "emeu," (_Dromanis Novae Hollandiae_). I give the clumsy title of the closet-naturalists, though there is no reason in the world why this bird should be separated from the genus of either ostrich or rhea, except to confuse the student of natural history. In form and habits it resembles both, and in colour it is quite like the rhea. It is, however, a much taller bird--standing seven feet--and a full-grown male approaches the standard of a hen ostrich. It has all the characteristics of the ostrich--is gregarious, polygamous, nestles on the ground, shy, wary, runs swiftly, swims well, kicks so as to kill a dog or break the leg of a man, utters an odd drumming note, and lays eggs nearly as large as those of the ostrich, but of deep green colour. The eggs of the rhea are of a bluish cast. It is supposed that, like the rhea, there are two species of emeu-- another and smaller one having been reported as existing in the northern parts of the great island of Australia. In the peninsula of Malacca and the islands of the Asiatic Archipelago, the ostrich has a representative that differs from it more than either rhea or emeu. This is the cassowary, (_Cassuarius cassoar_). Its body is covered with a thick coat of feathers of a deep black colour, and so disposed as to present a hairy appearance, while its head and neck are naked, the skin of these parts being of the loveliest blue-purple and scarlet blended together. The cassowary differs from the ostriches in many respects. It is not a bird of the desert, but dwells in fertile districts and feeds upon soft succulent herbage. It resembles the ostriches, however, in most of its habits. Like them it defends itself by kicking, deposits its eggs on the ground, and leaves them to be hatched by the sun; is bold when assailed, is fleet and strong, and altogether may be regarded as one of the most interesting of the tribe, or of birds in general. Hans mentioned the "apteryx," or kiwi-kiwi, only to say that there were two species of it very much alike, both natives of New Zealand, both nocturnal and burrowing in their habits; and Hans added that he did not regard them as belonging to the ostrich family at all, any more than the "auks" or "penguins." Thus ended the talk about the wingless birds. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. THE FENNEC AND THE OSTRICH-EGGS. Before retiring to rest, the young yagers had resolved upon a pleasant performance for the morrow--that was, a "surround" of the ostriches. They had planned it that Hendrik and Groot Willem should go first, and ride a large circuit around, so as to get far beyond the nest. Arend and Hans would start shortly after taking different sides, while Klaas and Jan should cover the direction towards the camp. In this way the six, widely separated from each other, would enclose the birds in a circle; and when the latter became alarmed and started to run, they were to be "headed" by whoever was nearest, and turned back to the opposite side. This is the mode practised by the South African hunters, and is the only way by which the ostrich can be tired out and run down, for on such occasions, if the "surround" be well managed, the bird becomes confused, runs from one side to the other, and at length suffers itself to be captured or shot. It is a dangerous matter, however, to approach too near the game even when "blown" or wounded. A wounded ostrich has been known to send the hunter sprawling, and break a leg or an arm, or a pair of ribs, by one fling of its muscular limb! Hans, in his usual prudent way, had cautioned his companions to beware of this danger. They all went to rest with feelings of pleasant anticipation for the morrow. They had high hopes they would either kill or capture the old cock, and pluck his snow-white plumes to add to their "trophies." The only drawback upon their plans appeared to be their number. They had doubts whether six could surround the ostriches, so as to head and turn them--especially as of the six two were little boys mounted on small ponies, for the chargers ridden by Klaas and Jan were of this character. It was resolved, however, that Congo and Swartboy should help to form the circle. They had no horses, but both were active afoot, and either could run quite as fast as the ponies. The one armed with his assegais, and the other with his tiny bow and poisoned arrows, they would be well worth a place in the ring; and the ostriches would thus have eight, instead of six, points in the compass closed up against them. Add to this, that there were the six buck-dogs to assist them, and it will be acknowledged that their prospect of capturing the ostriches was not so bad. Sad to say, their hopes of a brilliant day's sport ended in complete disappointment. All their fine plans were frustrated by a singular occurrence. A hyena during the night had stolen into camp, and had eaten up the girth and part of the flaps of Hendriks saddle; and before the damage could be repaired the ostriches had gone off from the nest. They were still around it when the hunters arose, but the delay in mending the saddle was fatal to the plan of a "surround." The morning was a hot sultry one, and the birds leaving their business to the sun, went early away. Just as the boys were mounting, they saw them move off in long strides towards the opposite side of the plain. They were soon out of sight of the naked eye; but Hans followed them with his glass, until that also failed to keep them in view. It was a great disappointment to everybody, just as it would be to a field of fox-hunters, who, after getting into the saddle, had found themselves driven back to their stables by frost and snow. Hendrik was particularly out of temper, on account of the ill luck that had befallen his saddle; and if a hyena had shown itself at that moment, it would have stood a fair chance of getting a bullet into its body. All the others, though in a less degree, shared Hendrik's uncomfortable reflections. All six sat chafing in their saddles, not knowing what to do. "Let us ride out to the nest," proposed Arend. "At all events, the eggs have not `stole away.' We'll get them, and, by the way, I shouldn't object to an omelette for breakfast," (they had not yet breakfasted:) "I'm tired enough of venison and dry biltong. What say you?" "By all means," rejoined Groot Willem; "let us bring in the eggs, and breakfast on them--that is, if they're not too far gone. I should like an egg for breakfast myself. Come on then!" "Stop!" cried Hans; "stop a moment, yagers! Perhaps we'll not be disappointed--we may have a chase yet." Hans had the glass to his eye as he spoke. "What!" inquired several; "are they coming back?" Hans made no reply for a moment. He could not be looking after the ostriches. His telescope was pointed in the direction of the nest. The birds were not there! "It is it!--it is! the very creature itself!" exclaimed Hans, in a half-soliloquy. "What is it? what creature?" demanded the boys. "The fox!" replied Hans. "What fox!" "Why, the fennec--the same I saw last night--yonder it is, though you can't see it with the naked eye. I can barely make it out with the glass. It is up close by the nest of the ostriches, and appears busy about something." "The eggs, I warrant," suggested Groot Willem. "A fox-chase! a fox-chase!" exclaimed Hendrik, partially recovering temper. "A fox-chase!" echoed Klaas and Jan. "A fox-chase be it then," assented Hans; and all six set their horses in motion, whistling to the buck-dogs to follow. They headed directly for the ostriches' nest. They were not going to make a circuit for such an insignificant creature as the little fennec. They knew that it could only escape them by getting to a hole, as they had dogs that could trail and run it down go where it would. It was probable that its burrow was not very near. It had evidently strayed away from home, and "dogged" the ostriches to their nest, so as to get at their eggs. Swartboy alleged that such was its habit--that it was fonder of eggs than any other food--and that the eggs of the great bird were its particular favourites. That it was constantly roving about in search of ostrich-nests; and as these are very difficult, even for a fox to find, the fennec, when it suspects that the ostriches are laying, will follow them for miles to discover the nest--just as Hans had seen this one do. Swartboy had given all this information on the preceding night, which, of course, explained the mystery of such a small creature running upon the trail of the great ostriches. It was not _them_, but _their eggs_, it wanted. Now there was still a mystery Swartboy had not explained; and that was, how this animal, when it found the eggs, was able to _get at their contents_? The shell of the ostrich-egg is thick and strong. It requires a considerable blow with some hard weapon to break it, and how a puny creature, like the little fennec, could effect a breach was a mystery to all, but especially to the naturalist Hans. The fennec was no stranger to him. He had seen many of them in captivity. He knew something of their anatomy. He knew that their skulls were destitute of the ridge in which the temporal muscles are inserted, and that consequently they were weak-jawed animals--much more so than the common fox. It was not possible for them to have broken the shell of an ostrich-egg with their jaws. He knew that it was equally impossible for them to effect that purpose with the claws of their feet--the soles of which are covered with soft wool, as in the Arctic fox--a peculiarity considering that the fennec is an inhabitant of the hottest climes, and one quite unexplained by naturalists! From the strength and structure of the animal, Hans believed it could no more have got at the contents of an ostrich-egg than it could have eaten its way into the heart of a bomb-shell. Swartboy was here at fault. He only knew that it _did_ get at the contents, white and yolk; but _how_ he had never observed. He could not tell. He could not solve the mystery. They had not long to wait in doubt about this matter. In less than ten minutes after, the fennec himself presented the solution before the astonished eyes of the young yagers. When they had ridden up within some three hundred yards of the nest the little animal came under the view of all, and they pulled up to watch his manoeuvres. He was so busy about his own affairs, that he had not perceived their approach. The ground was covered with soft sand, so that the hoofs made no noise, and with all his keen sense of hearing-- for he possesses that in proportion to his large ears--he had not caught a sound. He was hard at work, and never looked towards them. In fact, he was seen to raise his head at intervals, and look towards the point whither the ostriches had gone, and all his gazing was in that direction. The party had, therefore, a good view of the animal without being observed by him; and they watched his manoeuvres with interest. Swartboy and the Kaffir held the dogs in their leashes, and all remained silent as statues. Now what was the little fennec doing? At first the spectators were puzzled to make out, but presently all was explained. When they first saw him he was at a distance of several yards from the nest, and going farther from it, on the opposite side to that where the hunters had halted. His tail was towards them, and the fore-part of his body appeared to be raised as if his paws rested upon something. This something was seen to be an ostrich's egg. He was pushing it before him along the ground, using his feet alternately, and forcing the _egg_ to turn. This action was similar to that of some unfortunate fellow on the tread-mill, except that it was voluntary on the part of the fennec. Now why was he rolling the _egg_? Did he mean to transport it in that way to his burrow? It would have been an arduous task, as it was not likely his subterranean dwelling was anywhere in that neighbourhood. But he had no such design. His intention was to eat his breakfast on that very spot, or at all events very near it; and the spectators soon saw where his table was to be spread, for some of them now remembered an odd story they had heard of the caama, and already suspected his design. About three or four yards from his snout lay a stone. It was a boulder of small dimensions, some twelve inches in height, but quite large enough for the fennec's purpose. It was evident that he had a purpose with this stone, for he was rolling the egg directly towards it. Those who had guessed his design were not disappointed. When his snout was within about three feet of the stone, the fennec made a sudden rush forward, carrying the egg along by a rapid motion of his feet, until the hard shell came in contact with the harder rock. A "crash" reached the ears of the hunters, and, looking attentively, they saw that the egg was broken into "smithereens!" The breakfast of the fennec was now before him, and he at once set about eating it, but the hunters were hungry too, their patience could hold out no longer, and spurring their horses and letting slip the dogs, they galloped forward. It was a short run for a fox to give. The creature had hardly made good a couple of hundred yards, before the buck-dogs threw him; and it was just as much as Swartboy could do, aided by his jambok of hippopotamus-hide, to save his beautiful skin from their jaws. The eggs were soon collected. Those in the nest had "gone too far," as Groot Willem had feared: some contained chicks, and others were addled. But of the ones scattered about several turned out quite fresh, so that the hunters had omelette for breakfast, as they had wished. Swartboy showed them how to cook the eggs to perfection. This mode was to set one end in the ashes, break a hole in the other, and then with a little stick keep stirring the contents until they were sufficiently broiled. That is an omelette of ostrich-eggs. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE BLAUW-BOKS. After all, the young yagers were not to be disappointed in a chase. If the fox of South Africa gives but poor sport, there are plenty of other animals, neither so weak-limbed nor short-winded; and one of this kind it was their fortune to fall in with on that same day, and almost within the hour. On the other side of the mokhala grove from that on which the ostriches had been observed, lay a wide open plain. It was not a desert, although it approached so near to one,--separated from it only by a belt of timber. It was a prairie or natural meadow, the grass--perhaps from contrast with the broad brown expanse on the other side--having an extremely fresh green look. It was a large plain, though not limitless to the view. In the distance could be seen a wood of the giraffe-acacia, or "cameel-doorns," bounding the horizon; and several clumps of these trees, with their umbrella-like heads and feathery fronds of pale green, stood isolated upon the plain, giving the scene altogether an interesting aspect. A very park appeared this plain, with wide open pastures between its groves and coppices, many of which were of such regular forms that one would have fancied they had been planted to adorn it. So lordly a park, such rich pastures, could not be untenanted; nor were they. There was no mansion, no house, not a trace of a human being to be seen, but for all that the plain had its denizens. Many forms could be distinguished upon or around it, both of winged and wingless creatures. Birds and quadrupeds of rare and beautiful kinds made this fair scene their home. Over its greensward stalks the "secretary," the true serpent-eater, hunting among the grass for his glittering prey. Even without using his wings, he need not fear any of the crouching _carnivora_, as his long legs suffice to carry him far beyond reach of either hyena, jackal, wild dog, guepard, or leopard. Swift is he, almost as the great ostrich itself,--so swift as to have earned from the Arabs the singular _sobriquet_ of the "Devil's horse." Not far off another tall bird stands erect upon the plain, but of very different character and habits. This is the "pauw" or "wild peacock,"-- a peacock only in the phraseology of the boors, for the bird is a bustard, and the largest of his tribe--the _Otis kori_. Running from copse to copse, or feeding over the plain, may be seen flocks of the pearly guinea-fowl, (_Numida meleagris_), whose constant chattering grates harshly on the ear, resembling the metallic clanking of machinery, or the sharpening of a hundred saws. From tree to tree flutter gaudy parrots, green pigeons, and soft cooing doves, and over flowery shrubs flit numerous species of tiny "honey-suckers,"--the African representatives of the humming-birds. Some trees carry the pensile nests of the weaver-bird, (_Ploceus_), hanging from their branches like large fruits, while many of the cameel-doorns are loaded with the vast thatch-like republican dwellings of the sociable grosbeak, (_Loxia socia_). But birds are not the only tenants of this fair scene. Quadrupeds, as bright and beautiful as they, haunt its verdant glades, or repose under the grateful shadow of its acacia-groves. In a few hours' ride one might see graceful antelopes of many species. The nimble springbok--the gazelle of South Africa--might be observed trooping over the sward, or bounding high in air either in sport or alarm--the orange "hartebeest," and the purple "sassybe," might be seen--the shaggy-maned eccentric gnoo, scouring the plain in circles-- droves of quaggas, or of the still more beautiful "zebra of the plains," (_Equus Burchellii_), might be seen too, crouching around the copses, the leopard, fair but fearful to look upon; and still more fearful to behold the tawny tyrant of the scene--the lion. All these creatures, and many more of equal interest, might come under the eye of the traveller or hunter during a single day's ride through that wild domain. Thus full of life, what a contrast did this beautiful meadow present to the monotonous waste of wilderness, that stretched away from the opposite side of the grove to the far horizon! Baulked in their projected "surround" of the ostriches--disappointed by the "poor sport" which the fox had afforded, the hunter-boys were determined not to be "choused" out of a chase. Some sort of one they would have, if it were only a brush after springboks, for these, they knew, they could find at any time. They were aware of the existence of the fine plain--the edge of which came up within a few hundred yards of their camp. They had pastured their cattle there on the evening before; and conjectured that it must be the haunt of many kinds of game. For this reason they now resolved upon making an excursion to that quarter, to hunt whatever might turn up. They came to this determination, only after their return from the ostriches' nest; but as they had made up their minds to it before eating breakfast, they did not off-saddle, but kept their horses ready for being mounted. As soon as the meal was over, they took once more to their saddles and rode off, the buck-dogs following at the heels of their horses. Congo and Swartboy stayed by the camp. They had not far to go, before coming in view of their game; and rare game that was. They were scarce yet a hundred paces from the camp, and just about to ride out from the timber, when Hendrik, in the advance, suddenly reined up his horse, making a sign for the others to do the same. All pulled up in a breath, and sat in their saddles, gazing out through the leaves. Though still within the shadow of the grove, all had a good view of the open plain; and before them was a sight that would have warmed the hearts of older hunters than they. Out upon the plain, and directly in front of them, was a herd of noble antelopes. They were neither gnoos, nor springboks, nor hartebeests, nor any of the common kinds that the party had already met with, and had hunted to their satisfaction. Indeed, they were of a species that none of the six had _ever seen_ before, and they only knew them to be antelopes from the make of their bodies, the shape of their horns, and other points characteristic of these animals. They were antelopes of large size, standing nearly four feet high, having sabre-shaped horns curving gently backward and ringed to within six inches of their tips. Their general colour was ashy grey, tinged with raven-blue--the blue tint being caused by the deep black colour of the skin shining through the hair. Although none of the party had ever seen such antelopes before, Hans, and also the hunters Hendrik and Groot Willem, guessed what kind they were. They were of a kind that once ranged the Graaf Reinet, and even as far south as the Cape itself, though there they were never common. That was long before any of the young yagers had ever fired a gun or mounted a horse, but as these remembered having heard their fathers talking of this animal--of its blue colour, of its long curving horns, of its fine outline of form, as well as bold fierce character--they recognised those before them by the descriptions they had heard. They could be no other than _blue-bucks_, or _blauw-boks_ in the language of the boors. Hans, after eyeing them a moment, gave this as his opinion. The species was the blauw-bok, the _Aigocerus leucophea_ of modern systematists. Now of the group of antelopes to which the general name _Aigocerus_ has been given there are five species--all large noble animals, and all inhabitants of South Africa, and particularly the countries adjacent to the Great Orange River. First, there is the "waterbuck," (_Aigocerus ellipsiprymnus_), which stands nearly four feet in height, is of bluish grey colour, frequents the banks of rivers, takes the water freely--whence its trivial name-- swims well, is bold, fierce, strong, and dangerous, when bayed or wounded. Secondly, there is the "takhaitze," (_Aigocerus barbatus_), nearly as large as the waterbuck, but distinguished by a long beard and mane. The character of the waterbuck for fierceness and daring also belongs to the takhaitze, and both are swift runners. The latter, however, is less attached to the water, and frequents a hilly region, browsing goat-like upon the leaves of the acacia. The third of this genus is the "roan antelope," (_Aigocerus equinus_), a strong fierce animal, with horns curving backwards as in the blue-buck, but thicker, and more rapid in the curve. It is an antelope not of the plains, but a dweller in the hilly region. The "sable antelope" (_Aigocerus niger_) is by far the most beautiful animal of the group. It is not many years since this antelope was made known to science, having been discovered in South Africa by a keen British sportsman. It is one of the largest of the race, standing four feet six inches in height, and carrying a pair of scimitar-shaped horns over three feet in length. Its colour is a deep glossy black or sable-- whence its specific appellation--though it is white underneath with white markings about the head and neck. None of the antelopes of this group are of common occurrence even in their native haunts. None of the species can be called gregarious--that is, they do not appear in large herds, like the springboks, gnoos, hartebeests, or bonteboks--though small troops of less than a dozen--families, in fact--may be seen together. Oftener they are met with in pairs, or single individuals, and they are all scarce in the regions they inhabit when compared with the vast herds of the more social kinds. The blue-buck is now one of the very rarest of the group, so much so that some naturalists believe it to be extinct. That is not likely. Africa is a large country. Now all this information was furnished by philosopher Hans. He did not offer it just then--that is when they came in sight of the herd of blue-bucks; though he would, likely enough, had the others been inclined to listen to him. But they were not. The hunters Hendrik and Groot Willem were gazing with eyes wide open, admiring the beautiful proportions of the blauw-boks, which promised them a glorious run. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. A BRUSH AFTER THE BLUE-BUCKS. As already stated, there were seven antelopes in the herd. One, an old buck, larger than any of the rest, and having horns over three feet long, was in the advance acting as leader. When first observed, they were approaching the grove of mokhalas--perhaps to reach the water by the spring. So thought the yagers, and held a hurried consultation about it, as they watched the advance of the animals. Hurried it was, and abruptly terminated, for before they could come to any definite plan of action, one of the buck-dogs, a young and half-trained animal, sprang forward out of cover, and opened his bay right in the faces of the antelopes. The whole seven wheeled round in their tracks, and obedient to a snorting signal of the leader, started back in the direction they had come, going at top speed. Of course all idea of stratagem was foiled by the unexpected behaviour of the dog. A straight tail-on-end chase was the only course left the hunters to follow; and, plying the spur, all the six shot out of the timber, and rode "view halloo" over the open plain. A splendid chase it was for several minutes--the seven blue-bucks in advance, the dogs in the middle, and the "field" following in the rear. A splendid chase, indeed! But only for a few minutes did dogs, hunters, and game, maintain these relative positions. The horsemen spread first. The ponies of Klaas and Jan fell to the rear, and were soon distanced. Then lagged the philosopher Hans, whose cob, though steady under fire, and a good roadster, was no hunter; and, next, the handsome Arend,--who might have taken a better place, for his steed was a good one. But Arend cared but little for hunting, and less for hard riding under a hot sun; and having permitted himself to get so far behind that the view of the chase was no longer interesting, he reined up under the shade of a cameel-doorn, and commenced fanning himself with the gauntlet of his military glove! There were two, however, who still rode to the dogs with the keen ardour of sportsmen--Hendrik and Groot Willem; and from a feeling of rivalry, as already hinted at, each was determined to be in at the death. Both were well mounted, though very dissimilarly. The horse that Hendrik rode was a beautiful coal-black, of medium size, with a dash of the Arab in him--just enough to make of him what is termed a "hunter,"-- a breed the finest in the world, and for all purposes, except _race-course gambling_, finer even than the Arabian itself. Groot Willem's horse differed widely from this kind; and the same description that has been given of Groot Willem, or one very similar, would answer for his steed. In size, he bore the same proportion to Hendrik's hunter that his rider bore to Hendrik--that is, he was a full half bigger; but his own members were out of all proportion with each other. His body was flat and gaunt, and his limbs long and bony. His neck also was of an immense length, without the slightest semblance of a curve; and his head was angular and "bumpy," like that of a giraffe. He had other points of similarity to this singular quadruped, in his rough awkward gait, and long-stumped thin-haired tail; and the young yagers, in view of these resemblances, had jocosely christened him "Groot-Kameel," (Great Camel). He was about as ugly a horse as could have been found in all the land of the boors; and yet his owner, Groot Willem, would not have exchanged him for the handsomest horse in Africa. Notwithstanding his ugliness, he was a good horse. In jockey phrase, "a bad 'un to look at, a good 'un to go." Groot Willem was no man for appearances. He liked performance better than promise; and the "Great Camel" was the type of that idea--he promised nothing, but performed amazingly. Many a quagga, and wildebeest and sassybe, had he ridden down; many a stanch buck-dog had he tired out and passed in the chase with the heavy weight of Groot Willem on his back. No wonder the latter felt a high regard for his well-trained hunting horse. Hendrik had an equal affection for his beautiful black; and as no opportunity had yet offered of a fair trial between the two steeds, a good deal of talk had passed about their respective merits as regarded speed and "bottom." On the question of beauty nothing could be said. Hendrik had the advantage there; and even Groot Willem acknowledged it, at the same time that he sneered at _that_ being considered a "merit" in a horse. The chase of the blauw-boks seemed to offer the chance of a fair trial. The animals had taken across the open plain, which would lead the hunters several miles at least, as the game was not one to be run down in a hurry. In a ride like that before them, it would be seen which backed the best steed. Both riders were determined to make the most of their horses. Both were wary hunters, and, instead of dashing forward at break-neck speed, it could be seen that each was "going cunning," and saving their steeds for the final burst. Hendrik felt that in speed for a mile or two he could have headed the "Camel" easily enough. But the bucks had got a good start, and it was not likely he could overtake them within that distance. He held up, therefore, riding gently, lest in the end the great horse of his rival might come out too strong for him. For some distance the two galloped "cheek by jowl," the dogs far in the advance, and the bucks still running together before them. The latter did not seek to escape into the bushes, though they passed near several large copses. They kept in the open plain, in a course nearly direct. Stag-like they were running for some water--as antelopes of the _aigocerine_ group habitually do. But the dogs did not husband their speed, some of them were young and foolish, although very swift; and before the bucks had passed over a mile of ground, two or three of their canine pursuers pushed them so closely that the herd broke, and the antelopes, in their terror, forsook each other, and ran wildly in various directions. The character of the hunt was now quite altered. The pack split up just as the game had done, each dog following the antelope that seemed nearest him, and in a few moments the chase was scattered all over the plain. The two hunters had now a choice, whether each should pursue a separate game, or both take after the same. But neither thought for a moment of separating from the other, except by _heading_ him. The spirit of rivalry, though silent, was strongly felt by both. Even the very horses seemed to be actuated by a similar feeling, eyeing each other askance, as they galloped side by side! The antelope that both were determined to follow was easily selected from the rest. The old buck that hitherto led the herd had now gone off by himself, followed by a pair of the stanchest dogs. _His_ horns were the meteors that gleamed in the _eyes_ of our hunters, and beckoned them on. Without exchanging a word with each other, both rode after the buck. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. GROOT WILLEM GETS A TUMBLE. The chase was now one of exceeding interest, and had become a simple trial of speed between horses, dogs, and antelope. The buck had kept on in a direct line, when the others broke away from him. He had been foremost at the time, and had no need to turn out of his course. Besides he knew where he was running to. Terror had driven the others out of their senses, and they had fled without design, while the old buck, not losing his "presence of mind," kept on for the water. A dark belt seen ahead was a forest fringing some stream or river. That was the point he was making for, but a wide plain must be crossed before he could wet his hoof in any water. Over this plain now swept the chase. Oddly enough, the two dogs that had chosen the buck for their game were rival dogs--that is, each hunter was owner of one of them, and regarded him as a favourite; and all three kinds, dogs, horses, and riders, seemed to be on their mettle, and were doing their very best. Do not fancy there was any ill-feeling between Groot Willem and Hendrik. Nothing of the sort. Each loved his horse and his dog, and wished them to excel--each had his hunter reputation at stake in the result--and each had resolved upon carrying the head and horns of that blue-buck in triumph to the camp! Notwithstanding all this, there was no "bad blood" between the boys. Nothing of the sort. Beautifully the buck ran. Lightly he leaped over the turf, his limbs at each spring stretching to an almost horizontal line, with head high in air and horns curving backward to his flanks. Well and beautifully he ran! Sometimes he gained on his pursuers, as the nature of the ground favoured his hoofs; but again the strong buck-dogs howled upon his heels, and the hunters galloped but a hundred yards behind him. The blue of his back soon changed to a deeper tint, as the sweat poured through his sable skin, and the froth in large flakes clouted his neck and shoulders. His red tongue hung dripping from his jaws, and the hunters might have heard his hard breathing but for the panting of their own steeds. Five miles did they go in that wild gallop--five miles without drawing rein or changing pace! The woods were near--perhaps the water! The buck would gain them if not hard pressed--there might be a deep reach of some large river--the blauw-bok can swim like a duck--he would plunge in--they could not follow--they would lose him! With such fears the hunters spurred their horses for a final burst. Their speed had proved nearly equal. Now was the time to try their "bottom." Both shot forward at the fresh touch of the steel; but at the second or third spring the ground under the "Great Camel" gave way, and the huge horse with his heavy rider rolled headlong to the earth! He had broken through the burrow of the _aard-wolf_! Hendrik, who had shot a little ahead, heard the confused noise behind, and, looking over his shoulder, saw Groot Willem and the "Camel" struggling together over the turf. A more attractive object, however, was in front of him--the panting buck--and without making halt, or staying to inquire whether his fellow-hunter was hurt--a pardonable neglect among sportsmen--he pressed his wearied horse still forward and onward. In five minutes after, the buck stood to bay by the edge of the timber, and the dogs rushed up and sprang at him. It was a fatal spring for one of them--the favourite of Groot Willem. The luck was against him, as it had gone against his master. A single "gowl" came from his throat, as he was flung back off the sharp horns of the antelope. It was the last note he ever uttered, for in a moment more he had kicked his last kick, and lay lifeless upon the plain! And very likely Hendrik's favourite would have shared the same fate; but his master at this moment riding near, caused the blue-buck a fresh alarm, and he broke bay, and dashed into the bushes followed by the dog. Hendrik now lost sight of the chase, though he could hear the breaking branches, as the strong antelope made his way through the thicket, and the baying of the dog still told him the direction in which the game was going. Putting his horse to a more moderate pace, he followed through the _bosch_, as well as he could. He expected every moment to hear the hound bark, the signal that the buck had again stood to bay, but he was doomed to disappointment. No such sound reached his ears. He began to think that the buck was lost, and that, after all the chances in his favour, he would return to camp with no better story to tell than his rival. He was becoming exceedingly chagrined with the turn things had taken, when, to his further chagrin, he heard a loud plunge, as of some heavy object falling into deep water. He knew it was the buck. Another plunge!--that was the dog. There was a river ahead--the antelope had taken to it, and would now escape to a certainty. The water seemed near--there was an open tract that led in that direction. Perhaps he might be in time. Perhaps he might get to the bank before the buck could reach the opposite shore. A bullet from his rifle might yet secure the game. Without hesitating a moment he again spurred his horse, and galloped down the hill in the direction of the water. There _was_ a river, and in a few seconds' time Hendrik was on its bank. He had arrived at a place where the water was deep and the current still, but the rippling wave on the surface guided him. Two objects were seen above the surface moving rapidly across. They were the horns of the buck and the head of the buck-dog! Hendrik had no time to alight. Before he could steady his horse, the blauw-bok had got out of the water, and was climbing up the opposite bank. There was just time for a hurried shot. The broad back of the antelope offered a fair mark, and the next moment a tuft of the hair near the spine, was seen to fly up like a spark, while a red stream spouted from the spot. The crack of a rifle explained this phenomenon; and before its echoes had died away, the antelope came tumbling down the slope, and lay motionless by the edge of the water. The horns were Hendrik's! CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A TOUGH STRUGGLE. The horns were Hendrik's! So thought Hendrik, when, at the crack of his rifle, he saw the buck roll backward down the bank into the very jaws of the buck-dog. He was mistaken, however--as he had reason to think the moment after-- when the antelope, instead of lying still where it had fallen, rose to its feet again, beat off the dog with its horns, and springing over him, once more plunged into the river! The dog bounded after, and, swimming faster than the antelope, overtook it near the middle of the stream, seizing it by the quarters as he got within reach. The strong buck soon shook him off, and turning short upon his persecutor, struck at him in the water. Two or three times the hound was under its horns, but the water yielding saved Hendrik's favourite from destruction, although more than once he was forced under the surface. This struggle was kept up for some moments. The river ran red, blood pouring from the wound of the bullet, as well as from the flanks of the antelope, lacerated by the tusks of his canine assailant. The blood of the hound also helped to colour the current--for the sharp horns of the buck had been used to some purpose, and several gashes appeared in the hide of the dog, from which the crimson flood streamed copiously. After delivering his fire, Hendrik had alighted, not with the intention of reloading, but merely to secure his prize, which, as he supposed, had been finished by the shot. He was about tying his bridle to a branch; but, before he had succeeded in making a knot, the renewed struggle on the opposite bank, followed by the plunge, caused him suddenly to drop the reins and again lay hold of his rifle. He loaded with all haste, and ran forward to the bank. There was a fringing of willow-bushes along the edge of the river. In the saddle Hendrik had been able to look over them, and at that elevation commanded a view of the water. Afoot he could not see it, except obscurely through the tops of the willows. He could only see that the water was waving with eddies and covered with frothy bubbles. He could hear that a struggle was going on between buck and buck-dog, but the combatants had got close in to the willows, and the leaves prevented Hendrik from seeing either of them. At one place there was a break in the willows, where the bank sloped downward to the water's edge. It was a mere pathway, made by wild animals in going to drink. On both sides of it the bushes grew thick, forming a narrow lane or alley. Hendrik's eye fell upon this path, and the next moment he was hastening down it. The antelope from the river had also noted the path. It was the place easiest of access from the water, as there the bank was more shelving than at any other point; and just at the time the hunter rushed into it from the woods, the buck was entering its opposite end from the water! Both were going at full speed, and in five seconds' time they met face to face in the narrow pathway! There was no chance for either to make way for the other. The close thicket on each side prevented that. There was no chance for either to retreat; the impetuosity with which they were running rendered it impossible for either to give back or even halt. They must meet with a fearful collision! Such a meeting would be entirely to the advantage of the buck, and, perhaps, to the total destruction of the hunter. Hendrik saw this, and would have aimed at the buck and fired had time been allowed him. But so sudden and unexpected was the encounter that he had not even time to get his rifle to the level, before the animal was too near to admit of such delay. He fired wildly without taking aim. The bullet scored the back of the antelope, only to add to its fury; and with head lowered and scimitars set, it rushed onward upon the hunter. It was a moment of peril for Hendrik. Another moment, and he would have been impaled upon the sharp horns; but at that instant, as if guided by an impulse of instinct, he dropped his rifle, and ran forward towards the buck, as if to fling himself upon its horns! That was far from being his intention, however. When within about three feet of these horns, he gave a sudden bound and rose like a springbok into the air! That spring saved him. Before he came down again the horns had passed under him, and he fell heavily across the back of the buck. The hind-quarters of the antelope sank under his weight, and Hendrik slipped off; but before he could recover his feet, the furious animal had turned, and was again springing upon him where he lay. It would have been all up with Hendrik, had he been left to himself at that moment. But succour was nigh. The buck-dog had reached the spot; and just as the antelope was making his rush, the dog sprang forward, and, seizing it by the throat, hung fast. Hendrik received the blow, but the weight of the dog hanging to the throat of the antelope prevented the latter from giving it with effect, and the hunter was but slightly injured. In an instant the buck kicked the dog off with its hoofs, and flung him to the ground. In another instant it would have finished him with its horns; but Hendrik, from the sharp blow he had received, was now as angry as the antelope itself, and was not going to see his favourite hound killed before his eyes without making an effort to save him. Warmed to the conflict, he thought no longer of retreating; and, drawing his hunting-knife, he sprang forward upon the antelope, that, engaged with the dog, chanced to stand broadside towards him. With his left hand the hunter grasped one of the horns near its tip; and, using this as a fulcrum, he turned round upon it, and thrust the long blade between the ribs of the buck! It was a home-thrust--for the animal fell dead at Hendrik's feet before he could let go his hold upon the horn. The blade had passed through its heart. As soon as Hendrik had cooled a little from the conflict, he thought of Groot Willem, who had not yet come up. He began to fear that the latter might have received some serious injury, and he determined to ride back to the spot, letting the buck lie where it had fallen. He could return for it afterwards. Fortunately his own well-trained horse had not run off--though left with trailing bridle--and Hendrik was soon mounted and riding back on the spoor of the chase. There was one thing that mystified Hendrik not a little. While battling with the buck he had heard the loud report of Groot Willem's roer. What could he have fired at? Had any of the other antelopes come in his way? or was it a signal of distress? Hendrik was mystified and felt some apprehension. He had not far to go to satisfy himself. On reaching the edge of the timber, he saw Groot Willem mounted and about starting forward to rejoin him. This was a joyful sight to Hendrik, as the fact that Groot Willem was once more in the saddle and the "Camel" upon his legs again, was good _prima facie_ evidence that neither had sustained any very serious damage. Nor had they, as Hendrik ascertained by riding up to the spot. Groot Willem was not so badly hurt as Hendrik himself, for the latter had one of his arms well scored by the horns of the buck. Groot Willem's temper, however, was severely ruffled; and though Hendrik was very much inclined to laugh at the accident, he forbore doing so, out of regard for his friend's feelings. Hendrik now inquired about the report he had heard. Was it the roer? Groot Willem answered his question in the affirmative, by a simple nod, at the same time pointing to an odd-looking animal that lay dead upon the ground, with all the appearance of having been freshly killed. Hendrik rode forward, and, bending down in his saddle, for some moments regarded the animal. A rare and singular creature it was. It was about the size of a large terrier, but shaped very differently. It had the drooping hind-quarters that distinguish the hyenas, and altogether the look of these animals; but its muzzle was much more slender and pointed, its back more rounded, and its limbs not so stout as those of the hyena's. It was a more agreeable creature to look upon, and although its hair was long, it had a soft woolly appearance. The general colour of the hair was grey with a reddish tinge, and with black bands running transversely to the body of the animal. This as much as anything else caused it to resemble the hyena--that is, the species known as the "striped hyena," (_Hyena striata_). It was not a hyena, however, but one of those odd animals that seem to belong to no class of creatures, but form a connecting link between several. South Africa is especially prolific in such eccentric forms, both among its birds and quadrupeds. As an illustration of this, we might mention the wild-hound, the hyrax, the zerda, the fennec, the gnoo, and the aard-vark; and among birds, the serpent-eater, the bateleur eagle, and several other kinds. Most of these odd animals are only represented by a single species, and that only to be found in South Africa. Now the creature that lay stretched out before the eyes of Hendrik was just one of these zoological puzzles, that has occupied the attention of the systematists for a long while. Some have classed it among dogs, others with hyenas, some make a civet of it, and others a fox. With all these animals it has affinities, both in habits and anatomical structure, but it is not near enough to any to be regarded either as dog, fox, civet, or hyena; and hence a genus has been created for itself--the genus _Proteles_. It was a _proteles_ that lay upon the ground--_Proteles Delalandii_,--so called from its first describer, the traveller De Lalande. Hendrik and Groot Willem knew the animal by the name of "aard-wolf," or earth-wolf, so called because it lives underground in a burrow of its own making. They knew it well enough, for it is common through all South Africa--even in the settled districts, though on account of its nocturnal and burrowing habits it is not often seen. It makes itself known to the boor by its evil propensities; and although he may rarely get his eyes upon it, as it is never abroad by day, he is often called upon to witness the dire effects of its midnight marauding. The sheep of South Africa are of a singular breed--singular on account of their large fleshy tails, consisting of a mass of almost pure fat which often weighs several pounds, and is used by the colonial housewives in many operations of cookery. Now these tails, hanging to the ground are the favourite _bonne-bouche_ of the aard-wolf, whose jaws, not strong like those of the hyena, compel him to feed upon soft substances. It is, therefore, no uncommon thing for the vee-boor to get up in the morning, and find several of his best sheep divested of their valuable tails, and all through the voracity of the aard-vark. It was not likely that either Groot Willem or Hendrik was ignorant of the aard-vark. Neither were they. Hendrik did not ride up to examine the animal out of curiosity. He had seen such before, and killed them too. His object in bending over it was to see where Groot Willem's bullet had hit. "Where had the creature come from?" he inquired. Groot Willem replied that it had issued from its burrow--the hole that had caused the "Camel" to stumble. That it had come out, just as he, Groot Willem, recovered his feet; and that, provoked at it for having been the cause of his misfortune, he had sent a bullet through it, otherwise he would not have reckoned it worth his powder and lead. This explained the report of the roer. Hendrik and Groot Willem were now about to return for the buck, with the intention of carrying as much of the meat to camp as they could manage upon their horses; when Hans and Arend came up, and the four rode off together. They quartered the antelope, and each having packed a quarter upon his croup, they set out for the camp. All of them were in good spirits, except perhaps Groot Willem, who had two reasons for feeling out of sorts,--the loss of his dog, and the loss of a little of his hunter-fame. And he was not permitted to forget his accident so easily, for although Hendrik had forborne to give him further chagrin, yet Hans and Arend did not deal so delicately with him, but both laughed heartily at his unfortunate tumble. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE ARROW-POISON. Klaas and Jan had long since ridden their ponies back to camp, and having off-saddled, remained by the wagons. For all that they were not idle--that is, they were not without something to interest and amuse them. Swartboy was the genius worshipped by Klaas and Jan, for there was no bird in all Africa that Swartboy could not either snare or trap; and in his hours of leisure, when the oxen were kraaled and off his hands, he was in the habit of showing the two young "mynheers" how to construct many a sort of decoy and trap for the fowls of the air. Upon this day in particular, however, they were more than usually interested in the Bushman's proceedings, as his attention was turned to capturing,--not a fowl of the air, but of the earth,--an ostrich. Swartboy had resolved to pluck the plumes out of the old cock that had been seen, and whose dwelling had been so rudely approached and plundered in the morning. But how was Swartboy to capture the cock? It was not his intention to take him alive. That is a difficult matter, and can only be managed by men mounted upon fleet horses, and then after a very long and troublesome chase. Swartboy had no wish to take the ostrich alive. The bird would be of no use to him in that way, as the skin and plume-feathers were the spoils upon which the Bushman's thoughts were bent, or rather the rix-dollars which these would yield on Swartboy's return to Graaf Reinet. Therefore he did not intend to _catch_ the old cock, but _kill_ him, if he could. But how was the Bushman to accomplish this? Would he borrow the rifle from Hendrik, or the great elephant-gun--the "roer"--from Groot Willem, and shoot the ostrich? Not likely. Swartboy was no shot, that is, with fire-arms. He knew nothing about them; and with either rifle or roer he could scarcely have hit an elephant, much less an ostrich! But if Swartboy knew not how to manage a gun, he had a weapon of his own that he did know how to manage,--his bow. With that tiny bow,--scarce a yard in length,--and those small slender arrows, the Bushman could send a missile as deadly as the leaden bullet of either rifle or roer. Looking at the light reed, with its little barbed head and feathered shaft, you would scarcely believe it possible that such a weapon could bring down the big strong ostrich; and yet with a similar shaft had Swartboy often levelled the great camelopard in the dust. A deadly and dangerous weapon was the Bushman's arrow. But what rendered it so? Not its size, and surely not the force with which it could be projected from that tiny bow? Neither. There was something besides the strength of the bow and the weight of the arrow to make it a "deadly and dangerous weapon." There was _poison_. Swartboy's arrows were true Bushman weapons,--they were poisoned. No wonder they were deadly. The use of the bow among savage nations all over the earth, and the great similarity of its form and construction everywhere, may be regarded as one of the most curious facts in the history of our race. Tribes and nations that appear to have been isolated beyond all possible communication with the rest of the world, are found in possession of this universal weapon, constructed on the same principle, and only differing slightly in details--these details usually having reference to surrounding circumstances. When all else between two tribes or nations of savages may differ, both will be found carrying a common instrument of destruction,--the bow and arrows. Can it be mere coincidence, like necessities in different parts of the world producing like results, or is this possession of a similar weapon among distant and remote peoples a proof of unity or communication between them in early times? These inquiries would lead to a long train of reflections, which, however interesting, would here be out of place. But an equally or still more curious fact is that of _poisoned_ arrows. We find here and there, in almost every quarter of the globe, tribes of savages who poison their arrows; and the mode of preparing and using this poison is almost exactly the same among all of them. Where there is a difference, it arises from the different circumstances by which the tribe may be surrounded. Now the knowledge of arrow-poison, as well as the mode of preparing it and the habit of using it, belong to tribes of savages so completely isolated, that it is not probable--hardly possible, in fact--that either they or their ancestors could ever have communicated it to one another. We cannot believe that there ever existed intercourse between the Bushman of Africa and the Chuncho of the Amazon, much less between the former and the forest tribes of North America; yet all these use the arrow-poison and prepare it in a similar manner! All make it by a mixture of vegetable poison with the subtle fluid extracted from the fang-glands of venomous serpents. In North America, the rattlesnake and moccason, with several species of roots, furnish the material; in South America, the "wourali," or "curare," as it is indifferently called, is a mixture of a vegetable juice with the poison extracted from the glands of the coral-snake, (_Echidna ocellata_), the "boiquira" or "diamond rattlesnake," (_Crotalus horridus_), the lance-headed "viper," (_Trigonocephalus lanceolate_) the formidable "bushmaster," (_Lachesis rhombeata_), and several other species. In South Africa, a similar result is obtained by mixing the fluid from the poison-glands of the puff-adder, or that of various species of _naja_, the "cobras" of that country, with the juice from the root of an Amaryllis, called _gift-bol_ (poison-bulb) in the phraseology of the colonial Dutch. It is out of such elements that the Bushman mixes his dangerous compound. Now our Bushman, Swartboy, understood the process as well as any of his race; and it was in watching him mixing the ingredients and poisoning his arrows that Klaas and Jan spent the early portion of that day. All the ingredients he carried with him; for whenever a "geel coppel," (_Naja haje_), or a "spuugh-slang," (_Naja nigra_), or the "puff-adder," (_Vipera arretans_), or the horned viper, (_Cerastes caudalis_,)-- whenever any of these was killed on the route--and many were--Swartboy took care to open the poison-gland, situated behind their fangs, and take therefrom the drop of venom, which he carefully preserved in a small phial. He also carried another ingredient, a species of bitumen obtained from certain caverns, where it exudes from the rocks. The object of this is not, as supposed by some travellers, to render the charm "more potent," but simply to make it glutinous, so that it would stick securely to the barb of the arrow, and not brush off too easily. A similar result is obtained by the South American Indians from a vegetable gum. The gift-bol, or poison-bulb, was easily obtained, as the species of Amaryllis that yields it grew plentifully near. But Swartboy had not trusted to this chance, as during past days he had plucked several of the roots, and put them away in one of the side-chests of the wagon, where many other little knick-knacks of his lay snugly stowed. Klaas and Jan, therefore, had the rare chance of witnessing the manufacture of the celebrated arrow-poison. They saw Swartboy bruise the gift-bol, and simmer it over the fire in a small tin pan which he had; they saw him drop in the precious snake-venom; they saw him stir it round, until it became of a very dark colour, and then, to their great astonishment, they saw him try its strength _by tasting_! This seemed odd to both, and so may it to you, boy reader,--that a drop of poison, the smallest portion of which would have killed Swartboy as dead as a herring, could be thus swallowed by him with impunity! But you are to remember that poisons, both vegetable and mineral, are very different in their nature. A small quantity of arsenic taken into the stomach will produce death, and yet you might swallow the head of a rattlesnake, fangs, poison-gland, and all, without the slightest danger. On the contrary, if a single grain of the latter were to enter your blood, even if it were only scratched in with a pin, its effects would be fatal, while other poisons may be introduced into the blood without any fatal result. Swartboy knew there was no arsenic or any species of "stomach-poison," if I am allowed to use such a phrase, in his mixture. It was only "blood-poison," which he might _taste_ with impunity. The bitumen was the last thing put into the pan; and when Swartboy had stirred it a while longer, and sufficiently thickened it, so that it would adhere to the barbs, he took down a quiver of arrows already made, and dipped each of them into the poison. As soon as the barbs had cooled, and the poison became well dried, the arrows were ready for use, and Swartboy intended that some of them should be used on that very day. Before the sun should set, he designed sending one or more of them through the skin of an ostrich. CHAPTER NINETEEN. DECOYING THE OLD COCK. It was not the process of mixing the arrow-poison, so much as the use to be made of it, that interested Klaas and Jan. They knew that the Bushman intended to try its effect on an ostrich that afternoon. More than that, Swartboy had promised they should actually see how he managed matters, and witness the death of the ostrich. With such a prospect before them, the boys were in high spirits all the fore-part of the day. It was to be late in the afternoon, near sunset, in fact, before the sport should come off. Of course not till the return of the ostriches to their nest--for it was there the drama was to be enacted. The nest and its environs were to be the scene of the tragedy--the time a little before sunset. Such was Swartboy's "programme." Of course Swartboy had leave from the older boys to go upon almost whatever expedition he pleased, but certainly upon this one, since Klaas and Jan were so interested about it. Indeed, some of the others would have liked to take part in the affair, but for certain reasons that could not be. Some of the hunters had doubts as to the result. They knew the poisoned arrow would kill any ostrich. They did not doubt that. But how was Swartboy to get near enough to discharge one of his tiny shafts into the bird's body? That was the question that puzzled them. He proposed doing so in broad daylight. Indeed there was no other time for him. All knew that before night the ostriches would return to their nest--as soon as the sun was low, and it became cooler,--but they knew also that the birds having found out what had happened in their absence would start off in alarm, and abandon the nest altogether. Swartboy, therefore, would have no darkness to shelter him from their gaze. How was he to approach them within the range required for his small bow--that is, within less than fifty yards? Did he intend to place himself in ambush and wait for their return? If he did, it must be near the nest, else he would have but a poor chance. There was no knowing in what direction the birds might come back, or which way they would scamper off again. Now for Swartboy to conceal himself near the nest, all believed to be an impossibility. There was not a bit of cover within five hundred yards of the spot--neither bush nor stone big enough to conceal the body of a man from creatures less wary than ostriches, but from these a cat could not have hidden her carcass within a circle of a thousand yards diameter. As to Swartboy's sinking a "shooting-hole" and lying await in that, the boys never thought of such a thing. A shooting-hole surrounded by bushes might do for a lion, or a rhinoceros, or an elephant, but no ostrich could be bamboozled by any such _ruse_; for these birds--that on account of their appearance have been called stupid by some superficial observers--are in reality the very reverse. The slightest alteration in the form of the ground, either around their nests or near it, would be noted by them, and would prevent them from approaching it, except after such a reconnoissance as would defeat all Swartboy's plans. But he had no thought of a shooting-hole--nothing of the sort. What plan, then, had he in his mind? The boys could not guess; and Swartboy, like all cunning hunters, did not care to tell his plans to everybody. He preferred letting them discover them by his acts; and as all of them were hunters themselves and boys of good breeding, they did not persecute him with idle questions, but watched his preparations in silence. Now one of his preparations, made before starting, was to take the little fennec that had been killed in the morning, and "truss" it with a number of skewers, in such a way that it stood upright upon its legs, and at a short distance looked as if it was "alive and well!" This was Swartboy's last act, before setting out for the ostriches' nest. When it was finished, Swartboy observed that the sun was low enough, and taking the fennec under his army and his bow in his hand, he struck off over the plain. The boys were to be spectators of the affair, but that was rather in a figurative sense. There were two pocket telescopes, and when Swartboy promised that Klaas and Jan should be witnesses of the thing, he had these telescopes in his mind. For certain reasons he could not take any of the boys along with him, and from the wary character of the game they could not go near enough to observe it with the naked eye. To have done so would have driven the ostriches out of Swartboy's reach, for it has been already stated that these far-seeing birds can sight an enemy farther off than they can themselves be seen. The telescopes, therefore, must be brought into play, and as Klaas and Jan begged to have the use of them, it was arranged that the two boys should climb into a tree, and describe what they saw to the rest, who stood below. That would be witnessing a spectacle by a sort of _second sight_, as Arend jocosely remarked. Klaas and Jan were therefore hoisted up into a camel-thorn acacia; and, seating themselves on its branches, prepared their telescopes for use. The elevation enabled them not only to see the nest, for that was visible from the ground, but the surface of the plain to a considerable distance beyond. They would thus be enabled to note every movement either Swartboy or the ostriches should make. Now it has been stated that within a circle of five hundred yards radius from the nest, there was no cover that would have concealed a cat. With the exception of a stone here and there--none of them larger than a quartern loaf--the sandy surface was perfectly smooth and level as a table. The boys had noticed this in the morning. Hendrik and Groot Willem had taken good notice of it, for they, as well as Swartboy, had thought of "waylaying" the ostriches on their return, but had given up the idea, from the fact of there being no cover to conceal them from the eyes of the wary birds. But just outside the circumference mentioned, there was a chance of cover--a bush that by tight squeezing might have sheltered the body of a man. Both Hendrik and Groot Willem had seen this bush, but on account of its great distance from the nest they had never thought of its being used as a cover. Five hundred yards off,--it might as well have been five miles. Even had it been on the side by which the ostriches had gone off, and by which they, the hunters, conjectured they would return, the bush might have served. A shot might have been obtained as the birds came back to the nest. But it was not on that side,--on the very opposite--and in the direction of the camp. Neither Hendrik nor Groot Willem had entertained the idea of lying behind it. Swartboy had; and to this bush now repaired Swartboy as straight as he could go. For what purpose? To conceal himself behind it, and wait for the ostriches. That was his design. But what would his arrows avail--poisoned as they were--at the distance of five hundred yards? Ah! Swartboy knew what he was about. Let us record his movements in the words of Klaas and Jan, who watched them narrowly. "Swartboy has reached the bush," reported Jan; "he lays down his bow and arrows beside it. Now he has gone away from it. He is proceeding in a straight line towards the nest. He has the fox with him. See! he stops again,--a little beyond the bush he has halted--between it and the nest, but nearer the bush." "Very near the bush," said Klaas; "not twenty yards from it, I'm sure." "Well, what does he do there?" demanded Hendrik. "He appears to be stooping?" "He is stooping," replied Jan. "Let me see! He's got the fox in his hands, he is placing it on the ground! He has left it! I declare, it is standing by itself, as if it were alive!" "It's very clear what he intends by that," said Hans; "I can understand now how he means to get the birds within range." "And I!" rejoined Hendrik. "And I!" echoed Groot Willem. "Now," continued Jan, "he's going on to the nest--he has reached it, and is walking round and round, and stooping and kicking with his feet. I can't tell what he's about--can you, Klaas?" "I think," replied Klaas, "he's trying to cover up the broken shells we left there." "Oh! that's exactly it!" said Jan. "See! he's stooping over the nest, he has lifted an egg in his hand!" It is to be remembered that only the fresh eggs were brought away in the morning. Those in the nest that had undergone hatching were of course let alone--all except one or two, that had been broken to "try" them. "He's coming back this way," said Jan. "He has the egg in his hand! Now he has put it down right under the snout of the fox!" "Ha!" ejaculated Hans, Groot Willem, and Hendrik, "how cunning of old Swart!" "Now," continued Jan, "he's back to the bush: and now he's squatted down behind it." After a little while both Klaas and Jan announced that Swartboy was making no further movements, but continued to lie quietly. Now the secret of Swartboy's strategy lay in his knowledge of a fact in natural history,--a knowledge of the antipathy that exists between the ostrich and the egg-eating fox. Swartboy's experience had taught him the habits of the fennec, and also the hostile feeling of the ostrich towards this enemy. So strong is this feeling on the part of the bird, that whenever it sets its eye upon one of these creatures it will run directly towards it, for the purpose of destroying it. On such occasions the speed of the quadruped will not save it. Unless its burrow be nigh, or some thick bush or cleft among the rocks offer it a shelter, a single kick from the legs of the mighty bird at once puts an end to its prowling existence. Swartboy knew all this, and for that reason had he set his decoy. Conspicuously placed, the birds would be sure to see it; and with their nest half plundered, and one of the eggs still under its very nose, they would not be slow in coming up to take revenge upon the poor fennec, the supposed robber, and to them well-known burglar. "The ostriches are coming!" cried the sharp-sighted Jan, after a long pause. "Where?" asked Klaas. "I don't see them yet;--where, Jan?" "Yonder," replied Jan. "Beyond the nest,--far off." "Oh, now I see!" said Klaas; "just the way they went off in the morning; three of them,--a cock and two hens,--they are the same, I suppose." "Now they are getting up near the nest," reported Jan; "now they are up to it. See them! What are they doing? they are running about in a terrible way. See! their heads move up and down,--they are striking with their legs. What are they about?" "I think," rejoined Klaas,--"I declare I think they are _breaking the eggs_." "Not a doubt of it," remarked Hans. "That is always their way when they return and find the nest disturbed either by a human being or an animal. No doubt that is what they are at." Hendrik and Groot Willem confirmed this statement by their assent. "Oh!" exclaimed Jan, "they have left the nest,--they are coming this way,--they are coming towards Swartboy,--how fast they run! Hey--they are upon the fennec! Ho! they have kicked it over! See, they are pecking it with their bills and knocking it about like a foot-ball. Hurrah! such a jolly game as is going on yonder!" "What is old Swart doing, anyhow? They're near enough for a shot." "He's doing something," answered Klaas. "I'm sure I saw him move. Did he not draw his bow yonder?" "He did," replied Jan; "he has let off an arrow. I saw his arms move suddenly. See, the ostriches are off again. Ho! they are quite gone!" It was not so, however; for, although the three ran off on hearing the twang of the Bushman's bow, they did not run far. After going some quarter of a mile or so, the cock began to droop his wings and run round in circles, the hens all the while following. His movements now became of a very eccentric kind, and it was plain that Swartboy's arrow had pierced him, and the poison was doing its work. The bird reeled like a drunken man, once or twice fell to its knees, rose again, ran on a piece farther, flapping its wings, and vibrating its long neck from side to side; and then, staggering forward, fell upon the plain! For several minutes it continued to flutter, kicking out with its strong limbs, and raising the dust as if it had been a buffalo. At length its struggles ceased, and it lay motionless upon the sand. The two hens still continued near, and from their actions were evidently both surprised and alarmed. They did not, however, attempt to run off, until Swartboy, knowing they were far beyond the reach of his bow, rose up from his ambush, and walked towards them. Then both took to their heels, and scouring off over the plain, were soon out of sight. Klaas and Jan now reported that Swartboy was stooping over the dead cock, and, as they believed, skinning him. That was exactly what Swartboy was doing, for, about an hour after, he came into camp carrying the skin upon his shoulders, and with an air of triumph, that plainly said-- "Congo, could you do that?" CHAPTER TWENTY. A BRUSH WITH THE BRINDLED GNOO. The young yagers resolved to stay a couple of days longer by the fountain in the mokhala grove. Their object was to wait until the flesh of the blue-buck--which is excellent eating--should be reduced to biltong. They did not know what chance of game there might be upon their route for the next five or six days. The way was new to all of them--even to the guide Congo, who had only a general knowledge of that part of the country. They were heading for the Molopo River, and Congo knew how to find that well enough; but their route through the interlying country he knew nothing about. There might be plenty of game--there might be a great scarcity of it--he could not tell. Of course neither could Swartboy. The hunters were now out of the Bushman country and into a territory inhabited by poor tribes of the great Bechuana family. Swartboy's native district lay to the southwest, in the direction of Namaqualand. He had never been so far east in his life, and of course was quite a stranger to the route they were pursuing. Under these circumstances Hans, who from his age and superior wisdom was looked upon as a sort of leader, recommended that they should not go forward until they had properly jerked the flesh of the blue-buck. That, with what remained of the gemsbok, would secure them against falling short of provision, should game prove scarce. They would only have to tarry a couple of days longer. That would be sufficient under such a strong sun to dry the biltong properly, whereas if packed without being well cured, the hot weather would spoil it directly, and they might be left in the lurch without a morsel of meat. Their stay at their present camp was, therefore, prolonged for two days, during which time the flesh of the blue-buck, with the remaining parts of that of the oryx, hanging in red festoons from the branches of the acacias, became dark, stiff, and hard to the touch, and was then in a condition to keep for several weeks if required. But the young yagers did not remain constantly by the camp during all the intervening time. The biltong required no watching. It had been hung upon branches, sufficiently high to place it beyond the reach of prowling jackals and hyenas at night, and during the day there was always some one by the camp to keep off the vultures. On the first of these two days the young yagers mounted, all six, and rode off to the grassy plains, where they had hunted the blue-buck, in hopes of falling in either with this or some other species of antelope. They were not disappointed. On arriving at the plain, they perceived that it was occupied--not by one, but by several kinds of creatures. Three species of animals were seen upon it. Far out was a herd of small creatures, whose lyre-shaped horns, and yellow dun bodies, told that they were springboks,--a fact made plain by their strange behaviour,--by individuals of the herd now and then bounding up into the air, and throwing open the marsupial folding of skin over their croups, and displaying the long snow-white hair that lines that singular pouch. Not far from these, and occasionally mixing among them, was a drove of larger animals, whose singular colour and markings could not be mistaken. They were _dauws_, or, in the clumsy language of the closet naturalists, "Burchell's zebras," (_Equus Burchellii_). It has been already stated that this species differs from the true zebra in several respects. Its ground colour is light sienna, while that of the zebra is nearly white. The stripes upon the former are dark brown, while those of the latter are pure black; but the most characteristic difference in the markings is, that in the true zebra the stripes continue in rings down the legs to the very hoofs, while in the dauw the legs are white. The ears and tail of the zebra are more asinine than those of the dauw, while the tail of the latter is much the longer, as indeed is the body of the animal. Both are beautiful creatures--perhaps the most beautiful quadrupeds in the world--a fine horse always excepted. But in point of beauty the true zebra certainly excels the "Burchell." They are very different in their habits--the zebra being a mountain-dwelling animal, while the dauw is strictly a denizen of the open plains, in places similar to those frequented by the quagga. Although it never herds with the latter, in habits it resembles their species more than it does the zebra. Observation of this fact by the boor hunters has led to the name among these people of "bonte quagga," (painted quagga.) The third kind of animals upon the plain was a very remarkable species; so odd in form and movements were they, that no one who had once seen either them, or a picture of them, could afterwards fail to recognise them. The young yagers had never set eyes upon them before, but they had all seen a kindred species, which, except in colour and a few minor details, is very like them. They had all seen the "wildebeest" or "gnoo," and this enabled them at once to recognise the "blauw-wildebeest," or "brindled gnoo," for such they were. They differ from the common wildebeest in being larger, somewhat heavier in form, scarcely so well shaped about the head and neck--the latter not curving as in the common species--more shaggy in the mane, the nose-tuft, and the long hair on the throat and breast. In colour they are quite different, being of a dirty bluish tint, variegated with irregular stripes, or "brindles." Hence their trivial names of "blauw" wildebeest and "brindled" gnoo. The two kinds, "gnoo" and "brindled gnoo," are never found on the same plains; but give place to each other. The range of the latter species extends farthest to the north. They are scarcely ever found alone, but generally accompanied by droves of the dauw; (Burchell's zebra or bonte quagga); and, what is a singular fact, the common species is rarely seen, except in company with the common quagga. Although neither of these keep company with their own congeners they yet live socially with one another, both also herding at times with springboks, hartebeests, and ostriches. A singular and interesting sight it is to see the gnoos, antelopes, and wild asses, curveting and galloping over the plain, now wheeling in circles, now halting in line, anon charging from point to point, like troops of cavalry in a review, while the ostriches stalk about or stand motionless, their tall forms rising high above the rest, as if they were the officers and generals-in-chief of the spectacle! Such a picture is often presented upon the karoo plains of Southern Africa. As soon as the young yagers came in sight of the plain, they pulled up their horses, and sat for some moments regarding the lively scene that was exhibited upon its surface. The springboks were browsing, though some individuals were constantly in the air bounding up as if for their own amusement. The dauws were trooping about, sometimes halting, and sometimes galloping from point to point, as if in play or alarmed by some intruder. The brindled gnoos, that is the cows, were browsing in a herd of thirty or forty in number, while the bulls stood around in small groups of three or four individuals, not moving, but apparently keeping a solemn watch over the others, every now and then snorting loudly, and uttering a sharp and peculiar cry, as if intended for some voice of warning or instruction. For hours the old bulls will hold this position, keeping apart from the rest, each little knot of them apparently conversing among themselves, while acting as sentries to the general herd of dauws, antelopes, and their own wives. After a few minutes' deliberation, the hunters agreed to make their attack upon the herd of gnoos. They formed no plan. Stalking would be of little use, as they believed they would be able to ride down the wildebeest, and get a running shot; and it was to these they designed to give all their attention. The dauws--beautiful creatures as they were-- were of no use as _game_, and it was game the party wanted. The springboks did not interest them; but the flesh of the wildebeest would have been a treat to all. It is excellent eating, resembling beef rather than venison--for the gnoo is in reality more of an ox than an antelope. "Roast beef for dinner!" was the word given by Hendrik, and all the rest echoing this, they charged down upon the wildebeest herd. They made no attempt at concealing their approach, but dashed directly forward upon the game, the buck-dogs--now only five in number--in the advance, with Hendrik's favourite heading. In an instant the herds upon the plain were in motion--each species going its own way. The dauws galloped off in a clump, holding a straight course over the plain; the springboks scattering in every direction, as is their wont; while the gnoos, first uniting into an irregular drove, ran forward some distance in a straight line, and then some broke to right and left, wheeled round, and came scouring back to the rear of the hunters! In a few minutes the whole appearance of the plain was changed. The zebras had gone out of sight, so, too, the springboks. The gnoos alone remained under the view of the hunters. These were not to be seen in any particular direction. They were everywhere around--some running off before the dogs--some wheeling around to the rear--some galloping past within two or three hundred yards, and then charging forward so near to the horses, that some of the riders thought they meant to attack them. With their fierce little eyes, their sharp curving horns, and black shaggy frontlets, they appeared most formidable enemies, and indeed they _are_ so when disposed to make an attack. When wounded they are dangerous even to a mounted hunter, but one afoot would stand little chance of escape from their frenzied and impetuous charge. One of the oddest circumstances observed by the young yagers was, that the bulls, instead of galloping right away, lingered in the rear of the retreating herd,--now wheeling round to gaze upon the hunters, snorting as they stood--now making a dash forward out of their way, and sometimes two of them facing each other, and engaging in combat! And these combats did not appear to be "shams." On the contrary, the old bulls seemed to butt each other in good earnest, rushing at one another from a distance, dropping upon their knees, and bringing their heads together, till their horns, and the thick bony helmet-like plates that covered their fronts, cracked loudly against each other. These battles appeared to be real; but, notwithstanding the earnestness of the combatants, they always gave up, and parted from the ground before the hunters could get within range. Notwithstanding their carelessness about running away altogether, it was not so easy a matter to get a fair shot at one; and our yagers might have returned to camp empty-handed had it not been for their buck-dogs. These, however, chanced to stick together, and having selected an old bull, soon separated him from the rest, and drove him at full speed across the plain. Hendrik and Groot Willem spurred after, and all the others followed, though falling to the rear as the chase continued. Before the bull had gone two miles, the dogs began to pester him, and finding his heels failing he turned suddenly upon his canine pursuers, rushing at one and then another, as they came up, and knocking them over with his horns. It is possible he would have bayed all _five_ successfully; but the approach of the hunters caused him fresh alarm, and he broke bay, and once more stretched himself at full speed across the plain. Another mile would have brought him into some low timber, and he appeared to make for that. He kept ahead of the dogs for awhile longer, but when within about a hundred yards of the thicket, his wind again failed him; and as the buck-dogs were taking an occasional pull at his flanks, he became desperate and once more stood to bay. The dogs soon ran in, but for awhile he was able to beat off all five, striking then right and left. At length some of them seized him by the throat, while the others clung to his tail and hind-quarters, and the struggle would no doubt have ended soon by their dragging the bull to the earth; but Hendrik and Groot Willem rode up and ended it sooner by sending a pair of bullets through his ribs. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. A BATTLE WITH A BORELe. Hans and Arend on this occasion had followed the chase, and were almost "in at the death;" and Klaas and Jan, who from the openness of the ground had had a view of the whole run, shortly after came up, spurring their panting ponies to the very top of their speed. All six now dismounted to rest both themselves and horses after their sharp gallop, and also to skin the bull. Though Arend was habitually _chef-de-cuisine_, Hendrik and Groot Willem were the butchers; Hans, "the botanist of the expedition," might also be termed its "green-grocer," as his knowledge of botany enabled him to keep the camp-table supplied with many species of esculent roots and vegetables to be found growing wild upon the plains of Southern Africa. While Hendrik and Groot Willem were flaying off the skin, Hans and Arend were busy with the head and horns, preparing them for preservation. It was nearly as much on account of these as for his meat that they had hunted the gnoo. They would also be trophies in the halls of the Graaf Reinet; for although the horns of the common gnoo are easily had, those of the brindled species are more precious, for the reason that the latter animal inhabits a more remote part of the country. Klaas and Jan acted as assistants to the other four--now handing a knife, now holding a limb or flap of skin, and making themselves "generally useful." All six, therefore, were engaged. While thus employed, all of them bending and stooping one way or another, over the dead bull, and none of them keeping a look-out, a queer sound fell upon their ears that caused them to start all together into an erect attitude. The sound they had heard was a loud snort, followed by a blowing noise, somewhat similar to that made by terrified swine, but much fuller and louder. There was, also, the noise of snapping twigs and breaking branches. These sounds caused all six to start, and some of them to tremble with fear; and the sight that came under their eyes as they looked up confirmed them in that emotion. In truth, it was a sight that would have inspired with alarm older hearts than theirs. Breaking through the bushes, and causing the branches to bend and crackle, came a large animal. The tall upright horn upon its snout, its huge heavy body, and strong massive limbs, left them no room to doubt what sort of animal it was. It was a rhinoceros! There are four species of these in South Africa; but the dark colour of its skin and the double horn proclaimed the one now seen to be the black rhinoceros, or "borele"--the fiercest and most dangerous of the four. When the boys first heard it, it was crashing through the bushes close to the edge of the thicket, but they had scarce turned their eyes in that direction before it shot out of the timber, head towards them, and came on at full gallop. Its head was raised high in air, its ears were in motion, and its small but saucy-looking tail was flirted about in a confident manner. Its black eyes gleamed with a malicious expression, and its air was one of anger and menace. The terror inspired by its look was not lessened by the loud snorting and blowing that issued from its fiery nostrils. The boys saw at once, and to their alarm, that it was charging upon _them_! There could be no doubt about the matter. Its whole appearance denoted that it was bent upon attacking them, for it was heading directly for the spot where they stood. They knew, moreover, that there was nothing odd in that,--they knew that the black rhinoceros will charge upon any creature, whether man, quadruped, bird, or _bush_, without the slightest provocation! It is needless to say that the boys were in a dilemma, and were aware of it as well. There were they, all six afoot upon the plain, with a fierce borele rushing up to them, and at less than a hundred yards distance! Fortunately for them the steeds were all well-trained, and fortunately the riders had had the precaution to fasten them in such a manner that it required but little time to get them free. But for these two circumstances some one of the six must certainly have been lifted upon the death-dealing horn of the borele. As it was the horses had been tied all around a tree that stood near. Each had his bridle looped to a small branch, so small that it could be wrenched off in a second of time, but large enough to keep a horse steady for awhile, unless something should alarm and startle him. This was a precaution the hunters had been taught by their fathers, and the knowledge now stood them in stead. Of course the moment the borele "hove" in sight, there was an end to the skinning of the gnoo. There was a chorus of cries expressing terror, a flinging away of knives, a sudden rush to the horses, a seizing of bridles, a snapping off of branches, and a simultaneous leaping into six saddles. All these acts did not take ten seconds of time to accomplish, and the last of them was not accomplished one second too soon; for the riders had just time to turn the heads of their horses to the plain as the borele came up. In fact, so close to them had he got his hideous snout that several of the horses shied and plunged as they took to flight, nearly dismounting one or two of the riders. To have been unhorsed at that moment would have been a perilous business. All kept their seats, however, and in a moment more were flying over the plain in a close clump, the borele snorting at their heels. Now that they were in their saddles, and galloped freely off, some of the yagers were disposed to laugh. Hendrik and Groot Willem were among the number. They knew that the speed of a rhinoceros is no match for that of a horse, and they would soon get out of his way. They were disposed to regard the chase as a bit of fun rather than otherwise. All at once, however, a thought came into their minds that turned their merry mood into a feeling of new and painful apprehension. The young yagers were riding in pairs. Hendrik and Groot Willem, mounted on their swift horses, had forged some distance ahead of the others. On turning their faces backward they perceived that the two boys, Klaas and Jan, had fallen considerably to the rear, and that the borele was pushing them closely. He was not twenty yards behind either, for they rode side by side, as if in a racing gallop. Hans and Arend were further in advance, and these also looking back at the same instant perceived the perilous situation of their younger brothers. To all four the idea seemed to occur at the same moment, that though a horse can outrun the rhinoceros, a pony _cannot_, and the thought drew from them a simultaneous expression of alarm. Beyond a doubt Klaas and Jan were in danger. Should the borele overtake them, their ponies would not save them. The huge brute would gore these animals to death, or impale them at the first stroke of his stout sharp horn. Beyond a doubt the boys were in danger! So thought their four brothers as they glanced back; and, as they continued to gaze, they became the more convinced of this fearful truth. They saw that the distance between them and the rhinoceros, instead of widening, was gradually growing less--the borele was gaining upon them! It was a moment of painful apprehension with all four; but at this moment Hendrik performed one of the neatest manoeuvres that had occurred during the whole expedition. With a wrench upon his bridle he turned suddenly out of his course, and then wheeling round rode backward, calling on Groot Willem to act similarly, but with his head turned to the opposite side. Groot Willem, as if by instinct, obeyed, and, diverging suddenly from each other, the two wheeled right and left at the same instant. Their horses' heads were now turned to the rear, and after going a pace or two they halted, and got their guns in readiness. First Hans and Arend swept past between the two halted hunters,--then passed Klaas and Jan upon the frightened ponies, and then came "borele." Before the last had got fairly on a line, Hendrik and Groot Willem covered his huge body, fired, and then, galloping round to his rear, commenced reloading. Both balls took effect, and, though neither brought the brute to the ground, they made a decided alteration in his pace, and in a moment it was perceived that he was running slower, while the blood flowed freely from his wounds. He still, however, kept on after the ponies; and it is hard to say how far he might have followed them, had it not been that Hans and Arend, exactly imitating the manoeuvre of Hendrik and Groot Willem, now also wheeled right and left, came back a pace or two, halted, and delivered their pieces in the face of the rhinoceros. Again the bullets took effect, and again did not prove fatal. But the danger, as far as Klaas and Jan were concerned, was over; for the borele, instead of pursuing the ponies further, turned short on his nearer antagonists, and rushed first upon one, then the other, with all the strength and fury that was left in his body. Several charges were made by him without effect, as the riders, now faced towards him, were able to spring to one side and gallop out of his way. For nearly a quarter of an hour the battle was kept up, the four loading and firing as fast as they could under the circumstances. At length the day was decided by a bullet from the big elephant-gun of Groot Willem, which, penetrating the skull of the huge borele, sent him rolling over in the dust. A loud "hurrah!" proclaimed the victory, and the six yagers now rode up and alighted by the huge body of the borele, that, prostrate and lifeless, no longer caused them alarm. An axe was obtained from the wagon, and his long anterior horn--a splendid trophy--was hacked off from his snout, and carried away; while another journey was made for the meat and horns of the blauw-wildebeest, which were packed behind the hunters upon the croups of their horses, and brought safely into camp. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. THE INTERRUPTED BREAKFAST. Next morning the young yagers slept late--because they had nothing particular to do. They did not purpose continuing their journey before the following morning; and on that day they intended to lie up, so that their horses, might rest and be fresh for the _road_. They rose, therefore, a little later than usual, and breakfasted on the tongue of the brindled gnoo, with hot coffee and hard bread; a stock of which they had brought along in their wagons, and which still held out. It would not have been as great a deprivation to the young yagers to have gone without bread, as it would to you, boy reader. There live many people in South Africa to whom bread is a luxury almost unknown. Many tribes of the native people never eat such a thing, and there are thousands of the frontier Dutch colonists, that do without it altogether. The people of South Africa, both native and colonial, are not an _agricultural_ but a _pastoral people_, and therefore pay but little attention to the cultivation of the soil. Their herds of horned cattle, their horses, their flocks of big-tailed sheep and goats, engross all their time, and _agricultural_ farming is not to their taste. Although the wealthier among the boors plant a few acres of Kaffir corn--a variety of the "Indian corn," or maize--and sow some bushels of "buckwheat," yet this is principally for their own use. This class also cultivate many kinds of vegetables in their gardens, and have large orchards containing apples, peaches, pomegranates, pears, and quinces, with vineyards for the grape, and enclosures for melons, cucumbers, and pumpkins. But among the poorer classes, and particularly on the remote frontier, such things are hardly thought of; and their cattle _kraals_ are the only enclosures around the dwelling of the "vee-boor," or stock-farmer. Among these people, bread is a rarity, and their staple food is "biltong," and fresh beef or mutton cooked in a variety of ways, and so as to be quite palatable--for the _cuisine_ of the boor is by no means to be despised. In many parts the staple food of the frontier boor is venison--that is, in districts where the ordinary game has not yet been exterminated. Within the frontier districts, springboks are plenty, as also the common wildebeests; and piles of the horns of these may be seen lying around the kraals of every vee-boor. The flesh of the wildebeests, as already stated, is more like beef than venison, and when fat, or cooked in the delicious fat of the great sheep's tails, is excellent eating. The quagga, which is also common in these parts, is killed for its flesh; but this is rank and oily, and only eaten by the Hottentot servants. Our young yagers were the children of wealthy parents, and had therefore learnt to eat bread, though on a pinch they could have got along without it. But they had brought several sacks of biscuit with them, and with these and coffee, and the tongue of the blauw-wildebeest, they were making a hearty breakfast. They were all right merry, chatting over their adventure with the borele, and laughing at the danger now that it was past. They were taking their time with their breakfast, eating it leisurely and in no hurry, as they meant to spend the day in a sort of _dolce far niente_ manner--loitering about the camp, or perhaps putting in a stitch wherever there should be a weak place in either saddle or bridle, so as to make themselves thoroughly ready for the route. Every precaution would be required to ensure their safety against the wide stretch of desert they would have to cross. While in this mood, and about half through with their meal, an announcement was made that was likely to upset all their plans for the day. The announcement came from Congo, who had been loitering out on the desert side of the mokhala grove, and who came running into camp, in breathless haste, to report that a large flock of ostriches were out upon the plain! The yagers, but particularly Klaas and Jan, bristled up at the news, uttering various exclamations of joy. A sudden change took place in their manner. Their jaws wagged more rapidly; the gnoo-tongue disappeared in larger slices; the coffee was quaffed in big hurried gulps; and the second half of their meal did not occupy the tenth part of the time that had been taken up with the first. In less than two minutes from the time Congo made his report the breakfast was finished; and in five minutes more the horses were all saddled, bridled, and mounted. Resting the animals was no longer thought of. Everything had gone out of the heads of their riders except an ostrich "surround." Where was Swartboy to take part in the affair, and to give his advice? All acknowledged that the Bushman knew more about hunting the ostrich than any of them--Congo not excepted. Indeed, this was true in regard to most kinds of _desert_ animals, as also of the smaller mammalia and birds. Congo had lived all his life among a people who keep cattle--for the Kaffir nations are not mere hunters, but a pastoral people--and although he knew how to destroy the lion, the leopard, the hyena, and other carnivorous creatures, he was less accustomed to the killing or capturing of game, since the vast herds of cattle bred and reared in his country render such knowledge but of secondary importance. Not so with Swartboy. The Bushmen have no cattle, except those which at times they steal from their neighbours, the Griquas, Bastaards, and trek-boors; and these are never _kept_, but killed and devoured as soon as they are driven to the Bushmen haunts. The want of domestic animals, therefore, with the necessity of having something to eat, compels the Bushman to use all his ingenuity in the capturing or killing of wild _game_, which among Bushmen includes every living creature from the locust and lizard to the camelopard and elephant! The natural consequence of such a life must be the arriving at a perfect knowledge of the haunts, habits, and mode of hunting the wild creatures that people their country; and in this very knowledge Swartboy was believed to excel even among his countrymen, for it was known that in his own land he had been considered a "mighty hunter." Where was Swartboy at that moment? He had not been seen for an hour or more. Congo said that he had driven off the oxen to pasture upon the grass plain to the rear of the camp, and no doubt he was there herding them. It was proposed that some one should go for him, but this was objected to on account of the loss of time. Congo said that the oxen were a good way off. It would take half-an-hour to bring Swartboy into camp, and before the end of that period the ostriches might be ten miles off. No; they could not wait for Swartboy. They must proceed without him; and, mounting their horses, the yagers rode off towards the desert plain. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE OSTRICH "SURROUND." On reaching the edge of the grove they halted to reconnoitre, still keeping under cover of the timber. Congo had reported truly. There _was_ a flock of ostriches, sure enough. There were seven of these great birds in one "clump," and an eighth at no great distance from the rest. Of the seven, five appeared to be hens and two of them cocks. The one apart was also a cock. I say _appeared_ to be. You will imagine there could be no doubt, since the male and female of these birds are so very unlike in the colour of their plumage. That is true when they have attained to a certain age; but the young males, even when full-grown, do not get the beautiful white feathers all at once, and for a long time can hardly at a distance be distinguished from the females. That, however, was not the reason why the young yagers were in doubt about their sex. It was because the birds were in a position nearly due east from the point of observation, and the sun being yet only a few degrees above the horizon, his rays fell in such a manner as to prevent them from having a clear view. To use a common phrase, the sun was "in their eyes." For all that, they could count the ostriches, and believed that of the eight three were cocks and the rest hens. The seven in the "clump" were stationary; that is, they were not moving away from the spot. Some were stalking leisurely about, occasionally taking a "peck;" and it must have been sand or pebbles they were eating, as there was not the semblance of vegetation near the spot. Some sat squatted upon their "hams," their long legs doubled underneath; and one or two were lying along the ground, and fluttering in the sand, just as common hens and turkeys do in warm weather. The dust raised by these formed a little cloud that floated around them, and added to the difficulty of distinguishing either their sex or their movements. The seven were at no great distance from the edge of the mokhala grove, and the one that was separate was still nearer. He was going towards them, stooping his head at intervals, and feeding as he went. From this circumstance, the boys conjectured that he had been much nearer, which conjecture was strengthened by Congo, who said, that when he had first observed them, this old cock was not two hundred yards from the edge of the timber, and was then going out, just as now. Perhaps he had been within shot of the cover. What a pity, thought Klaas and Jan, they had not been earlier on the look-out! The hunters did not waste many moments in watching the manoeuvres of the birds. Their attention was entirely given to their purpose of surrounding them, and discussing a plan to effect that object. Now these ostriches were not near the nest which had been plundered, and was now deserted; nor was it likely that the were of the family to whom that nest belonged--not even relatives in fact--else they would have heard of the calamity, and would have been comporting themselves in a very different manner from the easy style in which they were taking it. None of the five hens could be they that, but two days before, had witnessed the fall of their plumed lord by the Bushman's arrow, for it was not likely that these would return to that part of the country. The flock now seen had no connection whatever with the nest. The place they were in was at a good distance from the scene of the late tragedy. The young yagers were glad of this; not that they cared about the matter of relationship, but because the place where the birds were now seen offered superior advantages for a "surround." It was a sort of large bay, where a spur of the desert plain ran into the timber, and was more than half encircled by low woods and thickets of acacia. Only one side--that toward the wide desert--was open. On all other sides there was cover for the hunters. On this account the latter had very little difficulty in deciding how to act, and in a few minutes their plan was arranged. Hendrik and Groot Willem, being the best mounted, were to ride to the two most distant points, one of them taking the right side of the great bay, the other the left. They were to keep under cover of the thicket all the way round; and when either arrived at the point where the timber stretched farthest out upon the plain, he was to stop awhile, until the other showed himself on the opposite side. Both were then to gallop towards each other, but not to meet. They were to halt at such a distance from one another as would best enable them to cut off the retreat of the ostriches from the outer plain. Hans and Arend were respectively to follow in the tracks of Hendrik and Groot Willem; but they were to halt within the edge of the timber when half round, and wait until they should see the others out upon the plain. Then they were to show themselves, and turn the ostriches, should they run their way. Klaas and little Jan were also to separate and ride some distance from the spot; but the disposal of these boys in their places was taken in hand by the others; and so the whole party started at the same time, three filing off to the right, and three to the left. Congo's instructions were, not to show himself until he should perceive Hendrik and Groot Willem galloping towards each other. He was then to act just as the others, except that "shanks'-mare" was to be his horse. Should the ostriches allow time for Hendrik and Groot Willem to get to their stations, the surround would be complete; and it was highly probable that they would have good sport, and either capture or kill some of the giant birds. When thus assailed upon all sides, the ostrich gets confused, and acts in the most stupid manner, being easily turned, and driven about from "post to pillar." It was a question of time, therefore, and it would take a good while for the surround to be made, as the plain on which the birds were was full three miles wide. Both Hendrik and Groot Willem would have twice that length to ride; and their path lying through bushes, they would be unable to move faster than a walk. For some time the only one that watched the movements of the ostriches was the Kaffir. The others were making their way through the thicket, and only had a peep now and then, as they passed some place where an opening in the leaves allowed them. They were too anxious, however, to get to their different stands to stop at any place between. All felt that time was precious; for should the game take alarm, and start off to the open plain, the trouble they were taking would be all in vain. None of them, therefore, thought of looking at the birds--only to satisfy themselves that they were still there--until they had reached their respective places. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. THE ODD COCK. During all this time Congo watched the movement of the flock as well as the sun in his eyes would allow him. He noticed that the cock that had been feeding apart from the rest had now got close up to them,--within a few yards; but that the others had arisen at his approach, and, stretching out their long necks, appeared to regard him as a stranger. After a moment all seven turned, as if alarmed at something, and ran away--the odd cock running after, though falling a little in the rear. The flock only went for twenty yards or so, and then halted, as if they had got over their slight alarm. The old cock again stalked slowly up, now and then dropping his head to the ground, and pecking up a grain or two of something on his way. When he got close to the flock a second time, they seemed to take fresh alarm, ran twenty yards farther, and again stopped. It appeared as if the old cock was a stranger to the rest, and that they considered his presence an intrusion! Again he approached them, and again they made a short run; this time not in a direct line, but in a circle around him, so that they came back nearly to their original ground. This time, however, only the five hens ran off. Both the cocks remained near the spot; but the movements of these now puzzled Congo not a little. One of them had squatted down, just as they had been first observed, while the other ran about in very small circles, occasionally fluttering his white plumes, and acting altogether like a drunken man! After a few minutes the manoeuvres of all appeared to change. The one that had seated himself appeared to _lie_ down and remain quiet, while he that had the "staggers" squatted down not far off; and presently a hen came running up and sat down beside him; so that now there remained upon their feet only one cock and four of the hens. The whole scene puzzled Congo, who was not from an ostrich country, and was but indifferently acquainted with the habits of these birds. No doubt, thought he, the creatures were about some game of their own, such as he had often seen with the "kooran" and partridges. There were others than Congo puzzled at what was passing among the ostriches. Klaas and Jan, who had reached their stations sooner than the rest, and who had been observing the odd actions of the birds, were both puzzled as to what they were about; and a little later Hans and Arend had a surprise, and were equally at a loss what to think of the game of "fits and starts" that was going on upon the plain. But Hans and Arend had not much time to observe. They had both gone far round, and they expected soon to see Hendrik and Groot Willem gallop out from the timber, so they kept their eyes in that direction. They were not disappointed. A few minutes after both were seen to shoot forth at full speed, and ride in diverging lines, so as to approach each other, and at the same time get nearer to the ostriches. As soon as the others saw them, the whole five, Congo included, showed themselves on the open ground, all making towards a common centre--the spot where the ostriches were. The hunters were now more surprised than ever. As they rode forward, they perceived that several of the great birds were seated, or lying upon the ground. They were basking, no doubt; but, for birds so wary, why did they not spring up and take to flight? They must already have perceived the approach of the horses or heard the sound of their trampling hoofs? Only two of the hens appeared at all alarmed; and these ran in the direction of the outer plain, but turned when they saw Hendrik and Groot Willem. Only one other was upon its feet; and that was the old cock that had kept apart? He was still standing erect, but did not attempt to fly! It was very odd. This old cock chanced to be nearest to Hendrik and Groot Willem; and going, as they were, at race-horse speed, they were scarce a minute in riding down upon him. They had got within less than five hundred yards; and, with guns ready, were resolved to give him a tail-on-end chase, and try a flying shot, when, to their tremendous surprise, a loud and terrified yell came from the bird, and the next moment his skin flew from his shoulders, discovering, not a naked ostrich, but a naked Bushman, with his legs chalked white to the very hips! _That Bushman was Swartboy_! It was, indeed, old Swart dressed up in the skin of the old cock he had lately shot with his poisoned arrow; and it was that same arrow, or half-a-dozen like it, that had been causing the mysterious movements among the ostriches. Five of them already lay around dead or dying; while the two hens, that had not yet received their billet, during the surprise consequent on Swartboy revealing himself, had managed to escape. Fortunately for Swartboy he "sung out" at the moment he did. Another half minute, and he would have fared no better than his own victims the ostriches. He acknowledged that he had been badly "scared." In looking after the ostriches, he had never thought of looking for any thing else; and from the manner in which his eyes were placed under the feathers, he could not see very well around. His ears, too, "muffled" up as they were within the skin of the old cock, were of little service to him; so that it was by mere accident he saw the horsemen galloping down upon him. Even then it cost an effort to "cast" his skin, and appear _in propria persona_! Now, when the young yagers thought of the curious incident that had just taken place, and then looked at the naked body of Swartboy, chalked white from hip to heel, the whole six sat in their saddles and laughed till their very sides ached. Swartboy, proud of his achievement, looked round him like a conqueror, and then fixing his eyes upon his rival, put the simple but equivocal interrogatory-- "Eh! Congo! ole Kaffir boy! dat you?" _The carapace was eclipsed_! CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. BLESBOKS AND BONTEBOKS. Next morning our party inspanned and treked over the desert plain in a north-easterly direction. They were two days in crossing it, and their oxen suffered much from thirst, as during the two days they did not taste water. For themselves they had water enough. Part of the contents of each wagon was a good water-cask, that held eighteen gallons; and these, of course, they had filled before leaving the spring. One of these casks they divided among their horses, allowing them a little over two gallons apiece; but that was nothing for two days' march over such a country. Even the yagers themselves required as much. This statement would not surprise you, if you had ever travelled in a tropical clime and over an arid waterless plain under a hot glaring sun. There thirst is provoked in a short while, and water will quench it only for a few minutes at a time. The appetite constantly returns, and calls for copious draughts; so that a traveller will often consume not glasses, but gallons, of water, in a single day! Having crossed the desert plain, the hunters now entered upon a country that differed entirely from that they had left behind. They had arrived in a country of vast extent, upon which stood hills of strange and varied forms. Some were of a rounded, hemispherical shape; others were cones; others had flat-table tops; and still others pierced the sky with sharp needle-like pinnacles. These hills were of various sizes--some approaching the dimension of mountains; but most of them rose directly from the plains, without any _piedmont_ or "foothills" intervening between the level surface and their sloping or precipitous sides. The country bore a very strong resemblance to the plateaux that lie among the Cordilleras of the Andes; and the geological formation of this part of Africa is very similar to the table-lands of Mexico. Many of the mountains of conical and pyramid form stood isolated upon the plain, some of them bare of vegetation from base to summit. Others, again, carried a dark mantle of forest, that covered only their lower half, above which rose bare peaks of white quartz that under the sun glittered like snow. The plains between were some of them of vast extent--so wide that at times the mountains that bordered them could be but dimly seen. But there were plains of every size and form. Their surface was covered with a species of grass quite different from that of the region our hunters had hitherto been passing over. It formed a short sward like a meadow lately mown, or a well-browsed pasture-ground, for such in reality it was--well-browsed and closely cropped, and trodden to a hard turf, by the countless herds of wild ruminant animals, of which it was the favourite range. Unlike the long flowing sweet grass upon the plains south of the Orange River, these were covered with a short crisp curly herbage of saltish taste; and in many spots an effervescence of that mineral covered the ground, whitening the blades of grass like a hoar-frost. Salt deposits, or salt-pans as they are termed, were also common, some of them extending for miles over the plain. The yagers had reached a peculiar country, indeed. They had arrived in the "zuur-veldt," the country of the sour grass--the favourite home of the _blesbok_ and _bontebok_. What are these? They are two antelopes, whose gracefulness of form, swiftness of foot, but, above all, the lively and striking colour of their bodies, have rendered remarkable. They belong to the genus _Gazella_, but in many of their habits they differ considerably from the gazelles, though differing so slightly from each other that by both travellers and naturalists they have been regarded identical. This is not so. They are distinct species, though inhabiting the same country, and following the same mode of life. The blesbok (_Gazella albifrons_) is neither so large nor so brilliantly marked as the bontebok, (_Gazella pygarga_). His horns are of a light colour, nearly white, while those of the bontebok are black. In the colour of the legs there is also a marked difference. The legs of the bontebok are white from the knee down, while those of his congener are only white on the insides--the outsides being brown. The bontebok is not only one of the loveliest antelopes in Africa, but one of the swiftest. Indeed, there are those who hold that he is _the swiftest_. In size he equals the European stag, and his form is light and graceful. His horns are fifteen inches in length, black, robust at the base, semi-annulated and diverging. They rise erect from the top of his head, bending slightly backward, and then forward at the tips. But it is the beautiful colouring of his skin which is the principal characteristic of this antelope. In this respect both he and the blesbok bear some resemblance to the antelopes of the _acronotine_ group--the hartebeest and sassabye. The colours of the bontebok are purple violet and brown of every shade-- not mingling together, but marking the body as if laid on by the brush of a sign-painter. Hence the name "bontebok," or "painted buck," as given by the Dutch colonists to this species. First, the neck and head are of a deep brown, with a tinge of the colour of arterial blood. Between the horns a white stripe commences, and after reaching the line of the eyes widens out so as to cover the face to the very muzzle. This mark, or "blaze," is common to both the species, and to one of them has given the trivial name "blesbok," (blaze-buck.) The back is of a blue lilac colour, as if glazed; and this extends along the sides, so as to remind one of a saddle. Bordering this, and running along the flanks, is a broad band of deep purple brown. The belly and insides of the thighs are of pure white colour; the legs are white from the knees down, and there is a large white patch on the croup. The tail reaches to the hocks, and is tufted with black hair. Such is the colour of the bontebok, and that of the blesbok differs from it only in the points already mentioned, and in its colours being somewhat less marked and brilliant. Both are beautiful creatures, and their skins are much prized by the native savages for making the "kaross,"--a garment that serves them both as a cloak by day and a bed and blankets at night. The habits of both species are quite similar. They dwell upon the plains of the "zuur-veldt," congregating in vast herds of many thousands that cover the ground with their purple masses. In this respect they resemble the springboks and other gazelles; but they have habits peculiar to themselves. The springboks, when alarmed, take to flight and scatter off in any direction, whereas the bonteboks and blesboks invariably run against the wind, bearing their noses close along the ground, like hounds upon a trail! They are fleeter than springboks, and also more shy and wary, as though they knew that their spoils are more valuable to the hunter, and therefore required greater skill and speed to preserve them. Both species were once common in what are now the settled districts of South Africa, their range extending to the Cape itself. That is now restricted to the "zuur-veldt" districts, north of the Great Orange River. A few bonteboks are still found within the colonial borders in the district of Swellendam; but their existence there is accounted for by an act of the Government, which places a fine of six hundred rix-dollars upon any one who may destroy them without licence. Our young yagers had now arrived in the land of the blesbok and bontebok. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. STALKING THE BLESBOKS. When they had got fairly within the boundaries of the blesbok country, the young yagers resolved to make halt for a day or two, and hunt these beautiful antelopes. Not that they desired their flesh, but they wished to strip one or two of them of their bright, parti-coloured robes, to be hung up along with their horns in the halls of Graaf Reinet. After treking some miles across the plains, they outspanned by a vley, and formed their camp. The following morning they mounted their horses, and proceeded over the plain in search of the purple antelopes. They were not long in finding them. That is by no means a difficult thing with an animal that herds together in thousands, provided you chance to be in the district it inhabits; and the yagers were not slow in coming within view of a herd of blesboks. But how to hunt them was a knowledge which none of the party possessed-- whether to let slip the buck-dogs and gallop right into the thick of the herd, or to get within shot by stalking--which of these was the proper manner neither the young yagers nor their drivers knew. In Swartboy's country neither blesboks nor bonteboks are known. They do not range to the western half of South Africa, and the young yagers only knew them by tradition. Their fathers had hunted them years before; but both species had been long since exterminated south of the Orange River. As for Congo, although their range extended into a part of the Kaffir country, he had never chanced to hunt in that particular district. Of course neither Bushman nor Kaffir were on the ground with the hunters. They had been left in charge of the camp; but the advice of both had been asked at setting out, and it was ascertained that they had none to give. The hunters were at a loss how to proceed, and held a discussion upon it. Groot Willem thought they should be hunted like springboks,--that is, the hunters should take stand and conceal themselves, while one or two rode round and drove the game upon these--a mode practised with the fallow-deer in the forests of North America, and there termed "driving." Hendrik believed that they could be "ridden into," and run down by the dogs. Hans recommended "stalking," with which, plan Arend agreed. Of course no opinion was either asked from or given by the lads Klaas and Jan. Had they been birds, they would have insisted upon their "say" as well as their elder brothers. But blesboks are not birds, although in less than an hour after they proved themselves to be almost as swift. Now, as stalking was the mode least likely to give the herd the alarm and seed them off, it could be tried first. Should no one succeed in getting within shot, then Groot Willem's plan might be adopted; and should it also fail to be successful, it would still not be too late to follow Hendrik's advice, and ride right at them. First, then, for a "stalk." They were not going to stalk them upon horseback. That would never do, though there are some animals that will suffer a mounted man to approach hearer than one afoot. But blesboks are not of that kind. All dismounted, therefore, and proceeded on foot in the direction of the herd. Not all, exactly. Klaas and Jan remained on the spot in charge of the dogs and horses. Klaas and Jan were to have no share in the stalk. The herd was in the middle of a vast open plain--so wide that the mountains on its opposite side were scarcely visible. Upon all that plain not a bush or rock appeared. The grass, as already stated, was short cropped, and smooth as a meadow--not a break in the surface to offer a chance of concealment to the hunter! How, then, could they talk of "stalking" on such ground? They knew that no wild animal, however stupid or negligent, would permit them to walk up within point-blank range and fire at them. How, then, were they going to approach the blesboks, that they had heard were any thing but stupid--on the contrary, were exceedingly shy and watchful of danger? How? That is a peculiar point, and requires explanation. Although there were neither rocks, nor trees, nor bushes of any kind, nor long grass, nor inequalities in the ground, there was still a species of "cover." Not the best, it is true, but such as would serve a skilful hunter who knew how to take advantage of it. Enough to give hopes to the yagers, else they would not have dreamt of such a thing as an attempt to stalk the blesboks. Scattered over the plain, and standing at irregular distances of from one to three hundred yards of each other, were numerous singular structures. They were of the form of obtuse cones, or hemispherical, and all of a light grey colour--the colour of sun-dried mud. On the sides of most of them at their bases could be seen a hole of irregular outlines, and evidently not made by the neat workmen who had built the mounds. Quite the contrary. These entrances to the hollow domes within were not for them. Theirs were underground. These had been made by their enemies--the burglars who had plundered their houses. I am sure I need hardly tell you that the structures thus described were ant-hills, and that the big holes in this side were the work of the long-tongued "aard-vark," or the scaly "pangolin." The hills in question were dome-shaped, and of moderate size--varying from one to three feet in height. This is by no means as large as many ant-hills found in Southern Africa. Some are four times that height, or still higher; but I have told you elsewhere of these high hills, and that there are different species of ants who construct such curious nests--each species choosing its own style of architecture,--some the cone, or pyramidal form,--some a complete cluster of cones,--some build them of cylindrical shape, and others nearly half-spherical, like inverted tea-basins. Of these last were the ant-hills now under the eyes of the young yagers. They were the nests of the _Termes mordax_--a species that inhabits all the plains of the "zuur-veldt" country. The hunters proceeded to stalk forward, their eyes bent upon the antelopes, and their hopes fixed upon the ant-hills. Of course they did not commence crouching, until they had tried how near the blesboks would allow them to come without cover. This they soon discovered to be about four hundred yards; and although the animals did not seem to mind their presence at that distance, but continued browsing, yet the moment any one of the four endeavoured to get nearer, the herd, as if mechanically, moved off, and still kept a width of four hundred yards between themselves and the stalkers. The hunters now began to stalk in earnest, crouching from hill to hill. It was to no purpose. None of the four could get within shot. They separated and took different sides. The same result followed--a failure. Although the herd kept on, and always in the same general direction, they seemed instinctively to avoid whatever ant-heap a hunter had chosen, giving it a "wide berth" which carried them beyond the reach even of Groot Willem's roer! After two hours spent in this fruitless kind of hunting, the plan was abandoned. The "stalk" would not do; and Hans and Arend were now sneered and laughed at by Hendrik and Groot Willem. "What could _they_ know about hunting? Ha! ha! ha!" CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. DRIVING THE BLESBOKS. All now returned to their horses. Groot Willem's plan was next to be tried. They mounted. Klaas and Jan were permitted to take part in this affair. They would do well enough to "drive" the antelopes, while the other four would take stand, and receive them as they came up. All six rode off towards the herd, which, during the stalk, had moved several miles across the plain. When as near as they might safely go, without causing the animals to take the alarm, Klaas and Jan were sent to one side, while the stand-men took the other, going to their places by a wide circuit. Of course their horses enabled them to get to their positions in a very little time. It was not necessary that these should be near the herd. As soon as they should conceal themselves behind the hills, Klaas and Jan were to drive the game up; and they were instructed to do so gently, and without causing the bucks to break into flight. The lads were hunters enough to manage that point. The four having got round to that side of the herd opposite to where the drivers had been sent, tied their bridles together, and, leaving their horses, walked towards the herd. They deployed from each other as they went, so as to cover a good stretch of the plain, and then each choosing an ant-hill, knelt down behind it. There could be no mistake now. The antelopes, driven by Klaas and Jan, would come their way; springboks certainly would; and then, "crack! crack!" would go the rifles, and "bang!" Groot Willem's roer. This gentleman was in particularly high glee. He had recommended this mode in opposition to Hans and Arend; but he did not mind that, for he had rather a contemptuous opinion of the hunter-craft of these two "yagers;" but what he thought of was, that Hendrik had opposed it, and should it prove successful after that opposition, it would be a feather in Groot Willem's _hat_. That it would succeed he had little doubt. They were all nicely placed. The two boys had got round to the opposite side of the herd, and once these showed themselves a little nearer, the antelopes would face round--they were browsing _towards_ the side to which the boys had been sent--and feed in the direction of the concealed hunters. Springboks would do so, said Groot Willem to himself. But springboks are not blesboks. They differ not only in size and colour, but in many of their habits; and just by a difference in one of these last was Groot Willem destined to disappointment. A curious habit they have--and one which is shared by a few other animals, both of the antelope and deer species--knocked all Groot Willem's fine calculations into "pie." Instead of turning when Klaas and Jan approached them from the opposite side, as all expected they would do, the stubborn creatures would not be turned, but kept on most determinedly in their original course. It is true that they swerved a little to _get past_ the boys; but as soon as they were fairly beyond them, they headed once more in the same direction as before. Klaas and Jan were at some distance from each other, so as to make a wider front to the drive; but for all that, the blesboks swept past both at such a distance as to give no chance for a bullet, even though sent from the long roer. Neither of the boys fired, as they had been told not to do; and as both behaved discreetly and quietly, the antelopes, after galloping some distance to their rear, slackened their pace, and again commenced browsing. Groot Willem felt considerably chagrined at the result, and got well laughed at by both Hans and Arend; but what annoyed him still more was a word or two uttered by the rival hunter. "I knew," said Hendrik emphatically--"I knew it wouldn't do. Do you take blesboks for sheep, to be driven about by a pair of boys mounted on ponies? Bah!" This was a terrible cut for Groot Willem; but he replied to it by alleging that his plan had not had a fair trial. It was now plain to all that the blesboks _fed up wind_; and, therefore, the _stand-men_ should have headed them instead of the _drivers_. "Let us try it that way. I'll warrant you we'll succeed. If we don't, then we can do as _Master_ Hendrik recommends; and we'll see how _his_ plan, which is no plan at all, may answer." There was a slight touch of sarcasm in Groot Willem's tone when he referred to Hendrik, and the emphasis on the "Master," partook strongly of the character of a sneer counter to _his_ which Hendrik had given. There could be no objection to try the thing over again, according to the mode suggested by Groot Willem; and they all assented to his proposal. It _was_ plain that the blesboks ran in the "wind's eye," else they never would have "run the gauntlet" against Klaas and Jan, as they