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■>'i

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

I I

1 1

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Between Earth and Sky. v ' >,

"Drop I did, liRht upon the back of one."

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BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

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AND OTHER

STRANGE STORIES OF DELIVERANCE

EDWARD WILLIAM THOMSON

PHILADELPHIA

A. J. Rowland — 1420 Chestnut Street
1897

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163^50

from tbe Society's own prees

. PUBLISHER'S NOTE

These stories by Mr. Thomson have most of them
appeared in the "Youth's Companion" and other
journals. Mr. Thomson, as is well known, is one of the
editors of the "Youth's Companion" and his stories
form a feature of that journal. The former volume
from his pen, entitled "Old Man Savarin and Other
Stories," has been received with marked favor, and
these stories possess all the qualities of adventure, dash,
and humor that characterized that. The illustrations,
with the exception of the frontispiece, are reproduc-
tions of those used in the "Youth's Companion," by
the courtesy of whose publishers they appear.

-^■-

'I\ I

CONTENTS

Between Earth and Sky 9

Ordeal of Oliver James . 20

Senator Jim's First Potlatch 33

In Full Flood . .............. 54

A Berserker of Coi'agong 63

In Skeleton Pool 77

John Macbride 92

The Lost Yvonne 104

DoRiNDA 117

Over the Falls " . . 132

A Heroine of Norman's Woe 142

In a Canoe 154

Mr. Hongoar's Strange Story 165

Straight for the Cliff 178

The Sword of Honor 188

An Adventure on the St. Lawrence 207

8 CONTENTS

Told on a Pullman 215

The Hole in the Wall 228

An Incident at the World's Fair 251

Dour Davie's Drive 264

Petherick's Peril 280

I 1

terfKw

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

'^^t

TWENTY-SIX years ago, soon after France was
forced to surrender Alsace and Lorraine to Ger-
many, a good many people of these provinces came to
America rather than swear allegiance to the Emperor
William. Among them was an old soldier who told
me tne following story in broken English that I will not
attempt to transcribe. He began with some vexation :

You are mistaken, I'm not a German. Because I
speak German that does not make German my heart.
It's all French. I'm an Alsatian. We Alsatians are
more French than the French themselves, because from
France we long had brotherhood and equality and free-
dom.

In the great war I was in the French army. Did
I fight in many battles ? No, I did not fight at all.
But, for all that, I was in six battles under fire, and
sometimes in worse danger than the men who fought.
In the balloon corps I was twice wounded.

You think that was strange ? You think there was
no danger in the reconnaissance with balloons, eh ?
But if you saw how fast the Germans shelled our bal-
loons as soon as they stopped in the air !

k ♦

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

Stopped — how stopped ? Why, stopped at the end
of the rope. You don' t suppose war balloons go loose,
do you ?

Well, if you saw how the Germans fired at them,
and how they brought their long-range guns to bear on
the ground where the end of the balloon rope was, then
you would know whether there was danger for the men
of the balloon corps.

I do not speak of the officers that went up in our
balloons to view the enemy's lines. Any one may un-
derstand the risks they ran, when rifle balls and shells
were screaming to pierce the balloon and bring its car
tumbhng down. No, I speak more of the risks we
privates had from the German fire on our standing
ground.

Could they see us? No ; but they could see the
balloon. They're not fools, the Germans. When
they could see the balloon they could quickly calculate
about where its rope touched the ground. Oh, that terri-
ble German artillery ! Skrei-i-i ! I think I hear the shells
shrieking again. Often we had to stay in one place for
an hour, two, three hours, losing more by death and
wounds than the same number of soldiers on outpost.
But the most terrible of all was what happened to me
at the end.

It was toward the latter part of August, ten days
after the traitor Bazaine had cooped us up in the
fortifications of Metz. The order came for my squad

BETWEEN EARTH AND ^KY

1 1

to go out far, far toward the German lines, send up our
balloon, and get a look at what the enemy were doing.

Bazaine — our army — still held a plenty of land —
oh, a great wide country beyond the inner forts. In
the field where we stopped there had been heavy fight-
ing that morning. First our soldiers had been driven
in a mile, then they had come back and recc /ered the
ground. Recovered — yes, and covered it, 1 might well
say. The field was thickly dotted with their corpses.
It was strewn with dead and wounded horses, rifles,
knapsacks, broken gun carriages — all the dibris of war.

I could hear a dropping fire of musketry between
the outposts, perhaps half a mile away in front of us.
Still the field where we inflated our balloon was not
much disturbed, except by live men burying dead men,
by wounded horses shrieking, and sometimes by the
march of our infantry into a narrow belt of woods that
hid us and our balloon from the enemy.

There was a steady breeze blowing from us to the
front. The sun was hot and the sky blue. I remem-
ber well how clear the sound of bells chiming in Metz
behind us came across the acres and acres all strewn
with wounded and dead.

For ten minutes after we had sent up the balloon
there was no firing at it. There it floated, a thousand
feet high. It was pressed toward the German lines by
the breeze, which seemed stronger above. The bal-
loon was not straight over our heads, you understand ;

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

the breeze took it maybe a hundred and fifty feet
nearer the German lines than where we stood.

I stood near the cylinder, or (jlrum, from which we
had let out nearly all the rope that held the balloon
from rising and blowing away. This rope slanted toward
the Germans as it went up.

I had hold of this rope ; my two hands were above
my head grasping the rope. I was resting like, when all
of a sudden the German artillery opened fire.

They had not calculated the balloon's position very
perfectly, but they got ours well. First five shells flew
over the woods at the balloon. These were all timed
to burst as they did, almost together. But none of
their fragments hit the balloon ; they had burst too far
behind and below it.

While I was watching these explosions a far bigger
shell came curving over the wood as if flung from a
mortar. It fairly struck the windlass drum on which the
rope was wound, burst the same moment, and seemed
to kill or wound every man of the squad except me.

Though I was not hit, I was half stunned by the
concussion, and of course I should have been thrown
to the ground if I had not held on by the rope. I did
not know I was holding on, you understand. I was too
much dazed to know what had happened or what I was
doing. I knew I was alive, and that was about all,
and I clung to the rope as if it was to save me from
drowning.

I I

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

When my full senses came back I felt that my feet
were off the ground. I looked down. The earth was
a hundred feet below me. Next moment it seemed
nearer, and I saw why. The balloon, carried swiftly
by the wind, had already lifted me over the wood. It
was drifting rapidly toward the German lines.

I thought of dropping down among the tree tops,
but while I was trying to make up my mind the balloon
was rising. I was two hundred feet up from the
ground. This all happened in no time, I might say.

Lifting my eyes to the balloon I caught a glimpse
of it still as far in advance of me as it had been when I
stood by the windlass. You might think my body
would swing forward to a place straight under the bal-
loon. No ; the balloon was traveling ahea^ and draw-
ing me up and along at exactly its rate of speed.

Perhaps you don't know how easily a balloon goes
up and on. No jerks — a steady, quiet flight — no re-
sistance of the air to your movement forward, for you
see the air goes with you ; it pushes you at exactly the
speed it keeps. I remember wondering at the ease of
the motion that bore me so swiftly away, and carried
me higher and higher. My arms were not jerked ; it
was as easy to hang on to the rope as if it had been in
a barn.

In just a little bit of time, not half a minute, I
suppose, I had passed over the wood, and there were
then four hundred feet of air between my soles and the

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

ground. You see I had only the strength of my grip
to save me from falling.

All this had occurred so quickly that I was more
surprised than scared. Somehow, perhaps because I
was lifted so easily, I had a sort of confidence that I
should be as easily set down. But where ? How long
could I keep my hold ? The balloon might rise above
the clouds, with me dangling nearly a thousand feet
below it, till I must drop from exhaustion.

I clung harder as I thought of how I should fall.
I should turn headlong and shoot sloping, and turn
again, tumbling limp like a figure stuffed with rags. The
wildest fear — horror of the empty air — came over me.
It's a wonder I didn't let go, for my reason seemed to
leave me. But I hung on, and thought again.

I must have something on which my feet or legs
could press. The sensation that they were weighting
me was hideous. I lifted one leg as if to clutch it
around something firm. You know how a man will do
that when he is holding on by his hands and beginning
to lose his grip. It is an unconscious movement. Well,
my leg touched the trailing rope, the rope which passed
down in front of my body and which followed slanting
behind me, just as the rope above slanted up from me
to the balloon.

At touch of the rope I instinctively threw forward
my legs, but failed to hold the rope between them.
With that a great shout came up from a brigade of our

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

infantry over which I was passing. The soldiers, I sup-
pose, had not quite understood the horror of my situ-
ation till they saw the movements of my legs.

With the sense of being watched by thousands a cer-
tain new strength came. I thrust forward my left leg
till I felt the rope inside the thigh, then I clutched with
the right leg and held the rope. Then I kicked my
right foot around and got a better hold. This gave a
good deal of relief to my hands. Then I looked down.

Directly beneath me were the spiked helmets of a
German infantry regiment. Twirling as I was with the
rotary motion which a balloon always has in free flight,
and which was imparted to the slanting rope, I lost sight
of the German array in an instant. A field of yellow
stubble came into my vision, then a wood, then a con-
fused panorama of cavalry, infantry, and artillery. All
were gazing upward.

Fifty thousand enemies looked steadily at me.
They had stopped in their tracks with wonder. Not a
shout, not a gun was heard for what seemed an im-
mense time, and must really have been about half a
minute. Swallows flew around or past me with twit,
twit, twit, as if exulting to show their speed against that
of the wind that quietly swept me on.

Rifle-firing between the outposts must have ceased
as I went dangling over their ground, for shooting
seemed to break out afresh and distant as I looked
down into the faces of a squadron of Uhlans.

BETWEEN. EARTH AND SKY

You think this all took a long time. No, I passed
on like a bird, and things beneath streamed away be-
hind me as if pushed with irresistible speed toward
Metz. I remember well having a fancy that the Ger-
mans were being poured against the city.

The Uhlans pointed out in amazement at me with
their lances. One must have raised his carbine to fire
at me, for I distinctly heard a loud voice cry :

'* No ! Do not shoot. We will follow and capture
the balloon and the officers in it. If you kill the man
he will fall. Then his weight will relieve the balloon
and up it will go again. ' '

•*Up it will go again." Again ! It was well for
me that I understood German. The balloon must then
be falling. I had forgotten that. Of course it was
falling, and quickly too. Hope and strength revived
in me. I understood better than the Uhlans what was
happening.

My officers, away up above, were releasing gas.
They were risking capture to save me. They were try-
ing to put me so near the ground that I could drop
safely. Looking up I saw faintly for an instant their
white faces gazing down and back at mine. They
waved their shakos to me.

They were indeed trying to save the poor pri-
vate soldier ! God bless them for brave men and hon-
est officers ! I resolved to drop when within thirty feet
of the ground, and thus save them.

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

You understand that not more than three or four
minutes could have elapsed since the great shell had cut
loose the balloon. I afterward found out that my flight
had been at the rate of nearly thirty miles an hour. I
had been carried more than two miles when I found
the rope slowly tearing through my grasp.

Looking down I saw the ground about two hun-
dred feet below. My strength was ebbing fast.

The balloon as it descended must have reached a
breeze of little speed, for the Uhlans, whom I had
heard and sometimes seen clattering farther and farther
behind, were again galloping beneath me. Every r. .ii
was looking upward. All were taking ditches and
hedges in their stride. With the excitement of the
chase they began to yell. Their leader silenced them
with an angry command.

They now carried their lances pointing straight up
by their knees, every butt in its socket. I had the
thought that I must, when I fell, be impaled on those
glittering points.

With straining to grasp the rope more tightly be-
tween my knees they had begun to tremble. My
whole body was racked by pain ; my breath came
short ; the sweat poured out of me, though I was now
deadly cold. My distress was becoming unendurable
and my senses, I knew, must soon depart. Every
second the rope slowly passed through my hot and
bleeding hands.

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

I looked down once more. The nearer I came to
the earth the more whirled the panorama of woods, sol-
diers, chdteaux, cabins, and fields. I was incessantly
turning more and more giddy. I closed my eyes. I
felt I might at any moment drop.

My grasp was so feeble that the rope tore and
burned with its quickened slipping. I attempted to
seize it with my teeth, and failed. Expressions of pity
came from the galloping Uhlans.

"Poor man!" said their leader. "Poor fellow.
Big Fritz, try and put your lance in the loop. Then
gallop a little faster and you may help him down."

The loop ! I had forgotten the loop. But the rope
had been fastened around the drum by a long loop.

" The loop, eh ! " thought I. "If the loop is near
the lances I must be near the ground. If they get hold
of the loop they will haul down the balloon and cap-
ture my two lieutenants. I must drop. ' *

Drop I did, right upon the back of one of the
Uhlans ! The shock brought him and his horse both
under me to the ground. The man was badly hurt,
but I'm glad he didn't die, for he saved my life,
though not as he meant to. I remember being
clutched by hands and lifted. I remember an angry
shout of "It's gone up ! " The balloon, freed from
my weight, had risen instantly, carrying the loop be-
yond my captors' reach.

Then I must have lost my senses.

BrrWEEN EARTH AND SKY

When I came to there were only two Uhlans with
me. Both were looking intently upward and toward
where there was a sound of musketry not far away.
The Uhlans were shooting vaiiily at the vanishing bal-
loon. My lieutenants were waving their signals flags
in derision.

What became of the balloon and my officers I do
not know to this day. The Germans kept me prisoner
till the end of the war, and I came away to America as
soon as I knew Alsace was no longer part of dear
France.

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

MY young friend, Oliver James, put his canoe into
the water below Chestnut St'-eet, Boston, about
eleven o'clock on the morning of the thirteenth of July.
The hour is fixed by the janitor of the Kashigawigamog
Boat Club, who remembers that Mr. James, while select-
ing his paddle, remarked that the tide seemed half in.

So hot was the day that the janitor advised Oliver
to wait for a breeze. But the young man said his blood
seemed fevered by heat, that the sultry weather had
kept him awake nearly all the previous night, that he
had tried vainly to find coolness under the trees of the
Common, that his head rang with the clatter on granite
blocks and the clang of the electric cars, and that noth-
ing would relieve him so well as the perspiration of
rapid e^cercise. The janitor thinks that perhaps Oliver
had already been slightly sunstruck.

The sun, as he started, glared from an unclouded
sky. From the various tall chimneys of Boston, Cam-
bridge, and Charlestown, smoke rose as straight up as
on a windless winter morning. Under the least breeze
the river affords coolness to oarsmen, but on that still
forenoon the scorch of the sun was unmitigated.

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

** I suppose my shins and arms will peel again,"
Oliver called back to the janitor.

They and his neck and shoulders wer(e naked, for he
was paddling in "trunks." The bare parts were
tanned dark brown, for he was used to going out in that
scant costume.

** I guess you're safe from sunburn anyhow, sir," said

the janitor, and hastened indoors to escape the glare.
He reflected, as he watched Oliver paddling up river,
that the young man was not likely to gain relief by per-
spiring freely, for the furnace -like glow between water
and sky "would dry up the sweat faster than it came."
No doubt Oliver supposed that his fine muscular con-
dition would bring him through with impunity, but it is
probable that he was a little too "fine," or overtrained.
After he had passed under the Harvard Bridge, on the
Cambridge side of the central draw, he was lost to the

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

janitor's sight. For the next particulars I have consulted
one of the men of the dredge working above the bridge
near the Cambridge embankment.

This man noticed Oliver coming alongside the dredge,
as if he were seeking shade, which he could not find
because the sun was too high.

"It's frightfully hot," said Oliver.

"Terrible," said the dredge hand.

" I feel about done up."

** Should reckon you would. Better come in under
the roof here. ' '

* * No, the roar of the machinery would drive me wild.
Have you any cold water aboard ? "

The man brought out a big dipperful. Oliver wetted
his head and neck, drank, said he felt better, and pad-
dled off toward the Crescent Club'*s boathouse. He
had complained of "burning all over " and wished he
had worn something affording more shade than his little
flannel rowing cap gave.

About half-way across, and while slanting up river,
Oliver was met by Jacob Foxglove, the professional
oarsman, an Englishman, rowing in his shell. Foxglove
tells this story :

"The young un looked kind of done up, so I stops
and says I, * Wot's the row, matey? *

"•Nothing much,' says he. *I'm a bit faintish,
that's all.'

"'Want help?' says I.

/.,

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

** ' No ; quiet's all I want. It's the roaring of the
city that's worst,' says he.

** * Roaring of sunstroke,' says I.

*** Sunstroke !' says he, kind of startled. 'Oh, I
guess not. But I'll go ashore at the Crescent Club
house. '

** * It's shut ; there ain't nobody there,* says I.

" 'Well, I'll draw my canoe out on their platform
and sit down in the shade of their house,' says the poor
young fellow.

** * For all he was sort of gasping like a bird in the
heat, he looked so fit that I didn't think he was in a
bad way. So I pulls off, for you may lay to it that I
wanted to get my own hide out of the sun. ' '

Foxglove also says that he kept his eye on Oliver till
he was almost ashore in a place where sky and river
seemed ** dancing together in heat haze." The Eng-
lishman saw no one at the Cresent Club boathouse,
and he thinks all the city laborers, then usually working
near there, had struck on account of the heat.

Certainly Oliver must have been close to the embank-
ment when he fell back in the canoe. He had been
sitting near the middle on two small cushions which re-
mained under him as he fell. The back of his head
struck against the first thwart in front of the stern, his
neck bent limply, and his head fell sharply to the floor.

When Oliver regained consciousness he supposed he
had been struck blind, which seemed the more probable

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

because everything had been indistinct before he fainted,
and the last he lemembered was that blackness seemed
suddenly to surround him. If he was not blind then

D /TiT^'F'H "^ perfect darkness ruled where
BEWMHE^oF o&Nou. ' he lay. Perhaps night had

■1 »*>!»'.

Ss. i

fallen. But he saw no stars. '^~

Oliver winked both eyes repeatedly. They were in
no pain, though he had a splitting headache, and felt
very ill. He lay wondering what had happened.

A draught of cool air was about him ; he could hear
the water rippling under the canoe, which swashed
slightly as he movgd. It also grided curiously, and he
judged that it was not moving with the current.

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

ir
M
le

His coat, with matches and a watch in the pockets,
lay beneath his shoulders. To reach the matches he
found he must rise and get the coat clear. As he sat
up he felt more distinctly the cool draught. Then his
head struck with a little force against a damp ceiling, and
he quivered with horror as he instantly surmised what
must have occurred during his faint.

When he lighted a match, which was not blown out till
he had glanced around, he saw that he had indeed drifted,
while in a faint, into that round tunnel which opens on
aie Charles. A hundred times he had seen over it the
oig board placard : Danger ! Beware of Conduit.

A hundred times he had shivered at the thought of

nat would happen to any one exploring the conduit if
caught by the rising tide.

This conduit is not a sewer, but was built to discharge
the occasional overflow of heavy rains from a distant
reservoir. Oliver was in no danger of suflTocation by
foul air. But he did not doubt that he was doomed to
die there.

The ceiling of the conduit is a few inches below the
surface of the Charles at high tide. And already the
water was so high that Oliver had not room to sit up
straight in his canoe.

The sharp bow had run against one side of the tim-
bered tunnel and been held there, Oliver could not see
by what. The stern had swung around and was pressed
against the other side of the arch.

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

So the canoe had been held diagonally ; for how long
or short a time Oliver could not guess. As he tried to
sit up the canoe shook, and went free, and drifted with
the current.

Though Oliver had to sit stooped, he could use his
paddle, and did so for a few seconds before it came into
his heat-stupefied brain that he was paddling with the
insetting tide and therefore away from the Charles.

With a strong effort of will he collected his thoughts.
Perhaps he might as well try to get out one way as the
other. So he thought, for he was not aware that the
tunnel was miles long. He supposed that the inner
end of it was in the Back Bay fens, not a quarter of a
mile away.

However, as he did not know whether the conduit's
inner end was wholly submerged or not, his best chance
seemed to be in paddling for the Charles. Therefore
he faced around and tried to stem the current.

It was difficult work for a sick man. He had to stoop
to save his lead. He could not lift his paddle high
enough to clear the water, but moved it forward, sub-
merged, for each stroke. Every moment the little arc
of air overhead was lessening with the rising tide.

Oliver, perhaps because of the increasing pain of
stooping, thought the flood came in with astonishing
speed. The gradual lifting of the canoe forced his
head igainst the ceiling, and the knuckles of his upper
hand scraped against the boards, which seemed over-

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

grown with some short weed and roughened by bar-
nacles.

After some minutes he found no more room for
strokes that would move her against the current. Then
he clutched desperately at the weeds and barnacles
overhead, trying to check her drift backward.

To give up and be drowned unresistingly never en-
tered the mind of this American boy. Sick, fevered,
weak, racked with pah, he would yet fight to the end.

Hundreds of people were plainly within a few yards
of him, for he could hear the frequent rumble of street-
cars, and occasionally the more distant passage of
Boston and Albany railway trains. Beacon Street, he
supposed, was directly above his horrible prison.

As Oliver vainly clutched at the conduit's lining, it
occurred to him that he might paddle with his hands ;
but when he tried this he found the canoe drifting
quickly backward. Then he lay down on his back and
thrust his knuckles upward against the ceiling.

With this the pain of stooping went out of his
shoulders and his desire to struggle became more in-
tense. His knuckles slipped slowly ^long, scraped often
and sorely by the barnacles. Soon he comprehended
that he should have lain with his head toward the
Charles, for he could not get any hold with the backs
of his fingers.

With difficulty he shifted about, touched the roof
with his palms, and instantly perceived that he could

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

now thrust the canoe forward. He placed one palm
against the ceiling, pushed, reached forward the other
palm, pushed again, and so went slowly against the
current.

Lying with ears close to the floor of the canoe,
Oliver heard the gurgle so clearly that he supposed his
speed considerable till he fell to estimating it. His
reach was about two feet, and each push took about
two seconds.

But the narrowing and lowering arch often stopped
the wobbling bow. At such times he swayed it back
to the center by pressing both hands upward till the
prow went clear. Considering all things, he reckoned
he was gaining about ten yards a minute.

The tide, rising at the rate of twenty inches an hour,
would set the canoe's bow and stem hard against the
ceiling within twenty minutes. Then he must resign
himself. But in twenty minutes he might gain two
hundred yards !

Though Oliver could see no light whatever, he cal-
culated that the Charles could not b*^ two hundred yards
distant. The Beacon Street cars, which he could now
hear but faintly, ran within three hundred yards of the
Crescent Club boathouse. If he had gained one hun-
dred yards already, he conceived he might reach the
river in the few minutes remaining.

The thought of being drowned in that slimy hole in
the dark was horrible. To sink and lie in the mud at

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

the bottom — perhaps not to float out with the tide till
thrust up at last against the ceiling in high water I

To his sick fancy this fear gave death a new terror.
He worked desperately, with a sense of growing weak-
ness.

When the water was so high that the front end of
the canoe steadily scraped on the ceiling, Oliver
wriggled forward to weight down the prow. He went
too far, and the aft end began to scrape. Then he
shifted back till both ends were barely free, and pushed
with all his might.