had done. Such being the case, the hunters, by laying in wait to windward, would have a decided advantage, and, properly placed, could not fail to reach some of the advancing herd. Should the scheme turn out differently, then they could follow Hendrik's advice, and ride _tail-on-end_ upon the blesboks. With these ideas, the four galloped away to one side, and, making a wide _detour_, headed the game. Klaas and Jan were left in the rear to follow it up, and force it gently forward. In good time the stand-men were again placed, and watched the advancing antelopes with interest. The "blaze" upon their faces appeared larger and larger, and their broad, white muzzles gleamed in the eyes of the hunters, almost within range of their guns. But at this moment, the animals raised their graceful necks, uttered a strange, snorting cry, and then, instead of turning to fly back, bounded right forward! Surely they were coming within range, thought every one, as he knelt with ready firelock behind his sheltering mound. "Good!" muttered Groot Willem to himself. "I'll turn the laugh upon the whole of them--that I shall." But Groot Willem was destined once more to a humiliating disappointment. As the blesboks came under the lee of each hill that covered a hunter, they suddenly swerved, and swept round him at such a distance as to render shooting at them a perfectly ridiculous thing. Groot Willem had levelled his roer for a chance shot, when he thought of the unpleasant consequences of a "miss;" and reluctantly bringing down his piece he permitted the blesboks to sweep past. In a few seconds the herd was far beyond the place where they had passed the hunters; but as no assault had been made upon them, and no gun fired, they quieted down after a while, and once more commenced browsing. Hendrik was now the proud man of the hour. He would show them how the slow creatures could be galloped into. He would run half-a-dozen of them down before they could clear out of the plain. "Come on!" All once again mounted their horses, and rode briskly towards the herd. When near, they moved more slowly and quietly, so as not to startle them. As soon as they had got within the usual distance of four hundred yards, the bucks moved forward; and then came the "view hilloa!" The dogs were let slip, the horses sprang forward, and the chase swept wildly over the plain. They had not galloped a mile, before Hendrik discovered his mistake. Both dogs and horses were distanced by the swift antelopes, and both lagged far behind. One by one the hunters fell into the rear, and drew up their foaming steeds; and in less than twenty minutes time, Hendrik alone, and one or two of the best dogs, held on. Hans and Arend, believing that it was a hopeless chase for their horses, gave it up; and Groot Willem _did not wish to succeed_! Of course, Klaas and Jan were with the hindmost; and they all sat in their saddles, watching first the purple backs of the bucks, and then the head and shoulders of Hendrik disappearing among the distant ant-hills! CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. HENDRIK'S HARD GALLOP. On swept the blesboks over the level sward and on galloped Hendrik after them--his horse and dogs running at their utmost speed. For all that, not a yard could either hunter or hounds gain upon the swift antelopes. There was no chance for either to "run cunning." There was no taking "a cut" upon the game. The blesboks made not the slightest double--swerved not a point from their course, but ran in a straight line, dead in the wind's eye. No advantage, therefore, was given by the pursued, or could be taken by the pursuers. It was a simple question of speed between horse, dogs, and game. The dogs gave up first. They broke down one after another, until only Hendrik's favourite hound kept near. Another mile's running, and he too was used up, and fell to the rear; and now Hendrik galloped alone. For nearly ten miles he galloped, until the sweat streamed from his horse's flanks, and the froth from his lips, and still the blesboks scoured on before him at too great a distance to be reached by his rifle. On a fresh horse he could easily have overtaken them now, for they ran but slowly. Perhaps he could have closed upon them as it was, but, with all his desire to do so, he was compelled to ride with caution. The burrows of the ant-eater lay in his path, and once or twice, as he was closing upon the game with good prospect of getting near, his horse had stumbled, and lost ground again. This gave the antelopes a decided advantage, as with light hoof they skimmed over these impediments without fear. And still Hendrik was reluctant to pull up. He thought of the empty boasting he had made. He thought of the scornful laugh that would greet him on his return. He thought of Groot Willem! If he could only take back one hide--one pair of horns--all would be well. The laugh would be his. With such thoughts he had been urged forward, in this long and desperate ride. He began to despair of success. The blesboks seemed to run lightly as ever, while his horse sprang heavily under him. The noble brute must soon give up. Hendrik at length felt for him, and would have drawn bridle; but while half-resolved to do so, he noticed a range of mountains directly in front of him. They appeared to extend across the plain transversely to his course, or rather two chains met in a sort of angle, quite closing up the plain in that direction. Towards this angle the blesboks were directing their course! Did they propose taking to the mountain? was the question put by Hendrik to himself. If so, he might find an advantage there. They might come to a stop, and under cover of the rocks and bushes that grew upon the mountain-side, he might be able yet to stalk them. As Hendrik reflected thus, his eyes wandered along the base of both ranges from the angle where they met to a good distance on each side. To his surprise he perceived that the bases of both ended in a precipitous cliff, with no apparent pass leading up! He was now close enough to see the cliff. Not a break appeared along its whole line! Hendrik was gratified with this discovery. He was driving the game into an angle, a very _trap_. They would be compelled to turn upon him, and out of such a thick mass, he could not fail to knock over one. One was all he wanted. His hopes returned, inspiring him with new vigour; and, uttering a word of encouragement to his horse, he pushed forward. His ride did not last much longer. Another mile, and it was over. He had got within five hundred yards of the mountain foot, and less than half that distance from the bucks that still continued to run straight toward the angle of the cliffs. He was now quite sure of a shot. In less than a minute, the herd would be compelled either to stop, or turn back, and meet him in the teeth. It was time to get his rifle in readiness; and as he intended to fire into the thick mass, he took several small bullets from his pouch, and hastily dropped them into the barrel. He then looked to his percussion-cap, to make sure that all was right. It was so. The copper was properly adjusted on the nipple. He cocked his gun, and once more looked forward to the game. _Not an antelope was in sight_! Where were they? Had they sprung up the mountain? Impossible! The precipice could not be scaled? Impossible! Even had they done so, they would still have been seen upon the mountain face. They were not in sight, not one of them! The hunter reined up, his gun dropped back to the withers of his horse, his jaws fell, and for some moments he sat with parted lips, and eyes glaring in wonderment. Had he been of a superstitious nature, he might have been troubled with some painful feelings at that moment. But he was not superstitious. Although for a moment or two he could not feel otherwise than astonished at it, he knew there was some natural cause for the "sudden and mysterious disappearance" of the bucks. He did not pause long in doubt, but proceeded at once to the proper quarter for an explanation. The tracks of the herd guided him to that, and after riding three hundred yards further, the mystery was explained to his full and complete satisfaction. The angle, after all, was not an angle, for the apex was wanting. There _was_ a "thoroughfare" without the slightest obstruction. Although at a short distance the converging cliffs appeared to impinge upon each other, there was an opening between them--a narrow pass that like an isthmus connected the plain over which the chase had gone, with another and very similar one that stretched away on the other side of the mountains. The blesboks must have known it well enough, else they would not have run so direct for the false angle in the cliffs. Hendrik trotted up the pass to convince himself that it was no _cul-de-sac_. After going a few hundred yards, the isthmus widened again, and he saw to his chagrin the violet backs of the bucks far off upon the plain that stretched beyond. Overcome with disappointment and chagrin, he flung himself from his saddle, and staggering a few paces, sat down upon a boulder of rock. He did not even stop to fasten his horse, but, dropping the bridle over his neck, left the froth-covered and panting steed to himself. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. HENDRIK CHASED BY THE KEITLOA. Hendrik's feelings at that moment were not to be envied. His reflections were sharply bitter. He felt mortified and humiliated. He wished he had never set eyes upon a blesbok. A sorry figure would he cut on his return to camp. He had laughed heartily at Hans and Arend. They would reciprocate that laugh, and add interest. He had ridiculed the idea of Groot Willem. Groot would not fail to pay back his scorn. Besides, he had done his horse no good; perhaps had injured the animal. There stood he, with steaming nostrils and heaving flanks, quite used up. They were nearly twelve miles from camp. He would scarce be able to carry his rider back, and Hendrik even began to entertain doubts about his way. The thought that he might have lost himself was just entering his mind, when his reflections were interrupted by a sound that caused him to start up from that rock, as nimbly as he had ever risen from a seat in his life. The same sound seemed to produce a very similar effect upon his horse; for the latter, on hearing it, suddenly jerked up his drooping head, pricked his ears, snorted loudly, and, after dancing about a moment on two, shot off down the pass at full gallop! Hendrik's eyes did not follow him, nor his thought neither. Both were too busy with an animal that came from the opposite side, and which had uttered the sound that caused such a sudden alarm. The deep bass snort and the bellows-like blowing that followed, were no strangers to the ear of the young hunter. He knew that, on looking round, he would behold the black rhinoceros;--and he did so. That fierce creature was coming down the pass! At first sight Hendrik was not so terribly alarmed. He had hunted the rhinoceros more than once, and did not deem it such dangerous sport. He had always been able to avoid the charges of the clumsy quadruped, and to escape out of its way when he desired. But Hendrik for the moment had forgotten that on such occasions he was seated, not on a boulder of rock, but in the saddle, and it was to his horse that he owed his immunity from danger. Now that his horse had run off, and he found himself afoot upon the plain, with nothing between him and the rhinoceros but twenty yards of smooth level turf, he became truly alarmed. And no wonder at it--his life was in danger. His first thought was to run up the rocks, thinking by so doing to get out of the animal's reach. But, on looking towards these, he perceived that they formed a precipice on both sides of the pass, with a wall-like face, that could only have been scaled by a cat! Hendrik could not climb up on either side! In the pass itself there was no shelter for him. Its bottom was a smooth sward, sloping but slightly. It was but the continuation of the outer plains, that were nearly on the same level. Here and there stood a tree, but they were small ones--mere "brush," and a rhinoceros could have levelled any of them to the ground with his powerful horn. They offered no hope, either for concealment or retreat. There appeared no chance of escape in any way. To attempt it by running off would be perfectly useless; for Hendrik knew that a rhinoceros could overtake the swiftest runner, as every South African hunter could testify. Hendrik did not think of it. To add to his ill-fortune, he had left his gun strapped to the saddle, and that was now gone off with the horse; so that his chance of saving himself by the destruction of the rhinoceros was gone also. The only weapon left him was his hunting-knife; but what was a knife against the hide of a rhinoceros? It might as well have been a needle. There was but one hope of safety; and that was, that the animal might not _see_ him. The rhinoceros possesses the sense of sight only in a moderate degree. His eyes are small; and though sharp enough when an object is directly in front of him, they are so placed in his head, that, on account of his stiff neck and huge form, he can see nothing either behind or even at either side of him. Hendrik had hopes the fierce brute would pass without observing him. From his movements it was evident he had not noticed him as yet, else he would already have charged upon him. The black rhinoceros does not wait to be provoked. His own fierce nature furnishes him with sufficient stimulus, and his fury is habitually directed against creatures the most innocent and unoffending. To get as far out of his way as possible, Hendrik glided silently up to the cliff, and stood close against the rock. But if the rhinoceros is not a sharp-sighted animal he is one of the sharpest-scented that lives. With the wind in his favour, he can smell even a "rat" at an almost incredible distance. He is also gifted with a most acute sense of hearing; and the slightest sound, such as the rustling of a leaf or the falling of a footstep, will enable him to guide himself directly to his enemy or his victim. Were the rhinoceros endowed with the power of vision to the same degree as he is with that of smell and hearing, he would be the most dangerous animal in the world. As it is, he is any thing but a safe neighbour, and many of the poor natives of the country he inhabits, fall victims to his ungovernable temper and brutal strength. Fortunately his eyes are no bigger than they are. They were big enough, however, to see Hendrik as he stood, his dark form outlined against the cliff, and sharp enough to distinguish him from the rock. The breeze, indeed, blowing in his spread nostrils, had warned him of the hunter's presence, and that had directed his eyes. As these rested upon the form of the boy, he stopped short in his track, uttered a snorting noise, vibrated his ears, and flirted his saucy little tail over his huge hips. Then placing himself in a menacing attitude, and giving utterance to an angry blowing, he dashed forward upon Hendrik as if the latter had been his enemy for life! Hendrik's presence of mind was called for at this moment; and it came to his aid. Had he kept his ground five seconds longer, he would have been crushed against the rock, or impaled upon the strong horn of the rhinoceros. But the moment the latter charged, the boy sprang out from the cliff. He did not attempt to run--that would not have saved him; and fortunately he knew it. He merely stepped out to the more open ground in the middle of the pass, and there stood fronting his assailant. The latter having seen the movement, swerved in his course, so as again to head direct for his intended victim; and without stopping, rushed forward as before. Hendrik stood still, until the sharp black horn almost touched him. Then bounding to one side, he glided past the rhinoceros, and ran in an opposite direction. He looked back as he ran; and seeing that the fierce brute had turned suddenly on the failure of his charge, and was close at his heels, he again made stand, confronting the animal as before. Again he waited until the rhinoceros was close up, and repeated the manoeuvre of springing to one side and running behind. This Hendrik had heard was the only way to escape the rhinoceros in open ground. Had he sprung aside a moment too soon, that is, before the sudden bound enabled him to clear the field of the animal's vision, he would certainly have been followed and overtaken; for, unwieldy as the rhinoceros appears, it is nevertheless far more active than it looks, and the horse can barely get out of the way of its sudden and impetuous rush. Hendrik had got two hundred yards down the pass before it turned again, but the distance was not enough. He was compelled to make stand for the third time, and await the terrible onset of his huge enemy. As before, he succeeded in getting to his rear, but the rhinoceros seemed to grow wiser, and now wheeled his body at shorter intervals, so that Hendrik's chances of escape were growing less and less after each successive charge. In fact, he was kept dodging and leaping continuously from side to side. To have lost his footings or relaxed his vigilance for a moment, would have been certain and immediate destruction. Hendrik began to despair. He was already panting for breath, with the perspiration flowing from every pore. His body ached with fatigue. His limbs began to fail him. He could not hold out much longer. There was no reason to believe the powerful brute would desist. It was child's play to him; and he had worked himself into a fearful rage at not being able to strike his victim after so many charges. Hendrik began to think he was lost for ever. The thoughts of home, of father, of sister, and brothers, of Wilhelmina--rushed across his mind; he would never see them more; he would be killed in that pass, and by the fierce dark monster that was pursuing him. They would never know what had become--Ha! An ejaculation escaped from Hendrik's lips as these sad thoughts coursed through his brain. It was an exclamation of joy. The struggle between him and the fierce animal had continued for more than a quarter of an hour, and had changed from place to place until they were now about the middle of the pass. Hendrik's sudden exclamation had been caused, by his observing upon the cliffs a sort of ledge or platform about six feet from the ground. It was scarce that width, but it ran along the front of the cliff for a distance of several yards; and, as Hendrik thought, at one end there was a sort of cave or cleft in the rocks. He scarce glanced at this, however; the platform itself was what interested him, and without another thought or look he grasped the edge of the rock and dragged himself up. The next moment he stood upon the shelf, and looked safely down upon the ferocious brute that was snorting in vain fury below! CHAPTER THIRTY. HENDRIK IN A STATE OF SIEGE. Hendrik breathed freely, though he puffed and panted a long time after getting upon his perch. His mind was at ease, however, for he saw at once that the rhinoceros could not reach him. The most it could do was to get its ugly snout over the edge of the rock, and that only by raising itself upon its hind-legs. This it actually did, blowing with rage, and projecting its broad muzzle as close as it could to the feet of the hunter, as if to seize him with its elongated and prehensile lips. It did so only once. Hendrik was as angry as the rhinoceros, and with juster cause; and now, feeling confident of the security of his position, he bent forward, and with all his might repeatedly kicked the thick lips of the brute with the heels of his heavy boots. The rhinoceros danced about, uttering cries of rage and pain; but, despite the brutal impetuosity of its nature, it no longer attempted to scale the cliff, but contented itself with rushing to and fro at its base, evidently determined to _lay siege_ to the hunter. Hendrik had now time to contemplate this singular animal. To his surprise he perceived that it was a new species--that is, one he had never seen before, although he had heard of it. Hendrik knew--for Hans had told him long ago--that there were at least four species of the rhinoceros inhabiting the countries of South Africa between the Tropic and the Cape, and that probably a fifth existed to the north of this line. Of the four, two were _white_ rhinoceroses, and two _black_. The white ones were called respectively "kobaoba" and "muchocho," the black ones "borele" and "keitloa." The white species were both larger than the black ones, but of milder disposition. Their food was principally grass, while the borele and keitloa browse upon the tender shoots and leaves of bushes. The white ones are "unicorns," that is, their anterior horn is largely developed--in the muchocho being sometimes three feet in length, and in the kobaoba still longer--while the posterior horn is simply a knob or bony protuberance. There are many other points of distinction between the white and black species, both in form, colour, and habits. Now, as the one that had attacked Hendrik was a _black_ rhinoceros, and was _not_ the borele--for this was the kind they had encountered while hunting the gnoo--it must be the keitloa. That it was not the borele Hendrik saw by its horns. In the latter the front horn only is developed to any considerable length--never so long as in the white ones--whereas, like with them, the posterior horn is little more than a pointed knob, though longer or shorter in different individuals. Now, the rhinoceros before Hendrik's eyes had two thick strong horns upon its snout, each one being full fifteen inches in length, and of course nearly equal. The neck, too, was longer, and the lip more pointed and prehensile than in the borele for Hendrik knew the latter well, as it is one of the most common animals upon the frontier. Hendrik's assailant was the keitloa. Although less is known of this species than either the muchocho or borele--because its district lies farther to the north--yet Hendrik had heard something of its character from Hans, as well as from old hunters. He had heard that it is even more fierce and dangerous than the borele and is more dreaded by the natives. In districts where it is common, the people fear it more than any other animal--not even excepting the lion or the grim buffalo! Hendrik had heard this about the keitloa, and no longer wondered at its having attacked him in the savage and unprovoked manner it had done. He only thanked his stars that there existed that little ledge of rock upon which he now stood, and from which he could look down and contemplate those terrible horns with a feeling of complacency which, five minutes before, he had not enjoyed. He almost laughed at the odd situation he found himself in. "What a place for Hans!" he said in soliloquy. "Capital place for him to study the natural history of this clumsy brute!" At this moment, as if echoing his thoughts, the keitloa began to exhibit before him one of its peculiar habits. There stood a good-sized bush right in front, having a number of separate stems growing from one root, the whole forming a little clump of itself. Against this bush the rhinoceros commenced battling,--now charging it from one side, now from another,--dashing at it headforemost, breaking the branches with his horns, and trampling them under his thick clumsy limbs--all the while, by his menacing look and movements, appearing as if he was fighting with some enemy in earnest! Whether in earnest or not, he continued to go on in this way for more than half-an-hour, until every stem and branch were barked, broken, and crushed to mummy among his feet, and not till then did he desist from his furious attacks. The whole thing had such a ludicrous air about it that it recalled to Hendrik's mind the story of Don Quixote and the windmill, and set him laughing outright. His merriment, however, was not of long duration, for he now began to perceive that the fury of the keitloa was as long-lived as it was terrible. The glances that the animal from time to time cast upon the hunter told the latter that he had to deal with an implacable enemy. As soon as the creature had finished its battle with the bush, it walked back towards the cliff, and stood with its head erect and its small lurid eyes gleaming upon the hunter. It appeared to know he was its prisoner, and had resolved upon keeping him there. Its whole manner satisfied Hendrik that such was its intention, and he began once more to feel uneasy about the result. When another hour had passed, and still the keitloa kept watching him from below, he became more than uneasy--he became alarmed. He had been suffering from thirst ever since they commenced hunting the blesbok--he was now almost choking. He would have given any thing for one cup of water. The hot sun--for it was yet only noon--scorched him as he stood against that bare burning rock. He suffered torture from heat as well as thirst. He suffered, too, from suspense. How long might his implacable sentinel keep watch upon him? Until the keitloa should leave the spot, there was not the slightest hope of his escaping. To have returned to the plain would be certain death. It would have been death but for the timely proximity of that friendly rock. No hope to escape from its broiling surface so long as the fierce brute remained below. Would Hans and the others believe him lost, and follow upon his spoor? They might, but not till the next day. They would not think of him being lost before night came, as it was no unusual thing for one of them to be off alone from morning till night. How would he endure the terrible thirst that was raging within him? How would he suffer it until they should arrive? Besides, it might rain during the night. His spoor would then be completely obliterated. They would not be able to follow it, and then, what might be his fate? These and many other reflections passed through his mind as he stood upon the ledge, regarding his fierce jailer with looks of anger and impatience. But the keitloa cared not for that. He still remained upon the ground, now pacing to and fro by the bottom of the cliff, and now standing still, with head erect, his small dark orbs scintillating with a look of untiring vengeance. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. A SINGULAR ESCAPE. As the moments passed, Hendrik's thirst grew fiercer, and his impatience stronger. He had already examined the cliff above him--in hopes that he might have found a way by which it could be scaled. To no purpose did he look up. There were other ledges, it is true, but they were beyond his reach. The shelf he stood upon ran along the face of the cliff for many yards, but narrowed at both ends until it could be followed no farther. He had not moved from the spot where he ascended, as that was the broadest part, and where he was most out of reach of the elastic snout and long horns of the keitloa. He now remembered that, while battling about below, he had noticed a dark spot above the ledge, which he had conjectured to be the entrance of a cave, or a hole in the cliff. He had thought of it once again, but as creeping within a cave would not render him more secure than he was out on the rock, he had not gone towards it. Now it occurred to him that he might examine the cave, and enter it if large enough to admit him. It would, at least, be pleasanter there, as he would be sheltered from the hot rays of the sun--an important consideration at that moment. But there was another consideration that influenced him still more; and that was, the thought that were he once _out of sight_ the rhinoceros _might forget him_. He knew that the old adage, "out of sight, out of mind," had a good deal of meaning when applied to the borele, the lion, and many other dangerous animals; and perhaps the proverb would also hold good of the keitloa--though what he had heard of this creature gave him very little ground to hope. At all events, he could test the thing. It would not cost much time to make the trial; and even should it prove of no service in that way, the change from his present stand upon the hot ledge for a seat within a cool cavern could not otherwise than better his condition. To the cave then! Fixing his eye upon the keitloa, he commenced moving along the terrace, towards the point where he remembered having noticed the dark fissure in the cliff. The keitloa followed, keeping with him step for step; and apparently roused to fresh vigilance, as if it feared that its victim was about to attempt an escape. All the way it followed him; and as the ledge grew narrower, it became necessary for Hendrik to proceed with great caution. Not that he was in danger of falling from it, but rather of _being dragged_--for the rhinoceros, by standing on his hind-legs, was now able to stretch his broad muzzle above the edge of the rock, and to protrude his elastic snout across the ledge within a few inches of the wall beyond. It therefore required "gingerly" stepping on the part of Hendrik. Notwithstanding all the menacing efforts of his adversary, Hendrik succeeded in reaching the entrance of the cave. It was a cavern deep and dark, with a mouth sufficiently large to admit the body of a man in a bent position. Hendrik was about stooping to enter it, when a loud "purr" sounded in his ears that caused him to start erect again, as if some one had run a needle into his back! The "purr" was quickly followed by a "roar," so deep and terrible, that in his first moments of alarm, the hunter felt half inclined to leap to the ground, and risk the horns of the rhinoceros, which, at that instant, were gleaming above the ledge, within twenty inches of his feet! There was no mystery in what caused the alarm. There was no mistaking that roar for any other earthly sound. The cave was tenanted by a lion! The tenant did not remain much longer within his house. The roaring continued; and every moment sounded nearer and clearer. The huge claws caused a rattling among the dry pebbles that strewed the bottom of the cave. The lion was coming forth! With the nimbleness of a klipspringer, Hendrik bounded to one side, and ran back along the ledge, looking fearfully behind him. This time he was not followed by the keitloa. The rhinoceros, whether terrified by the roar of the lion, or whether his attention was solely taken up by it, remained standing where he had taken up his position, with his head projected over the rock, and his snout pointed towards the entrance of the cavern. Next moment the shaggy front of the lion filled the mouth of the cave, and the king of beasts and the "king of brutes" came face to face! For some moments they remained gazing at each other; but the eyes of the lion seemed to intimidate the keitloa, and the latter drew his head back, and dropped on all fours to the ground. Perhaps he would have gone off from the spot without an encounter; but the ire of the dread monarch had been aroused by this intrusion upon his rest. For a moment he stood lashing his tawny sides with his tail; and then, crouching until his breast touched the rock, he launched himself out from the ledge, and came down with all the weight of his body upon the broad back of the keitloa! But, king as he was, he had mistaken the character of that "subject," if he thought he was going either to mangle him badly, or put him to flight. Sharp as were his claws, and strong his arms to strike, they barely scratched the thick hard hide of the pachyderm; and although he tried to "fix" himself on the shoulders of the latter, he could not manage to stick. Had it been a buffalo, or an antelope, or even the tall giraffe, he would have ridden it to death; but to ride a rhinoceros was a different affair; and he found it so. Although he used both teeth and claws to keep him in the position he had taken, neither would serve him, and he was dismounted almost in an instant. The moment the keitloa felt the fierce rider on its back, it made a desperate rush outward from the rocks, and shaking its huge body like an earthquake, it cast the lion to the plain. The lion crouched as if again to spring; but the latter, suddenly turning upon his antagonist, stood face to face with him before he could effect his purpose. The rhinoceros did not pause a moment, but rushed on his antagonist with his horns set like couched lances. The weight of his body, with the impetuosity of the charge, would have driven those hard sharp weapons through the toughest skin that lion ever wore, and through his ribs as well. The lion seemed to be troubled with some such idea; for, instead of awaiting the onset of his enemy, he turned tail--the cowardly brute!--and made off up the pass, the keitloa chasing him as if he had been a cat! Hendrik, all the while, had watched the combat from the ledge; but he never knew how it ended, or whether the rhinoceros overtook the lion or not. The moment he saw the two great brutes in full run _up_ the pass, he leaped from the ledge and ran _down_ it, with all the speed he could take out of his legs. On reaching the angle, he hesitated a moment which way to take--whether to follow back the spoor of the hunt, or the later tracks of his horse-- but at length he decided on following back his own spoor over the open plain. He ran along it as fast as he was able, looking over his shoulders at very short intervals, and still fearful that the great black body would show itself in his rear. He was agreeably disappointed, however. No keitloa followed in pursuit; and soon another agreeable fact came under his notice--he perceived that his horse had also gone back the same way. On rounding a clump of bushes some distance farther on, he saw the horse browsing a little way off upon the plain. The latter permitted himself to be caught; and Hendrik, once more mounting to the saddle, pursued his way towards the camp. The spoor of the hunt guided him in a direct line; for the blesboks, it will be remembered, ran all the while to windward, thus following a straight course. Hendrik had no difficulty in following the track; and, after two hours' riding, got back to camp, having picked up most of the dogs on his way back. Hans and Arend _did_ laugh at him. Groot Willem did _not_. The latter remembered how his rival had acted after his own tumble over the burrow of the aard-wolf; and now reciprocated Hendrik's handsome behaviour on that occasion. Groot Willem and Hendrik were likely to become great friends. CHAPTER THIRTY TWO. A VAST HERD OF ANTELOPES. Next day the young yagers were witnesses to a most extraordinary spectacle; and that was, a vast herd of blesboks,--so vast, that the plains appeared literally covered with their purple masses! This herd was not browsing, nor at rest, but scouring up against the wind--as those hunted the day before had done--and evidently running as if some dreaded enemy in their rear had given them an alarm. The mass of bodies was nearly half a mile in width; but it would have been difficult to estimate its length, as it continued to pass before the eyes of the yagers for more than an hour! On the animals poured, sometimes running in line, and sometimes the hindmost leaping over those that preceded them, moving like an impetuous torrent. All of them ran with necks extended forward, their noses close to the ground, like hounds running upon the scent! Here and there they were closely packed in dense masses, while in the intervals between, the bucks were thinly interspersed; and now and then were wide breaks, like an army marching in column. The cause of these openings was simply that the immense drove consisted of a great many separate herds, all running by one impulse; for it is a curious habit of the blesboks and bonteboks, that when one herd becomes alarmed, all the other herds that chance to be in the same plains with this one, both to windward and leeward of it, start off in succession; and as all, from their habit of running up the wind, must follow the same direction, a constant drove, or rather a continuous succession of droves is formed, and passes in open column before the spectator who may be on either flank. The wonderful spectacle of so many living creatures, running together in such countless numbers, brought to mind the accounts, which the young yagers had read, of the migrations of the buffalo on the prairies of America, and also those of the passenger-pigeon. Of course, the resemblance to the "trek-boken" of their own springboks, which all of them had witnessed, was also remembered. On this day our hunters were more successful than upon the preceding. They had learnt by their experience of yesterday how to "jag" the blesbok. Instead of attempting either to "stalk" or "head" them, they found that the best plan was to ride along the flanks of the running herd, and now and again dash near enough to fire into the thick of them. The blesboks, while moving to windward, will permit the hunter to get within three or four hundred yards of their flank; and the mounted hunter, keeping his horse fresh, can now and then gallop within shooting distance before the moving mass can turn out of its course. Firing among a flock in this aimless way, the bullet is not always sure of a victim, but now and then a buck fells to the shot. Practising this plan, the young yagers played upon the flanks of the great herd during the whole time of its flight to windward; but notwithstanding the continuous cracking of rifles, with now and then the louder detonation of Groot Willem's great elephant-gun, the slaughter was not very great. Six only "bit the dust." But as in the six there chanced to be an equal number of bucks and does, the hunters were quite content. They were not "jaging" for the meat, but merely to get specimens of the horns and prettily-painted skins; and three of each were as many as they wanted. The hunt was soon over; and as their horses were pretty well "blown," the yagers returned at an early hour to camp, taking with them only the heads, horns, and skins of their game, with just enough of the venison to give them fresh steaks for a day or two. One peculiarity they remarked in skinning the blesboks--that the skins of these beautiful creatures exhaled a pleasant perfume--arising, no doubt, from the fragrant plants and herbage upon which the animals feed. The afternoon was spent in dressing the skins--by removing the fatty flesh that adheres to them--and they were then spread out to dry. Under such a hot sun, a few hours was sufficient to render them dry enough to be carried on to the next camp, where they would be spread out for a longer period, and thoroughly prepared for packing in the wagons. Hendrik and Groot Willem performed this service; but the preparing of the heads--a more scientific operation--was the work of Hans assisted by Arend. Hans had his box of chemicals, consisting of arsenical soap and several other noted "preservers," which he had brought along for this special purpose; and by night, two pairs of heads, with the skin and horns attached, were thoroughly cleaned and mounted, and ready for nailing up to the wall. There was a buck and doe in each pair; one, of course, for the Von Blooms, and another for the mansion of the Van Wyks. The only difference between the horns of the _blaze-buck_ and the _blaze-doe_ is, that those of the latter are shorter, and more slender; while the skin of the doe is less vivid in its colouring, and smaller, as is also the body of the animal. The same remark applies to the kindred species--the bonteboks--of which brilliantly coloured creatures full sets of horns and skins were obtained the day after. On this occasion, the "stand and drive" recommended by Groot Willem had been tried again, and with great success; each of the four--Hans, Hendrik, Arend, and Groot himself--having shot his buck as the flock dashed up to their stands. Indeed, Hans, upon this occasion, had carried off the palm. His double-barrel, loaded with ball, had enabled him to knock over a couple of the "painted goats"--as bonteboks are sometimes styled--right and left. The explanation of their success in this hunt, and their failure when trying the same plan with the blesboks, is not found in any essential difference between the two species. Their habits are almost the same. No. Their success lay simply in the fact, that on the day when they jaged the bontebok, there was no wind--not a breath of air stirring. On this account the game were not only unable to run against the wind, but, keen as is their scent, they were not able to tell behind which ant-hill lay their concealed enemies. The consequence was, that Klaas and Jan were able to drive them right up to the ambushed hunters, who slew them without difficulty. The "stalk" would not have succeeded on such a day, for these antelopes trust far more to their nose than their eyes; moreover, a correct rifle-shot is very difficult to be obtained in the plains of the "zuur-veldt,"--as the _mirage_ is almost always upon them, and interferes with the aim. So strong is this mirage, that objects at a distance become quite distorted to the eye, and out of all proportion. A secretary bird stalking along looks as big as a man, and an ostrich attains the altitude of a church-steeple. Even the colour of objects becomes changed; and travellers have mistaken a pair of tawny lions for the white tilts of their own wagons and have gone towards them, thinking they were riding into their camp! An awkward mistake, I should fancy. After having secured their specimens of the pied antelopes, the young yagers again broke up camp, and treked away across the plains of the "zuur-veldt." CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. THE LONE MOUNTAIN. It has been observed, that upon the plains of the zuur-veldt country, mountains of singular forms meet the eye of the traveller--cones, domes, square box-like masses with table tops; sharp ridges, like the roofs of gigantic houses; and some that pierce the heavens with pointed peaks like the steeples of churches! Some, again, present a horizontal outline, like the parapet of a fortification, while square tower-like masses, rising above the general level, carry out the idea of some work of military architecture on a grand scale. Our young yagers were very much interested in these mountain forms, so varied and fantastic. Sometimes their route led them along the base of a precipice rising a thousand feet sheer above the plain, and trending for miles without a break, so that for miles no access could be had to the mountain that rose still higher above. Sometimes they were compelled to trek along narrow ridges that sloped off on both sides, leaving scarce enough of level to run the wheels upon. Then, again, they would be compelled to pass around some spur, that, shooting for miles out into the plain, barred their direct path. As they treked across one of the widest plains they had yet seen, a singularly formed mountain drew their attention. It could scarce be called a mountain, as its altitude above the plain could not have been more than seven or eight hundred feet; but its brown rocky surface gave it that character, and to have styled such a mass a hill would have been equally misnaming it. There were no "foothills," or inequalities near its base. The greensward of the level plain stretched away on every side--its verdant colour strongly contrasting with the dark brown granite of the mountain. The sides of this singular mountain sloped from base to summit as regularly as those of an Egyptian pyramid; and at a distance it looked pyramidal, but on coming nearer its rounded form could be perceived. It was, in reality, an obtuse cone, perfect in all except the apex, and it was there that the peculiarity of this mountain lay. Instead of ending at the apex, a steeple-like rock rose out of the summit some thirty feet higher, ending in a point that appeared from below as "sharp as a needle." It was this that had drawn the attention of the young yagers more particularly, as other mountains of conical form were common enough along their route; but this one, looking, as one of them observed, like an inverted funnel, differed from any they had yet seen. It was very conspicuous, thus standing isolated in the midst of the open plain, and contrasting so much in its colour with the green table upon which it appeared to rest. "Let us go and explore it," proposed Arend; "it isn't much out of our way. We can easily overtake these slow-going oxen again. What say ye all?" "Let us go, by all means," said Hans, who fancied that upon so odd-looking a mountain he might fall in with some new plant. "Agreed!" cried all the others in a breath, for when Hans proposed a thing it was usually assented to by his younger comrades. Without further ado the whole six turned their horses' heads for the mountain, leaving the wagons to trek on across the plain, towards the point where they intended to encamp. When the riders first faced to the mountain, it appeared to be about a mile off, and all, except Hans, believed that it was not more. Hans maintained that it was _five_, and was unanimously contradicted. A discussion took place, Hans standing alone--five to one against him. The idea of its being more than a mile was scouted. Hans was ridiculed--laughed at--called blind. There was a little epitome of the world on that plain--a paraphrase upon a small scale of Galileo and his contemporaries. And here let me counsel you, boy reader, ever to be cautious how you pronounce against ideas that may be put forth, because they chance to differ from those you already hold. Half of what you have already learnt is erroneous, and much of it has been taught you with an evil intent. I do not refer to what has been taught you by your school instructor, who imparts knowledge to you with the best of motives. But the tyrants of the earth--both priests and princes--for long centuries have had the moulding of men's minds, and they have spared no labour to shape them to their own purposes. They have so well succeeded, that one half the _very proverbs_ by which conduct is guided, prove upon examination to be false and wicked. There is a peculiarity about the attainment of knowledge which assists wicked men in misleading their victims, and I would wish that all of you should know this peculiarity. I do not claim to be its discoverer, for others may have discovered it as well; but up to this hour I have met with no promulgation of it. It is this, that _every truth is overshadowed by a sophism, more like the truth than truth itself_. This law holds good throughout the whole extent of the moral, intellectual, and material world. I cannot pause here to illustrate the above statement--not even to explain it. But I hope the day is not distant, when you and I may converse upon such matters _face to face_. I hope you believe that I have helped you to some knowledge; but I now affirm, and in full seriousness, that, if you examine the statement I have thus emphatically made, and _study it to a full understanding_, you will have gained more knowledge in that one sentence than all I have hitherto written. You will find in it the key to most of the errors and misfortunes that afflict mankind. In that sentence you will also find a key to the difference of opinion that existed between Hans and his five companions. None of the five were _thinkers_--they relied entirely on the evidence of their senses. A process of ratiocination never troubled the brain of any of the five. Had they never before seen a straight rod plunged into crystal water, they would most certainly have believed that the rod was bent into an angle--ay, and have ridiculed any one who should have contradicted the _evidence of their senses_, just in the way they now ridiculed Hans for asserting that an object was five miles off, when they _plainly saw_ it was only a fifth part of that distance. It certainly _appeared_ only a mile off--that is, to one who had been in the habit of measuring distances by the eye in the ordinary atmosphere of a lowland country. But Hans knew they were now in a region elevated many thousand feet above the level of the sea. Partly from books, and partly from his own observation, he had studied the nature of the atmosphere at that altitude; and he was acquainted with the optical illusions of which it is frequently the cause. He admitted that the mountain _looked_ near, even as near as a mile; but he held on to his original opinion. Patient as was the young philosopher, the ridicule of his companions nettled him a little; and suddenly pulling up on the plain, he challenged them to a measurement. They all agreed to the proposal. They had no measuring chain--not even a yardstick. But they knew that Hans could tell distances without one; and having consented that his measurement should be taken, they all rode back to the point where the discussion had commenced. How was Hans going to manage it? By trigonometrical triangles, you will say. Not a bit of it. He could have told the distance in that way if he had wished; but he had a simpler plan. Hans did not carry a _viameter_, but a _viameter_ carried him! Yes, in the stout steady-going cob which he rode, he had as perfect a viameter as ever was set to a wheel; and Hans having once put his horse to the proper pace, could tell the distance passed over almost as correctly as if it had been traced by a chain! There was a certain rate of speed into which Hans's horse, when left to himself, was sure to fall, and this speed was so many steps to the minute--the steps being of equal length. By either counting the steps, or noting the time, the exact distance could be obtained. Hans had been in the habit of putting his horse to the proper pace for this very purpose, and could do so at a minute's warning. So, taking out his watch to regulate the speed by the moment hand, he started forward in a direct line for the mountain. All rode, after, without noise--so as not to disturb Hans in his counting. But for that, they would have continued to gibe him a little. Only for a short while, however; for, as they rode on, and the mountain did not appear to _come_ any nearer, their faces began to look very blank indeed. When they had ridden for a full half-hour, and the mountain _still looked a mile off_, Hans had five very crest-fallen boys moving along in his rear. When they had ridden nearly another half-hour, and their horses' snouts almost touched the rocks of the mountain, none of the five was surprised to hear Hans cry out in a loud firm voice:-- "Just five miles and a quarter!" Not a word was spoken. Not one of the five ventured even a whisper of contradiction. Hans did not laugh in his turn, but facing round simply said-- "_Every truth is overshadowed by a sophism more like the truth than truth itself_!" CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR. THE APPROACH TO THE LONE MOUNTAIN. Although from a distance the mountain had appeared of smooth outlines, now, that they gazed upward from its base, it presented quite a different aspect. Loose boulders of rock, strewed thickly upon the slope, covered its sides up to the very summit, giving it the appearance of a gigantic "cairn," such as may be seen upon the tops of some of our own mountains. These, however, are the work of men, while that upon which our yagers gazed looked as though giants had erected it. Among the loose stones there was yet a trace of vegetable life. Plants of the cactus kind, and rare euphorbias, grow in the spaces between the rocks; and here and there stood a small tree, with spreading top and myrtle-like foliage, casting its shadow over the side of the mountain. The arborescent aloe was also seen, its coral-red spike appearing above the sharp edge of some huge boulder, and strongly contrasting with the dull grey of the rock. After contemplating the singular eminence for some minutes, it was proposed that they should all ascend to its summit. It appeared but a very short way. The path was not very steep. A ten minutes' climb would suffice. What a splendid view they should have from its top! It commanded a prospect of the country they were about to traverse for the next three days' journey at least. They might lay out their course from it, and by noting landmarks, avoid the detours of mountain-spurs and other obstacles. Should they ascend it? Yes. All of them desired to do so--some to enjoy the view; some for the fun of climbing; and Klaas and Jan because they had seen a large bird wheeling around the summit, which might be the king of birds--an eagle; and they wished to make a nearer acquaintance with his majesty. Hans also had an interest in going up. He wanted to examine the vegetation of the mountain--that appeared to differ essentially from that of the surrounding plain--and particularly the myrtle-leaved tree already mentioned. So the voice for making the ascent was unanimous--_nemine dissentiente_. Without further ado, they all dismounted--for it would have been impossible to have ridden up such a rock-strewed path--and secured their horses by tying their bridles together. This was their usual way when there was no tree to which they could make them fast. The mode answered well enough. The animals were well acquainted, and on friendly terms, so that they did not bite or kick one another; and with their noses all turned inward, no one of them could stray off without the consent of the other five, and this unanimity could never be obtained. Even had five of them agreed to wander a bit, there was one that would have opposed such a conspiracy, and _pulled against it_ with all his might--one that would have remained loyal to his master; and that was Hans's steady, sober-sided cob, that had been trained to wait wherever his rider left him. Upon many a botanical excursion had he carried his master, and often had stood with no other fastening than the bridle thrown over his withers, while the botanist climbed the rocky steep, or dived into the thick bush, to pluck some rare plant or flower. Leaving their horses, the party commenced the ascent. Now their path lay between large masses of granite, and now passed over the tops of the rocks. It required them to use all their strength and agility; and although from below they fancied they would reach the summit in about five minutes time, they were sadly disappointed. There are few things more deceptive than the ascent of a mountain. It is usually more difficult than it appears, and a large allowance should be made in the calculation, both for time and labour. The philosopher Hans knew this very well, and told the others that it would take them a full half-hour to get to the top. Some of them were inclined to ridicule his assertion; but they remembered their late humiliating defeat, and remained silent--although they _thought_ five minutes would bring them to the very summit. At the end of five minutes they began to change their opinion; and when three times five had passed over, they found they were still but half-way up the slope! Here they halted, and five minutes were spent in "puffing and blowing." Hans had now an opportunity of examining the tree that so interested him, for they had stopped under the shade of one. It was not a large tree, nor could it be called a very handsome one; but for all that it proved to be of a most interesting character. It was much branched with small leaves, of a pale green colour, and in their general effect having a resemblance to the myrtles. Its flowers, too, were small and inconspicuous. It chanced to be in flower at the time, and this enabled the botanist to determine its character. It belonged to the order _Santalaceae_, or "sandal-woods;" and was a species of _Santalum_, closely allied to the _Santalum album_ of India, which yields the sandal-wood of commerce. They all knew what sandal-wood was, as they had seen various "knick-knacks" manufactured out of this famous wood; but they knew not whence it came, or what sort of tree produced it. Hans, however, taking advantage of the halt, gave them this information:-- "The sandal-wood," he said, "is produced from a tree of the same genus as the one now above us. It grows in the mountainous parts of the Malabar country, and also in the islands of the Indian Archipelago. It is a small tree, rarely growing to a foot in diameter. Its wood, as you know, is highly prized on account of its agreeable fragrant smell; and because this fragrance not only keeps it from decaying, but also preserves any material, such as clothes, silk, and other articles that may be in contact with it, from insects or rust. In consequence of this quality of the sandal-wood, it is in great demand for making boxes, cabinets, and such articles of furniture; and, on account of its agreeable odour, it is also manufactured into fans and necklaces which command high prices. "The Brahmins use it in their sacrifices to the god Vishnu, to scent the oil employed in the ceremony." "Are there not two kinds of sandal-wood?" inquired Klaas. "Sister Wilhelmina has a box of it and a necklace, too. They were brought from India by Uncle, but they are very different. The box is white, and the beads of the necklace are of a beautiful yellow colour--maybe they are dyed." "No," answered Hans, "they are not dyed. There _are_ two kinds, white sandal-wood and the yellow sort, and it has been said that they were the produce of different trees. This is not the case, however. Although there is more than one species of _Santalum_ that produces the sandal-wood of commerce, the white and yellow kinds are taken from the same tree. The reason of the difference is, that towards the heart of the tree where the wood is older, and especially down near the root, the colour is of a deep yellow; whereas the young wood that lies outwardly is nearly white. The yellow part is harder, more fragrant, and, of course, more valuable. "When these trees are felled for their wood, the bark is at once stripped off and the trunk buried for nearly two months--which strengthens its odour, and renders it more agreeable." While Hans was giving these interesting details, the others took out their knives; and each cutting a branch from the sandal-tree, applied it to his nose, and then tasted it. But, though they could perceive its fragrant smell, they found it perfectly insipid to the taste. Hans said it was so with the _Santalum album_ or true sandal-wood of India--that, notwithstanding its sweet perfume, it is quite tasteless. He further informed them that the name "sandal-wood" is not derived from the use to which the wood is sometimes put--that of making _sandals_. On the contrary, these derive their name from the wood itself. The true derivation of the word is from the Persian "sandul," which signifies useful, in relation to the valuable qualities of the timber. The sandal-wood of the Sandwich Islands, added Hans, is procured from two species different from _Santalum album_. The yagers, having now rested a sufficient time, again faced up the mountain, and in fifteen minutes after stood upon its top. CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE. THE LITTLE HYRAX. It is not quite correct to say that they stood upon the summit. They had reached the top of the hill, but still above them rose the steeple-like rock which they had observed from the plain, and whose odd appearance had allured them to the spot. A singular rock it was, rising full thirty feet above the summit of the mountain. Its sides were nearly vertical, but scored and seamed as if the rain had worn its surface into furrows. It gradually narrowed upward, until it ended in a point not four inches in diameter; but along its sides from top to bottom similar points stood up; so that the whole structure--if we may call it so--bore a strong resemblance to a Gothic turret, rising in the midst of many others that stood out from its base and along its sides. It appeared inaccessible to any other creature than a cat, a monkey, or a winged bird; and of course not one of the party thought of such a thing as climbing it. That would have been a perilous undertaking. After they had satisfied themselves in gazing at this singular geological phenomenon, they commenced moving around its base to the opposite side. It was not so easy to get round it, as huge sharp boulders covered the whole scarp of the hill around its base, and they had either to mount over these, or push themselves through the narrow interstices between. Before they had got quite round, however, an object came under their eyes that caused them to halt, and remain for some time in an attitude of observation. About half-way down the hill rested a rock of vast dimensions, whose sharp angular top rose higher than those around, and commanded the view of a broad space of the mountain-side. Upon the top of this rock was perched a very large bird--full as large as a turkey-cock. Its plumage was of a deep black colour, except over the back, where there was a patch as white as snow covering the shoulders. The feathers upon the legs reached to the very toes, and were of brown colour. The toes appearing beneath were of a bright yellow. The general outline of its form--the abrupt curving of the beak--the full-rounded tail--the strong broad wings, and the feathered legs looking as though the bird wore _trowsers_--were all characteristic points that told its species. "An eagle!" exclaimed the hunters as soon as they saw it. It was an eagle, and one of the largest of its kind. It was the great vulture-eagle of Verreaux, (_Aquila Verreauxii_). This bird no doubt it was that Klaas and Jan had caught a glimpse of as they approached the mountain. It was scarce two hundred yards from the boys, and although they had been making a considerable noise while passing over the rocks, it had not heard them, and still sat without noticing their proximity. That would have been strange for a bird so shy as an eagle; but it was accounted for by the fact that its attention at the moment seemed to be taken up with something else. This was evident from the attitude in which it sat, or rather stood, with claws firmly clenched upon the edge of the rock, and neck stretched forward and downward. It was evidently eyeing some object below, in which it took a deep interest. Its back was turned upon the hunters, and offered a fair mark; but it was far beyond point-blank range of any of their guns, except perhaps the roer. Groot Willem, however, might have reached it, but at such a distance and with so small a mark a bullet from the smooth bore would have been little better than a chance shot. Groot Willem was about to try it, however; but Hans begged of him to hold his fire a little longer, so that they might watch the movements of the eagle--which, from its odd attitude, was evidently meditating to surprise some victim below. It was not long before the victim was also in sight--appearing suddenly upon a little terrace, some twenty or thirty yards farther down the mountain. It was a small quadruped, of a greyish brown colour, darker above, and of lighter tint beneath. It had the look of a rabbit, though considerably larger than one, thicker in the body, and without the long ears. It stood, moreover, not so high on its legs, and these appeared much bent as it walked. Like the rabbit, its hair was of a thick woolly nature, though long scattered silky hairs rose above the general surface of its furry coat it was entirely without a tail; and the four claws of its fore feet were _not_ claws, but nails resembling little hoofs? On the hind-feet it had but three toes; the inside one of each ending in a regular claw. Of course, these peculiarities were not noticed by the spectators at the moment, as the little quadruped was beyond the reach of such minute observation. They were communicated afterwards by Hans, who knew the animal well. Altogether it was by no means an interesting animal to look at externally; yet in its internal structure it was one of the most interesting upon the globe. In that small round woolly creature, timid as a mouse--now making abrupt runs across the little platform--now stopping short in its career, to nibble a leaf of some plant, or to look suspiciously around--in that insignificant quadruped the young yagers beheld a near relative of the big brutal rhinoceros! Yes; though without any horn upon its snout, and without the naked skin--the teeth, the skull, the ribs, the hoof-like toes, the whole internal structure of the animal in question, prove it to be a rhinoceros!--a regular pachyderm! So says Frederick Cuvier. "What a wonderful triumph," said Hans, "the closet naturalists have had in this discovery! `What a triumph of anatomy,' says M. Cuvier, `that proves this supposed rodent to be a rhinoceros!' In my opinion it is rather a proof of the weakness of M. Cuvier's anatomic theories; for here is a creature, with all the _teeth_ of a rhinoceros, and all the _manners_ of a rabbit! "Instead of the bold brutal nature of the rhinoceros--rushing out without provocation, attacking and butting at whatever comes in its way--here we have a shy timid creature, that takes to flight on the slightest suspicion of danger, and seems to be frightened at its very shadow. Why, it affords the most absolute proof of the uncertainty of the _teeth_ and _bones_ as a guide to the mode of life of any animal. In all animated nature a better illustration could not be found of the fallacy of M. Cuvier's arguments than this same _hyrax_--for so the quadruped is called--and, despite the opinion of the celebrated French savant, I still believe the little creature to be more of a rabbit than a rhinoceros." So spoke Hans Von Bloom. It was bold language for so young a naturalist! It is true there was much reason in his holding to the opinion that the hyrax is no pachyderm. Its habits are so unlike those of the thick-skinned brutes--its mode of life so different from that of a rhinoceros. Its habits are very simple, and can be told in a few words. It is gregarious; dwells upon the mountains, and in the most rocky places; makes its den in the crevices and caves that are found there, steals forth to eat or bask in the sun; runs timidly and with a shy suspicious look; feeds on grass and leaves of plants, and is fond of those of aromatic properties; can escape from most carnivorous quadrupeds, but is successfully preyed upon by birds, and especially by the vulture-eagle-- the species already described. Such is the history of the "_daman_" or "_hyrax_," "dassie," "rock-badger," or "rock-rabbit"--by all of which names the creature has figured in books. It is one of those anomalies that cannot be classed with other quadrupeds, and has been constituted a genus of itself. Two species are known, differing very slightly from each other. They are _Hyrax Syriacus_ and _Capensis_, or the Syrian and Cape hyrax. One of the most interesting facts in relation to this quadruped is, that the Syrian species is most probably the "coney" of the Scriptures. In fact, the description can apply to no other existing animal. I have said that all this knowledge was obtained afterwards from the philosopher, Hans. Just then there was no time for such observations; for the hyrax, with two or three of its companions, had scarce appeared from the platform, when the eagle shot down from the rock, and swooped right into the midst of them. The boys heard the shrill cry of the little quadrupeds, as the shadowy wings covered them; and expected to see the eagle rise with one of them in its talons. They were disappointed, however, as well as the bird itself. The "rock-rabbits" had been too quick for their well-known and dreaded enemy; and before the eagle was able to put a claw into their wool, they had all scattered, and rushed within the safe shelter of their dark caves. Of course, they were not coming out any more that afternoon. The eagle seemed to have this very idea; for, rising into the air with a scream of disappointment, it flew off towards the other side of the mountain. CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. THE KLIPSPRINGERS. In hopes of getting a shot at it on the wing, the boys crouched behind the boulders as it flew round, holding their guns in readiness. It passed them at too great a distance, and none of them fired. They expected to see it fly off, and wing its way towards the neighbouring mountains--as it could only be a stray visitor to the hill, some hungry old eagle out upon a hunt. It was about to do this; for it had already risen to a considerable elevation, and was heading away, when all at once it stopped suddenly in its flight, and balanced itself for some moments in the air, with neck bent downward, as if it had taken a fresh interest in some object that had just come under its eye below. Had the rock-rabbits ventured forth again? No. It could not be they; for the eagle was hovering over a different quarter--quite the opposite side of the mountain. If rock-rabbits were in sight, they must be a different party. That was not improbable. There might be others upon the mountain. And yet the eagle would not hover above _them_ in that way. The habit of this species is not to "swoop" from on high, but to watch from a perch upon some neighbouring rock, and dash upon the hyrax, when it comes out to feed or bask--precisely as the boys had seen it do. So quick is the rock-rabbit in escaping to its retreat, that even an eagle, darting from a high elevation, would fail to clutch it. Had there been rock-rabbits below, they would have perceived the great black bird above, and would have secured themselves at once. It could not be they that were now occupying the attention of the vulture-eagle. It was _not_ they. Hans, who with his double-barrel had hoped to obtain a shot at the eagle, and had crept ahead of his companions to the other side of the tower-rock, saw that it was not rock-rabbits that had caused the eagle to pause in its flight, but some creatures of a very different character. About half-way down the slope grew a sandal-wood tree, one of the largest upon the mountain, with a full bushy top. Directly, under this tree was a mass of tabular rock, with a smooth top, quite horizontal, and several yards in length and breadth. Over this, and nearly covering its whole extent, the sandal-wood threw its protecting shadow; so that while the hot sun baked down upon the surrounding slope, the surface of the rock was kept shaded and cool. It was just such a spot as one would have chosen to have rested upon, commanding a far view of plains and picturesque mountains, and sweetly shaded from the burning noonday beams--just such a spot as the contemplative mind would have desired, and in which, freed from care, it could have delivered itself up to pleasant meditations. One cannot help fancying that many of God's wild creatures, in selecting their haunts and homes, have an eye to the picturesque. I can tell at a glance the cliff in which an eagle will make its eyrie, the glade that will be haunted by the stag or the fallow-deer, the tree under which he will repose, and oft times it has appeared to me that these favourite haunts are chosen by animals less for the security they afford, than for the picturesque beauty that surrounds them. One could hardly have fancied that lone wild mountain--that smooth table-rock--that fragrant sandal-wood tree--without some living thing placed there by Nature to enjoy the scene, and give life to the picture--which would otherwise have been incomplete. It was not incomplete. It was crowned and perfect. The shade of the sandal-wood fell not in vain. Upon the surface of the table-rock was a group of living creatures born to enjoy that wild and lovely scene-- created, as it were, to give a finish to the picture. There were three individuals in this group--three quadrupeds of a kind that had not been seen by the young yagers since the setting out of their expedition. Though these animals wore a similar coat of hair, and were of the same yellowish olive colour, all three were of different sizes. The largest was scarce so tall as a pointer-dog, while the smallest was still less than a tiny young kid. The second was not half-way between the two, but nearly equal in size to the largest. The principal difference between the latter two lay in the fact that the large one had a pair of horns upon its head, which the other wanted. There were no horns neither upon their tiny little companion. For all this difference, the three were evidently of the same genus and species, nay, nearer relations still--of the same _family_. They were a family of _klipspringers_. Hans knew at once it was the klipspringer, (_Oreotragus saltatrix_), and so did all the others--for this interesting antelope is still found within the settled districts of the Cape Colony--wherever high inaccessible cliffs and rock-covered mountains afford it a secure retreat from dog, hunter, and hyena. Among the many interesting forms of the antelope tribe, that present themselves in South Africa, the klipspringer is not the least interesting. Though a very small creature, and of no great value to the hunter, it differs so much in its haunts and habits from others of the antelope race, as to make it an object of curiosity, even where it is common and often seen. Unlike the oryx, the gnoo, the hartebeest, the blesbok, the eland, and a host of others, the klipspringer never appears upon the plain. It is purely a mountain-dwelling animal, and the crag and cliff are its favourite haunts. There it is safe from the carnivorous beasts--the lion, the hyena, the wild-hounds, and the jackal--none of which can reach its secure retreat upon the ledges of the beetling precipice. Even the leopard cannot follow it there-- notwithstanding his recurved claws that enable him to climb like a cat. On the steep cliffs, and along the dizzy heights, the klipspringer has no equal in South Africa; he can scale them as no other quadruped; he fears no four-footed _beast_ of prey. Three birds alone are his dangerous enemies--and these are the eagle of Verreaux, the Kaffir eagle, and the lammergeyer. The klipspringer stands about twenty inches in height is strongly and compactly built, with stouter limbs than the small antelopes of the plain. His horns are but four inches in length, rise vertically up from his head, and incline slightly forward. They are wrinkled at the base, and ringed in the middle. The hair that covers his body is long, wiry, and thickly placed upon the skin; and standing out upon end, gives the animal somewhat of a porcupine appearance. The colour is a nearly uniform yellowish olive, caused by the individual hairs being ash-coloured at the base, brown in the middle, and yellow at the tips. One of the most characteristic points about the klipspringer is the formation of its hoofs. These, instead of being long and pointed--as is the case with most antelopes--are cylindrical in form, and rest vertically upon their bases. They are jagged at the edges--so as to give the animal the power of adhering to the smoothest rock, without danger of slipping. Like every piece of Nature's handiwork, they are perfectly adapted to the use for which they are intended. The klipspringer is not gregarious; but is seen in pairs, or _families_, as they now appeared under the eyes of the young yagers. When Hans first noticed them, they were in different attitudes. The buck was standing upon the rock looking out over the plain below, but had not as yet perceived the eagle--as the thick leafy top of the sandal-wood interposed between him and it. The doe was lying down; while, kneeling beside her, and drawing nourishment from her teats, was the little kidling. Presently, the black shadow of the soaring bird passed over the greensward of the plain. It moved under the eyes of the buck, who, perceiving it, started suddenly, uttered a kind of hissing snort, and struck the rock with his hoof. This movement on his part brought the doe at once to her feet, as well as the little fawn; and all three stood in an attitude of observation, turning their eyes now upon the shadow below, and now glancing suspiciously above. After a moment they all commenced leaping about, though they still kept upon the rock. They saw the eagle, for it had now moved out some distance over the plain, so that the foliage of the tree was no longer interposed between it and them. It was just at this moment that the eagle had paused in its flight, and hung poised in the air. It had for the first time placed its eyes upon the klipspringers. In a moment the rapacious creature perceived the little fawn, cowering close behind the body of its mother; and without more ado, the bird directed its flight downward; and, when nearer, swooped straight at the group upon the rock. Sudden as was the dash of the bird, it was a fruitless effort, and it rose again without having made a victim. But when the spectators looked for the antelopes, not one of the three remained upon the table, where they had stood the moment before! As quick as the flight of the bird, all three had sprung off from the rock, and thus escaped from its dreaded claws. One would have supposed that the klipspringers would have hid themselves in crevices, as the conies had done. Not so. All three were seen--each standing conspicuously upon the top of a rock, and seeming to await the further action of the bird. With heads erect, and eyes turned upward, they stood, evidently expecting a renewal of the attack. The eagle, after hovering around and calculating its distance, swooped again. In this fresh attempt of the tyrant the little fawn alone was aimed at. Had it been the others, they would have sprung out of reach as before; and so, too, did the fawn repeatedly, bounding from rock to rock, with the elasticity of an india-rubber ball. But the wily bird continued the attack, turning each time in shorter circles, until the tiny limbs of the youthful antelope trembled with weariness. During all this time the old ones leaped about, bounding high in the air, and descending upon the sharpest edges of the rocks, as if they had alighted from a flight with wings. The object of their movements evidently was to draw the attack of the eagle upon themselves, and thus save their offspring. It was to no purpose, however. The cunning ravisher preferred making a victim of the kid, and paid no attention to the manoeuvres of the old ones. No doubt, there were eaglets on the neighbouring mountain, and the tenderest venison was wanted for their dinner. At all events, the eagle continued to assail the poor little fawn, until the latter had no longer strength left to leap from the rock upon which it had taken its last stand. Another dash made the eagle--a last and final swoop. Its talons closed like a cramp upon the vertebrae of the tiny quadruped, which the next moment was borne aloft into the air! A shrill sad bleating was heard from below--drowned for an instant by the discharge of several guns, whose reports echoed like thunder from the rocks; and then the winged robber, with his victim still clutched in his talons, was seen falling with fluttering wings to the earth! The Young Yagers--by Captain Mayne Reid CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. HUNTING THE KLIPSPRINGER. The eagle dropped not far from the summit; and the boys, running down to the spot, found it lying quite dead, with the little klipspringer--also dead of course--still fast in its claws. The talons sunk deeply into the flesh, embraced the spine, and even in death the fierce bird had not relaxed its hold! Some would have considered the death of the eagle a just punishment; but, then, what was its crime? It is true, it had killed, and would have carried away, the little fawn of an innocent antelope--one of the most harmless of creatures. But what else could it have done? Nature had taught it to sustain itself in this way. Perhaps it had a nest on the brow of some beetling precipice--for this vulture-eagle of South Africa is a dweller upon rocks, and not a _tree-eagle_--perhaps in this nest it had a pair of downy little eaglets, each with an appetite like that of an ostrich--perhaps they were expecting that very kid, or some similar dish, for dinner; and would have been very hungry without it-- might have died of hunger? What, then, could the parent bird do but provide them, though at the expense of other parents just as much attached to their offspring as an eagle could be? How can it be regarded as a crime? The eagle did not wantonly destroy the antelope, but to satisfy the cravings of hunger. It only obeyed one of the laws of Nature. Cruel laws they _do_ seem; yet, if they be crimes, Nature herself is answerable. Alas! we cannot comprehend, and, I fear, in this life never will comprehend, why we, the creatures of the earth, are born to prey upon one another. A puzzle to the humane heart is that "chain of destruction." Wanton killing of animals _is_ a crime; and our hunters, at first sight, might be thought chargeable with this in having _wantonly_ shot down the eagle. Such was not the case, however. They did not do so out of any feeling of wantonness. They had a proper object in shooting the bird. It was the representative of a rare and little-known species, and the possession of its skin for _scientific purposes_ had something to do with the fatal aim that brought it down--for it was from the double-barrel of the naturalist the shot was sent that destroyed it. By the act the klipspringers had been avenged, though there was little idea of giving them vengeance in the minds of the young hunters. Quite the contrary; for in five minutes after, the whole six--buck-dogs and all--were in full chase after these creatures, as ready to rob them of their lives as they had been to take away that of their winged enemy. Nor was it out of wantonness either, or the mere love of hunting, though that might have been the principal motive with one or two of the party. But there was a curiosity about these little antelopes, and a desire to examine them more closely, that urged the young yagers to attempt their destruction. They desired to possess their trophies. You may wonder why they should care about the horns of a klipspringer, since it is not one of the rare antelopes within the boundaries of the settlements! True, the animal itself is not rare; but it is a rare occurrence, when one falls before the bullet of the hunter--as the klipspringer is as shy and wary as the chamois itself--and, dwelling in the most inaccessible places, it is difficult game to capture. Hence, the killing of a klipspringer is regarded in the light of a feat, and its little horns are by no means an ordinary trophy. The young yagers, therefore, wanted the pair belonging to the buck that was now leaping over the rocks below. Some minutes were spent in deliberating as to what would be the best mode of getting possession of them. At the report of the guns both the klipspringers had gone farther down the mountains, and were now standing upon a large boulder near its base. Hendrik proposed that the party should dash right down after them--dogs and all--and force them out into the plain, where, it was well known, they could make but a poor run, and would be easily overtaken by the buck-dogs. This plan seemed feasible. The antelopes were very near the base of the mountain. The hunters coming on them from above could easily drive them into the plain; and then there would be a run between them and the dogs, of which a fine view would be obtained. Off started the whole party, directing their course straight down the mountain to the point where the klipspringers were seen. The dogs were set free, and sprang forward in advance. The hunters moved on as fast as the nature of the ground would permit them; and in ten minutes would have been near enough to the klipspringers to have fired, had the latter favoured them by remaining in their place. But they did not do so. Of course, they had a full view of their enemies as they advanced; and before the hunters had got half-way down, the nimble game set off round the bottom of the hill, flitting from rock to rock like a brace of birds. What seemed odd in their mode of progressing was, that instead of running along the open spaces between the fragments of rock, they chose the rocks themselves for their path, and of these also the most prominent ones; so that their flight was a succession of bounds, some of them of enormous length! Many of the boulders, on which they rested a moment, and from which they sprang again, were so narrow at the top, that the little creatures hardly obtained room for their feet; and, with their four hoofs touching each other, they would spring off as though moved, not by muscular power, but under the influence of some elastic force! At first the hunters believed their task to be an easy one. The mountain surface was of so limited an extent, they would soon surround the game, or force it out upon the plain. The first attempt to do so, however, had ended in a failure. The klipspringers had escaped without difficulty to the other side, and were now farther off than ever! The hunters called up the dogs, recrossed the summit, and once more set their eyes upon the game, perched as before upon prominent points. A second time the party advanced, spreading as they went down, and holding their guns in readiness; but long before they were within range, the klipspringers took to flight again; and, just as they had done before, passed around the base to the other side of the mountain. Of course, the dogs, scrambling clumsily among the rocks, were, no match for such game as they; and even had the klipspringers been near enough for the guns, the most accomplished riflemen could not have "sighted" them, so quick were their motions. The only chance of the yagers lay in their shot-guns, and to have hit them, even with these, would have been a feat equal to the bringing down a snipe or woodcock. Once more the boys attempted to drive them into the open plain; but with the same result as before. Although the hunters had spread themselves across the mountain, the nimble game dashed past them, and escaped to the other side. Groot Willem now proposed a new plan. That was for all to descend the mountain to its base, and there make a complete surround of it. Then each to march straight up, and, by hemming the game on all sides, _force them to the summit_. "In this way," added Groot Willem, "we'll at least have a crack at them; for if they try to get back through our line, they must pass near some of us." Groot Willem's suggestion was adopted. The yagers now descended to the base of the mountain; and, separating, spread around it at equal distances from one another. The buck-dogs were also distributed; one going with each hunter, except Klaas, who had no dog to accompany him. Since the affair with the blauw-bok, there had been only five in the pack. Thus placed, the boys recommenced the ascent. They proceeded with proper caution, keeping each other in view, and shouting from time to time words of instruction as to the position of the game. These were seen bounding before them, from rock to rock--now crossing the mountain to the opposite side, with the intention of escaping in that way--now zigzagging along the sides, or bounding upward toward the summit. When the hunters had advanced about half-way up, the klipspringers became frightened in earnest. They saw that they were encompassed on every side; and sprang to and fro like a pair of grasshoppers. At length they seemed determined to run the gauntlet through the circle of hunters, and made a bold dash in the direction of Hans. The naturalist, although not professing to be much of a hunter, was a capital shot; and, raising his double-barrel, he fired. The doe fell to the crack; and the buck, suddenly turning as on a pivot, once more bounded up the slope. The dogs had already gained a distance ahead of their masters, and now advanced upon the buck from all sides. There seemed no chance left him of avoiding their onset. He had mounted a boulder near the base of the tower-rock; and the five were rushing upon him with open jaws, and shining teeth, when, all at once, as if impelled by a spring, he shot upward to a narrow ledge of the vertical rock, far beyond their reach. The ledge was scarcely wide enough to have given footing to a weasel, and yet the klipspringer seemed to feel quite secure upon it. But he did not rest there. The shouts of the hunters, as