One, five, ten pushes — was the canoe about to stop?
Yes — it was now caught at both ends ! He screamed
with the anguish of defeat and doom.

How could one silently meet death coming in such
wise? There he was, prisoned, in absolute darkness,
waiting for the tide to press up over the edges and
drown him like a rat in a hole.

Again he began struggling. He pushed against the
ceiling in order to force the canoe deeper, and so gain
rooiii for thrusting it onward. Thus he had made a
little progress when it became clear that the canoe
would soon upset.

Between pushes, when it rose, it tilted. The high
bow and stern were acting as levers to topple it over.

Oliver put his right hand over the side into the run-
ning water ; it was within two inches of coming over
that side. He lifted his head and twisted it around in

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

hope to see light from the entrance. Not a gleam !
With his motion the canoe lurched and the water
poured over.

Oliver vainly tried to right his craft. Too late I
The next moment he rolled over into the current.

Deliciously refreshing, the tide had run in from the
sea. Down went Oliver ; up he came, under the
canoe. But already the immersion had reheved him
from the stupidity and headache of partial sunstroke.
On touching the thwarts he knew what to do, dived
against the current, and rose with swimming room above
his head.

"I've a chance yet. I can swim ! But how far
have I to go ? " thought Oliver, and swam steadily on
in the dark.

At short intervals his hands touched the walls, for the
arc was now barely wide enough to permit swimminti;.
Before two minutes had passed he found his hair touch-
ing the ceiling. Then he swam as deep as he could,
keeping his chin in water.

"Surely," thought he, "I can reach the Charles in
five minutes. ' ' But three minutes had not gone when
the back of his head was once more up against the
weeds and shells of the ceiling.

Now he fancied he saw faint light far ahead. But it
had become impossible for him to keep his mouth
above water. With a few more strokes his nose was
pressed under.

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

Oliver dived, swam under water, and came up with a
sense that all was over. He could not clear his nose,
nor dive again without taking breath. He kicked and
plunged under the surface in despair, thinking, "My
death-throes have begun !" ^^.^^

All over? No — he turned on his back, got his
mouth and nose among the weeds and caught breath.
Then he swam on his back with huge endeavor. He
would not be drowned, he vowed, while an inch of air
remained into which he might put his nose. It slipped
through the weeds and scraped along the little shells.
The terrible and brave struggle was almost finished.

If he should take in water when gasping for air he
must be choked. Then he would thrash around wildly
for a few moments, sink limp, and drift in along the
bottom — how far ?

Oliver could see no light, for the entrance, if near,
was behind him. But he knew he had turned a corner
in the tunnel and he knew that corner was not far
from the Charles. One more breath — then he turned
over on his front and dived for the last time.

Dived ! He went down to the bottom and crawled
there. He crawled till he could crawl no more, and
then he would not rise. Straight on he swam as he
felt himself ascending.

When the back of his desperate young head came up
against the ceiling he still swam. He swam so well, in-
deed, that he swam straight out of the conduit and

ORDEAL OF OLIVER JAMES

came bursting and choking up outside the embank-
ment.

Most of this information I had from Oliver himself,
that afternoon, who then looked as well as any young
athlete can who has his nose covered with sticking
plaster.

"How good it was," said he, "to come up under
the same old hot, glorious sun, and hear the thunder-
ing of the dredges, and the clatter and clang of the
cars, and know that I was alive and not dead ! I could
hardly believe it.

"What did I do? Why, I swam to the Crescent
platform, walked down the river to our boathouse, and
astonished the janitor with my scraped nose and no
canoe. I didn't tell him my story for he wouldn't have
believed it. I can hardly believe it myself. Indeed, ' '
said the young fellow, very solemnly, * * what saved me
was just the mercy of God."

Next day I met him on Tremont Street.

"I've got my canoe and paddles," said he ; " they
floated out at low tide. All I've lost Ms a coat and a
valuable nickel-plated watch which any fellow can have
who chooses to go into that hole after them. ' '

SENATOR JIM'S FIRST POTLATCH

JIM was an ugly baby — even his mother admitted
it — and that too in a home where babies were
annuals and uncommonly pretty. He was an ugly
boy, and is now an ugly man. One who sees him for
the first time thinks, ** How very ugly ! " and this im-
pression is renewed at each meeting.

Yet Jim, from his early youth, was admired by all
who knew him well, and the admiration gradually ex-
tended to many who never saw him, till now the people
of more than one Canadian province are ready to cheer
the mere mention, of Senator Jim Thatcher's name.
Hundreds of people have vainly tried to explain why
they admired Jim's looks, but none ever succeeded
better than the clever old lady who said :

•* Yes, he's ugly ; but he looks great and friendly."
Now this "great and friendly" look of Senator Jim
belonged to Jim the small boy, and was, I believe, a
consequence of his early understanding that he was
ugly. He must have recognized this when he was two
or three years old, for his brothers and sisters began as
early as that to address him quite affectionately as * * You

ugly boy. "

C 33

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

This vexed Jim in no degree. He accepted his snub
nose and wide mouth as cheerfully as his lack of a sing-
ing voice ; it was not a loss to him, but something
taken from the enjoyment of his friends, something for
which he felt in honor bound to give compensation.

"It's not very nice for you to have such an ugly
boy, mother," said Jim, at an early age; "but it's
very nice for me to belong to such a handsome family.
Of course I'm going to do plenty of things to make it
up to you."

In this humor he worked with great versatility. By
diligent practice he made himself an excellent elocu-
tionist, because he couldn't learn to sing, and it would
be a shame for him to contribute nothing to the family
entertainments always going on in this cheerful house-
hold. " I mean to be a satisfactory son to you, father,"
was Jim's reason for taking a basketful of school prizes.
In running, swimming, rowing, jumping, riding, cricket,
lacrosse, football, and what not, Jim was well to the fore
by sheer dint of exertion, for he did not begin with an
extraordinarily good physique.

It must not be inferred that he was altogether a par-
agon. It was Jim who, practising rifle shooting at fif-
teen years old, shot off cleanly the curly tails of sundry,
little pigs, and defended the proceeding on the ground
that "every fellow should try to do something original."
But that was long after his famous potlatch.

Jim's good-humored struggle for name and fame

. /

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

made him a living energy, and it was this, and the big
heart of the boy, that shone like a flame ift his face
and drew admiration from people who wondered to
find themselves giving it. Ugly Jim looked great and
friendly. That was, indeed, the explanation.

He must have been about eleven years old when
public spirit began to stir in him and manifested itself
in that open-handed proceeding with which his popu-
larity began. Up to that time his desire to contribute
to the enjoyment of his fellow-creatures had not been
active beyond the circles of his home and school,
though it is true that he had invented the * ' potlatch ' '
for himself before this time.

You know, I presume, that the potlatch is an insti-
tution among the Indian tribes of Puget Sound. The
savage who aspires to high social standing saves up
blankets and other desirable portables till he has a
great store. Then he invites his tribe to a feast and
gives away the accumulation. This potlatch, by means
of which the Indians ambitiously beggar themselves,
doubtless originated with some ancient chief who was
moved by the craving for appreciation which has always
marked our Jim.

Jim's preliminary potlatches — we called them treats
— were small affairs. At home and at school it became
well understood that the ugly boy, when he came into
the possession of a cent, did not squander it, like other
fellows, on candy or marbles for himself, but added it

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

to previously saved coin till he owned at least a dime,
which he then expended in what his father used to call
a ** blow-out" for the whole company. Jim sternly
gave away his goodies to the last morsel, and would
never have participated in his own feasts had not the
more thoughtful of his companions insisted on his
partaking of their portions. v '

It was a touching comedy to see Jim nobly waving
away the proffered sweets, yet relaxing now and then
from his grandeur to take a bite from the sugar stick of
some one, commonly a little girl, who looked like
crying at his successive refusals. Happily the pot-
latches of his maturity have not left Jim destitute, for
the bread he casts on the waters usually comes back
buttered.

It was a warm day in early September when Jim's
Uncle Daniel, a great stump-speaker, billed for a po-
litical meeting in our village, arrived at Jim's father's
house. There the boys and girls looked forward with
peculiar interest to his coming, for he had never failed
to begin a visit by presenting each of the children with
a dollar bill. Jim, on this occasion, stored away his
money according to his habit. Even so large a sum
could not be laid out on a treat till it was hoarded
awhile and enlarged by sundry additions.

While his brothers and sisters dispersed to spend the
afternoon in extravagant pleasures, Jim, by way of
delicate compliment to his Uncle Daniel, appeared at

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

the public meeting. Posted in the fore-front, he had
the luck to catch his uncle's eye. That eminent orator
was fleshy and droughty ; the day was hot ; he was be-
ginning to thirst ; his time for speaking was at hand ;
and a pitcher of water for the speaker had been for-
gotten. .

"Jimmy, come here, my boy," said Uncle Daniel,
leaning over the front of the platform.

Jim went forward coolly, probably expecting to be
called up higher, for he had a good opinion of the po-
litical importance of a boy whose uncle had been billed
for ten days past as * ' The celebrated hberal orator, the
Honorable Daniel Thatcher," in letters a foot long on
placards posted on every board fence and shed in our
town.

** Jimmy," said his uncle, " go over to that refresh-
ment stand and get me two bottles of pop and a tum-
bler." He handed the ugly boy a fresh, crisp, ten-
dollar bill.

When Jim had elbowed his way back to the plat-
form. Uncle Daniel's speech was begun, but the thirst
was troubling him, and he saw his small messenger
promptly. Stooping for the drinkables, he said, ** Good
boy, Jimmy ! Keep that for a frolic, * * and, thrusting a
five-dollar bill upon his nephew, he pushed the rest of
the change into his own capacious pocket.

** Now," cried Uncle Daniel, waving the bottles with
the comic air that made him such a favorite, "now I

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

can take a pop at Sir John's government." Amid the
roar of laughter at this eminent joke Jim, forgetting his
dignity in excitement, pushed his way back through the
crowd.

" Hurrah ! " he called to the boys on the outskirts.
** My uncle has given me a fiver ! " Then waving the
bill, he ran home as fast as his legs would carry him,
followed by half the boys of our town.

"Tunder and blazes, fellers ! " roared Pud Latimer,
who, though far removed from Jim's social circle, had
often heard of Jim's potlatches. ** Tunder and blazes,
what' 11 he do with it?"

This problem occupied Jim himself all the rest of the
afternoon, A weight was on his mind, and he locked
himself up in his own room till tea time to ponder it
thoroughly. Then his great resolve had taken shape.
He had now six dollars and eight cents, a sum beyond
his wildest dreams, and a grand feed for the whole
youthful population was in his mind's eye.

At tea he was, though not talkative, greater and more
friendly than on any other occasion in his whole life.
All the family were under the magnetism of his silent
and controlled emotion. It was plain that he was think-
ing of mighty affairs, and it would have been almost
irreverence to intrude questions upon his meditation.

"Edward," he said to his elder brother, as they rose
from the meal, ** will you be so kind as to come down
town with me ? "

c*-

SENATOR JIMS FIRST POTLATCH

*' Certainly, James." Usually they called each
other Ned and Jim, but the shadow of great events
enforced formality. ** Ceilainly, James, I'll do any-
thing you like." * '

Ned was Jim's senior by five years, but the sense of
the ugly boy's greatness and wealth overtopped pride
of age, aid put all Edward's affability at his brother's
disposal. They soon entered the little shop under the
sign, **Mary Meeks, Baker and Confectioner."

* ' Miss Meeks, can you deliver me six dollars and
eight cents' worth of molasses candy by three o'clock
to-morrow afternoon ? ' ' asked Jim with dignity.

* * Six dollars and eight cents' worth of molasses
candy !" Miss Meeks almost shrieked.

** That is my order," replied Jim composedly. ** If
you think you can't fill it why, then "

"But it's such a tur'ble lot!" she interrupted.
" Whatever are you going to do with all that taffy? "

** Well, I do not wish to seem rude. Miss Meeks, but
I prefer to say nothing about that this evening. ' ' Jim' s
deliberation in speaking was very impressive — he had
wisely cultivated that manner.

'•But, Mr. Edward," she turned to the elder
brother, "it's such a monstrous lot ! We don't sell as
much molasses candy as that in six months. Lemme
see — why, it's near forty pounds ; for of course I'd
make the price wholesale, (ioodness' sakes ! Forty
pounds of taffy ! "

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

**Oh, I have nothing to do with it. My brother
knows his own business. He's going to pay for it him-
self, you know, ' ' said Edward. * * But perhaps you
can't make so much by to-morrow ? "

** I must have it to-morrow, for to-morrow is Satur-
day," said Jim. m . <{

**Oh, well, we'll make it all right enough, but I
guess it'll keep us all pulling from now out. Oh, yes,
we can make it, we'll be glad to make it."

**Then please do so. Miss Meeks, and deliver it at
our gate not later than three o'clock," said Jim, with
grave politeness, replacing in his pocket the bills he had
been carelesslj- handling. He had already changed the
five for ones. The sum felt larger in this shape.

No one who was not in or about Colonel Thatcher's
front yard next day can imagine how great and friendly
Jim was.

**Pud Latimer," said he, climbing on top of the
picket fence and smiling amiably at the assembly, * * are
you sure that all your friends are here ? Haven't you
forgotten any boys or girls that you know ? "

" Naw, I hain't forgot none of 'em. They's all
here, barrin* the widow Murphy's three childer that's
sick, and Jan Olsen's one that's bedrid, and there's
six more what couldn't come because they had to
woik."

Jim, on the morning of that eventful day, hafl com-
missioned Pud to drum up all his acquaintances. Not

■f

SENATOR JIM'S FIRST POTLATCH

all
It's
re's

)m-
Tot

'.i

that there was need, for the news that Jimmy Thatcher
was going to treat the village had spread far and wide.

•' Lay aside half a tin for the absent and the sick,"
said Jim. "I'll carry it to them myself after this
meeting. Now, Edward, let us have the pleasure of
handing the taffy out to our friends. ' '

In the space between every second pair of pickets
appeared the nose and eyes of a boy or girl." Jim's
schoolmates were gathered outside, none but the children
of the Thatcher family being admitted to the labors of
distribution. Jim had thought of giving exclusive places
on the lawn to our school. '* But we must be true to
the great principles of liberalism," he finally remarked.
It was a phrase caught from his Uncle Daniel's speech
of the day before.

The taffy, duly broken into fragments, was piled on
the large square tin platters on which it had arrived,
and sheltered from the sun in the summer-house nearest
the fence.

" Ladies and gentlemen," said Jim, again utilizing
his uncle's speech, "it is with great pride and pleasure
that I appear before you. I hiave long looked forward
with eagerness to this occasion, and will always remem-
ber this as the happiest moment of my life. We will
now ask you to keep standing just as you are till those
nearest the fence are served with some of our excellent
Miss Meeks' excellent taffy — a gifted lady who does
credit to our prosperous and energetic community."

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

This was a sudden reminiscence of the "Bugle's"
I'eading notice which accompanied Miss Meeks' latest
advertisement. "Edward, Lucy, Richard, Elvira,
Peter, George, Samuel," here Jim turned to his
brothers and sisters, " I will now ask you to be good
enough to assist me in entertaining our young friends."

They were mostly years older than Jim, but none of
them laughed ; his demeanor was too much that of a
great functionary.

' • The order of proceedings that I will beg you to
observe is this," said Jim, balancing himself steadily
on top of the fence and crossing the forefingers of his
two hands as he slowly uttered the words. " Let every
lady and gentleman be true to themselves and their
higher nature, and when they receive their taffy let
them retire out to the other side of the street and give
other ladies and gentlemen a chance at the confection-
ery." ^,

At this Colonel Thatcher, who with his wife had been
watching their ugly boy's proceedings through the
shutter of the nearest window, burst into a roar of
laughter which was suddenly smothered, for Mrs.
Thatcher placed her hand over the colonel's mouth.

"Edwin," she exclaimed, "for goodness' sake
don't let James hear you laughing at him ! He'd be
so offended !"

Jim's greatness had long before impressed his mother,
and she stood in a delighted awe of him from that

SENATOR JIM S FIRST I»OTLATCH

m*»;iiorable day. Fortunately he was too near the fence
to have heard more than his fathe*-'*' short laugh. At
that the ugly boy half turned to the window, bowing
with a grand sweep of his hat.

"My parents," said he, "ladies and gentlemen,
are pleased to witness our little festivity." How he
mustered up the large words and the experienced air
that he exhibited that day has always puzzled me, but
he certainly did rise mragnificently to the occasion.

After that we distributed the taffy. The more or
less dirty hands grabbed it eagerly through the pickets,
but there was little tumult or variation from the order
of proceedings. ' ' ■

, Jim gravely directed his assistants. "It's Abe Cor-
nicle's turn now, Edward." " Now help Jenny Sin-
clair, my dear Elvira." "A little more to Peter Wil-
kins, please.' Everything went on with solemnity.
The boy had imposed his authority on the entire
assembly, and Uncle Daniel, when he heard of the
affair, prophesied that Jim would make an excellent
chairman.

After all had been served, even to the third helping,
Jim, while the outsiders licked their fingers and watched
the Thatcher children through the pickets, apportioned
the small remnant of the taffy to his assistants, stoically
refusing to taste of it himself. This supernatural un-
selfishness was too much for Pud Latimer.

* * Look a here ! " he protested . ' * This ain' t no

SENATOR JIM S FIRST POTLATCH

fair shake. This here taffy's taffy from Taffyville !
Say ! You ain't goin' to give every scrap away, Jim
Thatcher?"

Jim smiled benevolently but with firm refusal. It
was hard, for he had a sweet tooth, but his refusal stood
till Pud broke into a howl as the Thatcher children con-
sumed the last morsels.

"Look here! Say! I've had five helpin's — take
some of this here ! ' ' Pud extracted from his trousers
pocket a mass wrapped in newspaper, and thrust it
through the pickets.

At that Jim relaxed. '* If it's any pleasure to you.
Pud," said he, and calmly took one bite from the
portion of the raggedest boy of possible boys.
"Thank you, very much. Pud," said he, with his
mouth full, bowing and retiring.

It was top sublime, and the crowd felt it. " Hooray
for Jim Thatcher ! " they yelled. " Hooray ! hooray !
hooray ' ' ' and went cheering down the street to vaunt
our ugly boy.

"That potlatch," Senator Jim says himself, "was
the beginning of my popularity. It seems to me I was
always appreciated and always called Mr. Jim after
that. And it's the only time I ever gave taffy to the
multitude — I hope."

IN FULL FLOOD

FRANK BURGESS, when I knew him first, was a
handsome, wholesome, alert young civil engineer,
loved by all who knew him. Was any man in the office
sick or wanting a holiday, Frank did the absentee's
work cheerfully. He would mend any child's toy on
demand, and carry any workwoman's bundle, and giv6
his last quarter to relieve distress.

Whether in work or play he was glad. Many men,
when in unusually good spirits, are bores, but Frank
never jarred on one's nerves. I have seen him on keen
winter days, make a joy of every breath exhaled, "^
watching each little white cloud from his lips as though
it were a novel toy. *■

And well I remember how, waked by exulting song-
sters, I rose once to catch all the dim enchantments of
a summer dawn, and found Frank, high up in an oak,
whistling the merriest note of the morning.

He changed sadly in after years. I do not know
what was at the root of that change, for I had left Bran-
dleton before it occurred. Some said that a taste for
liquor had overmastered him. Others said that he was
never the same man after his elder brother, Lewis,

IN FULL FLOOD

began to court Mary Hradshaw. Lewis did not seem
to know that Frank had seemed fond of Mary, and
Frank ceasing his wooing when the intentions of his
brother became town talk. Mary married the eldt?r
brother within a year. After that Frank was often
flushed with drink, and his gayety took a hollow ring.

Now Lewis Burgess was a good man, pious, decorous,
and stern. So it came about that he often took F'rank
to task about his new ways, and in the end there was
a complete rupture between the brothers, who had
loved each other the more dearly because they had no
other relatives in that countryside.

One who overheard the final quarrel, if quarrel it
could be called, told me that Lewis began by expostu-
lation.

"Can you not battle with the craving, Frank?"
said he. " Resist the devil and he will flee from you."

"It's not a craving, Lewis," said the younger.

"How then?"

" It gives me a light heart again sometimes, I think,"
said Frank.

" But it gives me a heavy one," answered the other
sadly ; * * and it will destroy you soon. Leave the ac-
cursed thing ! I am determined that you shall. You
must come and live with me. "

" Impossible," exclaimed Frank.

"Why ? There is plenty of room in our house, and
I am sure Mary would be delighted. Now I think of it.

< 'I

\ f'

IN FULL FLOOD 47

you have never been to see us but once since we mar-
ried." ^

** I never shall go again," answered Frank in a tone
that Lewis mistook for an offensive one. With that
he became angry, thinking his brother was bent on a
(juarrel, and said severe things, to which the young
fellow made no answer.

" 1 invite you once more," spoke the grave man,
in conclusion, '* to become a member of my household,
where Christian influences will help you to withstand
the enemy. Consider well, and answer me to-morrow.
If you refuse I shall understand that you have deliber-
ately abandoned yourself to Satan and cast me off as a
stranger. Yes, and a stranger I will be to you there-
after."

** No, Lewis, don't say that! You cannot under-
stand," answered Frank piteously. •

But at that Lewis walked away, and Frank, giving a
deep groan as his brother turned the corner, went
straight to the nearest tavern.

He was reeling drunk that afternoon for the first time
in his life. He kept on drinking for a week, and from
that through long years the brothers were never known
to speak.

Frank, going from bad to worse, lost his position,
lost his character, lost all regard for himself, and when
I returned to Brandleton at the end of eight years
was the sot and jest of the town. The change in him

IN FULL FLOOD

was shocking to behold, though he was still a handsome
man and vigorous, for even liquor had not yet destroyed
the beauty of those regular features, nor greatly wrecked
the strength of that perfect and muscular frame.

*' No, you must not shake hands with me," he said.
** Nobody does ; 'tisn't respectable. Go away. I'm be-
yond helping. ' ' He would not look me in the eye,
nor take the work I offered him in my own town.

* * Too late, ' ' he said. * * I should do no better there.
No, I can't tell you why. You could not understand
it all. Nothing but the body of the man you knew is
here — and the memory. The soul is gone and the
spring broken. ' '

I was thirty-five then, hardened to the world, but
when I left poor Frank I could almost have cried from
pure sorrow.

The Brandleton Town Council had telegraphed for
me to come and advise concerning the strengthening of
their new bridge against an unusually high spring flood.
When I looked at the river it seemed a strange stream,

SO much greater was its volume than any I had ever
seen between those banks, and so vast the mass of its
driftwood. Too much of the waterway was occupied
by the new piers which, placed too close together and
acting like a dam, piled the river up between its high
shores so that the flood, usually smooth, took a slight
slope just before reaching the bridge, and sweeping be-
neath it broke into foam on meeting the still reach be-

IN FULL FLOOD

low. Half a mile up was an arable island of some four
hundred acres, which I remembered as having bluff
edges. Now it was but a few feet out of water.

** Why, there are buildings on it ! " said I, in sur-
prise, to the mayor.

"Yes, Lewis Burgess bought it some years ago," he
replied; "and those are his barns and house. If the
water rises much more, his property may suffer. ' '

* * Is he there now ? ' '

**Yes, with his wife and two children. His hired
men live on the other side. Burgess thinks he is in no
danger, and the water was never yet known to be over
his island. ' '

Then the mayor went on to explain his belief that the
bridge was safe, unless a boom some thirty miles above
Brandleton should break, and letting its sawlogs go,
jeopardize the structure by battering or forming a jam.
To lose it would be a grave inconvenience to the in-
habitants of the town, the site of which takes in land
on both sides the Maskadeesis.

I at once ordered the convenient distribution of a
considerable quantity of timber, certain long spars,
ropes, and other material owned by the corporation,
and likely to be useful. The work was done before
dark, and that night I was engaged till late in ponder-
ing over the professional question.

About midnight a telegram from Wales Landing,
twenty-five miles up river, informed us that the North

IN FULL FLOOD

Water was coming down, and the stream rising more
rapidly than ever. Going out once more to look at
the flood, I found many people on the bridge and its
approaches, shivering as they listened to the gradually
increasing roar.

Below the piers the white roll of breakers, distinctly
more heavy than those of the afternoon, could be seen
by the moonlight. Using two locomotive headlights
to scan the river's surface, I could make out no change
in the character of the driftwood ; it still consisted
mainly of bark, slabs, branches, cord-wood, small
trunks, stumps, and such matter, of no important bat-
tering power.

From Lewis Burgess' house on the island came
gleams of many lights ; it was clear that the family were
not sleeping. No more was the town, for on both
sides of that swift flood were hundreds of illuminated
windows.

• Going back to the hotel I halted by the open bar-
room door, whence came a well-remembered voice in
clear song. It was the voice of poor Frank, who was
amusing a vile audience with what was to me a dread-
ful simulation of his old-time gayety.

Close to my ear next morning my landlord's voice
shouted, "Wake up, sir! wake up! The boom's
broke ! " J«nd shaken by the shoulder, I sprang from
bed to floor. While hastily dressing I heard a strange
roar, as of a steady, mighty wind, from the river.

• r

IN FULL FLOOD

Though the sun was not up when I reached the street,
streams of people, some throwing on or buttoning their
clothes as they ran, were making for the bridge.

Both banks and many housetops were crowded with
townsmen, all gazing intently toward Burgess Island.

''There's a jam forming at the head," said the
mayor, when I reached him, " though the logs are not
down there yet."

Since midnight the Maskadeesis had become in-
describably more formidable. Mingled with such small
stuff as had then been running were now heavy masses
of broken bridge and wharf timber, huge stumps and
trunks of Q;reat trees, with tops and roots high out of
water, wb looked as though the hurrying torrent had
torn thei . .v^iently from its shores. One of these great
trees, coming broadside against a pier, hung balanced ;
its root, caught now by the force of the swift slope,
bore downward ; while, bending, groaning, and dash-
ing, the spreading top was pushed up against the current ;
then the root floated higher, escaped the torrent's grip
< somewhat, and, with fearful straining and gyrations was
thrust up stream as the top swayed down.

Lest a jam should form against this breakwater I sent
. a man down the pier's face to cut the trunk. He had
not struck a dozen strokes when the immense tree
broke with a report like rifled cannon, and the ends
released rushed over the swift slope each side of the
pier.

«^-

IN FULL FLOOD

It was clear that wide and sudden inundation had
occurred in the primeval forest whence the North Water
came, for many of the largest trunks carried freight of
wild beasts — foxes, wolves, lynxes, and bears. Perhaps
the strangest thing seen on that tragic morning was the
curious treadmill in which one of these bears worked.
It was formed by a huge tree, which because the
greatest weight of its roots was on the side opposite the
greatest weight of its branches, rolled slowly back and
forth as it came, with an ever-varying, eccentric motion,
according to the nature of the current, so that the brown
bear was compelled to crawl to and fro constantly,
with many a stagger and many a dip.

One wolf, cowering near a high root, was shot dead
by a marksman ashore, and so much like murder
seemed the killing of that defenseless, imprisoned felon
of the woods, that a loud groan went up from the
crowd, and thereafter the beasts were allowed to float
on to whatever doom the flood might bear them.
How they fared as they passed through the chutes be-
tween the piers, no man could tell me afterward, for
every eye was almost constantly directed upward to
catch the first view of the coming logs.

Burgess Island had now no shore line. Its position
was marked by the buildings, by a huddled group of
field animals, horses, cattle, and sheep, by the figure
of a wading man passing from building to building, and
by the calmness of the shallow over the island's area,

IN FULL FLOOD

around which the river raged in two rough branches.
Above the island the water was obviously somewhat
backed up, and I could perceive that trees and other
drifting wood had gathered about the head, forming
one of those unaccountable "jams" which often break
away disastrously. This jam, rising with the water
that it forced up, was now some feet above the river
surface on the submerged island, and extended like
wing dams on each side.

Under the bridge piers the furious rush momentarily
increased. Turning my attention to this, I looked no
more toward the island till a sudden shout arose, *' The
logs ! ' ' And there they came, the van of their array
streaming loosely down the channels by the island.

Climbing to the top of the truss, so that I could see
far up river, its whole surface seemed covered with logs
lying close together, as if massed for attack.

While 1 gazed, the dam above Burgess Island par-
tially broke away, and a sheet of water, leaving the
floating stuff behind, hurried down upon the farm. It
whirled away the unresisting sheep at a breath ; it soon
swept down too, the struggling cattle and plunging
horses. Then came the drift and logs like battering-
rams against the distant barns, which, with a flying loose
of boards and rafters, fell in, all silently to our ears, and
were hurled toward the frame house.

But the house rose with the stream which passed
freely beneath its piled foundation. It came, well sup-

IN FULL FLOOD

ported by its lower flooring, floating clear of the pursuing
timber, and bringing up the rear of an immense mass
of debris^ which was now being driven into closer forma-
tion. The house swung slowly around, settling down for
some minutes, then moved on toward the bridge, with
the side presented to us, much tilted up.

Soon a scuttle in the roof was flung up, and Lewis
Burgess appearing, lifted out upon the shingles his wife
and children. They clung together in attitudes of ex-
treme terror, while a dog that had sprung out after
them, ran back and forth from eaves to ridge, pausing
at each edge as if about to leap, and again cowering
back to resume his search for a safer venture.

From the crowded banks and housetops of Brandleton
went up a shout of horror as the family appeared, and
many strong men ran wildly to and fro, as if in despair
of finding help for the helpless. To reach them through
the drifting masses was beyond possibility, and it looked
as though nothing could be done but watch them drift
to the death that inevitably awaited them, if the house,
wedged in with groaning trees and shooting timber,
should slide down madly between the piers and crash '
against the girders as it flew.

A large group of men stood watching me after I de-
scended, as though expecting directions for a rescue,
and I, without an idea, could only look despairingly at
the rapidly approaching house. Ready to be com-
manded by any one with sense and meaning, their eyes

IN FULL FLOOD

•>

. /

held me responsible for the proper use of their strength
and good-will.

. Even while I stood with that dismayed sense of being
held accountable, a new sound rose above the din of the
waters, and looking over the upper edge of the bridge,
I saw that the bridge was threatened once more. An
immense tree, a very thir^'^ .nd long pine, had lodged
against the pier nea:^ the )rthern abutmen^

So close together was the drift now packed that this
pine, caught midway, did not teeter with and against
^the stream, because, almost on the instant of its lodg-
ment, it was submitted to the strain of a drive of smaller
trees and bridge and wharf wreck, which, struggling to
pass the big tree, were held back against the surface of
the river. There was crunching and groaning in the
restrained mass, upending of slabs and thrashing about
of stumps ; the big pine bent, its huge branches were
partly rent away, every instant I expected to hear the
loud report of its crack and break.

But still it held, and very soon the checked driftwood
a short distance up stream was much wider than its
base as formed by the straining pine. The jam so
much dreaded by the town councilors of Brandleton
was forming beneath our eyes with astonishing speed,
and unless -it could be broken the bridge would cer-
tainly go.

All this had happened in the short space of time
while I was hurrying an active man down the face of

IN FULL FLOOD

the pier to cut the lodged tree. Before he could strike,
even while he was steadying himself for the first blow,
a voice from my side interposed.

* * Not a stroke ! ' ' shouted Frank Burgess, with a
clear cry that was heard above all other sounds, and
clambering, or rather tumbUng recklessly down the
face of the pier, he laid hands on the axe, and tearing
it from the gnisp of the astonished man, he turned to
me.

With his intense excitement almost every trace of his
degradation had vanished from his face, and so natural,
so confident, so imperative did he look that I uttered
not a word of protest.

'* Pray God that a jam may form ! " he shouted, re-
turning hastily to the roadway. "It's the only chance
to save them I ' ' and he waved his hand toward the ad-
vancing house.

It was drifting now, not more than two hundred and
fifty yards distant, with the outer or southerly stream of
timber and wreck that came pouring in two columns
around the blocked mass.

The family, still clinging together, had fallen to their
knees as if in prayer, and still the white dog inquiringly
looked down, cowered, shrank back, and so ran pite-
ously from edge to edge of the roof.

Then, as if by magic, a jam was completed between
the northern abutment and the second pier, for an array
of heavy trees on the outer edge of the packing timber

I ; ■

IN FULL FLOOD

had, by the pressure, become in a manner locked to-
gether, and these, coming sidewise against the second
pier, stopped, and, being swept in, were straightway
firmly connected with the butt of the big pine.

When this had occurred the jam, after extending its
up-stream face, slowly swung northward and soon blocked
the open space between the north abutment and the
first pier. Every front stick was a keystick, as all will
understand who have seen one of those astonishing sud-
den formations that Northern lumbermen call timber-
jams, structures so totally beyond human contrivance
that their creation is always inexplicable, yet of frequent
occurrence on swift and heavily timbered streams.

The house was now nearly motionless in the surround-
ing float-wood, which moved gradually down, packing
ever more closely, the lighter stuff thrusting up, falling
back, or hurrying under ; the ends of the various
long timbers taking a direction across the current with
the pressure of the logs, which soon, however, began to
run swiftly round the south or outer edge of the jam
with the gradually rising water. . n

Now the house apparently became stationary, then
moved forward again with the rearrangement of the
pack, only to stop once more. Once, as it thus brought
up against the drift in front, the white dog leaped from
the roof, and successfully obtaining a footing, began to
make his way, with frequent cowering halts, ashore.

At that, Lewis Burgess, rising, scanned the drift as

IN FULL FLOOD

if planning for a dtsi-ierate attempt, while his wife and
children stood shuddering and clutching him.

I could plainly see, though not hear, that they were
shrieking, for now the house had come within less than
a hundred yards of the bridge. Every moment I ex-
pected to see it collapse, x>t whirl away with the jam
which might at any instant rush on with speed more
rapid than that of its formation ; or the north end of
the bridge, now acting as a dam and forcing the river
up, might be swept away, a danger so obvious that most
of the spectators had run ashore.

During these few minutes of breathless expectation,
watching the house and the river intently, I was so ab-
sorbed by the imminent tragedy that I had not cast
another glance at Frank. Now a hoarse shout rose as if
at once from all the people of Brandleton, who stood
upon the river banks, the housetops, and the bridge.
Looking around for its cause my eye fell on Frank
Burgess. : - ' : '

In one hand he carried a hooked pulley-block, in the
other a light line ; he was making his way from the
bridge toward the house right over the drift ! Already
he was twenty-five yards on his perilous journey.

His scheme was clear at a glance ; the line he drew
ran through a pulley lashed to the upper member of
the bridge truss, and was well spliced into the end of a
coil of new inch rope — all being part of the material I
had sent upon the bridge the evening before. I drew

IN FULL FLOOD

close to assist the brave fellows who stood ready to help
out his desperate adventure.

After that first loud shout of admiration not a sound
except the groan and yell of the river was heard as he
struggled on his fearful way, knowing that a move-
ment of the float-wood might sink him, or a sudden
rush of the whole jam smash him in an instant out of
the semblance of humanity.

What a path ! From tree to timber, from timber to
wreckage, often making little detours, now rising on a
swaying root, now cautiously descending, he went,
trailing the light line, sometimes stopping and looking
back to shake it straight that it might not become en-
tangled. -^ '

Once a tree, as he walked along it, turned, but he
deftly kept his foothold and continued to use it for his
journey. Sometimes all about him drifted down a little,
and he with it, coolly hauling in slack, watchful of all.
About three quarters of the journey was done when he
paused, paused long, looking around as the dog had
looked around on his passage ashore — seeking a way of
safety, the poor hero, cautious because he carried those
other lives in his hand !

While he halted I looked once more to the family on
the roof. Lewis Burgess, face half averted, hands
wrung together tightly at his chin as though in a mighty
strife of prayer, stood gazing at his brother with a quite
indescribable attitude of anguish, pity, and hope. His

IN FULL FLOOD

wife, now again on her knees, the unheeded children
clinging about her, stared upon the advancing rescuer,
both hands pressed to her ears, as though rigid with fear
to hear the last cry of one dearly loved.

Frank paused and went aside, returned as if balked,
tried the other direction, retraced his steps again, and
then, with a gesture of agony, looked up at those whom
he was attempting to save.

Lewis Burgess, gazing at his brother, shook his head
as if in despair, and motioned as one might in saying,
' ' Go back, it is impossible ! ' '

The next moment Frank, after drawing in slack and
laying it at his feet, plunged straight forward.

Down ! Yes, but up once more ! Again down —
no, not gone — half sunken only ! Up again ! and now
he threw himself forward on the windrovr of edged-up
slabs, till, scrambling, plunging, and with i^ighty effort,
hf; gained the tree above that treacherous surface.

Now again arose that astounding shout above the
roar of the torrent which drove through the piers on
the south shore. Poor old Frank ! the applause of his
fellow-townsmen must have been very sweet to him, so
long an outcast, for as he struggled on he raised the
hand with the line to his head, and taking off his dilap-
idated old hat raised and waved it with a delighted ges-
ture in response. .

In a few moments more he stood by the house look-
ing upward. We could understand what he called to

IN FULL FLOOD

his brother, for the family descended through the scuttle
again. Lewis, appearing at an upper window, caught
the line as it was thrown, and after hauling in its whole
light length began to pull the rope over the bridge.

Frank, climbing up on a plank, while again the
mighty shout arose, got through a window. Knocking
a hole through the side wall he then tied the main rope
firmly to a heavy, upright timber of the old-fashioned
frame, first running it through the pulley-block, to
which he fastened the middle of the light line.

In five minutes Mrs. Burgess and the children,
drawn to the bridge in a blanket suspended froni the
pulley-hook, exactly as shipwrecked passengers are often
rescued, were received by glad arms.

While we were hauling these helpless ones in, Frank
and Lewis stood at the window hand-in-hand. Then,
after hauling back the blanket, Lewis, who was a heavy
man, came to the now sorely tried bridge, Frank having
insisted that he should go first. Then the hero began
to draw in the line for his own salvation.

You can conceive how the people watched him, sick-
hearted with fear lest the bridge should give way and
release the now terrific jam — you can conceive i.ov, they
yearned and prayed !

Well, their prayers were not disappointed. He was
saved, saved from the river, saved from worse than the
river, for that day he was rescued from himself and his
past.

IN FULL FLOOD

Lewis, receiving him as he landed, literally fell upon
his brother's neck and wept. Afterward we carried
them both ashore, shoulder-high, among the thronging,
cheering, and weeping people — just in time too, for
within five minutes the piers gave way, and driftwood,
bridge, house, and all, "battlement and plank and
pier, went whirling to the sea."

What became of Frank ? Why, he is happily mar-
ried, has four pretty children, is mayor of Brandleton
and chief engineer of the Cuniake and Brandleton Rail-
way. If you go to his flourishing town you may dis-
cover that this story is in po way exaggerated, though
they may tell it to you with different names.

=v|.

Vni

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

COPAGONG
MILL was
short of hands, and
no one knew it bet-
ter than John Bar-
clay, for two mens'
work fell to him.

*' And why not?"
said Pierre Dubois,
the head foreman.
"You're as big as

two men, and why not
do two mens' work ? ' '

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

* * Give me two mens' pay, then ! ' ' said John.
"Who's gettin' bigger pay 'n what you're gettin' ?

Bagosh, no ! A man's got a right to hump hisse'f for
the Concern where he's well used. It's only for a
week, anyhow."

Especially by the "bagosh," Pierre betrayed his
nationality as French-Canadian, and none but Cana-
dians can quite understand how this galled John, who
was tyler or doorkeeper of the Copagong Orange
Lodge.

John had been for two days taking three-inch planks
from the circular saw, often a job for three men, and
always previously for two. All the mill hands that
could be spared from the saws were out on the piling-
ground shipping stuff to meet the clamorous demands
of a new railway ; but it was not the tax on his huge
strength that vexed John.

** Was there ever a lazy bone in me body? " he in-
dignantly asked his wife on the second evening.

* * Who could say that, John ? ' * she replied proudly.

" I dar' them ! " rumbled John. ** No, it's the in-
justice of it. And no thanks in the Pea-soup that's set
foreman over us ! Well, let him see where' s the one
man will handle his planks in the morning."

**Ah, now, John, don't do that ! Sure, the press
will be soon over, and your job easy to the stren't' of
you again."

The little round woman tried to put her hands up to

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

his face to soothe him, but he lifted her up and aside,
and set her on top of a high chest of drawers, all quite
without violence ; then went tramping away up the saw-
dust road that leads to ' Dolph Bergeron's tavern, * ' The
Lumberman's Rest." John set his big feet down so
heavily it was plain he intended a monstrous spree.

His wife and son, a yellow-headed, brawny youth of
sixteen years, shut themselves in and sat together, silent
as if there were death in the house, while all the neigh-
bors drifted to the cabins nearest the tavern. There the
women stayed, but the men went on to see " the holy
terror" — that was the only expression which they
thought adequate to big John on the spree. A son of
his employer, a youth who had been reading Norse
literature, once described John on a spree as **a
drunken Berserker," and I suppose you all know that
the Berserkers were uncommonly strong, eccentric, and
destructive Vikings.

When John left Bergeron's place at eleven o'clock
that night he left it a wreck. He had smashed the big
box-stove with one downward blow from the side of his
fist ; he had kicked the bar counter almost into kindling
wood ; he had pitched Bergeron head first up twelve
feet into the open door of his own haymow ; he had
ended by lifting a barrel of whisky to drink out of the
bung, and then throwing it through a partition. Then,
perfectly senseless, but quite steady on his legs, John
allowed himself to be guided to his home, and all

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

Copagong, except John's wife, went to sleep till the
mill whistle screamed before daylight.

At half-past ten o'clock next day John awoke to con-
sciousness that he had been crazy, and to wonder what
he had done the night before. Perhaps he had struck
some man and killed him. John always had that fear
after a spree, though his disposition when drunk was
merely to break things and throw people around as a
sort of huge joke if they interfered with his herculean
sportiveness. He could not remember any of his pro-
ceedings after the diluted high wines had fairly gotten
into his head, through which the thundering chug-chug
of the gangsaws and the fierce whirring of the circulars
now drove knifelike pain, for his cabin was on the hill
edge nearest the mill.

He lay still, sick with shame which he would not con-
fess to any other soul. ** No ; he would let 'em all un-
derstand he had done just right. He had shown that
Pea-soup foreman! He'd 'learn' the Concern not
to impose on a man. He'd show 'em that if the gang
was short-handed before, it would be shorter-handed
with John Barclay laid off. Hadn' t he a right to do
just what he pleased? Let'em give him the sack if
they dast ; but he knew well they dassent ; they was
too short-handed ; he was too good a man ! ' '

Moreover, he reckoned, and felt cowardly at the
bottom of his heart to reckon so, that he would get
full benefit of the indulgence shown to drunkenness

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

in that rude lumbering country. Bosses regarded it as
a thing to be expected, like floods or forest fires, and
quite as incalculable an element in their operations.

In the short intervals of silence between the thump-
ing gangsaws and the shrieking circulars John could
hear his little wife moving around in the other room.
He knew she would not give him one cross word, no
matter what he had done, and that was what made him
so afraid to get up and face her. She would just look
at him kindly, and he would see she had been crying
in the night. Now she would be trying to smile cheer-
fully, and that always made him feel so mean.

But, all the same, he'd go up to Bergeron's again,
right off after breakfast, and he'd bet that a big bunch
of men would knock off and join him at noon. Then
the gang would be still "short-handeder" — oh, he'd
show the Concern if they could put a "Pea-soup"
foreman on top of loyal Orangemen !

John was horribly thirsty ; but he was still too much
afraid of his little wife's wan smile to get up, or call for
water. There he lay, listening in torture and obstinate
Berserker rage, which he tried to direct at the foreman,
though really wholly so disgusted with himself that he
could not express and dared not acknowledge, the feel-
ing — that feeling which might drive him, as it often
drove the old Norse Berserkers, to defiant physical vio-
lence, lest they should be laughed at instead of feared
after they had fuddled themselves on mead.

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

Sometimes John could hear the dull movement, the
muffled, crackling sound of refuse slabs and scantling
on their way to the great iron waste-burner that towers
a hundred feet above Copagong Mill. This refuse
travels in a wide wooden trough set on an inclined
plane ; it is drawn upward through the trough by an
endless chain of flattened links, from some of which
short iron uprights stand to force the waste along.

That opening by which the refuse enters the stack is
some thirty feet above the fire, which, fed continually
by fresh material, crackles in a great circular chamber
perhaps forty feet wide. As John thought of the
tophet usually there, he asked himself whom had
Pierre Dubois put to tending the wgste-burner to-day ?
That set John to thinking of his own son, Billy. There
must have been a redistribution of work on account of
himself being off. Now he had previously refused to
let Billy tend the waste-burner. John had heard of
two being drawn into such furnaces. Stepping into the
trough to disentangle a jam of the waste stufiF, they had
somehow got their feet caught in the endless chain.

That Pea-soup foreman had wished Billy to keep on
at the job. Perhaps he had put him back at it to-day
in rearranging the force ! If so — John did not formu-
late what he would do to the foreman, but certainly
something dreadful.

Now he had something to get up for. So he lifted
his big bulk as noiselessly as he could and put on his

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

boots, of which his wife and Billy had relieved him.
He knew his wife could hear him, for his ears told him
she had suddenly put the frying-pan on the stove to
cook his breakfast.

John resolved to wait till breakfast was ready, for,
thirsty as he was, he did not wish to be under his wife's
kind eye one moment longer than he must. He sat on
the side of the bed till he heard her pouring hot water
upon the tea leaves in the tin pot. With that he rose,
opened the door, and didn't meet her eyes.

** Where's Billy? " he asked gruffly.
. "Tending the waste-burner, John."

''He is, is he? I'll "

"Oh, John dear, don't do anything hasty ! It had
to be fixed that way. Johnny Larocque was took ofif the
tendin' because he' s used to the sawin' , and could help
to take your place — there's three at your job to-day.
Billy knows how to tend the burner, and so "

John drank a dipperful of cold water, and then strode
to the door. He could plainly see Billy on the platform
at the edge of the great trough, with an iron-shod pole
in hand, watching the humps and masses of refuse wood
that traveled past him and up and into the opening,
whence they disappeared and fell to the tophet below
which sent up a long banner of smoke to the breeze
above Copagong Mill.