they hurried up the mountain, impelled him farther; and springing to a still higher ledge, and to another still higher, he stood at length upon the pinnacle of the rock! A shout of surprise broke from the hunters as they witnessed this wonderful feat. And a singular spectacle it was. As already stated, the tower-rock ended in a point scarce four inches in diameter; and upon this stood the klipspringer, his hoofs pressed closely together, his neck drawn in, his body gathered into a ball, with the stiff wiry hair radiating on all sides outward, like the spines of a hedgehog--a curious object to look upon! Although the hunters were now within shot, so odd did the creature appear thus placed that not one of them thought of drawing trigger upon it. They knew that they had the buck in their power--the dogs were all around him--and at such a height, full thirty feet from the ground, it could not escape. All therefore held their fire, and ran forward to the bottom of the tower. They had made a sad mistake about the powers of that klipspringer. As they were congratulating themselves on having trapped the buck in so odd a manner, he was seen to shoot out into the air, and, with a whizzing noise like that made by some great bird, he passed close to their ears, and lit upon the boulder from which he had bounded up! Scarce an instant did he rest there, but sprang to another, and another, and in a few seconds was far down the side of the mountain! So sudden had been this movement on the part of the game, and so unexpected, that both dogs and hunters were taken by surprise, and not a shot was fired until the klipspringer was beyond reach! Just at that moment, as they stood watching his retreat, a puff of smoke was noticed far down the mountain--a gun cracked at the same instant--and the buck was seen to tumble headlong from a rock! With fresh surprise the hunters turned to one another. "Who?" exclaimed all simultaneously. Ha! there were only five of them. One was missing! "It's Klaas!" It was Klaas beyond a doubt--Klaas who had killed the klipspringer. Klaas had given an illustration that the "race is not always to the swift." He was rather a heavy boy, was Klaas; and feeling fatigued at so much climbing, had seated himself on a stone, and was taking a bit of a rest, when he observed the klipspringer, standing upon a rock right before his face. Having his light fowling-piece loaded with buckshot, he had taken aim, and dropped the buck from his perch. Jan was not a little jealous, and insinuated that it was a bit of "luck" not very well deserved; but whether it was luck or not, Klaas had certainly killed the klipspringer, and was not a little elated at his performance. Having collected the game, the young yagers proceeded to where they had left their horses; and, mounting, galloped off after the wagons that were moving slowly across the distant plain. CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. BOLD BIRDS. On the third day after entering the plains of the "zuur-veldt," the yagers treked to the banks of a large river, and followed its course up-stream. The scenery was altogether new and of a different character to that of the plains. The river was fringed with reeds and willows, and beyond these stretched a wide bottom land of meadow-like character, studded with groves and copses of green trees whose foliage was grateful to the eye after the journey over the dry plains. Here the deceitful mirage no longer tantalised them with prospects of verdant groves and smooth limpid lakes. Both existed in reality; and a succession of lovely landscapes met the eyes of the travellers as they advanced. The grass upon the banks of this river was excellent, and in order that their cattle should have the opportunity of a good feed, the party formed camp at an early hour. They outspanned in a little meadow, directly by the edge of the water, and made a fire out of the stems of the willows that grew near. Jan and Klaas noticed a large flock of birds hovering above the water, and swooping about, something in the same manner as swallows on a summer evening over the surface of an English lake. They were birds of a moderate size, scarcely so big as a common pigeon-- nor was there any thing in their colour to make them attractive. They were rather a dull-coloured set of birds for Africa, being reddish-brown, with a mixture of white and grey; but had they been near enough for the boys to have observed their feet and legs, these with the "cire" around their eyes, would have appeared of a beautiful orange-yellow colour. There was one peculiarity about these birds, which could be observed at a great distance, and that was their "forked" tails. In this respect they might also be said to resemble swallows, but the forking was far less acute than in the tails of the latter. There was enough of it to give the birds a character; and that, with their general form and the colour of their plumage, made it easy enough to tell to what genus the birds belonged. They were birds of the genus _Falco_, (hawks,) belonging to that section of it distinguished as _Milvus_, (the kites.) Of the kites there are several species, but the particular one to which these before the eyes of Klaas and Jan belonged, was the "parasite kite," (_Milvus ater_), an inhabitant of all parts of the continent of Africa, and a bird somewhat smaller than the royal kite of Europe. Both these bird-boys knew that the birds were hawks of some kind, but they could not tell what sort. When Hans told them that they were "kites," they both became doubly interested; and, guns in hand, stood near the water's edge watching the manoeuvres of the long-winged fork-tailed creatures. To a superficial observer it might have appeared that these kites were merely playing themselves; now poised and hovering in the air, now floating softly along, and at intervals shooting down until they "dipped" themselves in the water of the stream. Any one, however, who had closely watched them for a time would soon have perceived, that they were not going through these manoeuvres for simple amusement. Each time that one of them made a plunge into the water, it might be observed that in rising again, it carried a shining object in its talons, which object was neither more nor less than a tiny little fish. Fishing, then, was what the "parasites" were after; and not for amusement, as anglers do, but following it as a regular calling--in fact, following it for food. Not that fish forms the only food of this species of lute. No; it will eat almost any thing,--little quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, and even carrion, upon a pinch. It is, however, very fond of fish; and, when it chances to reside in a country of waters, where fish are plenteous and easily procured, it follows the calling of a fisher pretty regularly. Klaas and Jan stood for some time expecting to get a shot; but as none of the birds came near enough, they at length gave up all hope, and laid aside their guns. Shortly after, dinner was ready, and all the boys sat down upon the wagon-chests, and commenced eating. Their dinner that day consisted of a very nice dish--that is, the flesh of the great South African bustard (_Otis tarda_) or wild peacock, (wilde pauw,) as they themselves termed the bird. Groot Willem had that morning shot this fine game, at very long range, with his "roer;" and but for the far "carry" of his gun they would not have procured the bird--for the wild peacock is one of the shyest kinds of game-birds, and scarcely ever rests within shooting distance of any cover by which it may be approached. Large as it is, it is esteemed the most delicate eating of South African birds, and almost equal to the wild turkey of America. Now the young yagers had roasted this precious _morceau_, had carved it, and each was sitting with a piece in hand--one with a wing, another having the "drumstick," a third the "merrythought," a fourth the "pope's nose," and so on. Of course they were in a high state of enjoyment over such "titbits." While engaged in this pleasant way, they were astonished to see the whole flock of kites come suddenly swooping over the camp. Klaas and Jan were the more astonished, since they had been for some half-hour vainly endeavouring to get within shot of these very birds. _Now_ there would have been no difficulty about that, for the parasites not only came within shooting distance, but, actually and literally, flew _in the very faces_ of the boys! Yes; they would swoop right up until within a few feet of the diners, then poise themselves upon their wings, spread out their tails, turn over on their backs, and execute sundry other eccentric manoeuvres that put the six yagers into fits of laughter. Of course Swartboy joined in the chorus, and even the grave Kaffir grinned at the ludicrous spectacle. But it did not end here. After a while the birds grew bolder and bolder; at each swoop they came nearer; until at length several of them actually snatched pieces of the bustard's flesh out of the very hands of those that were eating it! Verily did they illustrate the old adage of "many a slip between cup and lip." Even the dogs were made victims of these bold little robbers, who swooped forward to their very muzzles, and snatched at the bones they were crunching. This curious scene continued for some time. It would have ended sooner, had the business been in the hands of Klaas and Jan. Both these boys, at the first approach of the birds, had started up to get their guns, but they were withheld from using them by the others, and especially by Hans--who was desirous of observing these curious little hawks with the eye of a naturalist. After a while the bird-boys were allowed to "blaze away;" and, what is still more singular, their repeated shots did not completely frighten off the parasites, though several were killed! Even some that must have been wounded--since the feathers had been knocked out of them--returned again and again to hover above the camp, with eyes fixed eagerly upon the scraps of meat that had been left lying upon the chests! A little incident was yet to occur of a still more ludicrous character. Hans had that day shot a pigeon of very beautiful plumage, which is peculiar to the interior of South Africa, and whose wings and body are of a deep green colour. This species is somewhat rare, and Hans was desirous of preserving the skin and having it mounted. After dinner, therefore, he had skinned it; and having thrown its flesh to the dogs, he was still at work upon the skin, taking out the brains. Klaas and Jan, satiated with sport, had desisted, and laid aside their guns--the consequence of which was that the parasites had returned in great numbers, and now exhibited as much effrontery as ever. All at once, one of them seeing Hans engaged with the pigeon, and thinking no doubt that the body of the bird was still in its skin, made a sudden dash, drove its claw through the feathery mass, and carried off the skin in triumph! Hans, whose eyes had been closely bent upon his work, saw nothing of the approach of the little winged robber; and for some moments believed that one of the boys, out of a "lark," had snatched the pigeon from his fingers. It was not until he looked around, and then up into the air, that he was aware of the real culprit; and although all rushed to their guns, the pigeon-skin could not be recovered--as the kite, on seizing it, rose high into the air, and then carried it off to the other side of the river! As not a bit of flesh remained in the skin, and as Hans had succeeded in extracting even the brains, no doubt the parasite soon discovered that his _pigeon_ was no better than a "decoy!" CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. THE WATERBUCK. The bank upon which the yagers had encamped was about five or six feet above the surface of the water, as it now stood. The bank on the opposite side also rose above the water level; but on both sides there was a break or declivity that sloped down into the channel. These breaks corresponded with each other. They were not natural gorges, but had evidently been made by heavy animals, such as rhinoceroses and others, that were in the habit of coming either to drink or ford the river at this point. The tracks of many kinds of animals could be distinguished leading down to the water or up into the meadow--so that the place was evidently a "drift," or crossing-place for the wild beasts of the country around. Perhaps at night many would cross here, and Hendrik and Groot Willem had resolved to watch that night and have a little moonlight sport. A moon--and a very fine moon--was expected; for the queen of the heavens was nearly in the full at the time, and the sky all that day had been without a cloud. But they were destined to enjoy a little sport before the moon arose-- even before the sun had gone down. While engaged around the wagons, their attention was attracted by a movement among the reeds on the opposite side of the river. There was also an open space on that side corresponding to the meadow in which they were encamped. Around the opening grew a thick brake of tall reeds, interspersed with willows and other low trees. It was among these reeds that the movement was observed. Presently a large animal came out of the covert, and stepped boldly forward into the open ground, where the short sward enabled them to see it from horn to hoof--for it was a creature with hoofs and horns-- without doubt an antelope. It was a species, however, which none of the party had ever seen before--an antelope of majestic form and elegant proportions. It stood nearly five feet in height by full nine in length, and its general colour was a greyish sepia brown. Its face, however, was of a deeper brown around the bases of the horns and over the frontlet tinged with rufous. The lips and muzzle were white; a white patch marked the throat; a white streak was before each of the eyes; and a curious oval band of white encircled the tail. The hair over all the body was harsh, more resembling split whalebone than hair; but that which covered the neck was longer than the rest, and stood out all around like a mane on end. The horns were nearly three feet in length, and curved first upwards and then slightly inwards. They were closely ringed to within six inches of their tips, and of a whitish green colour. The tail of the animal was about eighteen inches in length with a tuft at its tip. The shape and set of the horns, the rigid hair that grew all around the throat and neck, and the elegant upright bearing of this antelope, enabled the naturalist Hans to tell his companions to what species it belonged. It was the famed "waterbuck," (_Aigocerus ellipsiprymnus_). I have said "famed" antelope, because the waterbuck is in reality one of the finest and most famous animals of the whole tribe. Its name would seem to imply that it was a dweller in the water. Such, however, is not the case. It is called waterbuck because it is never found far from the banks of a river or other water, in which it delights to plunge, and bathe itself during the hot sunshiny hours of the day. Of course it is an excellent swimmer, and, indeed, such confidence has it in its powers of swimming, that when hunted or pursued by whatever enemy, it makes directly for the river and plunges in, no matter what depth may be the water. It is the habit of many species of deer to make for water when hunted, but with them the object is to throw the hounds off the scent, and having once crossed a river, they continue on through the woods. Now the waterbuck does not leave the river for any great distance. It either swims downstream, or, having gone out on the opposite bank, returns to it, after making a short detour through the woods. It seems to regard the water as its haven of safety, and when overtaken usually stands at bay in the very middle of the stream. It loves to dwell along rivers where there are marshy banks covered with tall sedge and reeds; and at certain seasons of the year, when these are partially inundated, the waterbuck is rarely seen--as it then makes its haunt in the very heart of morasses which are impenetrable to the hunter. Its long spreading hoofs enable it to pass with safety over marshy grounds, where other species of antelopes would be "mired" and destroyed. The waterbuck has been classed by naturalists with antelopes of the _aigocerine_, or goat-horned group; but it differs greatly, both in horns and habits, from any of these, and deserves to be ranked as an antelope _sui generis_. If it were established as a separate genus, it would not stand alone, since another "waterbuck"--evidently a second species--has been discovered by late explorers a little farther to the north, upon the shores of the Lake Ngami. The latter is termed by the natives the "leche," and in the shape of its horns, and most of its habits, it bears a decided generic resemblance to the _Aigocerus ellipsiprymnus_. Still a third species of waterbuck has turned up during the recent explorations to the afore-mentioned lake; but this, though in habit very similar to the others, differs widely in regard to its physical characteristics. Its horns are of the spiral form, greatly resembling those of the koodoo, (_Strepsiceros koodoo_), and naturalists are disposed to class it in the genus _Tragelaphus_. Its name among the natives is "nakong." The reason why none of our young hunters were _personally_ acquainted with the waterbuck was, that none of them had ever seen it before; and the reason why none of them had seen it was, because it is not found in any part of the country through which they had hitherto travelled. It is altogether a tropical or sub-tropical species, loves a warm climate, and does not range so far south as the Cape settlements. It is possible that there may be other species by the rivers that run through the unknown interior of Africa; for between that southern territory, which has been yet explored, and the Great Saara, there lie many strange countries, and many strange creatures, of which the geographer and the naturalist yet know nothing. So, my boy reader, if you should be desirous at any period of your life to achieve the reputation of a Bruce, a Park, a Denham, a Clapperton, or a Lander, you need not fear the want of an opportunity. There is still enough of "unexplored Africa" to employ adventurous spirits for perhaps a century to come. At all events the ardent naturalist will find plenty of new ground up to the new year's day of 2000! That I can safely guarantee. The Young Yagers--by Captain Mayne Reid CHAPTER FORTY. THE RAVENOUS REPTILE. All eyes were fixed upon the beautiful animal as it approached the river. With light majestic step it advanced to the bank, and without pausing walked down the slope. It had no fear of the water, and stepped into it without hesitation. The boys were in hopes that it intended to cross the river. On the opposite bank it was too distant for the a carry of their guns--even the elephant roer could not have sent a bullet to that side with any chance of hitting. Should the antelope cross, however, the case would be different. It might then come within range of their pieces; and, to make sure, Hendrik and Groot Willem had stolen under the cover of the reeds, and advanced nearer the crossing-place. They were doomed to disappointment, however. The waterbuck had no intention of crossing. It had come to drink; and having waded in knee-deep, it stopped, and dipped its muzzle into the water for that purpose. With disappointed looks the boys remained gazing upon it as it drank. Now it chanced that close to the spot where the buck had entered the water there was a black log. It lay along the water in a direction parallel to the bank, and seemed to be floating--though only a small portion of it appeared above the surface. Saturated with the water, as it must have been, its weight perhaps had thus partially immersed it. The boys had given no heed to this log. It was the half-decayed trunk of some tree--perhaps the black-barked acacia--that had been carried downstream during flood-time, and had made a lodgment in the little bay, where the path entered the water. Of course to such an ordinary circumstance the boys gave no heed. Neither did the waterbuck. Ah! false security! Better for the antelope had it heeded that log! Better for it had it "looked before leaping," and carefully scrutinised that black-barked thing--for black though it was, it was not the log of any acacia. _That log was alive_! To the astonishment of all the boys, and no doubt to the far greater astonishment of the waterbuck, the dark object suddenly became endowed with motive power, and was seen to dart forward with the velocity of an arrow towards the spot where the animal was drinking. It was no longer a log, but a hideous reptile--a crocodile of gigantic dimensions! The boys expected to see the waterbuck rear back, and attempt to escape. No doubt so it would have done, had the crocodile missed its aim, but the latter had not missed. On the contrary, it had seized the muzzle of the antelope in its long gaunt jaws, and was proceeding to drag its victim under the water. There was a struggle not of long duration, but it was terrible while it lasted. The buck pranced, and plunged and spread his legs, and endeavoured to shake off his reptile assailant. Several times he was brought to his knees; but being a powerful animal he recovered his legs again, and once nearly succeeded in drawing the crocodile out upon the bank. All the while, too, he kept striking forward with his sharp fore-hoofs; but desperate as were the hits he made, they produced no impression upon the harsh scaly coat of his amphibious antagonist. Had the latter held him by any other part, he might have had some chance of escape; but seized as he had been by the very tip of his snout, his head was all the time kept close down to the water, and the awkward position rendered it impossible for him to make use of his horns--his principal weapons of defence. The crocodile was by no means one of the largest of his kind--else the struggle would have ended sooner. A very large one--that is, one of sixteen to twenty feet in length--can drag a buffalo bull under water, and a buffalo bull possesses four times the strength of a waterbuck. The one now seen was not over ten feet long; and the strong waterbuck might have been a full match for it, had it not been for the unfair hold which it had taken. In that, however, lay the advantage of the reptile, and it seemed to be aware of it, for from the first moment it never relaxed the "clutch" it had taken, but held on with its terrible teeth and strong jaws, closed like a clamp on the snout of its victim! Now the crocodile was raised some feet out of the river, and the boys could see its ugly breast, and spread hand-like claws; now using its powerful tail as a fulcrum it would strike against the water, and then the head of the buck would be plunged below the surface, and held down for minutes at a time. Of course during all this while the water was kept in commotion; and, what with the struggles of the quadruped and the lashing of the reptile's tail, a constant spray of froth and bubbles marked the scene of the strife. The conflict at length came to an end. The water-tyrant triumphed. The buck was dragged into the river beyond his depth; and although few quadrupeds could swim as well as he, once off his legs he was no longer a match for the amphibious saurian. His head and horns both disappeared beneath the surface--now and then the tail of the crocodile flapped upward, as it exerted itself to keep its victim under--and then both reptile and quadruped sank to the bottom of the river, and were seen no more! For some time the hunters remained watching the surface of the water. They saw the frothy bubbles floating over the spot--some of them reddish with the blood of the waterbuck--but the current soon carried them away, and the river glided past smooth and silent as if no such commotion had occurred in its waters. The hunters all returned to the wagons, and a conversation now occurred about crocodiles, in which Congo took part. The Kaffir had hunted upon the great river Limpopo, which lay to the northeast of their present camp. He alleged that there crocodiles were very numerous, and some were seen of enormous dimensions, attaining to thirty feet in length, with bodies as thick as a rhinoceros; that such scenes, as that they had just witnessed, were of no uncommon occurrence there. He said that the larger crocodiles frequently attacked buffaloes, precisely as this one had done the waterbuck--that they lie in wait by the watering-places of these animals, and seizing them by the muzzle when they are drinking, drag them under water, and thus suffocate them. But Congo related a still more curious habit of the crocodiles. He asserted that they never devour their prey until it becomes quite decomposed--that is, until it attains the condition of carrion. He stated that when a crocodile has killed a buffalo or any large animal, it always drags the carcass back to the shore, and, leaving it exposed to the action of the sun's rays, watches near it until the flesh has become _tainted to its taste_! The young yagers had heard of this before; but were not inclined to believe it, though Congo now assured them of its truth--alleging that this habit of the crocodile was well known among the native hunters of the Limpopo. Notwithstanding the sneers of many naturalists, the simple savage was right, as the young yagers themselves were soon enabled to prove. I have said that when the crocodile and his victim disappeared below the surface, they were seen no more. That, however, was not strictly true. Both of them were seen again, and in a very short while after--more than seen, indeed; for the crocodile was killed by a bullet from Groot Willem's roer; and upon venison steaks, cut from the buttocks of the waterbuck, both Congo and Swartboy--as well as the buck-dogs--made them a hearty supper. It was thus the thing came about. Hans had entered into a dissertation about crocodiles in general. He was informing his companions of the number of new species of these creatures that had been lately discovered, and pointing out the great progress of natural science during the present half century; how the crocodiles were divided by modern naturalists into many genera, and that, including the caimans and alligators of America, and the gavials of Asia, the whole crocodile family could not number less than two dozen living species, although but a few years ago it was supposed there were but three kinds in existence; how America possessed true crocodiles as well as alligators; how the number of species in America was greater than that of Africa and Asia taken together; how there were none of these great reptiles found either in Europe or Australasia; and, among other things, Hans was pointing out the difficulty which existed in determining both the genera and species of all the _Crocodilidae_. While the yagers were listening to these details, the Kaffir, who had been squatted with his eyes bent upon the river, suddenly started from his crouching attitude, and pointed down to the bank, toward a small brake of reeds that grew out of the water. All eyes were turned in that direction, and it was perceived that some of the reeds were shaking about, as if a large creature was moving among them. The reeds were nodding about and bending downward in bunches, and breaking as if under some heavy pressure, and crackling as they broke. What could be causing such a commotion amongst them? It did not appear like the natural motion of any wild animal, for these glide about, even in their undisturbed haunts, in a stealthy and easy manner. There was something unusual going on among the reeds. What could it be? The young yagers were determined to find out; and for this purpose they drew near the margin of the reeds. They did not approach them openly, but crawled forward under cover of the grass and bushes, observing perfect silence, so as not to fright away whatever creature was causing the movement. Fortunately the reed-culms did not grow so thickly as to obscure the view; and when near, it was possible to see a large object moving in their midst. And a large object _was_ seen--a large dark creature which was at once recognised as a crocodile. It might have been another crocodile, and not that which had just drowned the waterbuck; but the hunters were not left to conjecture on this point, for, while watching its movements, they now perceived the carcass of the waterbuck itself, which the huge reptile was dragging up among the reeds, evidently with the intention of raising it out of the water! For this purpose it was using its powerful jaws, as well as its snout, and strong forearms--now pulling the body along a bit, then pushing and rolling it over towards the bank. The boys watched these strange manoeuvres for some moments in silence; but Groot Willem had brought his gun with him, and choosing a moment when the huge saurian was resting a little, he aimed for the socket of its eyeball, and sent the big bullet of his roer crashing through its skull. The reptile plunged back into the river, and went to the bottom leaving the wave tinged with blood. Presently it rose to the surface, struggling violently, and evidently in great agony. Now it raised the fore-part of its hideous body quite out of the water; then its head went under, and its long tail was flouted into the air; then up came its head again, and so on, till at length its struggles ceased, and it sank to the bottom like a stone. No doubt it sank to rise no more. Congo and Swartboy rushed in among the reeds, and drawing out the waterbuck--somewhat lacerated by the teeth of its destroyer--dragged it in triumph to the camp. CHAPTER FORTY ONE. THE GUINEA-HENS. Although Swartboy and Congo supped upon the flesh of the waterbuck-- which is far from being a delicate venison--the boys had something better for supper. That was roast fowl, and a very dainty kind of it, quite equal to grouse or partridge. They all supped upon "guinea-hen." The guinea-fowl (_Numida meleagris_) is a bird that has been long known, and is often mentioned in the works of ancient writers under the names _Meleagris_ and _Gallina Numidica_. It is unnecessary to give a description of its appearance, as every one is acquainted with the beautiful pearly plumage of the bird, from which it has obtained the name of pearl-hen--among the Germans Perl-Huhn, and among the Spaniards "Pintado," or spotted hen. The English name "Guinea-hen" is in allusion to the country from which it has been chiefly obtained in modern times. The guinea-fowl is truly a native of Africa--though it is now domesticated in almost every country in the world, and has become a common inhabitant of the farm-yard. In the United States of America, particularly in the Southern States, where the climate exactly suits it, the guinea-hen, or "guinea-chicken," as the bird is there called, is a great favourite, both as a bird for the table and a layer of eggs; and certainly the flesh of the young pullet is much more delicate and savoury than that of the common fowl. In many of the West India islands, the guinea-hen, although introduced from Africa, has become wild, and in the forests of Jamaica it is hunted and shot like other game. In these islands the species propagates very rapidly; and where the birds become numerous they do great mischief to the crops of the planters. On this account they are often hunted, not to be served up at the table, but for the purpose of exterminating them as troublesome pests. Throughout all Africa, its native country, the guinea-fowl exists; but it is to be remarked that there is more than one species. The common guinea-fowl (_Numida meleagris_) is the best known, and in its wild state differs very little from the domesticated variety. The latter, however, frequently varies in colour, and some are seen with very little of the blue tint upon their feathers and almost without spots. This, however, is the usual law of wild birds when produced under domestication, as ducks, turkeys, geese, and all the other pets of the farm, fully demonstrate. Even when left to herself, nature often "sports" in this way, and we know of no bird or animal of which "albinos" may not be at some time observed. In addition to the common guinea-fowl, a second species is well known to exist in the Southern parts of the African continent. This is the "crested guinea-fowl," (_Numida cristata_). It is not quite so large as the common kind, and has other differences. It is of a darker blue colour, but spotted like its congener, each feather having from four to six spots upon it. The quills are yellowish brown, but the edges of the secondaries are of a pure white, which contrasts prettily with the dark colouring of the general plumage. But the most conspicuous difference between the two species is in the formation of the crown and cheeks. As is well known, over the bill of the common guinea-fowl rises a singular warty membrane like a casque, while two carunculated wattles hang from the lower mandible. Both these appendages are wanting in the _Numida cristata_; but in place of the hard casque, the head of this species is ornamented with a crest of loose hair-like feathers of a bluish-black, which adds very much to the elegant appearance of the bird. The guinea-hens are gregarious and sometimes immense flocks of them are seen together. They spend most of their time upon the ground, but they also take to trees when startled, and roost upon the branches. Their food consists of seeds, berries, and soft slugs. While the boys were discussing what they should have for supper, a flock of these beautiful crested creatures came chattering across the open meadow in which was the camp. Of course the shot-guns were immediately put in requisition, and several of the party got ready to go after them. Now it is not so very easy to get a shot at the wild guinea-hens. They are no great flyers, and do not take to the wing when pursued, unless when close pressed by a dog or some other swift animal. But a man on foot is no match for them, as they run very swiftly where the ground is even. They are shy, moreover; and it is not without difficulty that a shot can be had. There is one way, however, of approaching them successfully. A dog should be set after them, precisely in the same manner as though they were rabbits, hares, or any other small quadrupeds. The dog of course being swift enough to overtake them, soon comes up, and the guinea-fowls are then forced to take wing. But, as they are greatly disinclined to a long flight, they soon settle down again, or, what is more likely, perch upon the branches of the nearest tree. The dog then runs up to the tree; and, if well-trained, will commence barking, and continue so till the sportsman approaches within shot. The birds upon the tree have no fear of the dog below--knowing very well that he cannot climb up to them--but, while their attention is occupied with him, they pay no heed to their more dangerous enemy the gunner, who can then easily approach within range, and take aim at his leisure. Now this mode of hunting the guinea-fowl was well known to the young yagers; and as one of their dogs had been trained to it, they took him along, and commenced the pursuit with every confidence that they would eat roast fowl for supper. They were not disappointed. The birds were soon after sprung, and then treed; and the barking of the dog conducted the gunners to the spot where the game had taken roost, among the branches of some "cameel-doorn" trees near the bank of the river. Several shots were obtained; and three brace and a half were brought into camp--enough to serve not only for supper, but also for breakfast on the following morning. It seemed to be quite a place for birds; for while there, many other species were observed by the young hunters. A great many curious plants grew in the neighbourhood, the seeds of which served many kinds for food; besides, from the proximity of the river many flies and other insects were produced, the prey of numerous shrikes and other birds of the family of _Muscicapidae_. Hans pointed out a very singular bird that was flying about the meadow, and was every now and then uttering a note that sounded like the word "edolio." From this note the bird derives its name, just as in England the "cuckoo" is named from its peculiar call, and in France "coucou." Now the _edolio_ of South Africa is also a cuckoo; and although differing from our cuckoo in some respects, it has a great resemblance to it in others. It has the same parasite peculiarity of depositing its eggs in the nests of other birds, and leaving them to be hatched there; and its other habits are very similar to those of the common cuckoo. But there are some very curious points in the history of the "edolio," which it does not share with its European congener. Among the boors of South Africa it is known as the "New year's day bird," (Niuwe jaars vogel,) and these simple people ascribe to it some wonderful characteristics. They say that it appears only at the beginning of the year--whence the name "new year's day bird"--and that whenever it is hungry it commences to cry out, and then all the little birds in the immediate neighbourhood fly towards it, carrying food, which they give it to eat! Now all the young yagers, as well as Congo the Kaffir and Swartboy the Bushman, were well acquainted with this story; and all, with the exception of Hans, believed it to be true. Hans, however, knew the explanation of the marvellous matter, and proceeded to give it to his companions. He stated that the bird known among the farmers as the _Niuwe jaars vogel_, was no other than the young of the "edolio" (_Cuculus serratus_)--though the farmers would not believe this, because, although full fledged, it differs a good deal from the parent birds both in size and colour, and is therefore taken for a distinct kind. That the mystery of its appearing always on the first day of the year, was scarce a fable after all, as it was _about_ that time that young edolios obtained their full feathers, and commenced flying about. That the further statement, of its crying out when hungry, was perfectly true; but that _all_ the small birds in the neighbourhood were summoned by its cry, was not correct, although _some_ would be, viz: the step-mother and father that had brought it into life; and that these having been often seen in the act of feeding the young edolio had given origin to the fable. This was certainly a very good explanation. Hans further stated that a similar belief existed among the natives of India, in relation to the large-billed cuckoo, (_Eudynamis orientalis_), and that the belief had a similar origin. "The edolio," continued Hans, "like the cuckoo, deposits its eggs in the nest of many species of small birds; and that it places them there with its beak, and not in the ordinary way, has been satisfactorily determined by naturalists." CHAPTER FORTY TWO. ROOYEBOK. As our travellers advanced up-stream, the wide level plains became narrowed into mere stripes of meadow that lay along both sides of the river. On both sides, and not a great distance off, wood-covered mountains trended parallel to the course of the stream. Sometimes their spurs approached very near to the banks--so as to divide the bottom land into a series of valleys, that rose like terraces one above the other. Each of these was a separate plain, stretching from the river's bank to the rocky foot of the mountain. Nearly every one of them was tenanted with game of one sort or another-- such as had already been met with on the route--but beyond killing enough to keep their larder supplied with fresh meat, our party did not make any stay to hunt here. The guide had informed them, that beyond the mountain where the river took its rise lay the country of the elephant, the buffalo, and the giraffe; and in hopes of reaching this long-expected land, the sight of a herd of springboks, or gnoos, or blauw-boks, or even elands, had little more interest for the young yagers than if it had been a drove of tame oxen. Ascending into one of the upper valleys, however, they came suddenly in view of a herd of antelopes whose forms and colours distinguished them from any our hunters had yet met with. This at once decided them to halt the wagons, and prepare for a chase. That the animals seen were antelopes, there could be no mistake. They had all the grace and lightness of form peculiar to these creatures; besides, their horns were conspicuously characteristic. Their appearance bespoke them to be true antelopes. They were large ones too--that is, of medium size--about as large as red deer; but of course small when compared with such species as the blauw-bok or the huge eland. Each would have measured nearly three feet and a half in height--and even a little more, over the croup--for although there are some antelopes, such as those of the _acronotine_ group--the "hartebeest," "sassabye," and "bekr-el-wash"--that stand lower at the croup than the shoulders, the reverse is the case with other species; and those now before the eyes of our hunters possessed the latter characteristic. They stood high at the croup. None of the yagers had ever seen one of the kind before; and yet, the moment they came under view, both Hendrik and Groot Willem cried out-- "Rooyebok!" "How know you that they are rooyebok?" demanded Hans. "From their colour, of course," replied the others. The colour of these antelopes was a deep fulvous red over the head, neck, and upper parts of the body; paler along the sides; and under the belly pure white. There were some black marks--such as a stripe of black down each buttock, and also along the upper part of the tail--but the general colour of the animals was bright red; hence their being taken for "rooyebok," or "red-bucks," by Hendrik and Groot Willem. "The colour is not a good criterion," remarked Hans. "They might as well have been `grysbok,' or `steinbok,' or `rooye rheebok,' for the matter of colour. I judge by the horns, however, that you are right in your guess. They _are_ rooyebok, or, as the Bechuanas call them, `pallah,' and, as naturalists style them, _Antilope melampus_." All looked at the horns as Hans spoke, and saw that these were full twenty inches in length, and somewhat like those of the springbok, but more irregularly lyrate. The two nearly met at their tips, whereas at their middle they were full twelve inches apart. This was a characteristic by which they could easily be remembered, and it had enabled Hans at once to pronounce upon the species. Strange to say, there was but one pair of full-grown horns in the whole herd, for there was but one old buck, and the does of the pallah are hornless. A "herd" is hardly a proper term; for this species of antelope cannot be called gregarious. What our hunters saw before them was a _family_ of rooyeboks, consisting of the old male, his wives, and several young bucks and does--in all, only eleven in number. Our hunters knew, from what they had heard, that the rooyebok is both a shy and swift antelope--difficult either to be approached or run down. It would be necessary, therefore, to adopt some plan of proceeding, else they would not succeed in getting one of them; and they had fixed their minds most covetously on the large knotted horns of the buck. They halted the wagons to await the result of the chase; though the oxen were not to be outspanned, unless it should prove successful. If so, they would camp upon the ground for the night--so as to enable them to dress the meat, and preserve the "trophies." With such resolves, they made ready to hunt the pallah. Upon first coming in sight of the rooyebok, the hunters were upon the crest of a high ridge--one of the mountain-spurs, that divided the valley they had just traversed from that in which the red antelopes were feeding. From the eminence they occupied, they commanded a view of this valley to its farthest border, and could see its whole surface, except a small strip on the nearer side, which was hidden from them by the brow of the ridge