The waste-burner was nearer John than Billy was,
and the mill was beyond the boy, who was too intent

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

on the waste to notice his father gesticulating as he
shouted, ** Come out of that ! " John knew he might
as well have held his breath, for the pounding and
screaming of the saws deafened Billy to the prodigious
yells by which this latter-day Berserker somewhat allayed
his rage.

**If I could get at him without going round and
through the mill, I'd go and pull him off," said John.
**But give me my feed first. Then I'll go and settle
that Pea-soup for good. ' '

His wife, without a word, set the food before him,
hoping breakfast would improve his temper. Then she
stood by the window watching Billy work, while her
husband ate.

It suddenly struck her that Billy was acting strangely.
Certainly he was standing in the trough and moving
slowly upward with the waste. But that was nothing
unusual. What puzzled her was his attitude. The boy
was bending forward, his hands on a hump of the refuse,
and seemingly straining as with his body.

She saw him lift his face and look toward the furnace
ahead. He was within sixty feet of it. Suddenly he
stood up, lifted his iron-shod pole and began thrusting
hard as if at his feet. He wriggled his shoulders,
twisted and looked again at the waste-burner. It was
not more than fifty feet away now.

"Why, John," exclaimed the mother, "what's Billy
doing? See!"

)

A BERSERKER OF CO?AGONG

At that instant the youth flung up his hands desper-
ately and looked toward her. There was a momentary
hush between the screams of great saws ; Billy's shriek
came in that instant, and John Barclay sprang to the
door. He understood the case instantly.

"His foot's caught," John shouted. "Stop the
engine ! Murder ! Stop the engine ! My boy's
caught. Oh, my God, he'll be into the waste-
burner ! "

John ran as he yelled. He might as well have saved
his voice. No map in the mill could hear him through
the pounding saws. No man on the piling-ground was
in sight or hearing of him.

John ran straight down the hill for the base of the
waste-burner. The round chimney of riveted iron plate
is built on a foundation of masonry rising six feet from
the ground. There are four iron doors or manholes
just above the masonry. As the Berserker ran he saw
his son fall backward, head sloping down and toward
the mill, as the result of a desperate wrenching at his
boot. Its heel was caught in one of the flat links, much
as the boot of a brakeman is sometimes held between
two close-set rails. The mother hurried after her hus-
band, shrieking unheard. She fell, she rolled down the
steep rock edge of the hill, she sprang up, still shrieking,
and ran against a pile of scantling, which being end on,
caught her dress and held her. John had crashed
through and over it. She could no longer see her son ;

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

he was hidden by the round of the waste-burner. " Oh !
oh! oh! he's drawed in — oh-h ! " she screamed and
fell senseless.

■ John Barclay knew it to be improbable that any man
in the mill would see the boy being dragged upward,
and get the engine stopped in time to save him by
bringing the endless chain to a halt. John knew too,
that he could not get aruund to and through the mill in
time to save his son.

There was but one chance of rescue — the fire might
be crowned high on top with waste not yet ignited ; the
boy might fall where the turn of the chain passed under
the trough inside the door ; he might fall on unfired
wood. If some one were there to catch him or lift
him — for it was almost certain he would be badly hurt
by the fail — he might be saved.

But the chance was desperately small. Instead of
falling Billy might be dragged back under the trough
and mangled, perhaps have his leg torn off, before
being released by the link. It was a desperate chance
even if he should fall unhurt, for the low edges of the
heap in the furnace would certainly be all flame and
deep coals. How should any rescuer dash across that
inferno, climb the unignited middle pile, endure the
smoke, seize the boy, and escape with him back across
the fire to a manhole ?

John knew the dreadful situation perfectly. He also
knew his own mind. He would enter — he would die

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

there if Billy must die — he would never live to face his.
wife and know that his rage and drunkenness had
brought his boy that day to tending the waste-burner.

As the big man ran he picked up a long plank and
still ran. It would bridge the fire for a few moments.
He had to drop it to open the iron door. Then he
thrust it in.

A moment later many men, running from the piling-
ground, whence they had seen Billy's peril, came round
a corner close to the waste-burner just in time to see
John crawl into what seemed certain death. At the
head of them was Pierre Dubois, who had been hurry-
ing work in the piling-yard.

"Planks!" he shouted. "Here! Those green
ones ! Hurry ! Shove them in — here — open the other
manholes — shove planks in all ! " Twenty men were
working at once.

As John sprang through the manhole and knelt on
his plank a moment he saw that the cone of waste wood
was unlit on top. The fire was indeed uncommonly
low, its fierce edges narrower than usual, for the refuse
had been unusually heavy for some days. He saw that
the endless chain thirty feet above him was still running,
for small scantling and sawdust were steadily falling.

Next moment Billy appeared at the upper opening.
As the chain drew him on it jerked him through a com-
plete somersault ; his head hung down one instant, in
the next he fell.

A UEKSEKKEK OF COPAGONG

It takes a man about two seconds to spring over
thirty feet of ground. But through ten feet wide of
fire ! John's plank, crazily supported at the inner end

by the waste, turned

as he rushed on it.

He fell in fire, but

fire could not stop

him. He seized the

edges of the waste

wood and climbed.

He rose up the cone. He was over its edge when

Billy fell.

As the giant raised his arms some scantling came
down, battering his face as he braced himself for the
shock. Blue smoke was all about him, but he could
see through it, for smoke mostly draws to the center,

A BERSERKER OF COPACONG

and he was on one side of the middle. His clothing
was smoldering, his hands terribly burned from his fall ;
bis boots were cracked and hard as coals ; but it was
oh, to save Billy from this torment !

John caught his falling son, and a shower of small
wood fell on both as the shock flung him down on the
cone. He rose with his son in his arms and rushed at
^ a manhole. There were faces there, surely ! With his
feet in fire he lifted Billy high, and found a plank under
the boy. Then John knew no more.

It was Pierre Dubois who sprang to the giant's rescue,
not through fire, but on one of the planks now thrust
in ; and a perilous deed was that too. Pierre, coming
through the north manhole, stooped and seized the big
man before he could fall, even at that moment when
those outside in the east manhole drew forth the plank
on which John had set Billy. John's charred coat gave
way in Pierre's grasp. Pierre grasped the giant by the
-' throat, for his beard was burned off. Pierre clung to
the plank with his legs, and threw both hands around
John's scorched head. And so they were drawn forth
together. But the Berserker never saw his wife's face
again. _^

He told the story himself two years later as he sat
knitting one summer day in the shade of a lumber pile
at Copagong, where I landed as a stranger after fishing
all the morning.

A BERSERKER OF COPAGONG

If I was surprised to see a man knitting I was more
surprised to find, when I came near him, that he was
totally blind. So I hailed him and we fell into talk to-
gether, "It's cheering to see you so contented," I
said toward the end.

**I am contented," he said. *' I wouldn't have my
eyes back again and the heart I had with them — yes,
and for a year and more after I lost my sight. All the
time I was trying to learn the knitting, and me blind ;
but it wasn't till I could turn the heel of the stocking
I felt I'd be willing to live so. I tried and tried,
and then sudden-like it came to me ; it was like it
was God moved my fingers so I learned how. Then I
knowed I could earn my keep and not be a burden on
Billy ; and I do earn it, and I thank God, and every day
since then I have been resting easy in his mercy. * '

IN SKELETON POOL

DUE north is the general direction of the Brazeau
River, but it takes one very sharp turn to the
west, and in the angle is **The Devil's Elbow," which
is so much a terror to raftsmen that none but the
boldest will hire for the Brazeau drive.

Beneath the surges of its great eddy, Skeleton Pool,
the bones of many drowned men are supposed to drift
endlessly around ; and he is a past master of river-craft
who can boast truly of having safely run the Elbow
twice or thrice.

It is difficult to convey in words a picture of so com-
plicated a phenomenon as the Elbow. Unless the
reader can be made to realize the configuration of the
ground, the surge of the river against the precipice, the
fury with which it turns to roar away on its western
course, the impulse with which it hurls off the eddy
toward Tower Island, and the remorselessness of that
whirlpool's grasp and assault on such timber cribs as
enter it, he will not quite understand Duncan Stewart's
adventure.

Running out of a low-lying, timbered country, the
Brazeau' s course is interceT)ted by the face of a plateau

IN SKELETON POOL

bome three hundred feet higher. Into this bluff, which
elsewhere descends less precipitously, the torrent, by
many ages of persistence, has cut such an angle as a
huge carpenter's square might fit. Three pines,
bunched just at the apex of this angle, and conspicuous
as the only trees on the upper level, swing their long
arms out over the sheer cliff, there sliced straight down
as a stack is by a hay-knife. Almost incessantly these
long arms seem to gesticulate in the current of air rush-
ing up out of the chasm.

Opposite this, some four hundred feet distant, the
face of Tower Island rises straight about one hundred
feet ; and on every side but one shoots up as sud-
denly. It divides the Brazeau into rapids of nearly
equal descent ; but the north or Devil's Elbow channel
has the ' ' draw, ' ' and takes most of the water.

The trick of running a crib of logs safely through is
to gain the south channel, which, unless the crib gets
into the mild eddy at the foot of Tower Island, quickly
hurries the timber into the calm reach a mile below.
Here high spring wagons wait, at a tavern kept by the
Widow Black, to carry the raftsmen back to the head.

Sometimes, at long intervals, a wagon laden with
men rattles by without a cheery song. In such a case,
it is a fair inference that some gang, having missed the
turn at the dreadful angle, are being whirled away
dead down the river, or rolled among the vexed bones
in the depths of Skeleton Pool.

IN SKELETON POOL

\ r

Not that the Elbow is certain death. Probably five
cribs out of six get safely through, or lose but one or
two men. I believe this to be oftenest the result of
sudden changes in the river's action, though raftsmen
insist that all depends on the judgment, strength, and
nerve of a crew. '

For this run each crib carries four men and eight
sweeps, four at each end. If carried into the Elbow
channel, all hands, when near the angle, take to the
sweeps at the rear.

Just as the crib's front seems likely to crash against
the precipice the stern begins to wheel down, and the
men assist this action of the current. If they miss
here, and are borne sidewise away instead of stern
down, the crib does not get close enough ashore, and
the thrust from the precipice commonly carries them
into the raving edge of the whirlpool.

There the crib usually is wrenched instantly to ])ieces
or plunged so deep that the men arc swe{)t off. In
this case they are wholly beyond rescue, and are
drowned.

Well-made cribs have been known to wliecl, lossed
like corks in the pool, for ten days befort: '>reaHng uo :
but never, perhaps, except once, did oiu oi th.cse sad
derelicts carry a living man.

In the summer of 1868, at the beginning of my ap-
prenticeship to a surveyor, I was sent up the Brazeau.
Duncan Stewart was my chief.

IN SKELETON POOL

((

A better fellow than Stewart never lived," my
master had said. ' ' Years ago he was given to drink,
but now he's quite reformed. He hasn't touched a
drop for two years.

"I'm giving him this job," my master went on,
"partly because he'll do it well, partly because he'll
do it cheaply, and partly because I want to help a lame
dog over a stile. But mind, you're my apprentice,
and while you give due obedience to Mr. Stewart, it's
your duty to let me know promptly if anything goes
wrong. After all's said, it is impossible to place per-
fect confidence in a man who was long lost in drink."

I liked Stewart from the start. He was kind and
friendly ; he took pains to teach me, and often
entrusted me with the transit, taking the chain himself.

"I mean to make a surveyor of you before this job's
done," he would say.

Everything went well until we camped at the Widow
Black's. Next morning we were driven up to "the
head." Some of the men, though they were not
drunk, had obtained whisky at the tavern. Stewart
seemed out of sorts. No doubt he was tortured by
the smell of and craving for liquor.

That afternoon, after starting the new line, Stewart
left me to run it, saying that he would see the camp
put in shape for a long stay. When I came back he
was sleeping ; he slept while I supped ; and when I
turned in beside him he made no stir.

IN SKELETON POOL

The men were whispering, and I thought them **up
to something," but my fatigue was greater than my
curiosity, and I was soon sound asleep.

"Ned! Mr. Ned! wake up! rouse, rouse, there's
trouble breeding ! "

I sat up to find old John Shouldice shaking me.

"What's up, John?"

"They're all drunk except me."

"Drunk?"

" Drunk as fools ! The surveyor too."

"Mr. Stewart? Impossible!"

"Yes, Mr. Stewart himself. Burns and Fletcher put
six bottles into their packs this morning. The surveyor
had some. Now it's all gone, and they're wild for
more. "

" Well, they can't get any ; that's one good thing."

"They're going back to the widow's."

"But they can't in the state they're in. It's five
miles after they cross. ' '

"They're going to run down in the bateau."

"What?" I started to my feet. "The Devil's
Elbow will , ;t every man of them ! " '

"Not if they catch the south channel. Burns
knows the river well ; but he's too drunk."

Hurrying out I found the ten men grouped, with
Stewart staggering among them.

"Yes, sir, lean run yc over all right, sir," Burns

was saying.

IN SKELETON POOL

"What does this mean?" I asked.

** It's all ri'," said Stewart ; "you go back to bed."

" Better go yourself," I said, "and the rest of you.
Come, I'm not going to stand any nonsense."

"We're takin' our orders from the surveyor," said
Burns, "an' I'd be pleased to know who set you over
us. Hi ! We're going where there's whisky, so we
are. Come on, boys !"

The}- staggered down to the big red boat.

"Shculdice, there's no stopping them. The Elbow
will 'avc them as sure as fate."

" We 11 have to go with them," said brave old John.
"1 knov; the water. I've been over it fifty times.
You a c the bow. We'll get over all right enough.
Some ui them ain't too drunk to do the rowing. But
for the humanity of it, I should feel a sight more like
letting the brutes go than risk our skins for 'em."

Nevertheless that was what we did.

The run was a wild adventure, but we gained the
south channel, left the Elbow shrieking far behind,
and reached the Widow Black's at one o'clock in the
morning.

When we awoke the sun was well up. Most of our
men were lying about the sheds in a state of deep in-
toxication. Stewart was nov here \.<: be seen.

"He went up with the fir«5t gang at day!' ;ht." said
the widow. * * He's run the t.outh channel once already,
and now he's back, wild to run the Elbow. Last I

■■■ t

IN SKELETON POOL

heerd, he was offering twenty dollars to any gang that
'ud try it, an' the boys was laughin' at him. 01-, he's
far gone with his liquor."

"Give me some breakfast, quick," said I. 'Til
follow him. And look you, woman, if you give our
men another drop, there'll be trouble for you. You
can depend on that. "

I knew she had no license to sell liquor.

*' Bah ! " she cried, snapping her fingers in my face.
"I don't fear you, not a bit. The boys would take
care of you, or any one else, that interfered with my
business. But there's no more drink for that crowd.
I'll tell you that to please you. Not a cent of money
has one of them left. "

While I hastily ate my pork and beans, I heard the
noise of men coming up to the wagons. Stewart was
not amonj^ them.

**We left him layin' on the raft," mumbled the
gigantic foreman, Tom Benson. ' ' None of the boys
would fetch him this trip. He swears he'll go over the
Elbow if he has to swim for it. But the cook' 11 watch
him."

I leaped into a wagon, and went up to the head of
the rapids. Shouldice went with us, but he was too
old to render much service.

When we reached the raft, there stood the men who
had preceded us, bunched together and gazing down
the river.

'.■'*^\

■^\i

IN SKELETON POOL

Far away, and drifting into the Elbow channel, went
a crib with one man upon it, who danced and waved
his hat, then stood looking ahead into the fearful
angle, then flung up his arms and leaped to and fro as
pf in delirium.

♦*It's Mr. Stewart!" said the cook. "When I
wasn't thinking of him he sneaked down to the lower
cribs, knocked away the bands, and was off ! "

"You've seen the last of him," said Tom Benson,
now thoroughly sobered, "unless the timber goes
through all right. Even then he'll surely be swept off.
But there's a rope on that crib. Maybe he'll know
enough to hang on."

" I'll go down with you, Tom. We must save him,
somehow, ' ' said I. In a few moments our men were
rowing hard to pull out of " the Devil's draw," as Tom
called it.

" Look, Ned ! Not you, boys ! Pull — pull for your
lives ! Let into it. But you, Ned — look ! ' '

At that moment we could see Stewart's crib slanting
up like a roof, and apparently just at the angle. Ke
was on his knees, clutching something.

"It's the rope he's got ! " said Tom.

Then his crib began to swing around. Next mo-
ment the cliff of Tower Islaid hid man and timber.

"If we don't see him pass down ahead of us, we'll
haul over into the eddy at the foot of the island, ' ' said
Benson, as we passed into the south channel.

IN SKELETON POOL

That is what we did. Soon we landed and began
the ascent of the Tower, for it was impossible to see
into Skeleton Pool from the low rocks at the island's
foot.

" But it's too late, I fear," said Tom. ** He's gone
long ago, and we can't save the timber. But, anyhow,
let us see it flying round ! "

When we stood above the pool, there was the crib
almost beneath our feet, racing up the eddy. From
below, had there been standing room, we might have
reached it with a pike-pole.

But a hundred men with pike-poles could not have
held it for a moment. The forces of the pool carried
it away with incredible speed, and flung it about like
a chip. But Stewart was there, and alive.

He was even safe for the time. Sobered by the
wetting and the horror, he had contrived to take several
turns around a loading stick with the half-inch rope he
found aboard. These turns lay spirally along the stick
and formed loose bands. Through one of these he
had thrust his legs up to the thighs, through another
he had pushed his head and shoulders.

Lying face down, he clutched the loading stick. Up
the Skeleton Pool flew the crib, till so near the mighty
shoulder of the downward torrent that we expected it
to overwhelm Stewart.

At the plunge a roller broke over him. He was
whirled out toward the Elbow, then swiftly down, and

IN SKELETON POOL

around the dreadful oval again, hurrying so close to the
she''»- wall below our feet that Benson dropped a pebble
beyond the crib as it passed.

Sometimes the crib was carried into the center of the
pool, where it floated with little tossing, slowly turning
in a small round for many minutes. Then the outer
forces called for another struggle to tear asunder the
crib, and drew it out and threw them Ives upon it,
and offered it to the demons of the angle, and hurled
and oscillated it again.

"It's terrible with him so close, and we can't help
him any more than if we were babies," said Benson.

** li we could only make him see us ! " I suggested.

''What good? He'd feel all the worse. You see
he's got to die. If he saw us he'd have hope, and that
would keep the life in him longer, and he'd suffer more
in the end."

** No ! 1-ic d feel helped ; he'd die easier if he
knew we were by him," I insisted.

Benson threw a small stone at the crib. Then we
threw handfuls. But a wind came up out of the chasm,
and a gale went with its waters, and our efforts were
vain.

If any pebble struck Stewart he made no sign.

Benson climbed a pine, and cut off a large branch
with his knife, "This is the thing," said he, and
waited.

When the crib, racing upward, was within thirty feet

-V

IN SKELETON POOL

of our cliff, he dropped the branch. It wavered down
with the sway of a parachute, then turned over and
over with the up current, and fell far behind the timber.

But we dropped branch after branch, and at last one
was blown by the wind so that it fell lightly upon Stewart
himself He turned on his side and looked up ; but
he did not see us until the crib was runt^ ^15 down the
outer current. Then he kicked him8<>lf" nt irly free,
sat up, and waved his hand.

Just then a roller struck the crib, rus. .1 straight at
him, and threw his body off the loading stick.

But his feet were still held by the rope. He re-
covered his position, passed the band again over his
shoulders, and ^urned his head curiously from side to
side as he flew around, gazing at his tumultuous prison.

"I've got it. We'll save him ! " shouted big Tom.
** Stay here till I get back, Ned."

He was off without another word.

Two hours passed before he returned with a ** bunch "
of men, and all that time I silently watched Stewart.
The crib had begun to sag, I thought, when on the
crests of the steeper rollers.

"It'll break up soon," said Tom, the moment he
returned. "Now, boys, down with that tree; put in
your best strokes. Fell it straight out."

Four axemen attacked a huge- white pine, some
seventy feet inland, while the others cut away the
underbrush and small trees for its fall. The top, when

. a

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(716) 872-4503

IN SKELETON POOL

it crashed down, projected forty feet beyond the cliff,
and the branches that broke away fell in a green shower
about Stewart's crib.

In ten minutes, big Tom, lying out on the tree like a
sailor, cut away such branches as would interfere with
the rope, and passed a cable over the outermost crotch
that was sufficiently strong.

When the rope began to descend of its own weight,
he crawled back to us.

* * We can do no more, ' ' said he, shaking as with an
ague. *' Now we'll see if the surveyor can save him-
self!"

When Stewart passed under the rope for the first
time, he sat up and raised his hand, but could not
touch the noose. Then he made the surveyor's signal
of **down."

We lowered till the noose touched the water and was
snatched along by the fierce stream. Then we drew it
up till it seemed to hang about five feet above the
sluice-like stream.

The second time Stewart came under us, he stood
up stoopingly, braced himself, held to his rope by one
hand, and prepared to run his free arm and his head
into the noose.

The rope suddenly swung out beyond his reach. We
staggered and shook, tumbling backward from the edge
and against one another, uttering meaningless cries,
with the shock and reaction of that disappointment.

IN SKELETON POOL

'' If that happens again, some of us may fall over,"
said Tom. Taking a new hitch with the rope, he
brought us the shore end to hold on by.

The crib was now very plainly sagging as it rose and
fell.

Once more Stewart rose, and tried to put his arm
through the noose. The rope struck him on the head ;
he lost his grasp of his own rope and fell down, but
saved himself, and crawled back to his bands in time to
get within them before passing into the breakers.

But at the shoulder of the rapids the crib began to
break up. One side-stick whirled loose, then another.
Both were thrust up from the pool's outer edge soon
afterward. They shot half out of water before falling.

The fourth attempt was long delayed, for the crib
moved into the middle of the pool and whirled gently
around the inner circle. There Stewart loosed him-
self, stood up, looked at us for a moment, gazed around
the shrieking waters, waved his hand toward the now
descending sun, looked up to us again, raised his arms
above his head and dropped them to his side with a
strange gesture of utter despair.

" It's a Masonic sign ! " exclaimed Tom. ** And he
is praying to the Lord for help ! I must save him !
Boys, I'll go down and grab him ! "

Just then the crib began to run again. It was mov-
ing down stream, and would be under the rope again
within two minutes.

IN SKELETON POOL

We were sure this would be Stewart's last chance, for
the crib could never hold together through another
plunge into the rapid's shoulder.

"Come back. You've no time to go down!" I
called to Benson.

But he had swung himself off already, and now hur-
ried down the rope, hand over hand.

We leaned over with horror. If Benson should suc-
ceed in grasping him, could he hold on while we hauled
both men up ? And could we lift both up and back
into safety, after raising them to the crotch of the pine ?
It was impossible.

What madness had possessed the foreman ? To save
himself he would have to drop Stewart from the tree
after grasping him.

Benson was now within the noose. Only then had
we eyes for Stewart and the crib.

We looked ; the crib was not where we expected to
see it. We looked over the whole surface of Skeleton
Pool. Neither the crib nor Stewart could be seen.

Tom dangled down there alone. With the oscilla-
tion of the current, its higher billows dragged at his legs.

The men began to haul Benson up. We might save
him, anyway.

I looked down into his upturned face. It was posi-
tively gleeful ! Holding to th iming rope by one
hand, he pointed with the ou.o.retched forefinger of
the other, as his face turned down stream.

IN SKELETON POOL

^ I

I followed the direction. There was Stewart's crib,
a quarter of a mile down the rapid. It had been
quietly let go by the eddy, and we knew the surveyor
would be saved at the widow's place.

Benson easily lifted himself into the tree and came
ashore. No one could ever persuade him that Stew-
art's sign or prayer for help had not been miraculously
answered, though old John Shouldice declared that
cribs had once or twice before gone out of the rapids
in the same way.

Stewart was taken ashore at the tavern, in a fainting
condition. He did not throw away the chance afforded
him. Solemnly he vowed, when he had recovered from
the delirium in which his fearful adventure and ex-
posure left him, that he would never touch liquor
again.

I have known him years now, and know how much
it cost him to keep his vow. Wherever he went he ran
the risk of seeing liquor, and whenever he saw it or
smelled it, his craving awoke.

But at the same time the remembrance of the Elbow
also awoke ; and though the constant temptation to drink
might well have broken the resolution of a stronger
man, he had undergone an experience the lasting mem-
ory of whose terrors he could call to his aid with good
effect.

JOHN MACBRIDE

HEAVY rain stopped work in the Deep Gully lock-
pit about ten in the forenoon of February thir-
teenth. As the engine whistled ** Knock off," three
hundred men threw down their drills, jumpers, striking
hammers and other tools used in rock excavation.
Forty cart drivers unhitched their horses. Soon all
hands, except the foreman, the engineman, and two
others, were following the cart horses down the road to
the boarding houses, half a mile away.

" Toot for glycerine," said the foreman to the engine-
man. ** There's eight long holes I'd like to fire while
the pit's clear."

*'How many cans?" asked the engineman, with his
hand on the whistle wire.

''One will do."

The whistle sounded five short screams and one long
too-oo-oo-t after an interval of twenty seconds.

At that the stragglers in rear of the home-going pro-
cession ran a few steps. The men were morbidly afraid
of nitroglycerine, which the contractor insisted on using
because of its shattering effect.

In 1879, when John Macbride had the adventure I
92

i i

JOHN MACBRIDE

am about to narrate, this explosive sprang into popu-
larity with Blind River contractors, who abandoned it
in the course of a twelvemonth almost as suddenly as
they had taken it up, and resorted to giant powder,
dynamite, and other preparations of nitroglycerine that
do not, like the pure article, explode easily by concus-
sion.

Meantim.e " the stuff" had terribly revealed its qual-
ities. At Williamson's Cut, ten miles above Lobb's
contract, Robert Watson had carried an apparently
empty can home to his wife. He, she, and two chil-
dren, were found dead iii the shattered interior of their
shanty. A little girl, the only survivor of the family,
said that her mother had been scraping the inside of
the can when the explosion occurred.

While the foreman at Wolfs Rapid was pouring the
contents of a can into a hole, he spilled some, and in
rising, brought his iron-shod heel down on it. The
man was hurled against a rock wall, with his leg twisted
out of joint at the knee, though the main charge did
not explode.

As many as fifty "accidents'* more or less similar
had occurred along the river, but few more dreadful
than the death of William Burns and Louis Bigras at
the Deep Gully Cut. They were seen, about three hun-
dred yards above th^ excavation, coming from the maga-
zine in the bottom of the gully, some seven hundred
yards distant from the lock-pit. Each man had received

JOHN MACBRIDE

two cans from the "glycerine boss," John Macbride.
Suddenly .both were blown to atoms in full view of
their comrades. In and out from the swarming pit
three hundred men ran howling and crying. Some fell
on their knees, hiding their eyes. Others rolled in
anguish. This confusion and madness of horror lasted
several minutes. Probably one of the dead men had
knocked the edge of a can against a boulder as he passed.

A certain mystery attending the disasters increased
the terror felt for ** the stuff." Men believed it would
"go off of itself." Lobb's laborers insisted that the
magazine should be moved out of the gully, and John
Macbride elevated the whole lot to the uninhabited
table land above. Had he thrown up his place as
"glycerine boss," no laborer on the job would have
taken it at any wages.

Five minutes had elapsed after the " toots for glycer-
ine," when a cry came down from the beetling preci-
pice on the south side of Deep Gully. The foreman ran
out from under the heavily roofed engine shed.

"All right, Mac ! Down with her!" he shouted
looking upward.

Though the distance to Macbride' s face was only two
hundred feet, he seemed to the men in the lock-pit as
high as the sky, which, seen from below, looked like a
long lane of gray, running eastward and westward. Rain,
driving before a wind that had already shifted around
toward the north, fell slanting into the chasm, soon

JOHN MACBRIDE

lost its direction in that windless abyss, and drizzled
straight down. Thin sheets of water fell from the edge
of the overhanging precipice on both sides of the plat-
form whereon Macbride lay, for the surface behind him
was of flat rock with a quick slope to the gully. This
slope was not so steep as house roofs usually are, but it
was as steep as a man could easily walk down with
security, ^et or dry, the gritty rock afforded excellent
foothold.

Macbride' s platform, about twelve feet wide, pro-
jecteJd three feet beyond the rock face, and extended
inward on the level six feet, till it met the slope. This
platform, spiked to timbers bolted to the rock, carried
a small fixed derrick.

As the foreman shouted, **A11 right!" Macbride
threw down a light guide rope which hung from the
bottom of a two-chambered sack, stuffed thickly with
coarse hair and wool. In each chamber a can of glycer-
ine could be sent down securely. The upper edge of
the sack was fastened to stout cords which joined and
ran through pulley blocks fixed to the derrick. These
blocks had such a hold on the rope that the sa .k ^ould
not descend of its own weight.

Lying face downward, Macbride let the sack of glyc-
erine slowly down, while the foreman kept the guid-
ing cord taut. No man, unaccustomed to great
heights, could lie out, front down, on that platform
without being tempted to go head first over.

€>

JOHN MACBRIDE

"Hello ! " called Macbride, when the foreman had
taken the explosive from the sack.

"Hello yourself."

" Is work stopped for the day ? "

"No, I guess not. D'you think it's going to clear,
Mac?"

"Yes. Wind's getting colder up here. I s'pose
you don' t feel it down there. ' '

" Not a breath. If it clears we'll start, if there's
only a quarter day to be made. ' '

* ' All right, r 11 stop up here. ' '

" Got your dinner, daddy? " called the engineman,
Macbride' s eldest son.

"Yes. All right. Tommy."

Then Macbride, who was usually called " Daddy
Macbride" or "the old man," hauled up his ropes
and his sack, covered them with a small tarpaulin, and
ascended the slope.

His path was for fifty yards over smooth rock, always
swept clear of snow by the winds of that table-land.
The rain, not yet freezing as it fell, danced, shivered,
flew forward in spray, and running down against the
wind, poured over the precipice and the platform he
had left.

In places a few scales of ice had formed on the slope.
It had not yet absorbed much heat from the rain, which,
had it been of a little lower temperature, would have
formed a sheet of ice there.

JOHN MACBKIDE

The slope's upper edge terminated in a flat of land
covered with broken stone and snow. 'Inhere a shanty
had been built for Macbride's accommodation. It
contained a coolc-stove, a table, and a chair. The
magazine, containing a ton of nitroglycerine, stood
about sixty yards back from the shanty.

About eleven o'clock the increasing wind had shifted
to straight from the north. The rain dwindled to a
drizzle, and froze as it fell. By half-past twelve the air
was clear, and a bitterly cold afternoon in prospect.
The gale increased in strength till after the steam whistle
told Macbride that work had been resumed.

Then the wind, having reached its height, became
steady. At four o'clock, when "toots for glycerine —
two cans" sounded, the thermometer stood at two
degrees above zero. When Macbride, with two cans of
glycerine in his hands, reached the upper edge of the
slope, he saw it was a sheet of ice all the way down.

Macbride, a slow, sure man. doggedly devoted to the
interests of his employer, knew Lobb's anxiety to push
the work. The thought that he should not risk the
descent never entered his mind.

Three hundred and forty men would, he knew, be
dillydallying till they should hear his call, * * Look out for
glycerine ! " Then they would run for shelter. Mean-
time they would be casting glances upward to his plat-
form, listening for his voice, and " fooling away time "
in a way that Macbride abhorred.

JOHN MACBRIDE

He was at once a cautious man, and very confident
that his caution would bring him safely through what'
ever it allowed him to undertake. But he was one of
the slowest-witted men I ever knew, though a man of
very good sense.

When he devised a plan it was usually a sound plan,
but he needed a great deal of time for the devising, and
if he were hurried, he could not plan anything. For
this very emergency he had prepared long before, and
it did not now occur to him that the fixture would not
serve him well.

It consisted of a light rope fastened to his derrick,
and hauled tight to a post planted at the slope's upper
edge. This rope sagged in the middle to within a foot
of the face of the slope. At the ends it was four feet
high. Throughout its whole length it was now covered
with ice.

Laying his cans cautiously down, Macbride shook the
rope violenty. The ice flew from it in a thousand
pieces. Some stopped on the platform : but most slid
clear over the edge and down among the men below.

The old man next stepped on the slope, holding the
rope in his right hand. He went down fifteen feet
without slipping, and came back reassured. Still he
did not venture without more thinking.

Unfortunately his mind dwelt much upon how the
waiting men must be wasting time, and little on the
danger to which his descent might submit them. Old

JOHN MACBRIDE

the
the

low

John felt that he himself would probably be blown to
atoms if he should drop a can. But that the can might
slip on the precipice, to explode on striking below, did .
not occur to him. His own risk, taken in way of duty,
was the only risk present to this slow-witted laboring
man.

Placing one can under his right arm, and carrying the
other in his left hand, Macbride, with the rope in his
right hand, went cautiously about five yards when the
thought of what would happen if he should slip brought
him to a stand-still.

If he clutched the rope to save himself, the can
under his right arm would probably fall !

He fancied his son the engineman hearing the ex-
plosion and coming up from below to look for the pieces
of him, as he himself had looked for the pieces of
Bigras and Burns.

"I'll put one can down and come back for it,"
thought Macbride.

Slowly bending he put down the can in his left hand.
It had barely touched the ice when he doubted that it
would stand. Very cautiously he loosened his grasp.
The can instantly slipped.

He clutched for and seized it, but let go the rope,
slippied, and was flat on his back in a moment. By in-
stinct he hitched up both cans on his breast so that
neither experienced concussion. While falling he had
a flash of expectation that he would, next instant, be

lOO

JOHN MACBRIDE

blown to pieces. Stupefied with wonder and thankful-
ness at having come off so well, he lay on his back
tightly grasping the terrible cans.

His rough frieze pea-jacket held him from slipping.
After some reflection he shifted the cans to his lap and
attempted to sit up.

It is not easy to raise one' s self from lying flat on the
floor without the aid of one's hands, but after some
struggling the old man contrived to make use of his el-
bows and rose to a sitting position.

Then he found that his oiled canvas trousers had not
enough hold on the ice to keep him from sliding. He
slowly slipped down a foot before he stopped himself
by digging his iron-shod heels into the thick scale of ice.
Then he looked around.

From the deep gulf before him came faintly the click
of striking hammers, the ring of ball-drills, the rattle
of carts, the shouting of drivers, the puffing of the
pumping engine driven by his son. At that moment
the ** toots for glycerine " sounded again.

Macbride shouted in reply, but the wind blew so
fiercely into his face that he knew his call could not be
heard below. Above his head the rope hung, swa)dng
slightly. He could touch it with his right hand when
he shifted both cans to his left arm. But it sagged too
easily to give him much aid in rising. Nevertheless,
he was almost on his feet when he thought the cans
were slipping from his grasp.

JOHN MACBRIDE

lOI

To save them he threw his right hand across his '
body, slipped with the motion, and came down again.

Once more he saved himself, sat up, and wondered
what to do. It occurred to him that the cans might
stand on the ice beside him. But the sounds from the
thronged pit impressed him with a strong sense of what
would ensue if a can should sUp down. -

He thought, ** If I put down a can and try to seize
the rope it might start just when I'd let go, and I
mightn't be quick enough to grab it again." The full
horror of the situation was now upon his mind.

A panic came over him. It seemed to him he could
not hold the cans securely enough while sitting up, so he
lay back. Then he fancied the dreadful packages were
less firmly in his arms than before.

But he lay still. He was afraid to try to sit up, lest
in the effort he should drop a can, and be either in-
stantly killed himself, or suffer the anguish of seeing it
slide down to mangle men in heaps about his son.

The keen wind blew up Macbride's trouser-legs and
under his coat. It searched his body. He had begun
to suffer from the cold. Still he resolutely held the
cans on his stomach, clasping them with his forearms
crossed. He would freeze there, he said to himself,
rather than make another risky move.

At the thought that he might take off his boots, and
walk down the slope in his stocking feet, the old man
ventured to sit up again. It was not easy to rise. His

102

JOHN MACBRIDE

frieze coat had frozen to the ice a little. But he pulled
it loose with a wrench of his shoulders and sat up.

Then he found he could not pull off his boots with-
out the use of his hands, and he dared not attempt the
action lest a can should fall.

"I'm a dead man," he thought. "The men will
leave the pit by six at latest. But the pumping engine
runs till eight, and my Tom will be there till then. By
that I'll be a corpse — froze stiff. Well, the boys will
take care of the old woman. I'm doin' my duty, any-
how., God'U mind that."

This reflection gave the grim old laborer a sort of
pleasure. It revived his heart.

"Well, I ain't dead yet by a good bit," said he.
" Mebby God's on'y trying me. He's fetched me
clear till now, and I guess he will this time too, if I do
my best to help myself. "

So he set about thinking again.

Then it occurred to him that a can, if started fairly,
might be stopped by the tarpaulin on his platform. He
managed to get out his jack-knife and let it slide. The
knife stopped against the tarpaulin. But Macbride,
when he pondered what would happen if the can should
swerve aside on its way down, refused to submit the
three hundred and forty men to so fearful a risk. ^

"It's the devil that's tempting me," thought the old
man, "but I'll beat him, so I will." As he lay back
once more he placed his arms in a new posture.

JOHN MACBRIDE

103

** When I'm froze stiff lying this way the cans won't
move, that's sure," he said, with a satisfactory sense
that the devil, of whose personal existence he had no
doubt, would be defeated.

The sounds of work came merrily to him. He had
a slow fancy of the men trudging home to their suppers,
many thankful to be going to their wives and babies.
He thought of the women bustling about in the lamp-
light to feed their men. He thought of his rough
comrades, and their fumbling efforts to please the chil-
dren at home.

" It 'ud be a poor thing for me to save myself and
stop all that," thought Macbride, and the wholesome
sounds of men striking for their daily bread came still
more merrily from the chasm.

Suddenly Macbride began to laugh. But it was a
very cautious laugh. He chuckled and thought, and
chuckled again. Then he laughed at himself, for
doubting that his plan was all right.

**It's porridge I've got in my head to-day instead of
brains, ' ' said the old man as he sat up. * * What sense
is in me ? I'm nowt but an old fool."

With that he placed the iron heel of his right foot
about ten inches beyond his other heel, then he moved
for.vard his left heel in its turn, and in two minutes was
safely on his platform. Of course quick young readers
saw long ago that he could easily descend in this
manner. But Macbride was a very slow-witted man.

I04

JOHN MACDKIDE

■M-

He had been for an hour the prisoner of his own stu-
pidity, as many people are, in some fashion, for their
whole lives.

Nevertheless, I hold Macbride to have been a hero,
because he had resolved to die rather than make a mo-
tion that might have sent death down among those men.

" What did you do next ? " I asked, when he had at
great length told me the story of his feelings during that
bad hour.

"Well, sir, if you'll not give a whisper to the men
I'll tell you. I just kneeled down on me knees and
cried. There was me son and all the boys all safe
below, and meself as good as ever, and nobody a copper
worse. And to be so near doing so much harm, and
yet them to be all striking away like good felleys — sure
it was for joy I cried, so it was."

" Did you call to them ? "

"Naw — never a whisper till I seen time would be
saved by it. Then says I, * Hello. Look out for
glycerine.' If you'd 'a' seen 'em scatter !

" * Have you been sleeping, Mac,' yells the foreman.

" *Ay, and dreamin',' say I to myself, but I gev
him no answer, and there's nobody but yourself, sir,
knows the truth to this day. "

u-
!ir

0,
0-

n.
at
at

;n
id
fe
er
id
re

THE LOST "YVONNE"

STEAMER
'King Phil-
ip,' McDowell,
Liverpool, mdse.
and fifty-three
cabin passengers,
arrived at 7 p. m.
yesterday. Fine
weather, with
moderate westerly
winds throughout
passage. Reports picked up sixth day out canvas-cov-
ered canoe 'Yvonne,' built by Higgins & Co., Bos-
ton. Found a * sweater ' and silver Waltham watch,
No. 2,267,120, in 'Yvonne.' Owner supposed lost."
This is an extract from the shipping news published
by a Boston paper one morning last August. My
attention was called to it by a young man who sat
beside me on a train coming into town from Riverside.
He put his thumb on the place and handed me the
paper with an excited gesture. *

* * My canoe — my watch — my sweater ! " he said.

los

io6

THE LOST "YVONNE

*' Been afloat three weeks to-day. I must go down to
the * King Philip ' and claim my property. ' *

"Floated away by a rising tide from some place
where you had drawn the canoe up, I suppose," said I.

"No. Haven't you heard how I lost my canoe?
I've told so many people about it that I thought every-
body in West Newton knew. But I was forgetting ;
you're almost a stranger there. Well, the 'Yvonne',
was blown out to sea, and I with her."

"You don't say so ! How did you manage to get
ashore without her ? "

* ' That' s the story. I' 11 tell you all about it. There' s
time enough before we get to Boston. ' *

Three weeks ago to-day I got into the "Yvonne"
at Kennebunkportand paddled out beyond the pier to
sea. The weather was fine and the sea calm. There
wasn't a curl on the water, nothing but the long ocean
swell. Still I didn't feel quite comfortable out there.
Were you ever at sea in a canoe ? No ?

Well, perhaps you can imagine how the size of the
wpter affected me. I had never before been out in a
canoe on anything wider than the Charles betweeft
Riverside and Waltham. It wasn' t that I felt in danger
of capsizing or being unable to get back to land ; but
an oppressive sense of the enormous spread of the sea
grew on me as I knelt in my cockle-shell away out there,
with my head only three feet or so from the billows.

THE LOST "YVONNE

107

There was no island on the offing ; nothing but sea
and sky and gulls, except the red canoe of a young
Englishman named Albert Edward Jones, who had
gone out from Kennebunkport half an hour or so before
I did.

We called him ** Wales" Jones, and I must jay that
a more unsociable chap than he seemed I never came
across. I suspect now that nothing worse than shyness
was the matter with him.

All day long he was paddling, generally out at sea, and
certainly he was a wonderful hand in a canoe. Often
he would stay out in a wind that sent bigger surf
ashore than most of the bathers liked, and in he
would come, fairly slidiftg along on the crest of some
curling wave that would welter, around his canoe near
the pier so that you'd be sure he must go down before
reaching quiet water in the river.

I thought him foolhardy, though I could appreciate
his great skill with the paddle. Most of the summer
people regarded him as demented to run such risks.

Well, it was the wish to practise on big water and the
hope to pick up some of Wales' knack that took me
out into the open that day. I said to myself: "I'll
go out first in a calm, and afterward in a gentle breeze,
and after that in one not quite so gentle ; and if I don' t
get drowned, I'll gradually learn how to manage a canoe
like Wales."

But the sea is treacherous; you don't catch me

io8

THE LOST "YVONNE

fooling with it any more on the calculation that it will
stay just so.

As I withstood my nervous feeling it nearly dis- '
appeared, and I paddled out perhaps a mile. The
weather was perfectly clear ; there was just a breath of
air from the south at first. This died away after a
while ; the afternoon sun beat fiercely down, and yet I
sat so close to the cool water that I was not uncomfort-
ably hot.

I was paddling in "trunks," with my well-tanned
arms and shins bare. My sweater and my watch were
in the stern, for I knelt before the second thwart.

Instead of coming toward me, as any American fel-
low would have done on seeing me, Wales stood far-
ther out, and I could barely make out the gleam of
his red canoe through the heat spirals and the faint
mist that cling close to the sea on a hot, calm day.
When I became convinced that he either didn't see
me or wouldn't come in for a chat, I began to think of
turning back to shore.

In fact, I did return, but I still had plenty of day-
light ahead of me ; the shore seemed not more than a
mile away, and I just sat there without paddling and
let her swing on the billows.

I suppose I must have fallen into a sort of dream.
Though I did not sleep nor close my eyes, I wasn't
taking notice of anything. How long this lasted I can't
say, but I was suddenly roused by a faint shout from

THE LOST •* YVONNE'

109

seaward. At that I turned to see "Wales" Jones
coming in at a great pace.

His double-bladed paddle was going like the arms
of an old-fashioned windmill. He was within a quarter
of a mile or so of me, and I could make out that he
was down on one knee, with the other leg thrust out in
front of him — his favorite attitude for putting on all
steam.

I got it into my head that he was "hitting it up,'*
as he calls speeding, by way of showing me his superior
pace ; but pretty soon he rose up to his feet, pointed
to shore with his paddle, and shouted some words that
I couldn't make out.

There was no mistaking the gesture, though. I
looked ashore to see the sky blackening with the com-
ing of a squall.

Well, sir, in about one minute, I guess, there was
no shore to be seen. It had been blotted out. A
front of rain and wind came fairly shrieking over the
water. I knew there was no use trying to paddle or
control the * Yvonne ' ; the best thing I could do wasc
to lie down, and so give her my body for low ballast.

As I stretched myself out in the bottom, the squall
broke over me with a fury that passed almost as quickly
as it came. It was just as though some vast mouth had
opened, given one long, mighty puff, and closed again.

Little more sea had risen than would come on a
big pond with such a sudden gale. But where was

THE LOST " YVONNE

Wales ? I looked back as I turned toward shore. ; In
the distance I saw the squall racing away ; I was con-
fident that it had fled past where I had seen the Eng-
lishman, yet not a glimpse of his red canoe did I catch.

Before I had fairly searched the seaward horizon
the wind came up of which the squall had been a fore-
runner. It was not what you'd call a great wind, but
from the first I could feel that it was going to be a
steady and a rising wind. It blew straight from shore,
and I put in my paddle with wonder whether I had
strength to make head against it long enough to save
myself from being blown out to sea.

I was in good condition, for I had been paddling
on the Riverside reach six or eight miles almost every
day since April, but pretty soon I began to see that I
could not make the shore.