on which they stood. Around the sides of the valley there were trees and bushes; though these did not form a continued grove, but only grew in detached clumps and patches. All the central ground, where the pallahs were feeding, was open, and quite destitute of either bush or cover of any kind. Between the bordering groves there was long grass; and, by the aid of this, a skilled hunter might have crept from one grove to another, without attracting the attention of the antelopes. It was decided, therefore, that Hendrik and Groot Willem should steal round to the other end of the valley, keeping under cover of the thickets and grass. Then the pallahs would be between two fires, as they must either go up or down the valley in trying to escape. On the right lay the steep mountain; on the left, the deep rapid river. They would not likely attempt to move off on either hand. So this design to intercept them was good enough. The horses were now tied to trees and left on the back of the ridge, while the hunters moved forward upon the brow that overhung the valley. They had not advanced far before that part of the valley hitherto unseen came under their eyes, and there, to their astonishment, another herd of animals appeared; not of antelopes--although, from their colour, they might have been mistaken for such. No--the short round heads, elongated bodies, thick massive limbs, and long tufted tails, told at a glance, that it was no herd of peaceful ruminants the hunters were gazing upon, but an assemblage of dreaded _carnivora_--a troop of lions! CHAPTER FORTY THREE. FOUR-FOOTED HUNTERS. There were twelve lions in the troop--old males, females, and whelps of different ages! A terrific spectacle to look upon, in any other way than through the bars of a cage, or out of a third story window. But our young yagers beheld them on an open plain, and at the dangerous proximity of three hundred yards! It is needless to say that a sudden stop was put to their advance, and that every one of the six was more or less alarmed. Although they knew that, as a general rule, the lion will not attack man without provocation, it might be different where such a number were together. Twelve lions would have made short work of them, one and all. No wonder the young hunters trembled at sight of such a troop, and so near; for the brow of the ridge, running abruptly down to the plain, was all that lay between them and the dreaded assemblage. A few bounds would have brought the lions to the spot on which they stood! After the first moments of surprise and alarm had passed, the yagers bethought themselves how to act. Of course, the pallahs were driven completely out of their mind, and all ideas of a hunt given up. To have descended into that valley, would have been to have encountered twice their own number of lions: older hunters than they would have shied off from such an encounter. They did not think for a moment of going farther, nor, indeed, of any thing but retreating; and it cannot be said that they _thought_ of that, for it was the instinct of the moment. "Back to our horses!" whispered they to one another, the moment they set their eyes on the lions; and, without staying to contemplate the fearful group, all six stole back; and, in less than two minutes' time, were seated in their saddles. Their presence had not been discovered by the lions. Two circumstances had favoured the boys, and prevented this. The ridge over which they were passing was covered with underwood, and the "bosch," reaching as high as their heads, had sheltered them from view. The other circumstance in their favour was that the wind was blowing _down_ the valley, and therefore, _from_ the lions and towards themselves. Had it been otherwise, they would have been scented, and of course, discovered. Still another circumstance--the hunters had been advancing in silence, on account of the design they had formed of stalking the pallahs. The lions, therefore, still remained ignorant of their proximity. Once on horseback our party felt secure, and soon got over their little "flurry." Each knew that the noble creature that carried him, could give any lion the heels. Even the ponies of Klaas and Jan could run away from the fastest lion in Africa. Once mounted, all felt that the danger was over. The hunters, Hendrik and Groot Willem, were not satisfied to retreat in this way. They were resolved on at least, having another "peep" at the dangerous game; and, therefore, prepared to return to their former point of observation, of course this time on horseback. Hans also felt a similar inclination--from the desire to study a chapter of natural history--and Arend would go out of curiosity. It was not deemed safe to take Klaas or Jan along; so these two youngsters were unceremoniously sent back to the wagons, that had been halted in the lower valley near the bottom of the hill. The other four rode slowly and silently forward, until they came once more in view of the valley, the herd of pallahs, and the troop of lions. The antelopes were still feeding quietly near the centre of the open ground. The lions were as yet on the ground, where they had been first observed. That the pallahs knew nothing of the proximity of their dangerous neighbours was very evident, else they would not have been moving so sedately along the sward. They had no suspicion that an enemy was near. The lions were in the lower end of the valley, and therefore to leeward of them--for the wind was blowing fair downstream, and came right in the faces of the hunters. A thicket, moreover, screened the lions from the eyes of the herd. It was equally evident that the beasts of prey were well aware of the presence of the rooyeboks. Their actions proved this. At short intervals one trotted to the edge of the "bosch," in crouching attitude, looked out to the open plain, and after a moment or two returned to his companions, just as if he had been sent to "report." The old males and the lionesses stood in a thick clump, and seemed to be holding a consultation! The boys had not a doubt but that they were doing this very thing, and that the subject of their deliberation was the rooyebok herd. At length the "council" appeared to break up. The troop separated, each taking a different direction. Some went along the bottom of the valley, while several were seen to proceed towards the mountain foot. When these last had reached the groves before mentioned, they turned upwards; and one after another were seen crouching from clump to clump, crawling along upon their bellies, as they passed through the long grass, and evidently trying to shelter themselves from the view of the pallahs. Their object now became clear. They were proceeding to the upper end of the valley, with the design of driving the game upon those that had remained below--in fact, carrying out the identical plan which the hunters themselves had projected but the moment before! The boys marvelled at this singular coincidence; and as they sat in their saddles they could not help admiring the skill with which their _rivals_ were carrying out their own plan. Those--three there were--that had gone skulking up the edge of the valley, were soon out of sight--hidden under the "bosch" that grew at the opposite end, and which they had been seen to enter. Meanwhile, the other nine had spread themselves along the bottom of the valley, each taking station under cover of the bushes and long grass. The trap was now fairly set. For a few minutes no movement was observed on the part either of lions or pallahs. The former lay crouched and stealthily watching the herd-- the latter browsed peacefully along the sward, perfectly unconscious of the plot that was "thickening" around them. Something at this moment seemed to render them suspicious. They appeared to suspect that there was danger threatening. The buck raised his head; looked around him; uttered a hiss, somewhat like the whistling of deer; and struck the ground a smart rap or two with his hoof. The others left off browsing, and several of them were seen to bound up into the air--after the very singular manner of springboks. No doubt they had scented the lions, now at the upper end of the valley--as the breeze from that quarter blew directly towards the herd. It was surely that; for after repeating his signal, the old buck himself sprang many feet into the air, and then stretched himself in full flight. The others of course followed, leaping up at intervals as they ran. As the lions had well calculated, the antelopes came directly down the valley, breast forward, upon their line. Neither the wind nor any thing warned them of the dangerous ambuscade; and in a few short moments they were close to the patches of brushwood. Then the nine huge cats were seen to spring out as if moved by one impulse, and launch themselves into the air. Each had chosen a rooyebok, and nearly every one succeeded in bringing his victim to the earth. A single blow from the paw of their strong assailants was enough to stretch the poor antelopes on the plain, and put an end at once to their running and their lives. So sudden was the attack, and so short-lived the struggle, that in two seconds from the time the lions made their spring, each might be seen crouching over a dead pallah, with his paws and teeth buried in its flesh! Three alone escaped, and ran back up the valley. But a new ambush awaited them there; and as they followed the path, that led through the thicket at the upper end, each became the prey of a lurking lion. Not one of the beautiful antelopes, that but the moment before were bounding over the plain in all the pride and confidence of their speed, was able to break through the line of deadly enemies so cunningly drawn around them! The hunters remained for some minutes gazing upon the singular spectacle. Hendrik and Groot Willem would have stolen forward, and sent a brace of bullets into a brace of lions; but Hans would not hear of such a thing. He alleged that there was no time when these animals are more dangerous to attack, than just after they have killed their game and are drinking its blood. At such a moment they are extremely ferocious, and will follow with implacable vengeance any one who may disturb them. It would be more prudent, therefore, not to provoke such a powerful band, but to retire altogether from the spot. To these counsels of Hans--backed by Arend--the two hunters at length reluctantly yielded; and all four rode back to the wagons. Arriving there, a consultation was held how they were to proceed. It would be a dangerous business to trek up the narrow valley guarded by such a troop. A ford was therefore sought for, and found at some distance below; and, having crossed their wagons, the travellers encamped on the opposite side--as it was too late to move farther that night. They had done well to go across the river, for during the whole night the fierce brutes were heard roaring terrifically upon the side where they had been observed. In fact, the place appeared to be a regular _den of lions_. CHAPTER FORTY FOUR. "WIDOW-BIRDS." They were only too glad to get off out of that neighbourhood, and at an early hour they inspanned and treked up the banks of the stream. Just as on the other side, the road led through a succession of valleys, with groves of trees scattered over their surface; and as they proceeded, the mountain-spurs more frequently approached the banks, and at one or two places they found great difficulty in getting the wagons across the ridges. One of these was so steep, that for a while the travellers feared they would not be able to follow the stream any farther. The oxen refused to trek up the declivity, and neither whip nor jambok would force them forward. But Congo knew of a plan by which they were at length induced to proceed; and both wagons arrived in safety at the top of the pass--not, however, until Swartboy had clicked and shouted, and Congo had screamed, till their throats were sore, and both had worn the voorslays of springbok skin from their long whips. Congo's mode of making the oxen move forward was a very simple one; and consisted in his going ahead of them and smearing the rocks along the path with the "mest" of the oxen themselves--thus leading the animals to believe that other oxen had gone before them, and that therefore the passage must be practicable, since some of their own kind had already made it! This mode is often adopted by the trek-boors of Southern Africa, when they wish to drive up very precipitous places, where the oxen are afraid to go of themselves. The valley, which was reached after climbing through this difficult pass, was one of very small extent--not exceeding a couple of acres; and as the river had now become diminished to a mountain-stream, it was fordable at any point throughout the whole length of the little meadow in which the travellers encamped. At the head of this valley a ridge trended across the course of the stream through which the current had cleft a wide way; and the only road leading out above was along the channel of the river itself. Fortunately, this channel was nearly dry, else they could have gone no farther in that direction. As it was, the pebbly bed of the stream could be traversed by wagons, and they would easily get through to wider plains that stretched beyond. They had halted for the night in this little valley, because there was excellent grass for their cattle; and as wood grew along the sides of the rocky hills, and clear cool water ran down the stream, they possessed all the three necessary requisites for a traveller's camp. It was a curious little place where they had outspanned. As already stated, the level ground was not over a couple of acres in extent, though it was nearly of circular form. Through the very centre of it passed the stream, its bed being only a few feet below the general surface; and all around were the mountains, their precipitous sides rising like rocky walls to a height of several hundred feet, and completely enclosing the mountain within their embrace. There were no trees upon the surface of the meadow itself, but against the rocks grew many kinds; some of them hanging with their tops downward, and some stretching horizontally outwards. A few small shrubs alone, with some reeds, grew upon the edge of the stream; but these were low, and would not have concealed a man standing erect. In the centre of this natural amphitheatre the camp was formed--that is, the wagons were placed there. The horses and oxen were not fastened in any way, as it was supposed they would not care to stray out of the valley. There were three good reasons why they should not wander. First, because they were wearied with a long day's work, and one that had been particularly severe. Secondly, the paths leading out were difficult to find. And thirdly, because both the grass and water there were of as good a quality as either horse or ox could have expected to meet with elsewhere. There was no reason, therefore, why any of them should go beyond the confines of the valley where the camp was situated. As usual, no sooner were Klaas and Jan fairly out of their saddles than they went bird's-nesting. Several kinds of birds had been seen by them as they entered this secluded valley; and it was likely that some of their nests would be found at no great distance off. And some were found. Upon the shrubs and reeds quite a colony of birds had made their habitations. They were small sparrow-looking birds, having nests of a kidney-shape, hollow in the inside, which was reached by little circular entrances, something like the nests of the common wren. The outside part was constructed of grass; while inside, the nests were lined with a soft substance resembling wool. This was the cottony down obtained from some plant that, no doubt, grew in that neighbourhood, but which the boys could not see anywhere around. Now these little birds were already well known to the young yagers. They had met with them before; and all of them knew they were birds of the genus _Ploceinae_, or weaver-birds. They knew, moreover, that there are not only many species of weaver-birds, but that there are also many _genera_, or rather _subgenera_, of them, differing from each other in size, colour, and habits, but all possessing the curious instinct of building nests of a very ingenious kind--in other words "weaving" them; from which circumstance they derive their trivial name. The nests of all the species differ from each other. Some are constructed of a globe-shape; others like a chemist's retort; others of kidney-form; and still another kind of nest is that of the "social weaver-birds." These last unite in large numbers, and fill one great nest, or "hive," which often fills the whole top of a great acacia, looking like a haystack built among the branches of the tree. The little weavers observed by Klaas and Jan were of the genus _Amadina_--the _Amadina squamifrons_; and both the boys were glad at encountering some of their nests at that moment. Not that they were at all curious to see the eggs, for they had examined them often before. No: that was not the reason. There was another and a different one. It was this: the inside lining of the nest of the amadina makes excellent wadding for shot-guns--quite equal to tow, and even better than the softest paper; and as both Klaas and Jan were out of wadding, they expected to replenish their stock by robbing the poor amadinas of their pretty nests. They would not have done so wantonly, for Hans would not have permitted them; but, as hunters, they stood in real need of the article, and therefore they took it without remorse. Simple as the thing was, they were compelled to unravel the nests before they could get at the soft material with which they were lined: and this unravelling was not done without some difficulty, for the outside work was woven together like the rods in a fine piece of basket-work. The entrance which the bird had left for its own passage in and out was so small, that the boys could not thrust their hands into it; and, what was singular, this entrance, whenever the bird was absent from the nest, was so closed up that it was difficult to find it! Having obtained as much wadding as they required out of a pair of nests, the boys did not disturb any of the others; but permitting them to hang where they had found them, returned to the wagons. They had not been long there before their attention was attracted to another bird, and one of a rarer and more curious kind than the amadina. It did not differ much from the latter in point of size, but in the nature and colour of its plumage--which was most curious indeed. The bird which now occupied the attention, not only of Klaas and Jan, but of all the others, was about the size of a canary-bird; but its long tail-feathers, several times the length of its body, gave it the appearance of being much larger than it really was. Its colour was of a very dark glossy brown, or nearly black, upon the head and over the upper parts of the body. Around the neck was a collar of orange rufous, which grew paler upon the breast, ending in a buff tinge over the abdomen, lower parts of the body, and thighs. But it was in the tail-feathers that the peculiarity of this bird appeared. Of these, two were immensely long, set vertically, or "edgeways," and curving far outward and downward. Two others, much shorter, also stood out edgeways above the first. These were broadly webbed at their bases, being at their widest rail three inches across; while their tips, for the length of three inches more, were entirely without any feathery web, and looked like a pair of stiff hairy spines projecting outward. Besides these two pairs of vertical feathers, there were four others on each side of the tail, nicely graduated one above the other, each being about a quarter of an inch shorter than the one immediately below it. All these tail-feathers were black. But one of these birds was seen by the boys at their camp; but they noticed that it was accompanied by another bird of a rusty brown and whitish colour, and with a tail of the ordinary kind. This companion was neither more nor less than the female; while the gaudy creature with the orange colour and long tail-plumes was the male. Hans's knowledge was now brought into requisition, for the others had never seen this curious bird, and knew not to what species it belonged. Hans told them it also was one of the weaver-birds; known among naturalists by the name _Vidua_; among the French as "La veuve;" and among the English as "Widow-bird." All of the party regarded this as a very singular name for the bird; and at once called upon the naturalist for an explanation of it. Fortunately, Hans was able to give them this; and that was more than the learned Brisson--he who baptised it _Vidua_ and _La veuve_--has been able to do. "Brisson," said Hans, "has named the little creature `widow-bird,' because he had heard that it was so called among the Portuguese; and the French naturalist assigns as a reason that it was so called on account of its colour and long tail! Such writers as Monsieur Brisson and Monsieur Buffon are never at a loss for reasons. Now it so happens that neither its colour nor tail had any thing to do with the origin of its name `widow-bird,' which of itself is quite a misnomer. The Portuguese, who first drew attention to this bird, called it `Whidah' bird, from the fact that it was received by them from the kingdom of Whidah in Western Africa. That is the way in which the bird has received its appellation." The Whidah-bird, on account of its livery habits, but more from the singularity of its tail-plumes, is a great favourite as a pet: and is often seen in cages, where it hops from perch to perch without fear of constraint, and alternately depresses and elevates its long tail with great vivacity. It is usually fed upon grain and several kinds of herbs, and is exceedingly fond of bathing itself in water. It moults twice a year; and during one period the male loses the long plumes which distinguish him from his mate, and altogether becomes so changed in colour, that the sexes are not then very easily told apart. It is only during the breeding season that the cock Whidah-bird attains his fine tail, and the orange and black colours of his plumage. There are two species of Whidah-birds known to naturalists. The "Paradise widow-bird" (_Vidua paradisea_) is the one described above; and another which is called the "Red-billed widow-bird," (_Vidua erythrorhynca_). The latter is a smaller species, and differs from the other in the arrangement of the tail-feathers. Its bill is of a deep red colour--whence the trivial name; and its plumage is of a bluish-black upon the upper parts of the body, with a white collar around the neck, white wing coverts, and whitish underneath. Its habits, however, are precisely similar to those of the species _Paradisea_; and both are found inhabiting the same countries, viz: Western Africa. The range of neither reaches as far southward as the Cape Colony, but one of the species extends to the countries northward of the great Orange River, and is occasionally, though rarely, seen. On account of its rarity in these parts, the young yagers, and particularly the naturalist Hans, were desirous of obtaining its skin; and for this purpose the shot-guns were levelled, and both the "widows" were ruthlessly brought down from their perch. CHAPTER FORTY FIVE. THE PIQUE-BOEUFS. Of course Hans, aided by the others, immediately set about skinning the widow-birds, with an eye to their being preserved. Arend was his principal assistant, for Arend was clever with his hands; and was, moreover, as good a taxidermist as Hans himself. It never troubled Arend to know the genus or species of a bird; but give him the bird itself, and he could strip off its skin and mount it without leaving a trace of a ruffled feather. While thus engaged, a noise fell upon the ears of the young yagers that caused all of them to start--Hans and Arend dropping the skins of the widow-birds, upon which they had been operating. The noise which produced this startling effect, was neither more nor less than the cry of a bird, and but a small bird at that. The note very much resembled the well-known call of the mistle-thrush or screech-cock, (_Turdus viscivorus_). It was no louder, and the bird that uttered it was no bigger than this thrush; but for all that, the note produced a somewhat terrifying effect upon the yager camp. All of the party, both yagers and attendants, knew the cry well. Even the buck-dogs sprang to their feet, and howled as it reached their ears; and the whole camp was suddenly in a commotion. Now, my young reader, you will wonder why the cry of a bird, not bigger than a blackbird, could create terror in the minds of such courageous boys as our yagers; and you will naturally desire to know what sort of bird this was. I have said the boys all knew it, the attendants and the dogs. Nay, more, the horses and oxen recognised that cry; and its effect on them was not less wonderful; for the moment it was heard, the horses tossed up their heads, snorted as if in terror, and commenced _stampeding_ over the ground. The oxen exhibited similar symptoms of affright. Yes, horses, oxen, dogs, Kaffir, Bushman, and yagers, were all affected by the screech of that bird, as it pealed along the rocks, and echoed through the glen. All recognised in it the warning cry of the _Pique-Boeuf_! An account of this singular bird will explain the cause of the consternation which its note had thus suddenly produced. The "Pique-Boeuf" is about the size of a starling, of a greyish colour over the body, with short wings, and tail somewhat of a darker hue. Its feet are formed for grasping, and its claws are hooked and compressed. The most remarkable part of the bird is its bill. This is of a quadrangular shape, the lower mandible much stronger than the upper one, and both swelling towards the tip, so as to resemble a forceps or pincers. The purpose of this formation will be seen, when we come to speak of the habits of the bird. These are, indeed, peculiar; and, by the laws of ornithology, stamp the Pique-Boeufs as a distinct genus of birds. A celebrated French ornithologist, and a true _field naturalist_ as well--Le Vaillant--thus describes the habits of these birds:-- "The bill of the Pique-Boeuf is fashioned as a pair of solid pincers, to facilitate the raising out of the hides of quadrupeds the larvae of the gadflies, which are there deposited and nourished. The species, therefore, anxiously seek out the herds of oxen, of buffaloes, of antelopes--of all the quadrupeds, in short, upon which these gadflies deposit their eggs. It is while steadied, by a strong gripe of the claws in the tough and hairy hide of these animals, that, with strong blows of the bill and powerful squeezes of the skin, at the place where the bird perceives an elevation, which indicates the presence of a maggot, he extracts it with effect. The animals, accustomed to the treatment, bear with the birds complacently, and apparently perceive the service which they render them, in freeing them from these true parasites, which live at the expense of their proper substance." Now, there are many species of birds, as well as the Pique-Boeufs, that lead a very similar life, living principally upon the parasite insects that infest the bodies of the larger quadrupeds, both wild and tame. In America, the "cow-bunting" (_Icterus pecoris_) is so termed from its habit of feeding upon the parasite insects of cattle; and among other animals it is a constant attendant upon the immense herds of buffaloes that roam over the great American prairies. Other species of icterus also frequent the vast cattle-herds of the South American plains. The red-billed weaver-bird (_Textor erythrorhynchus_) is equally the companion of the African buffalo; and any one who has visited an extensive sheep-pasture cannot fail to have observed the common starling perched upon the woolly backs of the sheep. The white-necked crow (_Corvus albicollis_) is noted for similar practices, as well as several other species of _Corvidae_ and _Sturnidae_. All of these kinds, however--the white-necked crow excepted--content themselves with only taking away the parasites, which are attached to the skins of the animals, or such as live among the hair and wool--none of the aforesaid birds having in their bills the necessary strength for extracting the maggots which are lodged beneath. Now, with the Pique-Boeufs, there is no difficulty about this. Their peculiar beaks enable them to penetrate the toughest hides of the large quadrupeds; and although they also feed upon the ticks and other parasites that rest upon the surface, they prefer the larvae that lie beneath. Hence, these birds are entitled to be regarded as distinct from any of the others; and naturalists have formed them into a separate genus--the genus _Buphaga_, or "beef-eaters." It is scarcely necessary to point out the absurdity of this name, which seems to have been given from a misapprehension of the habits of the birds. The Pique-Boeuf is no beef-eater, but a "beef-picker," if you will, as the French phrase very properly expresses it. But M. Brisson, who gave the name, seems very much to have resembled his more celebrated countryman--the great _closet naturalist_, Buffon--in ascribing such habit to birds and animals as suited his fancy. _Buphaga_ is the name given, and so let it stand. Only two species have been yet observed. One is the _Buphaga erythrorhyncha_, or red-billed beef-eater--so called from the colour of its beak, which is a beautiful coral-red--while the more common species already described has a yellow beak. The latter is the _Buphaga Africana_. Both species are birds of Africa--the "coral bill" (_Bec corail_) being also a native of the island of Madagascar. The "coral bill" is smaller than the _Buphaga Africana_, and somewhat different from it in colour. The tint of its plumage is more sombre. The upper parts, head and throat, are of an ash-brown, glazed, as it were, with bluish; and beneath, the bird is of a yellowish rust colour. Its bill, also, is smaller and less powerful than that of its congener. The Pique-Boeufs are generally seen in company; but they never fly in large flocks. Six or eight of them may usually be observed together. They are very wild shy birds, and it is difficult to approach within shooting distance of them. The only chance of getting near enough is to approach behind the body of an ox, or some other animal--using the latter as a stalking-horse, and driving it gently towards those beasts on whose back the birds may be perched. The gunner, by then showing himself suddenly, may obtain a shot at them on the wing. Such are the habits of the Pique-Boeufs. But all this does not explain why it was that the screech of one of these birds had thrown the camp of the young yagers into such a state of excitement or alarm. The reason remains to be told. It was this:-- Of all the quadrupeds to which the Pique-Boeufs attach themselves, there are none upon which they are such constant attendants as the rhinoceros. This animal is the victim of many parasitical insects--of ticks and larvae. His huge body and corrugated skin, of such vast extent, offer an ample field for such creatures, and consequently afford a supply of food to the Pique-Boeuf, which is unfailing. The rhinoceroses, therefore, of all the four species that inhabit South Africa, are always attended by the beef-eaters, which, on this account, are known among hunters as "rhinoceros-birds." Go where the rhinoceros will, the Pique-Boeufs follow him, perching upon his back, his head, or any other part of his body, and remaining there quite unconcernedly, as if they regarded that situation as their natural roosting-place and home. The rhinoceros himself never dreams of molesting them. On the contrary, he finds their presence extremely useful to him. Not only do they give him ease, by destroying the insects that would otherwise annoy him, but in another sense they do him an essential service. They warn him of the approach of the hunter, or any other danger. The moment such appears, the rhinoceros, who himself may have been asleep, is instantly aroused by the harsh screeching of the birds, and put upon his guard. Should their voices fail to awake him, these cunning sentinels will flutter around his head, and peck into his ears until they succeed in giving the alarm. With elephants and hippopotami they act in a similar manner; so that one of the difficulties to be encountered by the hunter in pursuit of these animals, is the vigilance of the little winged sentinel that thus keeps watch over their sleep! It was this curious habit, then--well known to every creature in the camp--that caused all hands to start up on hearing the screech of the Pique-Boeuf. The presence of the bird announced the proximity of the dangerous "rhinoster." CHAPTER FORTY SIX. CHARGED BY "MUCHOCHOS." All eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence came the "skreek" of the bird, and there, sure enough, were a brace of rhinoceroses of the biggest kind. They were just entering the little glen, through the gap before mentioned; and were coming down the channel of the river, plunging through the water as they walked knee-deep. The superior size of their bodies, as well as their colour, told they were white rhinoceroses; and the long horn upon the snout, pointing slightly backward instead of forward, showed they were of that species known among the natives as "muchocho," and among naturalists as _Rhinoceros simus_. The other species of white rhinoceros is the "kobaoba," lately named _Rhinoceros Oswellii_; although in my opinion it should have been _Rhinoceros Cummingii_--since the great lion-hunter was not only the first to give any definite characteristics of this rare species, but more than any other man has he contributed to a knowledge of the South African _fauna_. The principal distinction between the kobaoba and muchocho is observed in the set and size of the horns. In neither species is the posterior horn any thing more than a conical knob of six or seven inches in length; but in each the anterior horn is very long--far exceeding that of the black rhinoceroses. In the kobaoba, this horn sometimes reaches to the enormous length of four feet, and even exceeds that measurement; while in the muchocho, three feet is the limit. In the former the horn projects forward, standing at an angle of forty-five degrees with the line of the snout; whereas that of the muchocho is erect, with a slight curve or sweep backwards. Both species far exceed in size the two kinds of black rhinoceros, and are fully equal to their great Asiatic congener--he with the curious shield-like skin, so well known in picture-books, museums, and zoological gardens. In other words, the white rhinoceroses of South Africa are in point of magnitude, after the elephant, the largest quadrupeds in the world. In point of habits they differ altogether from the black species. They are grass-feeders, as the shape of their muzzle testifies; while the black kinds browse upon various kinds of shrubs and acacia thorns, and are furnished with a prehensile lip for the purpose of more easily grasping the twigs and branches. As has been elsewhere observed, in disposition the two kinds are also very different. The black rhinoceroses--both "borele" and "keitloa"-- are of an extremely vicious and malignant nature, and more dangerous even than the lion. They are swift of foot; and, but for their defective powers of vision, it would be a perilous thing to approach them. The white species, on the contrary, are slow, and less disposed to make an attack upon man. When these are wounded, or are accompanied by their young, the case is different. They then exhibit all the ferocity of their race; and many a native hunter has fallen a victim to the rage of both the kobaoba and muchocho. The flesh of the two last-named species is excellent eating--being almost as good as fresh pork. It is not so with the flesh of the black rhinoceros, which is strong, rancid, and bitter. Now, knowing the general disposition of the "muchochos," and knowing also the delicate flesh which these animals afford to the hunter, our young yagers at seeing them lost all sense of alarm. They at once rushed to their guns, and commenced preparing to receive the advancing quadrupeds. Had it been boreles or keitloas, they would have acted differently; and would, perhaps, have thought only of flying to their horses, or of ensconcing themselves in the wagons. Of white rhinoceroses, however, they had no fear; and having armed themselves, they advanced boldly and openly to the conflict. By this time the muchochos had got fairly through the pass; and, climbing out of the river-channel, stood up on the grassy sward of the meadow. Their naked bodies, thus fully exposed to view, appeared of enormous size. One, however, was much bigger than the other--in fact, quite as large as a female elephant--for it was full sixteen feet in length from the tip of its long blunt snout to the "whisk" upon the top of its short tail. But what caused astonishment to the advancing hunters was the fact, that instead of the two of these animals which they had already seen, three now appeared upon the bank. The third, however, was not larger than an ordinary hog; and, excepting that its snout wanted the characteristic horn, it might have passed for a miniature of the other two. Small as it was, there was no mistaking it for any other animal than a rhinoceros; and its size as well as actions showed that it was the young, or "calf," of the two old ones, that were respectively its male and female parent. The hunters were delighted with this new discovery. The flesh of the young white rhinoceros is much more delicate and tender than that of the full-grown ones; and all of them, but particularly Swartboy and Congo, now indulged in the anticipation of a rare treat. No one thought of the increased danger of their thus attacking the rhinoceros in company with its young. That was forgotten in the hurry and excitement of the moment. The prudent Hans alone had some misgivings; but carried away by the enthusiasm of his companions, he failed to make them known. In ten seconds afterwards a volley of reports rang through the little glen; and by that same volley a shower of bullets--varying in size from the large ounce-ball of the elephant-gun to the small pea of the rifle--was poured upon the muchochos. The only visible effect produced upon the animals was to cause them suddenly to change their gait, from the slow waddle at which they had been advancing, to a brisk rapid gallop, which was directed precisely toward the spot where the hunters were standing! At the same time the huge animals were heard to snort and blow like porpoises; and the sparkling of their small eyes, the quick lashing of their saucy tails, and the long horns set horizontally, showed that they were charging forward in the full bent of their fury. The "calf" followed in the rear, imitating the noise and actions of its ponderous parents. This to the hunters was a movement wholly unexpected. Had it been borele or keitloa there would have been nothing strange in it. On the contrary, it was just as either of the black rhinoceroses would have acted. But from muchocho--usually so harmless as to be called cowardly and stupid--an attack of this nature was quite unlooked for. The report of a gun, or even the barking of a dog, will usually put the muchocho to flight. But our yagers had not reasoned correctly when they expected these either to fall to their shots, or take to instant flight. _They had forgotten the presence of the calf_. That it was which caused the white rhinoceroses to act upon this occasion contrary to their usual habit-- that, and perhaps the wounds they had received--for several of the bullets, although not fatal, had made painful wounds. So much the worse. Of course, none of the young yagers stood their ground to receive this heavy charge. Their guns were now empty, and it would have been of no use. On the contrary, each and every one of them turned instanter; and no mischievous urchin ever ran faster from a parish beadle than did all six of them towards the camp. The tails of their coats made a considerable angle with the line of their backs, as they "sloped" across the level sward of that little meadow. The short thick Bushman and the tall lank Kaffir--both of whom had gone forth to the attack--were not a bit behind in the retreat; and the whole eight were mingled together in such a helter-skelter pell-mell race, as had never before been witnessed in that silent and solitary glen. CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. A RIDE UPON A RHINOCEROS. Fortunately for all they were not distant from their wagons when thus charged upon. They had advanced only a few paces before delivering their fire, and these few paces were all they had to run back, before they sprang up into the capacious vehicles. Had it been otherwise--had the chase only lasted twenty yards farther--most undoubtedly one or more of the party would have been hoisted upon the horns of the pursuing animals, or trampled under their broad brutal hoofs. As it was, the hindmost of them had a narrow escape of it; for they had hardly taken shelter under the cap-tents of the wagons, when the horns of the muchochos were heard rattling against the planks. Although they had fled to the wagons for want of a better place, they were far from feeling secure. They knew that these immense brutes, should they take it into their heads, could soon demolish the vehicles, strong as these were. What was their consternation, then, at seeing the old bull suddenly lower his head, and charge forward upon one of the wagons, in which several of them had taken refuge! The next moment was heard the terrible concussion--the horn of the muchocho struck the "buik plank," passing clear through it--the timber split from end to end--the "achter kist" was shivered to pieces, and the huge vehicle was lifted clear from the ground, and hoisted several feet out of its place! A simultaneous cry of alarm broke forth from the occupants of the wagon--which was continued as they saw the huge quadruped preparing to repeat the charge. At this crisis the faithful buck-dogs performed an essential service, and saved, not only the wagons, but perhaps also the lives of their masters. As the great bull was heading once more towards the wagon, several of the dogs attacked him from behind; two of them launched themselves upon his flanks, and one other springing upward, caught hold of his tail and hung on! Now the tail of the rhinoceros is one of his tenderest bits; and this new and unexpected mode of assault quite disconcerted the old bull. Instead, therefore, of following up his charge upon the wagon, he turned round as fast as his unwieldy body would permit, blowing with agony and rage. But the stanch hound still hung on, while the others kept biting at the bull's hind-legs; and vainly attempting to get at the dogs, the huge beast danced round and round like a kitten after its own tail--if a comparison may be allowed between two animals of such unequal magnitudes. This scene continued for some minutes, until at length the dogs were thrown off. One of them was crushed beneath the heavy feet of the rhinoceros, while another was badly ripped by the horn of the female. But the gallant brutes had performed their part well; and by means of their barking and biting, they had drawn the muchochos altogether away from the wagons, and into a different part of the meadow. It was not likely they would return to the attack upon the wagons, unless they chanced to be driven that way by the dogs--for the rhinoceros, partly from his low power of sight, and partly from his forgetful nature, rarely returns to assault any object once he has quitted it. But a new fear now sprang up in the minds of the young yagers--no longer for themselves, but for their horses! These animals, as already stated, along with the oxen, had been left grazing upon the meadow, without any fastening. When the muchochos first appeared, both oxen and