The wind was no gale, you understand, but it was dead
against me, and its pressure was as steady as a jack-
screw's. The ** Yvonne" is one of these ** girling"
canoes, made on the bark canoe model, and Jtoo high
in the sides and ends for work in wind. Perhaps you
know how hard it is to keep a canoe of that model
straight into the wind's eye?

Well then, you can fancy how she yawed — fell off
first to this side, and then when I corrected her, to the
other- — as her nose caught the wind on coming up over
wave after wave.

The sea was rising. It was not high, it was not yet

THE LOST ••YVONNE

III

dangerous. I was under no fear of capsizing or being
swamped ; my fear was only that I could not make
head against wave and wind. Not to do so meant
being blown out to sea.

I could, I soon saw, get through the water more
quickly by steering half across seas instead of dead
against them, but I was sure the * Yvonne ' drifted side-
wise when I gave her quarter at all to the breeze.
Those wide-bottomed canoes have no such hold on the
water as a Peterboro or a Rob Roy. Of course I could
gain nothing by running quickly at an angle to the
shore if I were drifting out from it at the same time, so
I doggedly stuck to my straight-at-the-wind paddling.

My one hope was that some yacht or catboat would
come to me before my strength went; but not a
vestige of canvas could I see except the sprit-sail of
some boat running to and fro in the river inside the
Kennebunkport pier. I could see many people ashore,
like puppets moving about, but I well knew that they
were so accustomed to the sight of Wales at sea that
they would never imagine me to be in danger in waves
much smaller than the Englishman played with.

Sea and wind gradually rose till I doubted whether
I was gaining an inch. Little white caps began to
break near me, and greater ones in the northern and
southern distances. If waves with formidable crests
arose I was sure they would pour over the * Yvonne's'
sides.

I 12

THE LOST "YVONNE

All the time I was thinking of the fate of Wales,
fancying how his body was drifting down and down far
behind me, and imagining the same ending for myself.
Twice I had turned to glance behind without making
out his low-sided red canoe, so I was the more con-
vinced she had been rolled upside down in the squall.

Hello t is this Brighton Station ? I shall have to
hurry up with the story. Well, I suppose I struggled
in that situation for three quarters of an hour without
gaining fifty yards. All the time the waves were comb-
ing up higher till the crests ran past me in a swirl of
bubbles. As the boys say, I thought my name was
Dennis ; and then I heard a distinct ' ' Ahoy, there ! ' '

I turned to the north to see Wales not more than
two hundred yards away. He was easily making head
against the sea though not running into the eye of the
wind, but half across seas. I never saw anything
prettier.

. Up he would climb lightly ; on the crest his bow
hovered in a boil of white water which he took always
on his quarter with a movement that seemed to tip his
canoe away from the crest ; then out would shoot the
red witch of a Peterboro till half her length seemed to
glisten clear of water, and down she went with the
careless sweep of a gull. But Wales was not making
toward me. His course was at an angle away from
mine, and from his peculiar swing it was plain that he
was in a state of high satisfaction.

THE LOST "YVONNE

>•

113

•* Ahoy, there ! " he shouted again.

•• Ahoy !" I answered.

"Are you all riglif ?"

•*No, all wrong."

"That so? Then I'll come to you."

With one stroke of his long paddle he turned to
the left in the trough, rose, taking the next crest on his
north quarter, and in a few minutes was close along-
side.

"Are you making headway?" he asked me. .

I told him I thought not.

"Let me see," said he, and kept even pace with
me for a minute.

"No, you're losing," he said. " I wondered why
I was overhauling you so fast. Of course she drifts if
you give the wind her quarter. It's a bad scrape.
Are you doing all you can ? "

" Every pound," I said.

" Well, what are you going to do about it ? "

"Nothing tc do. I might as well let her drift, but
for the shame of giving up so."

"Gammon," he said, and laughed.

I thought this rather heartless, but said nothing.

"I might get ashore and send out a catboat," he
said doubtfully.

"I wish to goodness you would then," I answered.

"But then no catboat might be ready. Or it
might miss you. No ; one of us must lose his canoe. ' '

114

THE LOST "YVONNE

■ t:

"That's pretty clear — and myself too," said I.

"Gammon ! The question is shall I get in with
you or you get in with me ? "

* * Gracious, you can' t change into my canoe in this
sea! And your canoe won't carry us both."

"She won't, eh?" he said, as if annoyed. '

I suppose my remark decided him, for he was

extremely proud of his canoe. Next instant he ran
her bow close alongside of the ' * Yvonne, ' ' and spoke
with an air of setthng the whole matter.

' * Now do exactly what I say. .When my canoe
touches the side of yours grab it and hold the two —
both rails, mind — hold them together. Then rise up
quickly, keep both hands on the two edges — the canoes
will steady one another that way — then step right into
my bow in front of the forward thwart. You under-

THE LOST "YVONNE

115

stand? All right then. The moment you're on
your knees in my canoe let yours go, and we'll daddle
this old sea yet ! " he concluded, with a queer burst of
exultation.

On going up the next crest I did exactly as he said.
The "Yvonne" took the curl on her quarter, and
sheltered his red canoe so perfectly that she didn't ship
a dipperful. As I knelt, Wales shifted back to his
canoe's stern and cried, " Let go ! "

Next instant we were rising up a wave. My Eng-
lishman was so clever that he somehow shouldered ofif
that crest without wetting me at all, and so we went
on up and down, up and down, every wave threaten-
ing to swamp us, and e\ ry crest thrust away as by a
sort of miracle.

After my nerves had got a little used to this sort
of thing — mind you, we hadn't more than six inches
of free board, and but for his dexterous tipping her
away from the crests any one of them would have
poured over — after I had begun to feel a bit easy, I
said :

' * Hang it all, I forgot my watch and sweater. ' '

"Well, I don't think we can turn back safely," he
said, as if he seriously thought of doing so.

' * Turn back ! Not for all the watches at Waltham
and all the sweaters in America," I said.

Well, we're almost at Huntington Avenue. There's
nothing more to tell, exce])t that we got into the lee of

i-^-

Ii6

THE LOST "YVONNE

the shore in half an hour, and landed all right. When
we did so I turned to Wales — I was pretty grateful,
you may be sure — and I said, holding out my hand :
"You've saved my life. I thank you from the bottom
of my heart. ' ' What do you suppose he answered ?

* * I can' t imagine. What was it ? "

Simply * * Gammon ! ' ' Then he went off alone to
his hotel, and 1' ve never seen him from that moment.

"DORINDA"

PLEASE give me a small vial of chloroform,
enough for a cat, ' ' said Mrs. Lister to the pro-
prietor of the pharmacy in East Newburg, a suburb of
Boston.

"That's the way to deal with cats," said he, turning
to his shelves for the anaesthetic. **It's just dreadful
how some of these poor things suffer when the families
go away for the summer ! "

** If I could take ours with me — but "

** All the way to Germany and back? Well, I guess
not, Mrs. Lister." ^

**My son couldn't be bothered with her. Henry's
going to take his holiday in California, you know. And
what does any young man care about a cat ? "

'*I think I see Henry Lister lugging a cat 'round
with him 'cross the continent!" said the druggist
with some derision. **But there's Mr. Lister." He
almost winked at the absurdity of this suggestion.

** My husband is going to lodge in Boston all summer
— he is so busy he can't get away at all. No, I must
give it chloroform ; there is no other way. I couldn't
bear to think of it prowling around without any home."

ii8

UORINDA

** Certainly not, Mrs. Lister, certainly not," said
the druggist, really wondering a little at the soft-hearted-
ness of Mrs. Lister, whose rdle was that of the strong-
minded woman.

It was nearly nine o'clock of an evening of late June,
when she left the pharmacy. As she walked up the
long hill of East Newburg with the chloroform in her
pocket, her heart was sore with sorrow for the cat and
herself Dorinda had been in the family for three years.
A sense of meditating something uncomfortably like
murder oppressed Mrs. laster. Yet no one, she was
sure, except herself, loved Dorinda enough to care
whether she starved in homelessness, fell a victim to
dogs, went wild in trying to live by bird-catching in the
chestnut woods about the Newburgs, perished by some
boy's gun, or died by her mistress' hand. But, oh,
the pity of it, that she must thus save Dorinda from the
woes of desertion ! • ,

It was not fairly her duty, thought Mrs. Lister. Her
husband or her son should have had forethought of this
dark deed and, in mercy to her, proposed to under-
take it. It could be no grief to them, both so impas-
sive and reserved. But she had never thought of ask-
ing either of them to do it ; that would be to confess
herself sentimental, and she prided herself on being a
firm character.

As she walked over her dewy lawn in the faint moon-
light, almost ready to forsake her European trip for

DOR IN DA

119

Dorinda'ssake, the doomed animal lay in her husband's
lap. He was sitting in the hammock swung on the
wide side-piazza, stroking Dorinda gently and looking
out over the trees that lay down the hill toward the
valley of the Charles River, its spaces i\poded with
vague moonshine and punctuated with electric lamps.

Mr. Lister had quite forgotten that he was stroking
the cat, for he was thinking, in an absent, heart-hungry
way, of the years when he and his wife had not yet
ceased from demonstrative affection for one another.
Though business usually so absorbed him, and the
* ' Woman' s Club ' ' so occupied her, how lonesome would
he find the long months alone in Boston lodgings, miles
away from this dear, familiar scene ! It seemed particu-
larly hard that his wife should have spent this last even-
ing before the summer break-up at church, where a
special meeting of the ' ' Ladies' General Culture Club ' '
was being held to receive her belated report on the appli-
cation of electricity to Mr. Edward Atkinson's cooker.
But Mr. Lister had never thought of asking her to fore-
go that duty.

As he heard his wife's steps on the gravel path, he
put Dorinda softly down on the piazza floor ; Elvira
would, of course, be contemptuous if she caught him
petting a cat. Dorinda trotted softly, tail up, to meet
her mistress. But Mrs. Lister could not bear to take
the cat up in her arms, the confidence of the creature
made her feel herself to be a treacherous hypocrite.

I20

DOR IN DA

It was SO difficult for her to keep back her tears that
her face, as she opened the wire front door and came
into the glare of the hall electric light, looked hard and
set to her husband, who hud risen and come around
the corner to greet her.

"Well, Elvira, how did the meeting gooff?" he
said, but she, not daring to trust herself to reply,
walked upstairs and turned into her study. Mr. Lister
went back to the hammock with a sigh. It was shock-
ing that his wife should have "woman's work" even
yet to do ; but that must be so, judging from the sharp
snick of her study door. .^ .

Dorinda had followed her mistress upstairs, and Mr.
Lister, hearing the cat meow, quite pitied the neglected
creature. He was too loyal to his wife to let his
thought that she was very hard-hearted formulate it-
self clearly. For a few minutes Dorinda stood meowing
outside the study door, while Mrs. Lister put the chloro-
form, with a gesture of loathing, into a closed box on
her pigeon-holed desk. As she listened to Dorinda' s
voice tl die was a look of pity and horror in her face
that would have amazed most of her emancipating
sisterhood.

"I want to come in, for I love you dearly," said the
long-drawn meows very plainly.

Mrs. Lister, putting her hands to her ears in a wild
way, looked desperately at two corded trunks, and a
t' ird one that lay open for the last things to be packed

DORINDA

121

■

in at break of day. When she took her hands from her
ears, she no longer heard the cat.

Dorinda, losing patience, had walked along the hall,
sidling with waving tail into the open door of a room
where sat a tall, sunburned youth studying the railway
map of California. Feeling the cat against his legs, he
stuck a black-headed pin into the map to mark his point,
stooped and lifted Dorinda to his lap, which the desk
concealed. Then, stroking Dorinda with his big brown
right hand, he resumed his study by aid of the left.

Half an hour later, when he heard his father coming
upstairs, Henry softly moved to be sure that Dorinda was
concealed, and peered into guide books so intently that
his father said never a word of good-night to disturb
him.

How this family of three people had come to such a
condition that no one of them had ever seen another
caressing Dorinda would be a long tale. True, they nat-
urally admired reserve, but the habit of suppressing
signs of affectionate emotion had grown to a degree
which would have shocked the father had he foreseen it
when his early preoccupation with business threw his
wife back upon herself. It h..d grown to a degree which
she had never forecast when she resolutely threw her
energies into ** woman's work."

Young Henry remembered with poignancy the days
when his father and mother — always separately — had
been wont to cuddle him, as a little boy. Now — for

122

DORINDA

youth is imitative and Harvard a forcing house of self-
sufficiency — he had grown into simulated as well as real
preoccupation, isolation, and self-dependence. They
lived, these three, on terms of undoubting good-will,
but never a kiss, nor a cordial, emotional expression,
nor a good cry together, comforted the hunger of their
hearts for demonstrative love.

It was very late that night when Mrs. Lister, with the
chloroform in her hand, softly opened the hall door of
her study and peered out, waiting for Dorinda to come.
Now she was nerved for the sad deed. She had de-
layed long, to be sure that her husband and son were
sleeping. But now she must do it ; in the morning
there would be no time for the tragedy and burial.
Mrs. Lister had a clear vision of the very spot in the
big flower-bed where she meant, with her garden spade,
to inter Dorinda' s piteous remains by the light of the
moon. V '

As she saw nothing of the cat, she cautiously opened
the door between her study and her bedroom There
lay her husband apparently asleep, really very wide
awake, for he had been long lying and looking out of the
open window at the valley and the lights of the Charles.
He was sorer at heart now, thinking how his wife main-
tained her isolation to the last moment before their
long parting. But he closed his eyes, fearing she should
suspect him of silly sentimentality, as she turned on a
small electric lamp and looked into his face.

DORINDA

123

** How can he be so callous as to sleep so in vit' • of
the morrow ? " thought she bitterly, smothering a sigh.

Peeping furtively at his wife as she looked for the cat,
Mr. Lister saw the chloroform vial and a sponge in her
hand.

**What can she be up to?" thought he; "and
what on earth is she looking for ? "

When she turned off the electric lamp, softly closed
her study door, struck a match, lit a wax candle, and
went downstairs, Mr. Lister quietly rose, opened the
door into the upper hall, and stood looking over the
balusters.

** Pussy; pussy, pussy," he could hear his wife whis-
pering. What could she want pussy for?

He heard her go through the drawing room, the
library, the dining room, still faintly whispering,
**Puss-sy, puss-sy." He heard her go out into the
kitchen parts, where she stayed long enough to have
searched every pantry and store room. Back she came,
whispering, "Pussy, pussy," more loudly, and down
into the cellar she went for quite a long visit. Then,
still whispering for Dorinda, she ascended, opened the
front doors, and went out upon the piazza, where her
husband now believed the cat must be.

He hastily half dressed himself, and went down-
stairs. The truth had flashed on him. She was about
to chloroform the cat ! With a strange, unusual pity
for his wife, whose weakness he suddenly surmised, and

124

DORINDA

anger at her project, he met her coming up the front
steps from her bewildered tour of the flower garden.

" What's the trouble, Elvira ? "

" I don't think 1 understand you, George."

"Well, 1 beg your pardon if I'm wrong, but I
thought you were looking for Dorinda. " \

"So I have been."

"Not to chloroform her, surely ! I see the bottle
in your hand."

"Yes," in a hard voice. "It's mere humanity to
save her from homelessness. "

"Humanity ! Why, Elvira, hadn't you better chloro-
form me ? You'd be cruel enough to leave me without
even the cat ! "

"Cruel to you — I don't understand you, George.
You are going to live in Boston."

"Well, can't there be any cruelty to any one living
in Boston ? You don't suppose I'm going wiihjut the
cat?"
- "You, George?"

"Yes; I'm fond of that cat," he said doggedly.
"Laugh at me if you Hke ; I am. She's all I shall
have when you and Henry go."

" Well, George Lister ! " She laid her left hand on
his arm, looked hard at him, and almost began to cry
in a way that quite shamed them both. But soon she
pulled herself together and spoke : ' * Well, George,
you certainly do amaze me. Why, I thought you just

DOR IN DA

125

hated Dorinda. I often thought how hard you were
when pussy would go rubbing against your chair or
your legs and you wouldn't ever stoop to pick her up, or
even caress her. " , .

"So did I." '

*'What?"

" I thought the same of you."

•* But I always took her up when you were not there
to feel like laughing at me. "

"So did I, when you weren't there, Elvira."

"So you were fond of Dorinda and didn't want me
to know it, George ? "

"Yes, I guess we've both been making a big mis-
take, Elvira."

"Why, George, didn't you ever suspect that I took
Dorinda as a kitten because I just had to have some-
thing that would let me pet it, after Henry got too
big?"

" Elvira — dear — " the man paused long. " Do you
remember the times when we were young together ? ' '
he whispered. , tt

"George — " he could scarcely hear her. "And
yet we've grown apart — you gradually got so busy."

* * Yes, Elvira, it was all my fault ; I see it now. ' '

" No, for I took up the 'Work,' " she said, shamed
by his magnanimity.

They went arm in arm to the hammock, and sat
there awhile afraid of their emotion.

126

DOR IN DA

"It's SO Strange," said Mrs. Lister in an eerie tone,
and with a slight shiver. '*lt seems almost as if she
had suspected what was in my mind, and had gone
away. ' •

•• It makes me feel superstitious too, Elvira. But
let's look around for her together."

So they searched the grounds in the moonlight with
recovered reserve, under the fear that some wakeful
neighbor might look out on them engaged in that piece
of strange sentimentalism. Then they searched the
cellar, the ground floor, the bedroom floor, all in vain.

"She can't be upstairs in the servants' floor," said
Mrs. Lister.

"No, I had her after the girls went to bed early,
for they have to be up before daylight to start you,
' Viry. Fact is, I was stroking Dorinda in my lap when
you came across the lawn. "

"You were, George? And you were ashamed to
let me know it ! "

"And you to pick her up when she ran to you.
Beats all how blind we've been about that cat. But
where can she be ? "

" Do you suppose she could be in Henry's room? "

"Oh, no. He'd be sure to drive her out. Henry
never even looks friendly at her. ' '

"But she might have gone in and curled up asleep
somewhere, so he didn't notice her."

" Well, maybe. Let's peep in." ^

nORlNDA

127

Mrs. Lister shaded her candle with one hand, while
her husband gently opened the door. On the bed,
nearly on his back, lay the young athlete, with only a
sheet over 1 ini in the warm June night. One strong
forearm, half-bared from the wrist, and sun-browned
with much boating, lay outstretched along the pillows.
Its corded muscles made a pillow for Dorinda. She had
curled herself on the arm as if satisfied that it would
never move to her hurt, and even yet she did not seem
disturbed.

As the parents approached the bed, on opposite
sides, Henry drew a short breath and half turned on
his side, but without changing the position of his right
arm. Still Dorinda, though she lifted her head and
looked at the in-comers, did not move. Instead, she
snuggled down and began to purr softly, seemingly
pleased to be seen on such good terms with the young
giant. The picture moved the parents deeply. Henry's
brown face wore the ineffable half-smile of his early boy-
hood. So he had looked often when his father let him
go to sleep in his arms before the fire. So he had looked
often, vaguely thought the mother, when she crooned
the song after lulling him. Now the purring of the cat
seemed to penetrate his dream with a sense of voiced
affection. And his father and mother felt sorely how
they had grown, during four or five years, to think of
him as really self-sufficient, impassive, hard-headed,
needing no clear expressions oi love.

128

DORINDA

Mrs. Lister reached out her hand and stroked the
cat. Still Henry did not waken. They were half
afraid to rouse him ; he would be so vexed at the dis-
covery of his chumming with Dorinda.

As Mrs. Lister touched the blue ribbon around the
cat's neck, she noticed that a long cord was tied to it,
and with much amazement, motioned to her husband
to behold that the cord was tied to the brass bedstead.
Just then Henry woke, and Mrs. Lister lifted the cat
in her arms. The youth sat up, clutching at the open
neck of his nightshirt, and staring with wonder at his
parents.

As he saw the cat in his mother's arms, a rush of
blood went over his brown face and white upper fore-
head. Then he looked sheepish. Then he looked
deeply offended. But he did not speak. His parents
hardly dared address him.

"You see, Henry, we were just looking around for
the cat, that's all," said Mrs. Lister awkwardly.

*' Yes, mother. Well, you've found her."

"Your mother feels sorry to be leaving the cat, you
see, Henry. She was going to chloroform her," said

Mr. Lister; "but I "

. "Well, I guess not ! " said Henry sharply. " Chlo-
roform Dorinda ! Why mother!"

* * I was afraid she would be homeless, Henry, and so
in mercy " /

" Homeless ! Not much. Why she's going "

. ■ \

DORINDA

129

1 1

** It's all right, Henry, after all," the mother hastily
interposed. ' * Your father' s going to keep her in Boston
with him. ' '

"In Boston? The idea! Why father couldn't;
she'd starve. How could father be bothered? I'm
going to take Dorinda with me. "

•'You, Henry — to California and back? How could
you possibly do it ? "

"Why, in a covered basket, of course. That's why
I tied her up, don't you see, for fear she'd go away
somewhere in the morning so I couldn't find her. You
couldn't expect father to worry himself taking c?.re of a
cat, mother."

' * But father wants to, Henry. That was his plan
before he knew mine."

Henry looked at his father with staring wonder.

"It's so, Henry," said Mr. Lister defensively.
"Why, hang it all, what are you surprised about?
S'pose I'm not fond of the cat? Why, she'll be the
only home thing I shall have. I've got to have her,
don't you understand? " ,

Henry held out one big hand to his father and the
other to his mother. Without a word the two sat down
on opposite sides of the bed and looked into a face they
had not seen so happily moved for five or six years.
The mother, holding the cat out in her hands, pushed
its head affectionately against Henry's brown neck.
Then she leaned forward and kissed him, while the

I30

DORINDA

father held Henry's hand tightly in both his and said
nothing.

"Well, father," said Henry after a long pause, **of
course a fellow knows his father is just as good and kind,
you know — and everything — letting a fellow go to Cali-
fornia and all that ; but — ^why, I never thought you
would miss us that way", father, and Dorinda too. ' '

Perhaps they could not have talked in daylight nor
by electric light as they proceeded to do ; but by the
dim light of the candle they could whisper from their
hearts. All this time Dorinda purred loudly in the
short pauses, and often the hands met in stroking her.

' ' We' ve all been too reserved ; I have been freezing
with it," said Mrs. Lister near the last.

"And we are going to separate just as we find our-
selves warm again," said the husband.
< " Say we don't," said Henry. " I don't care a cent
about old California. Only I thought father didn't
wish — oh, I say, father, let's — you and I — go down
to the beach. You can run up and down every day —
Marblehead, or Beverly, or somewhere or 'nother.
Then we'll be together with Dorinda. And mother
needn' t stay away all the fall. ' '

" I wish I need not go," said Mrs. Lister. " I don't
want to now. I wish the company would take back my
ticket."

*' Elvira, would you stay? What do I care about a
hundred dollars or so ? Pooh ! Let it go if the com-

'';'!r>--.

?r.

':f:

4 (■

DORINDA

131

pany won't take the ticket. Why, Henry's going to
stay too ! We'll take a place at Nahant. Well, if we
don't have the jolliest old summer ! "

* ' Oh, you blessed Dorinda ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Lister,
pressing the cat to her heart.

**Itwas the cat," cried Henry, sing-song ; "it was
the cat, the blessed, blessed cat. * '

: a

n- V

OVER THE FALLS

To cross the Niagara River, opposite the Canadian
village of Chippewa, in a skiff for the first time,
is an experience one does not lightly forget.

The falls, two miles down stream, seem much nearer.
The great width of the river tends to shrink their ap-
parent distance ; the persistent roar of the cataract,
forcing one's voice to strong effort in speaking, appears
to originate very close by.

Having arrived at Chippewa one June evening, by
mistake twenty-four hours sooner than my business re-
quired, I determined to treat myself to a day's trolling,
and with this object, engaged the help of Charley
Pelton, a fine, clear-eyed, handsome, powerful man of
about thirty, who was recommended to me as the best
boatman in the place.

Bright and early next morning we shot away from his

boat-house under the Chippewa bridge, down the

dirty, sluggish Chippewa Creek perhaps a third of a

mile, to the junction of its dull gray water with the clear

green Niagara tide. Here were two channels leading

to the main river around an island that Pelton called

"The Hog's-back."
132

OVER THE FALLS

133

•vt

The lower channel was, he said, the natural mouth of
the creek; the upper channel, or **gap," had been
cut to accomodace tugs and barges which had once plied
regularly, between Buffalo and the tumble-down Cana-
dian hamlet. As we went out of the gap, I noticed the
strong pull of the current, which broke in " riffles"
along the outer edge of the ** Hog's-back."

* ' It must have been pretty hard for a tug to take a
long tow in here," I remarked.

* * You may well say that, ' ' he answered. * * This
was an exciting point. I've seen "

I thought he was going to tell a story, but here the
work occupied all his breath and attention. He took
me from current to eddy, and from eddy to current,
up the Canadian shore a mile or more, and then shot
by a neat diagonal easily across to Navy Island.
■ During the morning, Pelton showed me very fair
sport, and after luncheon on Navy Island, we were in
excellent humor for a confidential talk. So we fell into
a long chat about the dangers of the river, which he
concluded with this story : . 1 •

■f

Yes, I've got some cause to tremble when I look at
that cloud of spray and listen to that roar, for I was
through them rapids once ! No, not over the Falls, of
course ! It's not likely I'd 'a' been here to tell, if I'd
gone over. But I was ' most over, and I saw him that I
lov5d best in the world swept away to destruction. But

134

OVER THE FALI^

',(•'

I'd better begin at the beginning. I ain't used to
telling the story ; I don' t know as I ever did tell it
right through either, because I never talked about it
to a stranger afore.

They told you, I was the best boatman round here,
did they ? Well, if you had asked them six years ago,
they'd have told you my brother Frank was. And
they'd have told you the truth. He was six years
younger than me, and I was only twenty-five then, but
he was far the best man.

My ! I was fond of that boy — and proud ! You
see I had give him his lessons in 'most every kind of
manliness that he could do. I mind taking him in
swimming when he wasn' t more than a toddling baby,
and me not much bigger, seems now. Rowing — I
can't mind when my hands weren't used to oars, but
I mind well enough teaching him when he wasn't more
than four years old. What a brave baby he was, never
hanging back, but always trying to do just what he was
showed ! How quick he got to be handy all round !
And what a kind chap ! Say, I could go right on all
day talking about that little boy.

One day, toward evening, me and Frank was stand-
ing on the bridge of the creek, fly-fishing for silver
bass, when up come the whistle of a tug from the river.

** That's the * Mixer,* " says Frank, looking pleased.
"She's got back soon. Mother' 11 be glad."

You see, mother and Sally and Jane Rolston had

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OVER THE FALLS

135

went up to Buffalo a couple of days before, and they was
to come back with one of the " Mixer's" barges, the
" Mary Starbuck," of Chippewa. Old man Rolston was
the skipper of that scow, and his daughter Kitty done
the cooking for him and his two hands. He'd agreed
to give up his whole cabin to mother and the girls on
the way down, if they liked, and him and the men
would go aboard one of the other barges.

**It's the 'Mixer,' sure enough," says I, **just
coming into the gap. But what on earth is she whistling
so loNgiox}'' '

"There must be something wrong ! " says Frank.

Without another word, we dropped our poles, ran
down under the bridge to where the boats was, and
jumped into a skiff just about the size of that there.
We pulled for the gap, and pretty soon we could see
the "Mixer" coming in, seemingly all right, but still
whistling. We couldn't see what there was behind her,
as she hid the scows some, and the front scows hid
them behind.

As we came racing along, old Capt. Dolby dropped
his pull on the whistle and run out to the " Mixer's"
bow.

"Quick ! " he called. "Go down the old channel
and save 'em ! "

'Who?" I cried back. - .

"The * Mary Starbuck' s' broke loose ! " he roared.

' ' Is mother on board ? " we asked.

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136

OVER THE FALLS

** Yes. Oh, boys, hurry up ! "

Maybe you can understand how that boat began
to travel. We knowed mother and Sally was drifting
down outside the '* Hog's-back," straight for Niagara
Falls! '

There was a bunch of people standing together on
the "Starbuck." When they saw us, they separated
a little and threw up their hands beckoning. Then I
saw they was four women. I had clean forgot all but
mother and Sally !

Frank turned his head too, and gave a great gasp
as he took in the situation. We could not possibly
take more than three of them on the skiff! There
would be big risk in taking more than two by the time
we could reach her. To get ashore would need all our
strength and wind. We stopped rowing a stroke,
thinking of going back for a bigger boat. But what
was the use? Before we could work back to the
bridge, the **Starbuck" would be over the falls.
Some one had ought to be saved ; so we put in big
strokes again.

Before we reached the * * Mary Starbuck, ' ' she had
got into very swift water ; it was smooth, though, for
some distance lower. The women were all quiet, except
Kitty Rolston ; she was crying and laughing and shriek-
ing by turns — hystericky.

'* I knew you'd come, boys," said mother, trembling,
but looking brave enough. She was a pretty heavy

I ■-.■

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OVER THE FALLS

137

woman. Frank helped her down into the stern of the
skiff. Now the **Starb<ick" had swung round, and
we were on her down-stream side.

"Quick, Sally!" said I.

But Kitty Rolston pushed Sally back. Jane made no
move. She was kneeling down and praying. I guess
she saw at the start that they couldn't all be saved.
How well I mind her white face — something like an
angel' s it was then — and her voice so sweet and steady !

** O Lord, deliver them ! " she was saying over and
over again.

I held Kitty back. "Quick, Sally!" I said again.

"Why not let Kitty in first?" said Sally, hanging
back.

"We can't take more than two," I told her.

"Yes, we can," says Frank ; "we can take three.
Jane!"

"Take Kitty," said Jane. "I will stay till you
come back."

" We can' t come back, " said Frank.

"Take Kitty," said Jane again. ; ;

There wasn't any time to argue. All this passed
in half a minute. Kitty got into the skiff ; then Sally.
The gunwale was down within three inches of the water
then. I didn' t think any of us would get ashore.

" Leave go ! " I shouted to Frank. Such an agony
as there was in that boy' s face ! He held out his arms
to Jane. She came forward swiftly and kissed him.

138

OVER THE FALLS

**The good T.ord have thee in his holy keeping,"
she said. I'hen he gave an awful groan and I shoved

I tell you, it was a terrible thing to leave that girl !
Seemed as if we had ought all to stay. Seemed, some-
how, as if we were forsaking her cowardly. But we
had sense enough to know it was right. She dropped
down on her knees again and crossed her arms over
her breast and bowed her head.

I looked at mother. She was clutching the gun-
wale and looking dreadfully white and scared now.
Sally held her arm round Kitty Rolston.

Down where we were then the rapids seemed to
crash and yell and hold up white arms for us. There
was a long, smooth fall and rise like a very easy billow
getting into the water as we made for shore. It was a
terror how close the big breakers seemed.

Frank pulled the mightiest stroke then that ever a
man pulled. Every time he came back his oars bent
like a bow, but we had made them ourselves and could
trust them. I guess his eyes were never taken off Jane
kneeling there on the * ' Mary Starbuck. " • *

I looked at her pretty often too, when I wasn't
looking at the white face of mother. Mother was pray-
ing too. "O Lord God, save and deliver them!"
She had taken the words of Jane's prayer, and didn't
seem, no more than Jane, to be thinking about her
own danger.

/ '■'^

OVER THE FALLS

139

In a little while I seemed to hear a yell and looked
up the river. There was a skiff with the Piniger boys
in it — good men they were too, but they were row-
ing ashore. .

"Go out and save her, you cowards!" screamed
Frank; but they didn't dare to.

When we touched the shore there were twenty or
thirty people standing on the high bank. They gave
a tremendous cheer and hurried to help out mother and
the girls. Kitty Rolston fainted dead away, and mother
couldn't stand. I was all of a tremble myself, now
that the danger was over. But it wasn't over.

I was just stepping ashore when Frank said, " Hurry
up ! shove her out ! "

' * What do you mean ! " I asked.

"I'm going to save Jane," says he wildly.

* ' Save Jane ! ' ' says I. " Look where the * Starbuck '
is!"

She was over the second big pitch, more than
quarter of a mile out. There wasn't the ghost of a
hope to save Jane. But the boy was crazy, I suppose,
with sorrow for her.

"I can reach her," he cried, "and run ashore on
some of the islands. "

"You're crazy !" said I, stepping out, never think-
ing he would really try it. He shoved off. I jumped
in after him — somehow I couldn't bear to have the boy
go alone.

140

OVER THE FALLS

• k

Looking away over the trampling breakers, 1 could
now and again see the "Mary Starbuck" tossed and
tumbled and flung. Sometimes she would seem to
leave the water entirely, and then again she would sink
out of sight. How she lived so long I cannot tell.
Always Jane knelt, I could see that. I wonder she
could keep her senses in the midst of the shrieking and
roaring of them cataracts.

We were now right above Cooper's Island, not two
hundred yards distant. There was a third and a
mightier plunge just before us. Down we went, down,
down, till I thought we would never stop falling ; then
we struck, and the boat was smashed up right there.

The next instant I was fighting to keep my head
free from white, foamy crests. I got a glimpse of Frank
a few feet away. Even in that wild rush he seemed
to be striking out for the ** Mary Starbuck." But the
torrent tossed him along like a chip.

In less time than it takes to tell it, we were at the
divide of the current close to the end of Cooper's
Island. By some extraordinary luck we both struck
straight through where it forked, and found ourselves
in shallow water. I waded ashore and was saved.

But Frank ! Of course he was crazy ! He ran
along the outer shore of the island, stumbling over
rocks and fallen tree-trunks, all the time keeping his
eyes fixed on the "Mary Starbuck," which was now
plunging up and down, a couple of hundred yards

OVER THE FALLS

141

below him. All the time he kept calling, "Jane!
Jane!"

I followed as I could.

Of course Jane could not have heard him above
the terrible turmoil of the river, but in a little while she
looked up, saw him, and started to her feet. He had
at that moment stopped at the foot of the island.
Suddenly she stretched out her arms toward him.

He looked once at the roarers before him and again
at her reaching arms. Then without further hesitation,
he leaped away out into the current and struck out
toward the tremendous waves between him and the
girl. Jane at that instant threw up her arms with such
a motion as I never saw, and fell down like dead on
the deck. Next moment a wilder wave rolled tumbling,
up over the craft, and she fell to pieces like a thing of
shingles. I looked then for Frank. He had disap-
peared.

I never saw him again, nor a trace of either of them.
Their bodies could never be found, though we had the
river watched below the falls for many a day.

A HEROINE OF NORMAN'S WOE

ONE windy afternoon of August, two years ago, an
observant passenger on the steamer from Boston
to Gloucester, who was scanning Briar Island with a
field-glass, became interested in two young men ashore.
One carried the other on his back. No other figures
could be seen on Briar Island. A small tent was
pitched on the island's summit.

The head of the carried youth hung on his own right
shoulder ; from his legs' limpness he seemed dead, or
paralyzed. His arms were grasped in front of the
burden-bearer's chest. The backs of both were toward
the steamer.

That the carried youth had fallen from some pinnacle
of the little island's rough eastern shore was the first sur-
mise of ray informant, the observant passenger. He did
not readily suspect that the conqueror in a fight was car-
rying his victim's body up-hill in the broad light of day.

Clearly the burden-bearer was strong, for he ascended
the declivity with steady strides, bore his load into the
tent, and was lost to sight. It then struck my inform-
ant as strange that the young man did not hasten

out to signal the steamer for aid.
142

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A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

143

My informant is a typical Boston man, deliberate,
reticent, averse to committing himself, disliking " fuss,"
unwilling to appear conspicuous. He thought of ask-
ing the captain to send a boat ashore ; but he seldom
- speaks to any one without an introduction. Yet he
began to fear that he might become exdted enough to
do so when he saw the strong youth come out of the
tent, gaze straight at the steamer, and still wave no
handkerchief nor make any such appeal.

My friend was sure he would, in such a case, commit
himself so far as to hail the nearest craft. But what if
that craft were a mile distant and rapidly moving away ?
,, My informant began to wonder if a crime had been
committed on that rock, and the more he watched it
fade away, the more he feared this was the one reason-
able explanation. The youth, momentarily growing
dimmer to my friend's view, went back to the tent's
opening, peered in, stood half a minute as if held by
what he saw, turned, straightened up, and looked
around over Massachusetts Bay.

Whitecaps lifted in all directions except under the
island's lee. The wind was rising. The steamer rolled
considerably in running across seas. Nearly all small
sail in sight were making for the nearest ports. Large
craft stood far out, with little canvas. Some dories of
fishermen were tossing wildly at anchor, but more were
seeking shelter.

The observant passenger saw the youth stoop sud-

144

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

denly, pick something up and run, apparently with an
oar in hand, down the steep of the island's lee. There
he disappeared.

Two minutes later some tiny yellow craft shot forth
from that lee shore toward the open bay. The little
vessel was scarcely visible from the receding steamer. It
pointed almost straight against the wind. My informant
recognized it as a canoe, for he could see the gleam of
the double paddle. Who, except one afraid of his fellow-
men ashore, would, thought my informant, face such
weather in a canoe, as if to get out to sea beyond Cape
Ann, where he might chance to be picked up by some
outgoing vessel, beyond reach by telegram or detect-
ives?

The Boston passenger then confided his suspicions to
the Boston captain, who looked impassive and said
nothing. Feeling that he had ''slopped over" in
vain, the Boston passenger went below to a secluded
nook, avoiding the eye of man. But when he reached
Gloucester he reported all, conscientiously, to the chief
of police, who said, ** He guessed he'd see 'bout it if it
wasn't all right."

The wind rose to a gale that afternoon. Next morn-
ing, when my informant returned by the same steamer,
the sea was like a mill-pond, except for the porpoises
trying to stand on their heads. On Briar Island the
tent siill stood. My informant was convinced that a
murdered body lay within it, and now disclosed himself

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

145

to the captain as a stockholder in the line. So a boat
was sent ashore with the captain and his passenger.

In the tent they found some cooking utensils, a gun-
case lettered **G. B.," a jointed fishing-rod, some
tackle, an air mattress, and two blankets soaked with
blood.

My informant was beginning to lake full notes when
the captain insisted on hurrying away. It was none of
his business, anyhow, he said. He couldn't lose time
to mix himself up with any case in court. So the ob-
servant passenger was compelled to hasten aboard, con-
soling himself that his sagacity had been vindicated.

The adventure gave him a keen, unusual sense of

[ (^ing alive. What he did on reaching Boston need not

, i'jcorded, because the meaning of what he had seen

may be best learned from the narrative of Skipper Min-

cheever, of Beverly.

Almost any day in summer you may see the white
catboat, ''Minnie Mincheever," at anchor before
Beverly, unless her skipper, Absalom Mincheever, has
gone forth on some cruise. In summer he hires, boat
and skipper, to chance comers. During fall and spring
he uses the ** Minnie" — named for his young sister —
as a fishing-boat. The fishing in stormy months keeps
Absalom in practice for sudden perils of that terrible
coast, and maintains in him that nerve which is as re-
markable as his volubility.

Of his adventures he loves to talk, though many are

146

A HEROINE OF NORMAN's WOE

scarcely important enough to warrant the detail in which
he imparts them. But small or great, he tumbles them
out almost incessantly, as some landmark brings them to
his memory. Thus, on my first trip with him last sum-
mer, he poured forth this tale of Norman's Woe :

**Now there's Norman's Woe," he began, waving
his free hand toward a brown mound of rock that
seemed part of the North Shore near the entrance to
Gloucester Bay. * ' Once I had a tight pinch right
there. The wind was a living gale, and "

** Norman's Woe? " I interrupted.

"Yes, certainly. As I was saying, there was more
than half a gale ' '

" Do you mean to say there's a real Norman's Woe,
the very Norman's Woe where Longfellow's schooner
* Hesperus ' was wrecked ? "

"Looks real enough, don't it? But none of the
Longfeilows 'long this coast lost no schooner, so fur's I
know. Abe's no sailor, nor yet Hiram, and Pete, him
that lives back of Mingo's beach — ^why, Pete "

" And that is really Norman's Woe ! " I exclaimed.
"Well, of the millions who have learned the ballad at
school, how few imagine it refers to a real reef ! It's
peaceful enough to-day. I say, skipper, won' t you run
in and give me a good look at it ? "

"Certainly! Certainly 1 " said Absalom, and put
the " Minnie " about almost as easily as a bird turns.

Close past a buoy bearing a fogbell we ran in. Now

A HEROINE OF NORMAN's WOE

it was silent. And this was the bell that knelled in the
ears of the * ' Hesperus' ' ' skipper as he looked on his
little daughter bound to the mast and steered for the
open sea !

Absalom's eyes fell on the fog-bell. He shouted,
shaking his fist at it, and kept on talking till he had
ended his tale : —

How that bell did clank ! You hain' t got no idea of
what that coast is with a gale from sea. The Woe was
all a smother of breakers clear up, for the tide was high.
The rollers looked like they'd roar over into the cove
behind.

Well, sir, my sister and me — it's her I named this
boat for — had been out north yonder fishing, for she
was on her holidays, and me engaged with no party for
the day, and she'd been teachin' schoolall spring and
winter. As the wind kept rising, we ran for Gloucester
Bay. It was in August, just about this time too ; but
the blow was fit for October, only warmer. And as we
staggered round the point yonder, what should we see
but a canoe.

A dory could scarce live in such a sea, but there
was that young chap in about here. He was rising free,
paddling straight into the face of the waves, flung up
till you could see half his keel — then he'd slide out of
sight down the trough so you'd think he'd never come
up again.

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148

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

**An open canoe?" says you? Great skeesicks !
do you s' pose any open canoe could 'a' lived there?
No ; she was divided into bulkheads and decked tight
— so I learned after all was done. No sinking her, and
he was too smart to let her be rolled over. The danger
was that she'd be blown ashore and smashed to kindling,
and the life pounded out of him on Norman's Woe. It
turned out he'd come in a rising sea clear away from
Briar Island, and now his strength was peterin' out just
in front of the Woe.

All his work was to keep off the rock till he'd
get a chance to run foi: yon gravelly beach, in nearer
Gloucester. But 'twas no go; the reef was bound to
have him ; the gale was more against him every minute,
and so the tide was too.

When I catched sight of that canoe I wasn't noways
pleased. There was Round Rock Shoal and Dog Bar
for the * * Minnie Mincheever ' * to get past to anchor
safely.

I was wet and hungry and mad, and my sister was
crosser'n me. for she'd wanted me to start in an hour
earlier. Scared ? Geewhitaker 1 No ! She can sail
a boat with any man on this coast.

What made her 'n me mad was to see the Woe
would get that canoe in ten minutes if we didn't.
There wasn't another rag of sail out but our'n. I
couldn't think what had possessed the man to be canoe-
ing in such weather. He'd 'a' drifted ashore in two

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

149

minutes if he gave the wind his broadside and tried to
run past the Woe. All he could do was paddle straight
at the wind ; and yet he wasn't half holding his own.

No arms could 'a' made head against that gale and
tide and sea together ; he was just working for a few
minutes more of life at best.

Well, sir, "va" ' ping to risk my boat trying to pick
up a crazy >-ang .p? It would bt a desperate risk.
'I'here might be room for us where he was, and then
there mightn't. I was treble-reefed — not sail enough
to get round half-lively. I couldn't seem to feel we'd
any clear call in there ; but it hurt my feelings terrible
to let him be lost right under my eyes.

I was holding right on for Gloucester when my
sister catched sight of the canoe — she'd been watching
out the other side. Nothing would do her but we
should try the rescue. Her eyes was blazing ; all is,
we were about in two shakes, and running about sou' west
to get sea room before we'd come about and make
straight for that canoe.

Our plan was to run to the stranger, we flying
right along the length of Norman's Woe. Before we
was too near we'd know if there was a chance of going
close enough to take him off and yet saving ourselves.
But when we went about out yonder I saw plain that
we'd be within a hundred yards of the rock before we

could reach him. '"

If we could snatch him off in passing we might get

ISO

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

clear, but to come into the wind then, or slacken at all,
looked like sure death ; we'd be pounding on the Woe
before we could get a new move on. And it looked
two chances to one we'd be blown on the east end of
the reef if we even went near him.

* * We can' t do it, ' ' says I.

< ' We got to ! " says Minnie, stamping her foot ; and
was I to be scairt out where a gal didn' t blench ?

**Say your prayers, sis," says I j and in we went,
flying half-across the trough.

I could trust the boat agin capsizin' , but her bows
would fly wide when she rose, if a hand quick as mine
wasn't at the wheel. One of us must stand by to throw
the man a rope. My sister could steer as well as me ;
so I gave her the wheel and got a rope ready. I guess
the clank of that bell was soundin' like doom to that
young feller, but he kept paddling, steady and cool.
His face was set as a stone, and every wave flung crests
onto it. -. . ;. : v ^

When we were within fifty yards of him I saw there
was mighty little use throwing the rope. Most likely he' d
miss it. If he dropped his paddle to grab it the wind
would throw his bow right round and maybe roll him
over. If he did catch on, we'd jerk him overboard
and lose time trying to fetch him in, and be poundin'
on the reef ourselves.

There was just one chance to get him aboard, but
to take it was desperate. It was to go half round on

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

J5I

the wind, run close alongside him, give him a chance to
jump for our rail, keep our speed right along, wheel
sharp and get back on our course along shore. But
there was the Woe so close that I could hear clearly a
sort of rumbling like boulders grinding in the waves —
and was we to point for that death ?

No, sir, I didn't dare ; and i my sister flinched
too. She kept the course, J and we was going
to fly past his bow. It was v-^^, shooting out so

high it looked most as if it would be aboard us if we
were in the trough when it next came down. Well,
sir, we wasn't three lengths of this boat from that chap
when he opened out with a roar like a fog-horn :

"You — can't — do — it ! Thank — you — for— trying.
Tell — a — doctor — to — go — instantly — to — Briar — Is-
land. There' s — a — man — there — with — broken — legs.
I — was — agoing — for a doctor. ' '

Do you see that? (Here Absalom, swung his free

152

A HEROINE OF NORMAN S WOE

arm, with a curved elbow, out from his side and
iiround to his front horizontally.) Before the words
were out of his lips, that's what this boat did. I thought
my sister' d gone clean crazy. She went round on the
wind ; it was like making a scoop at the canoe. The
" Minnie" jerked straight up on an even keel for two
seconds. I thought she was going to jibe ; but in them
two seconds our quarter had knocked up against the
canoe, and the young chap reached for our rail.