horses had taken to flight. The oxen had gone toward the lower end of the meadow; and, guided by a cunning old leader, had set off upon their back trail over the ridge by which they had entered. The horses, on the contrary, had remained prancing around the wagons, until the muchochos came upon the spot; and, then dashing off together, had leaped the stream, and taken their stand trembling and cowering close by the cliffs on the opposite side. Here they had remained during the early part of the fight between the dogs and muchochos. But in the course of this conflict both the dogs and their huge adversaries had worked up to the spot where the horses were, and once more set the latter in motion. Seeing these, the rhinoceroses immediately started after them--perhaps deeming them antagonists more worthy of their horns; and now for some minutes a terrible melee of charging muchochos and galloping steeds filled the measure of the glen--the former blowing and snorting with rage, while the latter snorted with affright. Fortunately, the small circumference within which this scene was enacted, enabled the hunters to use their pieces with effect; and whenever either of the rhinoceroses came to a stand, if but for a moment, the crack of a gun could be heard, and the thud of a bullet hitting against their thick hides. It is a mistake to suppose that a leaden bullet will not penetrate the skin of a rhinoceros. On the contrary, the hide, though thick, is comparatively soft, and yields easily to either a spear or a ball--so that every shot took effect. The hunters, _par excellence_, Hendrik and Groot Willem, fired most of the shots, aiming behind the fore-shoulder for the heart and lungs--for in these parts the shot proves fatal. A bullet into the brain would have a like effect; but as the brain of the rhinoceros is exceedingly small in proportion to the size of the animal, it requires a sure aim to strike it; and the more certain way is to aim for the lungs. So aimed Hendrik and Groot Willem; and what with the large leaden balls of the roer, and the small but better directed pellets of the rifle, both the muchochos were at length made to bite the dust. The calf was shot afterwards; for after the fall of its parents, the creature did not attempt to run away, but stood by the body of its mother, jerking its little tail about, and wondering what the trouble was all about. A very, ludicrous scene was now witnessed, that caused the young yagers to break into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Their laughter, however, did not come until after the incident was over which gave rise to it--for there was danger in the scene, and it was somewhat painful to witness it. It was as follows. The rhinoceros, like the American bison, when shot down by the hunter, rarely falls in the common way of other animals-- upon its side--but usually sinks down upon his breast, and there remains even after death has taken place. The two shot by Hendrik and Groot Willem had offered no exception to the rule. Both lay upon their bellies at a little distance from the wagons, their broad massive backs turned upward. Now a practice equally common among Bushmen, whenever a rhinoceros has been killed, is to leap upon the animal's back, thrust their spears into its flesh to try the depth, and discover whether the game be fat, and consequently valuable! In the carrying out of this custom, no sooner had the great bull rhinoceros sunk down under the shots, than our Bushman, Swartboy, seeing that all danger was over, leaped forth from the wagon, and running up to where the dead animal lay, sprang upon its back! Shouting out a wild cry of triumph, he plunged his _assegai_ into the flesh of the muchocho to the depth of a foot or more. Almost at the same instant, the animal, which was not yet dead, rose to its feet again, and charged once more across the sward, with the Bushman upon its back! The shout of triumph, which Swartboy had uttered, was suddenly interrupted, and cries of a far different import now rang through the glen; while the rhinoceros, no doubt impelled to fresh energy of life by the terrible pain he suffered from the Bushman's spear, charged round and round, as though he had quite recovered! Swartboy, on the other hand, dared not leap to the ground, lest he might be impaled upon the dread horns, but held fast to the spear, which, still buried in the animal's thick flesh, served him as a _point d'appui_! How Swartboy would have been delivered, had the strength of the muchocho held out, it is hard to say; but this gave way at length, and the huge quadruped once more sank to the earth, pitching the Bushman several yards over his head! Swartboy did not lie long where he had been flung; but, sprawling up again, ran back at top speed to the wagons, where he was welcomed by yells of laughter! The oxen were soon overtaken and brought back, the calf of the muchocho regularly butchered, and that night the young yagers enjoyed a supper of "rhinoceros veal." CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT. JAN AND THE KOORHAANS. The next camp of the young yagers was fixed in a beautiful valley very similar to that in which they had seen the troop of lions, but of larger extent, and having its whole surface enamelled with bright flowers. There were mountains all around, that seemed to shut in this fair picture and protect it from the hot dry winds of the desert. A river wound through its midst like a silvery serpent; and here and there upon the pools, where there was not much current, rested the wax-like leaves and flowers of the blue lily of South Africa, (_Nympha cerulea_), Upon the plain grew trees and plants of various sorts peculiar to the botany of the country. The eyes of the travellers rested upon many a fair form. Upon the banks of the stream they saw the drooping fronds of the Chaldean willow; and by the foot of the mountain the splendid _Acacia eburnea_, with its umbrella-shaped head, and clusters of golden flowers filling the air with their fragrance. They saw the valuable wax-berry, (_Myrica cerifera_), yielding its clusters of white wax-coated fruit. They saw the perfumed "bead-bush," out of whose fragrant roots are shaped the beads held in such esteem among the savage belles of the land. They saw the "sugar-bush," (_Protea mellifera_), with its large cup-shaped pink and white flowers,--the most beautiful of the tribe of _Proteaceae_. There, too, were scarlet geraniums, with marigolds, and starry Cape jessamines, forming a garden in the wilderness pleasant to the eye and fragrant to the sense. The songs of numerous birds fell upon the ear, and their brilliant plumage could be seen as they fluttered among the branches. The hum of bees, too, was heard; and thousands of these busy insects could be seen fluttering from flower to flower. It was still early when the party arrived in this delightful spot; but so pleased were all of them with the scene around that they determined to halt before the usual hour and encamp there for the night. So, choosing a pretty grove of willow-leafed "olean-wood" trees, that stood near the bank of the river, they outspanned under their shade. As they were wearied by their exertions in getting the oxen over some rocky ridges, all lay down to rest under the cool shadow of the olean-woods; and several of the boys went to sleep, lulled by the sweet voices of the birds, the humming of wild bees, and the rushing sound of the water as it passed over some rapids below. Klaas and Jan, however, had not gone to sleep with the rest, for neither had laid their shoulders to the wagon-wheels, and were, therefore, no more tired than usual. Besides, there was something nigh at hand that would have kept both awake, even had they been a good deal fatigued, and that was the appearance of a pair of very odd-looking birds out upon the plain, at no great distance from the wagons, and that every now and then raised their black top-knots above the grass and uttered a cry something like the croak of a raven. These birds were not so very large--about the size of common fowls--but they were game-birds, having flesh of excellent flavour, and this rendered them interesting at the moment. They were, also, of very elegant forms--something of the tall majestic shape of the bustards. In fact, they were of a species that forms a sort of link between the bustards and grouse families; and are known in South Africa as "koorhaans," and in India by the name of "floricans." But it was nothing of all this that rendered them so interesting to Klaas and Jan. It was that the latter knew a very curious method of capturing these very birds, and he was in a perfect fever to put it in practice right before the eyes of the rival bird-boy Klaas. In fact, ever since the day that Klaas had so distinguished himself by knocking over the klipspringer, Jan had been burning for an opportunity to perform some feat of equal pretensions, but none had turned up. Now that these birds--old acquaintances of Jan's they were--had made their appearance, he saw a fair chance of gaining some renown. He would show Klaas how to catch koorhaans in a proper manner--that he would. So said Jan. Jan was not long in having his triumph, which he obtained in the following manner. He first pulled some long hair from the tail of his pony, which he twisted into a large stout snare. He next proceeded to Swartboy, and borrowed from the Bushman his whip, or rather the handle of the whip-- for Swartboy took off the lash to accommodate him. It must be here remembered that Jan and Swartboy were great allies, and had been so for a long time; and it was in reality Swartboy who had taught Jan the curious mode he was about to practise upon the koorhaans. It must also be remembered that the handle of Swartboy's whip was an immense affair-- a bamboo cane, full eighteen feet in length, and more like a fishing-rod than a whip-handle. Well, upon the end of this, where the lash had been tied, Jan adjusted his snare; and then, mounting his pony, rode forth upon the plain. Klaas stood watching him; and upon Klaas's countenance there was a puzzled expression that Jan did not fail to notice, and that delighted him exceedingly. Klaas knew nothing about the _modus operandi_--could not guess how the other was going to act--and his ignorance betrayed itself, though he did not say a word. Was Jan going to ride up and snare the birds? Surely they would not let him come so near? They appeared shy enough, and would not let him, Klaas, come within shot, for he had tried it but the minute before. No: it could not be that way--the koorhaans wouldn't stand it, he knew. Jan said nothing, but rode triumphantly forth, looking askance at Klaas as he passed out from camp. When within about one hundred yards of the koorhaans--Klaas expecting every moment to see them run off as koorhaans usually do--Jan turned the head of his pony, and commenced riding round in a circle. This he continued until he had got quite round the first circumference; and then, drawing his pony slightly inward, he began a second circle, which he completed as the first; and then still heading more inward, he made a third, and a fourth, and a fifth--of all which circles the bustards formed the centre. Of course, it was not exactly a circle he traced, but a spiral line constantly narrowing inward upon the game. "Oho!" muttered Klaas, "I see what he's after now. Oho!" Klaas said nothing more; but remained watching with great interest, while Jan continued round and round like a blind horse in a brick-mill. But Jan was not blind. He was watching the movements of the koorhaans with the sharp eye of a bird-catcher. And these birds were equally watching him--turning their heads now to this side and now to that; but, like stupids as they were, neglecting to use either their wings or legs to carry them out of the way of danger. The result was that they permitted the pony, and Jan upon its back, to approach so near, that the boy was at length able to reach one of them with the top of Swartboy's long whip-stick, and pass the noose over head, topknot, and all. In another moment the bird was fluttering at the end of the bamboo; and Jan, without dismounting, pulled the creature in that way up to the wagons, and held it there with an air of triumph that left Klaas without a word to say for the "balance" of that evening. CHAPTER FORTY NINE. GROOT WILLEM AND THE PYTHON. Groot Willem awoke from his nap before the others. It still wanted nearly two hours of sunset, and the hunter, observing a reddish object at a distance that looked like some animal, shouldered his roer and proceeded towards it. He took with him one of the buck-dogs, a well-trained and favourite hound, that usually accompanied him--even on a stalking expedition. The red object which he had seen was near the edge of the valley, and at the bottom of a rocky precipice that bounded it upon that side. There were some trees growing along by the foot of the cliff, and the hunter calculated on being able to get a shot at the animal, whatever it was, from behind the cover of these trees. He continued on up the valley, and at length got near enough to tell what he was stalking at. It was a small antelope, just about the size of the klipspringer, and with little erect horns four inches in length. In colour, however, it was unlike the latter. The upper parts of its body were a deep red, and underneath white, while its snout and face were black. The little creature was higher at the croup than at the withers, and entirely without a tail, or with a tail only one inch long, that had more the appearance of a stump. Groot Willem, when he came nigh, recognised this antelope to be the _steenbok_, for he had met with it before, as it is common throughout the colony, inhabiting high lying grounds where there are bushes. It is one of those classed under the genus _Tragulus_, of which three other species--all small antelopes--are met with in South Africa. The other three are the "grysbok," (_Tragulus melanotis_), the "vlackte steenbok," (_T. rufescens_), and the "bleekbok;" (_T. pediotragus_); though some naturalists assert that the last are only _varieties_ of the steenbok, (_T. rupestris_). Groot Willem did not spend a thought upon these matters, he only thought of "stalking" the steenbok, and having its ribs for a roast at supper. He was able to approach it without any difficulty, as it was close to the bushes, and appeared not to be very shy. There was but the creature itself--a little buck; and rarely is more than one, or at most two of these antelopes seen together--for the steenbok, and all the others of the genus _Tragulus_, are monogamous and solitary. Groot Willem was at length within range, and was about to level his roer on the game, when the movements of the little animal caused him to hold his hand. Its actions were very odd, indeed. It was not browsing--it was not standing still--it was not running away from the ground,--and yet it was in constant motion! As already stated, it was close in to the edge of the timber, where a number of small olean trees stood thinly over the ground. In front of these the little buck was dancing about in a very original manner. Now it ran to the right,--anon to the left,--now zigzag,--now it started suddenly backwards,--then ran forwards again,--all the while its eyes turning in a particular direction and shining brilliantly, as if the animal itself was in a state of unusual excitement. Groot Willem looked to discover the cause of this odd manoeuvring on the part of the steenbok; something among the olean-wood trees seemed to attract the notice of the animal. On this something the eyes of the hunter rested with wonderment; and for some moments he was unable to make out what it was. He could perceive a large glittering mass near the bottom of one of the trees; but this mass at first sight appeared without any particular form, and lay perfectly motionless. As Groot Willem continued to gaze upon it, however, it gradually assumed a form, or rather his eyes gradually traced one, for the mass had not yet moved. A hideous form it was--though of smooth and regular proportions--it was the form of a reptile--a serpent! A serpent of enormous size, for the mass of its body, gathered up in a sort of irregular coil, covered the ground over a space of several square feet, while the body itself seemed thicker than the thighs of a full-grown man! The head of the reptile rested upon the top of the coiled body, and on running his eye along the mottled and glistening outlines, Groot Willem perceived that its tail was doubled around the stem of the olean-wood, and held it with firm grasp--for the serpent belonged to a family whose tails are furnished with horny claw-like hooks, giving them a power of prehension in this member equal to that of a hand. This is the family of the _Boidae_, or "boas," to which the one in question was generically related. It was a _python_--the _Python Natalensis_. Groot Willem only knew it as the "rock-snake," and that is its ordinary designation--given it on account of the fact of its being a dweller among rocks and stony places. It might very properly be called "rock-boa," which would distinguish it from its cousins of America, the _Anaconda_, or "water-boa," and the true boa, which is a denizen of the forest, and which would therefore merit the title of "tree-boa." Notwithstanding the difference of the dwelling-place of the boas and pythons, their habits are very similar. They lie in wait for their prey, capture it with their strong retractile teeth, and crushing it to death by constriction, swallow it whole--though often the animal swallowed is much larger than the diameter of their own bodies. Their elastic muscles, however, enable them to effect their purpose, aided by the slippery saliva which is copiously supplied from their glands. When Groot Willem first saw the huge python, its head was lying over the coils of its body, and motionless. Presently, the head was raised up with the neck, and several feet of the body; and the parts, thus erected, moved gently from side to side with a sort of vibratory motion. The jaws were widely extended, so that the sharp retractile teeth were plainly visible, and the forked tongue at intervals was shot forward, and gleamed in the sun. The _eyes_ of the reptile sparkled like fire. It was a fearful object to look upon! And yet the steenbok did not appear to dread it. On the contrary, it kept drawing nearer and nearer, excited either by curiosity or _fascination_! There are those who ridicule the idea of _fascination_ on the part of serpents. But whether we are to believe in such a power or not, we cannot deny the fact. Certain it is, that whether it be curiosity, fear, or fascination, both birds and animals are moved to approach not only serpents, but crocodiles, until within reach of the jaws that are opened to devour them. Certain is this, and vouched for by the testimony of many a correct and reliable observer. Groot Willem witnessed the strange phenomenon. When the buck had got within some six or eight feet of the python, the head of the latter suddenly shot out; and before the antelope, which now appeared making an effort to escape, could spring out of the way, it was seized by the teeth of the reptile, and dragged towards the tree! A number of quick contortions followed, and when Groot Willem looked again, the red body of the little antelope was almost hidden under the thick folds of the spotted python, that writhing around it was crushing it to death! CHAPTER FIFTY. GROOT WILLEM'S GREAT STRUGGLE WITH THE SNAKE. Now it chanced that the sight of that great serpent was very gratifying to the eyes of Groot Willem--far more so than any antelope. The reason was, that a friend of his, a young doctor of Graaf Reinet, who was fond of the study of herpetology, had requested him to bring home the skins of such rare snakes as he might fall in with--but especially that of the great "rock-snake," which is not found in the colony, not even so far south as the Orange River. Here was a chance for the skin, which, up to this time, Groot Willem had searched for in vain. He had another reason for being gratified; and that was the splendid trophy it would be, provided he succeeded in obtaining it. To kill a snake twenty feet long, and half as thick as a man--for the python appeared to be both--would be no small triumph! Where would Hendrik be then? All at once the steenbok was forgotten, and the snake became the object of the hunter's skill. Groot Willem had no skill about him. He knew of no mode to attack this new sort of enemy, except dealing with it as he would with a quadruped-- that is, sending a bullet into it; and this he did the moment after. His roer was levelled; and, glancing through his ivory sights, he fired the large ball through the thickest part of the reptile's body. The latter felt the shot; and, suddenly unfolding itself, dropped the steenbok--now nothing more than a mangled carcase, with scarce a whole bone in it. The rapidity with which the snake glided off showed that the wound had done it but little harm. The hunter thought of reloading again, when he perceived the serpent fast making to the rocks that in large masses lay piled up near the bottom of the cliff. Among these was its retreat; and if it once reached them, Groot Willem saw that he should never set eyes on it again. Without staying to reload his gun, then, he ran in among the trees, and followed the direction taken by the serpent. Although these snakes glide along with considerable rapidity, they can by no means go so fast as a man; and in less than a dozen seconds Groot Willem had overtaken the python, and for that matter might have trodden upon its tail. There he was close beside the fearful-looking monster, but without the knowledge how to attack it. He began by striking at its body with the butt of his gun; but although his blows were delivered fairly enough, the metal-shod heel of his roer only glanced from the slippery skin of the snake, without harming it in the least, or even retarding its progress towards the cliff. It made no attempt to retaliate, but only seemed bent on escaping to its lair. It was almost successful; for although Groot Willem pounded away with all his might, it reached the rocks in spite of him, and had buried half of its long body within a crevice--no doubt the entrance to its den-- before the hunter thought of changing his tactics. It was now a critical moment with Groot Willem. Another instant, and the remaining half of the snake would slip out of sight, and then good-bye to it. What would he say to his medical friend? What to Hendrik and the yagers? These thoughts inspired him with renewed energy; a new determination to succeed came over him. The snake was not a poisonous one; and, therefore, the encounter could not be very dangerous. It might bite him, but he had battled with many a biting creature before now, and conquered them, too. He would try his strength upon the snake. He was not two seconds of time on coming to this determination; and, as soon as he had done so, he tossed his roer aside, and stooping down, seized the tail of the snake in both hands, and commenced hauling upon it! At the first "pluck" he drew the reptile several feet outward; but, to his surprise, it then held fast; and, notwithstanding his great strength, he was unable to draw it a foot farther. The creature had, no doubt, got the fore-part of its body around an angle in the rocks; and, aided by its scaly skin, was enabled to hold fast. Groot Willem pulled with all his might. A sailor in a storm could not have hauled harder upon the main brace; but all to no purpose, as not another foot of that part of the python that was still visible could be lengthened. About the half of it was still outside, but the other ten feet were buried within the dark recesses of the rocks. For several minutes Groot Willem continued to exert his strength, dragging the long cylinder until he could hear its vertebrae crack, but without gaining an inch! On the contrary, he had already lost several inches. Every time that he relaxed his hold, the python was enabled to move forward a bit, and this ground it never gave up again. If Groot Willem allowed it an inch, it was sure to struggle for an ell! It had all the advantage on its side, as it pulled _with the grain_, while its antagonist was exerting his strength _against_ it. Groot Willem felt confident he could hold the python in this position, as long as he could stand upon his feet; but what good would there be in so doing? He could not kill it in that way. If he were to "let go" for but an instant, he very well knew that the next instant would show him the last inch of the tail disappearing into the crevice! No, he could not let go, and he was resolved not to let go, until he should at least try the patience of his opponent. Maybe it would tire of being thus held upon the "stretch," and would let him pull it out again. If there had only been some one with him to administer a few smart blows upon the creature's body it would have been all well; but the camp was at a very long distance off, and behind the trees. His companions could neither see nor hear him. After standing on the strain a considerable time, a bright idea entered the brain of the hunter. There grew a small tree beside him--in fact, he was close by its trunk. The thought occurred that, if by any means he could fasten the tail to the tree, he could then go to work with a sapling, and beat the snake to death at his pleasure. He was a ready fellow, Groot Willem, and a few moments sufficed him to mature his plans. He chanced to have a strong "cord" in the ample pocket of his jacket, which would serve to effect the very purpose, if he could only manage somehow to make it fast to the tail. This he proceeded to do at once. Straddling the snake, so as to hold it partly between his knees, he was enabled to loop the cord tightly around it, and the thing was done. In a minute more, the other end of the cord was tightly knotted around the trunk of the tree! Groot Willem now broke off a sapling, determined either to beat the hinder half of the python to a jelly, or make it surrender and show its head! He had not delivered the third blow, when it adopted the latter alternative; and the whole of its body now glided rapidly back out of the crevice--so rapidly that Groot Willem was not able to avoid the onset of the enraged reptile, and the next moment he was gathered within its coils! So quick was the act, that he scarce knew how it had been accomplished. He saw the head, with its open jaws extended, dart towards him; he sprang to one side, but felt the cold scaly body against his limbs as if pulling him towards the tree; and the moment after, he was swept close up to the trunk, and pressed tightly against it! He had just time to perceive that the folds of the serpent were around his limbs, and also around the trunk of the tree,--just time to feel that they were gradually tightening upon him--when the head, with its extended jaws and terrible teeth, came right opposite his face, and the eyes of the monster gleamed right into his! A horrid spectacle it was--a horrid situation he was in; but Groot Willem was not the boy to lose either courage or presence of mind; and, finding his arms still free, he clutched forward and seized the reptile by the throat. To hold its head was just as much as he was able with both hands and with all his strength; but he held with the grasp of despair. Fortunate it was for him that the tail of the python was secured by the rheim, and it was thus held fast at both ends! Had it been otherwise--had either head or tail been free, so that it could have used its power of constriction--in a few seconds more, Groot Willem would have been crushed as he had seen the little antelope. But now that both tail and head were fixed--the one by the cord and the other in the strong grasp of the hunter--the serpent was unable to exert its terrible power; and its folds remained loose around the limbs of its intended victim! It writhed its neck, and wriggled its body, and changed the spiral rings from one part to another,--but all in vain. It could do him no harm! How long this terrible struggle might have lasted would have depended upon how long the strength of the two could have held out. Groot Willem could not free himself from the folds of his antagonist, as _both_ his legs were bound to the tree; and had he dropped the head of the python for a moment, he knew it would crush him to death. The snake, on the other hand, could not free itself, as it was held fast at both extremities. What was to be the result? Which would be the conqueror? The serpent must have conquered in the end; though it might not have been able to free itself, as its tail was fastened to the tree. But Groot Willem was not able to strangle it, with all the compression he was exercising upon its throat, and his strength would have yielded in time. Most certainly would he have fallen a victim, but for a plan that he at length adopted to set himself free. During all the continuance of the fight between him and the serpent, he had not attempted to use his knife. He had not thought of such a weapon against such an enemy. Not dreaming that he would be brought into close quarters, he had almost forgotten that he carried a knife. By good fortune he had one, and it was in his belt. Even though one or two folds of the snake were around his breast, he could see the handle of the knife above them; and making a sudden grasp, he laid hold of it, and drew it forth. The blade chanced to be almost as keen as a razor; and although the serpent now succeeded in twisting its head partially free, before it could tighten its folds, the sharp edge of the knife had half severed its body in twain! A second gash was made in another part, and then a third and still deeper one; and the resolute hunter had the gratification to see the spiral rounds that threatened his destruction fall off and drop heavily to his feet! In a short while the python lay dead upon the ground; and Groot Willem, although he felt that he had secured a great triumph, left the spot with some regret that he had _spoiled the skin_! CHAPTER FIFTY ONE. THE HONEY-GUIDE AND HONEY-EATER. Groot Willem's adventure was acknowledged by all to be the most wonderful that had occurred to any of them--even surpassing that of Hendrik with the rhinoceros--and for a good while it continued to be the subject of camp conversation. During the expedition, every one of the party had either performed some grand feat or fallen in with a remarkable adventure, except Arend. It was not that Arend had less courage or less capacity than the rest; but, partly, because he felt no inclination to put himself in the way of hunting adventures, and partly that the chances had not favoured him. One adventure he had fallen in with--literally _fallen in_ with. He had tumbled, horse and all, into a pit-trap set by some savages for capturing the rhinoceros! Fortunately, the sharp spike, usually placed at the bottom of these holes, had been removed--else either Arend or the horse would have fared worse than they did. Many a laugh had the six young yagers at Arend's solitary adventure. I say six, for Arend always good-naturedly joined in it himself. Arend was not the man for adventures in the great wilderness. Had it been in the great city instead, no doubt his fine face and handsome figure would have helped him to many a one in the flirtation line--had he been inclined that way. But neither did Arend care about that. He had but one ruling thought-- so Groot Willem alleged--and that was to get home to the Graaf Reinet; and Groot usually added the reason, by giving a wink, and a word or two about "cherry cheeks and blue eyes." Arend, however, was not destined to see home without one other adventure, in which all the rest had share, and which proved not only the last they met with during that expedition, but was near being the last of their lives! They had changed their camp from the flowery plain to another equally flowery, though the plants that blossomed around were of a very different character. There were geraniums and marigolds in this plain, as there had been in the other; but here euphorbias of different species predominated, with cacti and other succulent plants. Above their heads towered the tree Euphorbia, (_E. grandidens_), while at their feet the melon-shaped variety peeped forth from the ground. There too, were several poisonous species; among others the _Euphorbia antiquorum_ growing side by side with the deadly belladonna lily, (_Amaryllis belladonna_). The young yagers seemed to have arrived upon a spot of earth that was almost wholly occupied with poison-yielding plants! And yet it was a lovely scene. The flowers looked as fresh and as fair as elsewhere, and their fragrance scented the air around. Birds disported themselves among the branches of the trees; and bees hummed and whirred over the blossoms, imparting cheerfulness to the wild scene, and calling up ideas of home that were, at the moment, agreeable to the tired travellers. They had just formed camp, and were sitting quietly down, when their attention was drawn to a bird that had perched itself upon a low bush at no great distance from the wagons. It was not the beauty of this bird that attracted them, for its plumage was not beautiful, being of an ashy-brown colour upon the back, and grey below. It was not its size, which was that of an ordinary finch; nor its song, which was no better than a monotonous chatter of the syllables "Kwi-kwi-kwi-kit." It was none of these things that caused the young yagers to give their attention to the bird, but its peculiar character-- already well known to all of them. The little bird which sat upon the bush, starting from branch to branch, jerking about its tail, and uttering the "kwi-kwi-kit," was no other than the celebrated "honey-guide." They all knew it; for they had met with it several times during the expedition, and Hans had told them its history. They all knew of its curious habits; how it will guide a man to the nest of the wild bee, by fluttering before him from bush to bush and rock to rock until it reaches the spot; how it will wait until the hive has been robbed of its honey-treasure; and then alight by the despoiled nest to feed upon the larvae of the bees, or the fragments of honeycomb that may have been left! They all knew this of the honey-guide, because they had followed one before now, and proved the truth of this wonderful _instinct_, which has been doubted by many travellers as well as naturalists. Those points of its natural history they did not know of Hans had told them of long before. He had told them how the bird had been classed among the cuckoos, under the title _Cuculus indicator_--because it shares with the true cuckoos the singular habit of depositing its eggs in the nest of another bird; how other naturalists have formed a genus for itself--the genus _indicator_, of which several species are known; how the bird feeds mostly upon honey and the larvae of bees; and how nature has given it a protection against the stings of the old ones in the thickness of its skin: but Swartboy declared, in relation to this matter, that the thick skin did not always save it; as he had often found the honey-guide lying dead by the nests of the bees, and evidently killed by their stings! All these points in the natural history of the honey-bird were known to the young yagers; therefore the little chatterer, that had lit upon the adjacent bush, was no stranger to them. And they were all right glad to see it, for a certain reason--because they wanted some honey, and particularly at that very time, as their sugar had run out, and they had nothing to sweeten their coffee with--a privation to several of the party. All leaped to their feet, therefore, with the determination to follow the "honey-guide," go where it would. They laid hold of their arms; and, what was still stranger, saddled and mounted their horses, intending to follow the guide on horseback! You will wonder at this. But when you hear that the honey-guide often takes the hunter six or seven miles through the woods--and that not unfrequently it guides him to the lair of a lion, or the haunt of a black rhinoceros, instead of to the nest of a bee--you will understand why the young yagers took these precautions. Just as they were about starting out, a very odd-looking animal "hove in sight." It had something of the appearance of a badger--being low set on its legs, plantigrade in its hind-feet, and with a snout and tail very like those of that animal. Its colour, too, and pelage, was not unlike that of the common badger--a sombre grey above and black below, divided by a light stripe running down each side from the ears to the root of the tail. In size it was superior to the badger, and nearly equalling in this respect the American glutton, or "wolverene," which it also resembled. It had the general appearance of all the animals of the badger family--which, though few in genera and species, is represented by one or two in nearly every part of the globe. The animal which our yagers saw, or its species, to speak more properly, was the representative of that family in South Africa. It was the "ratel," or "honey-eater," (_Mellivora capensis_). Now this quadruped was almost as well known to our party as the bird. They knew that its habits were equally singular; that, like the "indicator," it possessed a "sweet tooth;" and spent most, if not all of its time, in searching for the nests of bees and robbing them of their honey--provided the said nests were in the ground, where it could tear them up with its strong terrier-claws. On the other hand, when the nest chanced to be in a tree, they knew the ratel could not reach it--this animal not being a tree-climber. On such occasions he usually leaves the mark of his claws upon the lower bark, and this often guides the Hottentot hunter to a nest stored with honey. All these things the yagers had learnt from Swartboy and Congo; and from Hans a few other facts--such as that the ratel is found throughout all Africa--that it is formed by naturalists into a genus of itself, like so many other anomalous creatures of that continent--that its skin is so thick the bees cannot pierce it with their stings, so that it devours their honeycombs without fear of the buzzing insects--that on account of its disagreeable odour it is sometimes known as the "stinking badger." Other facts with which all were acquainted were, that the ratel is accustomed to follow the "honey-guide;" and that the bird frequently conducts the quadruped to the hive--very much in the same way as it acts when followed by a man. _It is said_, however, on such occasions to fly lower, and to take shorter flights, lest the badger might lose sight of it! So says Monsieur Verreaux! Now it was plain to the party that the ratel was at that moment in pursuit of his profession, and in full pursuit of the indicator. The interference, however, of the mounted yagers caused him to turn round, and make off in another direction; and the impatient "guide," having now gone ahead, was followed by a-much larger "tail." On went the little creature from tree to tree, uttering its "kwi-kwi-kit," and evidently pleased at its new "following." On rode the young yagers directly in the wake of their guide. Fortunately they had not far to go. The more frequently repeated twittering of the bird, and the increased excitement which the little creature exhibited, told the hunters they were near the nest of the bees; and in a few minutes after the bird perched upon a particular tree, and would fly no farther. In this tree was the hive! They could have told that from the fact that near its roots the bark was scratched and torn off by the claws of some animal--the claws of a ratel, of course--and the amount of scratching showed, that more than one of these honey-eating quadrupeds had been guided to this place of _sweets_ to meet with bitter disappointment! A pair of axes, with Swartboy and Congo to handle them, were now brought from the camp; the tree soon fell under their strokes: the bees were smoked out; and the honeycombs--a fragment or two being left as a reward for the services of the "guide"--were carried off to camp. The store proved one of the largest? and the six yagers, as well as their dark-skinned attendants, that evening enjoyed a "surfeit of sweets." CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. CONCLUSION. And a surfeit of sweets it proved. Better for them had they never found that bees' nest, or had left its contents to the bird and the badger. In less than an hour from the time they had eaten the honey, the whole camp was in a state of the greatest alarm. Every one of the party was suffering from a parched throat, a burning breast, and a loathing at the stomach. The bees had been busy among the blossoms of the belladonna and the flowers of the euphorbia, and _their honey was poison_! It would be difficult to depict the consternation that was felt in the camp. They had all eaten of the poisoned honey--yagers, drivers, and all. They had all eaten plentifully of it--for there chanced to be plenty--and the absence of a vegetable diet for some days past had sharpened their appetite for the honey. Not one of them that was not ill--too ill either to give help or consolation to the others. Every one believed he was _poisoned_, and acted accordingly. Hans of all preserved most presence of mind. He used all his skill in administering such antidotes as he could think of. Purgatives and emetics--such as they had in their chests--were freely administered; and no doubt to these might be attributed the saving of their lives. Their lives _were_ saved--the crisis passed without proving fatal to any of them--but for days their illness continued; for days the young yagers might be seen wandering about the camp, or sitting listlessly around the camp-fire reduced to the thinness of skeletons, and looking like the ghosts of their former selves! So great a shock had their health received, that they thought no more of continuing their expedition; they only waited for strength enough to enable them to set out on their return homeward. Arend's desire would now be fulfilled--he would soon look upon the lovely Truey, and listen to the cheerful music of her voice. Hendrik--ardent hunter though he was--was equally desirous to get back, and lay his spoils at the feet of the blushing Wilhelmina. Klaas and Jan longed for puddings and sugar-plums; and Hans, who had now made a very extensive collection of the flora of the country, was also willing to return. Only one--the great tireless loose-boned giant, Groot Willem--would still have persevered, and climbed over the mountains that separated them from the land of elephants, buffaloes, and camelopards. Groot Willem would still have gone on, had it been possible for the others to have accompanied him. But it was not possible, and the big hunter-boy was obliged to turn back with his companions. It was with a heavy heart that he did so--for he had for many years entertained an ardent longing to try his roer upon the huge thick-skinned quadrupeds that now roamed far beyond the frontier of the settlements. Perhaps he faced homeward with the less regret, that he had hopes of making, at no distant day, _another expedition to the haunts of the mighty elephant upon the banks of the lovely Limpopo_. This hope consoled Groot Willem, as he mounted his huge horse, and rode after the wagons that were already inspanned and treking down the valley. Day by day, as the young yagers travelled homewards, they grew stronger and stronger; and when they had reached the Graaf Reinet, the effects of the poisoned honey had entirely disappeared--so that all six arrived home "safe and sound." I need not tell you that a warm welcome awaited them in the paternal mansions of Van Wyk and Von Bloom. I need not tell how lovely looked Truey, and how sweetly blushed Wilhelmina; nor need I describe the splendid "vrolykeid" that was given--at which all the rich boors of the country were present to celebrate the return of: "The Young Yagers." The End.