I didn't even look to see what became of him.
My eyes were on Norman's Woe. We seemed right on
it, sure. Lord ! the trampling of them breakers ! I
jumped to my sister's side. We jammed the wheel
down together. Thank God it was a cat-boat under us !
Back we were on our course again almost before the
young chap could pick himself up from before our feet.

Don't tell me there ain't no miracles these days !
Saving him was one ; getting clear of the Woe ourselves
was the other. Some might say the wind slanted a bit
favorable just then, being sort of eddied round the Woe.
But that's the way with miracles. He works so's you
can believe nature did it; or, if your heart's simpler,
you can just believe it's Him.

Anyhow that sudden slant of wind let us bear up
as much as four or five points more east, and fetched
us barely clear of the Woe before we had to fall off
again. But then we had plenty of room to work up
into the bay.

A HEROINE OF NOKMAN S WOE

'53

The young chap said mighty little but, "Thank you
for my life. ' ' His name was George Bowles ; a Boston
boy. But women is curious creatures. My sister
burst out crying and left the wheel to me, and flung
herself down into the cabin and lay there sobbing like
her heart would break. To think she was so near for-
saking him ! says she.

Well, sir, seen enough of Norman's Woe? We'll
go about then to clear Eastern Point.

What became of the chap with his legs broken?
Why, we ran up with a tug two hours later and
fetched him to hospital. Terrible bad break one leg
was — bone came through the skin — and the doctor said
he'd have bled to death if it wasn't for the way young
Bowles had tied up the leg before he left, so's to stop
the circulation.

Now you see Dog Bar yonder. Well, once I was
ashore there.

Then skipper Mincheever launched into new tales. .

IN A CANOE

IN the summer of 1869, I left Thunder Bay with a
party of engineers commissioned by the Canadian
government to examine a chain of lakes lying between
Lake Superior and Lake Winnipeg.

Carte blanche as to equipment had been given to our
chief engineer, Mr. Lydgely, and perhaps no survey-
ing outfit was ever much more luxurious than ours.
Not to mention tents of all sorts and sizes, blankets in
great plenty, and the ordinary rations of pork, flour,
and tea, we had kegs of syrup, barrels of sugar, firkins
of butter, and no less than one hundred and forty-four
dozens of canned stuflF, mainly salmon, lobsters, and
sardines.

"For lunch," explained Lydgely, when old Pell, the
weather-beaten second in command, inquired, "What's
this here tinware for?"

"Lunch!" roared Pell. "Lunch! Well, I am
done!" Then, with a fine affectation of sorrow, he
went on, "By gracious, I'm in a fix — didn't bring a
dress-suit for dinner ! And I've forgot my napkin-
ring ! Boys," to us chain-bearers, "I hope you've got
hair oil and blackin' for three months."
154

..i.

•%,

IN A CANOE

»55

Notwithstanding which sarcasms, I never observed
that Pell shrank from the contents of the "tinware"
or from the sweets. "It's a man's duty to get such
disgraceful stuff out of the way, somehow," he used to
say.

I have mentioned the extravagance of our equip-
ment, because it indirectly caused the adventure I am
about to relate. The party was an unusually large one,
consisting of four engineers, fifteen rod-men and chain-
bearers, and about fifty Ojibway Inaians, from the
Kaministiquia River. Our traveling was done in i^reat
"northwest canoes" of bark, each froni forty \j fifty
feet long, which carried our enormous supplies easily in
addition to their crews.

Large the supplies needed to be, for the apoeti e of
our Ojibways was almost incredible. Three pounds of
pork a day to each man were but as grease for his con-
sumption of flour and hard-tack. They hankered after
the special flesh-pots of the whites, also. A favorite
amusement of Lydgely's was to bestow a pound or so
of butter, a box of sardines, or a pint pannikin of syrup
on each of the nearest Indians, when he entered the
commissary's tent for " refreshmenL / " as he too often
did.

To bolt the butter au naturel^ to take down the sar-
dines with their oil at a few .?;ulps, to drink off the
syrup like water, diverted the Ojibways not less than
the performance did Lydgely. Hence a considerable

156

IN A CANOE

group usually managed to be near the commissary's
tent when the chief engineer thirsted.

One consequence of his habits was that, within a
month, the good things provided for the whites had
largely gone to comfort the reds, who had engaged to
live on pork, flour, tea, and what fish they could catch.
At the same time their gorgings had so reduced the
staple supplies, that it became necessary to put them
on stated rations or send a hundred miles down rush-
ing rivers to Fort William for more food.

Not to delay operations, Lydgely yielded to Pell's
advice, and put the Indians on an allowance of two
pounds of pork, and as much flour per day to each
man. Pampered as they had been this ration seemed
to them sadly meagre, and, on the second morning of
its issue, there was trouble in camp.

Hamel, our French Canadian commissariat officer,
gave out the food at daylight. At half-past six, when
Lydgely called ''canoes," as was usual at the beginning
of the day's work, the Indians did not budge. The
chief engineer roared at them again, but still they made
no move. Pell went to discover the reason why they
were disobedient.

"Nossin for eat," said their spokesman, called by
us *' Kaministiquia Jim." They had devoured the
whole ration for breakfast, and were, therefore, doomed
to go without more for twenty-four hours, which were
to begin with a hard day's paddling.

IN A CANOE

157

** They've eaten all their grub," called Pell. - '

* * The beasts ! ' ' roared Lydgely, whose temper was
very reprehensible, and strode toward the Ojibways in
a rage.

They bunched up together. * ' Kaministiquia " or
"Big Jim" stood out before the others. He was a
very bad Indian, ** having associated too much with
civilized people, ' ' Pell used to say.

"Come along," yelled Lydgely, and reached out as
though to grasp Big Jim. There was the flash of a
knife ; Jim drew back his hand with the gleaming
weapon as though to plunge it into the chief. We
chain-bearers hurried forward. " But Lydgely in an
instant let out with his left, and sent the noble red man
sprawling. That put an end to the discussion.

The fifty Ojibways stalked obediently to the boats,
and Big Jim brought up the rear with a cheek that
looked distinctly the worse for wear.

I was one of Pell's assistants. In the canoe which
he captained Big Jim always took the bow-steering
paddle — these great crafts of bark are always guided by
steersmen in both bow and stern. Lydgely went with
us that day to explore part of an unknown river which
we intended to traverse, and which flows, winding, out
of Lake Kaskabeesis, its course broken by great falls.
Early in the forenoon we entered the stream, and went
hurrying on a brown current occasionally broken by
short, chopping rapids.

158

IN A CANOE

Our dozen Indians had been sullen all the morning.

* 'We're going to have trouble with these chaps,"
said Pell ; ** they'll upset us, maybe, or play some con-
founded trick ; you'll see. "

Instead of exchanging short, plaintive-sounding sen-
tences and various grunts, as was their custom, they
were absolutely silent. We watched them furtively but
closely, fearing that their intentions might be perilous
to us. But not an indication of evil intentions did they
give.

Big Jim, standing in the bow, piloted to a marvel,
distinguishing in time many submerged boulders which
we could not see till, flashing past, we made out their
dim forms beneath the water that lapped shallow over
their dangerous noses. With his frequent motions of
head, and interjections of warning for the other steers-
man, with adroit movements of his paddle forcing the
canoe to glance aside from all dangers, Big Jim seemed
to be concerned solely with his duty.

Along we flew, the little waves lapping on our sides,
the motion inspiringly swift, a sunny blue September
sky overhead, the banks, all red with pembina berries,
receding like long ribbons. No traveling is so exhilarat-
ing as the running down a very swift and somewhat
broken current in a light, stanch craft.

** We're not vtry far from the falls," said Pell,
pointing to a white cloud that hung in the blue, spread-
ing from a slowly rising, misty pillar off" to the east.

. w

IN A CANOE

159

At that moment we were running almost due north,
and to suppose that the cloud was from a jump in our
river, implied a sharp turn soon.

The canoe had been approaching the shore as though
the Indians meant to land not far away, but as Pell
uttered the words. Big Jim turned around, threw up his
paddle and spoke to the crew. His eye was fairly blaz-
ing, and his face, I thought, wore a malign joy as if he
had been suddenly inspired with a scheme for revenge.
The Indians answered him with a surprised shout,
stopped paddling, and looked into each other's faces
with some alarm. They were curiously excited, seem-
ing at once elated, defiant, and yet somewhat daunted.

" Wagh ! " cried Big Jim, with a commanding ges-
ture, and straightway dug his big paddle in. The next
instant all the blades took the water together ; the
bow turned toward the farther shore ; the stroke was
now much faster, and the Indians chattered unceasingly.
Questioning each other, we three whites could see
nothing to fear, nor anticipate any danger for ourselves
from which our Ojibways could escape.

Quarter of a mile ahead, our further passage seemed
barred, but soon we rounded a turn to the eastward,
and there, sheer before us, stretched for half a mile or
more an astounding slope of water, smooth mostly as if
running over glass. Apparently terminating the slope
was that pillar of mist panting from below, then smokily
rising and spreading wide on high.

i6o

IN A CANOE

Scarcely had wc comprehended the situation when
the canoe was fairly on the descent and racing to what
seemed inevitable death.

Lydgely sprang to his feet, and made a step toward
the stern, intending probably to wrest the steering pad-
dle from the man there. Pell seized him. ** No use,"
he said ; "too late! Sit down!"

Lydgely obeyed. We were too far in for retreat.
To turn and struggle against the current was clearly
impossible. It swept us on with astonishing speed.
A large stream at once so swift and so smooth I have
never seen before nor since.

Have you ever observed shallow water running down
a planed slide some feet wide with quick incline ? It
seems to shoot along in parallel streaks, it hurries
millions of minute bubbles in its volume, its surface is
unbroken except above splinters in the boards beneath.
Such was the current down which we flew, only this was
deep and irresistible.

Little waves no longer lapped against the canoe, it
kept an even keel, it was quite untossed, the water was
noiseless about us, we might have heard our hearts
beating but for the quick stroke of the paddles and the
ever-increasing roar from beneath the white cloud to-
ward which we rushed. The Indians had now become as
still as death ; their bronzed faces had a tinge of pallor,
I thought ; each man strained forward, peering intently
at the mist — features rigid, eyes ablaze.

-'^

IN A CANOE

i6i

Big Jim, in the bow, stood motionless, paddle lifted
from the water in an attitude of intense attention. We
white men looked at each other helplessly — there was
nothing to say, nothing to do ; blank with the sense of
our utter powerlessness, we could only wait to see what
would be the result of a situation so amazing.

Pell spoke but once :

**It ain't suicide they're meaning," said he, "for
they ain't singing their death song."

We were moving at far greater speed than the river,
for the Indians kept up a spurting stroke, giving the
canoe steering way, which enabled the man astern to
edge her slightly toward the north shore. Yet she left
no wake ; five feet from the canoe it was confused with
the shooting smoothness of the stream.

I had a faint idea that the Indians meant to land on
the shore we were nearing, but this was dispelled with
close approach ; the bank was of smooth-faced rock,
stratified so evenly that it looked like a board fence
level on top, yet rising in height with every moment
of our progress. Right to its edge the current ran
swift and smooth.

Once more I looked toward the mist in despair.
What was beneath it? We had heard that the river's
leap was somewhere very great. That the dreadful
jump was close before us seemed certain, from the cloud
that overhung, and the roar that swelled upward.

Gazing, I became aware that the smooth slope on

1 62

IN A CANOE

which we slid did not continue to the brink of the fall,
but ended in at least one vast roller, as wide as the
river itself — a huge bank of water that surged, round-
ing on high, with appalling massiveness. The top of
this huge roller was already near enough to form the
down-river horizon. What was beyond ? •(

Short was the doubt. In another instant the great
canoe sprang to the curving front of the billow, and
went climbing giddily aloft.

Poised on the crest for an instant, I saw nothing but
another immense, smooth wave and the pillar of mist
still farther beyond. Down we plunged into the vale of
waters, and swung on high again as steadily as before,
to see in front a short, ragged rapid ending in a few
yards of smooth water, close to the most astonishing
plunge that mind can conceive.

In that one look from the summit I could see, past
both sides of the mist-pillar, how an extending chasm
stretched far away beneath the fall, the width of the
gorge dwarfed by the height of its perpendicular walls,
at the feet of which, on either side, a long ribbon of
emerald green sod was laved by the stream until lost in
the distance. Such an overpowering impression of being
at a dizzy height was gained in the instant's view that
I scarcely noticed the strange chant into which the
Indians had suddenly broken.

Next moment we thrashed through a curling, break-
ing wave that drenched us to the skin, and went scurry-

IN A CANOE

163

ing into the lapping waves of an ordinary rapid. With
the familiar motion I looked ashore. And there, close
by us, was a spectacle scarcely less awful than the plunge
we were nearing.

The rock wall near us was cleft clean down, and in
the wide cleft was a whirlpool that absolutely shrieked
as we flew along its extreme edge. Looking across its
funnel I could see that from its farther Up the river sent
aside to the 1 t a narrow branch that went roaring
through a long, deep gorge.

Still we kept straight on. We were now so close to
the fall that I could see the long emerald ribbons at the
foot of the cliffs almost beneath us. Big Jim, statuesque
in the bow, seemed on the very brink of the abyss.

I looked at Pell ; he thrust his big left hand into
mine and gripped it hard ; Lydgely held his right. We
looked once more, with never a word, into each other's
eyes. Then I closed mine for very horror.

That moment I expected the headlong shoot of the
canoe. But there was a strong jerk and swerve instead.
I looked again. In that instant, almost on the fall's
crown, we had swept into the eddy that ran backward
toward the whirlpool with racing speed, and sooner
than I can write it we had skimmed along the northern
edge of the dreadful funnel, shaken free of its "draw,"
and were slashing down the easy rapid twelve miles
long, by which the narrow north branch makes the
same descent as the falls before rejoining the river.

' ^

164

IN A CANOE

Free of the whirlpool the Indians fairly howled with
laughter and pride at the success of their wild exploit.

We learned afterward that the feat had been ac-
complished but three before within the memory of the
oldest Indian, on the last of which occasions Big Jim
had been in the canoe. He had long been ambitious
to repeat the performance and succeeded, to our sorrow,
in inducing his companions to make the attempt by wp.y
of a practical joke on Lydgely, who thought the Indian
sense of humor very peculiar.

ic-
he
im
us
w,
p.y
an

MR. HONGOAR'S STRANGE STORY

MY fancy goods store used to be in Pegram's Block,
the eleven-story building on the short and busy
street called Pegram's Place in this goodly city of Boston.
Pegram's Block was formerly but seven stories in height.

The day before they began to tear up the old pitch-
and-gravel roof, preparatory to adding four stories
more, I went up there to see once more a scene that
had become familiar to me. For ten years my habit
had been to go out on the roof every fine evening.
My sitting room and bedroom were in the fifth story.
I am not a married man, but that is not my fault. If
I wanted to marry any girl, she could not hear me
say so. If any girl were willing to marry me, I could
not hear her admitting it. I am a deaf-mute.

Born so? No. Scarlet fever did it when I was
eight years old. That wasn't my fault either.

I might have married a deaf-mute, but I do not think
two deaf-mutes should marry. Mr. Abdiel K. Jones
tells me there is no use giving my reasons for that
opinion — another time will do better. What he wants
me to do now is to write out the story of my strange
adventure on Pegram's Block roof

165

1 66

MR. HONGOAR'S strange STORY

When Mr. Jones told me he wished me to write out
the story myself, 1 said 1 couldn't.

** Why not? " he inquired.

" I can't uiake it read like a story," said I.

" I don't want you to. I want you to write just the
plain truth."

"I'll tell you, and you write it," said I.

** No, I want you to do it." " ,

''Well, I'll try."

"That's right," said Mr. Jones. "You got on by
trying things people said you couldn' t do. Keep on
trying.'' ' *

Mr. Jones and I talk with our fingers, but he is not
deaf nor dumb. He was my teacher from the time I
lost my voice and ears. He is my teacher now, though
T have a big business to attend to.

I should like to write out how I got along in business.
I told Mr. Jones so.

He said, "The right way is to begin at the start.
The story of your start is the very thing I want. And
it' s the story of your start in business too. ' '

Come to think of it, that's true. Here goes, then :

I used to be a roofer. That was just after I left the
asylum on Blasette Avenue. Mr. Jones taught me
there for seven years. Then he said I ought to be
earning my living. I was glad then. He got me the
job. I went at it before I was sixteen.

My boss was Mr. Flaherty, the gravel-roofing con-

' t

MK. HONGOARS STRANGE STORY

167

1 1

tractor. All I had to do was keep the caldron of pitch
boiling and full. But I helped in other ways all I
could. I liked to help, and the men never objected.

That was real kindness to me. As a successful busi-
ness man, I want to state right here that the man who
puts some of his own work off on a boy may be a good
friend to the boy, though he's not likely to be much of
a man. Many of Flaherty's rooferb liked to befriend
me in that way.

When I was nearly seventeen my boss got the con-
tract for putting a tar and gravel roof on Pegram's
Moral Museum.

Perhaps some people in Boston don't know that
Pegram's Block was first a museum. When Pegram
failed, Barnum bought his stock of moral curiosities
cheap at auction.

**I guess ril take you with the lot, Pegram," said
Barnum, and he hired the Oia man. So the papers
said at the time. I remember it well.

Old Pegram was a smart man. The trouble was he
was too smart. He was always going in for big things
ahead of the times. Before the roof was half on he had
three polar bears and the * * only walrus ever on exhibi-
tion " in his immense front window. ^

There they were, cool as you please, on the first of
July. Pegram had fixed up a wall of blocks of ice in
the back of the window, and overhead. To see that
biggest polar bear clawing up fish was a wonder.

1 68

MR. HONGOAR S STRANGK STORY

If any Boston people remember that as well as I d»:,
they can testify what crowds came the first week or two
to see the free moral show in the window, especially at
noon. It seemed as if thousands of clerks in stores,
working girls, mechanics, ladies, and business men too,
used to hurry over at dinner time to look at the free
entertainment.

The second of July the roof was going on in a great
hurry. There were so many men at work on top that
there was no room for heating pitch up there. It was
boiled in two big caldrons on the street. Then we
hauled it up by rope and pulley in little caldrons.

There were four of these. When full of pitch one of
them would weigh three or four hundred pounds, I
dare say. It looked like an extra big stovepipe with an
extra little stovepipe going up alongside of it.

The little stovepipe connected with a sort of flat stove
under the big one. In this we made fire sometimes to
keep the pitch hot while it was waiting to be used.
The whole thing hung on a handle something like what
a wooden pail handle would be if it was fastened on
nearly as low as the middle of the pail ; only the handle
of the caldron was like a V upside down.

At the top of the handle was a rope which passed
over a pulley in the arm of a fixed derrick planted on
the roof. When two men hoisted up a boiling caldron,
it almost touched the sheet-iron rain trough or cornice
gutter along the front of Pegram's Block.

{

MR. IIONGOARS STRANGE STORY

169

*»

Flaherty's men at the street caldrons always warned
the people to stand from under when the hot pitch was
going up ; but none ever fell. The caldron was kept
from possible tipping by a spring on each side that the
handle set into. When we wanted to pour hot pitch
out of the caldron we had to press in these springs.

At half- past twelve on the second of July I was the
only person on the roof. I had eaten my dinner with
the other men on the vacant sixth floor, and come up
again to put a little fire under a caldron.

This caldron had been hauled up while twelve was
striking. There it hung, clear of the cornice, right
over the sidewalk. The other end of the rope was
passed around a cleat twenty feet back from the front.

I put in some fire, though the pitch was still very
hot. Then I sat down in the rain gutter. My feet
were dangling more than a hundred feet above the
crowd below. If I did that now I should have creepy
feelings in the soles of my feet and up my back, I guess ;
but in those days I was used to working on high places.
The rain trough was a very wide and deep one, for it
had to carry off the water from half of Pegram's im-
mense roof. I could sit in it comfortably. My back
was against the edge of the roof itself.

When I wished to look very straight down I held on
by my two hands to the edge of the rain trough, and
bent over till I could see the shine of the plate-glass
seven stories below, and right under my backbone.

I/O

MR. HONGOARS STRANGE STORY

I was watching the straw hats and parasols of the
crowd looking at Pegram's moral walrus and polar
bears. Hot and sort of dusty was the glare of sunshine
beating down on the pavement. No one was looking
up at me.

In the upper windows of the ladies' restaurant across
the street I could see women at their dinners. They
often leaned out, gazing two stories down on the crowd,
while I looked five stories down on them.

Incessantly the people pressed, shifted, and changed
around the two street caldrons of boiling pitch, whence
pungent smoke, rolling straight up in the windless air,
became thin and blue, and waveringly vanished in the
sunlit atmosphere before ascending to my elevation.

Sometimes the people crammed closer, leaving the
street railway tracks clear for the passage of a car.
The solitary policeman then moved along the lane with
an air of being indulgent to all his fellow-beings.

It amused me to note how some boys and men
rapidly elbowed their way to the front, while more lost
ground in cunning attempts to get ahead by pressing to
one side or the other, as they fancied they saw an
easier passage. Most of the people took position at
the rear, and were stolidly pressed up to the front in
their turn, as the van constantly melted away and the
rear was incessantly renewed.

So goes life. To get to the front speedily one must
keep shoving straight ahead, and know how.

■i;.- -r,

-'.( ■

MR. KONGO ARS STRANGE STORY

171

I liked to see so much movement. People coming
along the two great thoroughfares at the ends of Pe-
gram's Place would see the crowd and hurry to join it.
Some hastened away as soon as they found what occa-
sioned the throng.

There was a constant going in and coming out at
store doors ; people nodding to their acquaintances, a
few stopping and shaking hands. To me on high with
sealed ears they seemed like so many puppets out of
our asylum pantomime, all going around alive.

I wondered what it would be like if my ears were
suddenly made good. The sounds of a city I have
never heard, for I was a country child before I became
a deaf-mute.

One man, threading his way through the throng,
caught and held my attention. To and fro, deviously,
snakehke he went, often turning his head toward the
policeman, sometimes stopping and looking indifferently
around. At these times I could not see his hands, but
I guessed they were picking pockets.

He excited me. I longed to be able to cry out,
*'Stop thief!"

In my excitement I leaned over a little too far.
Instantly I was dizzy with the fear of falling. After an
unbalanced moment, my clutch at the outer rim of the
iron gutter saved me, and I sat back, trembling.

Soon the tremor passed. I looked down again.
The pickpocket was still busy. It made me angry to

1/2

MR. HONGOAR S STRANGE STORY

see him robbing the people, all so busy and trustful of
one another. I rose to go to the other roofers and
point out the thief. As I stood up and stooped for
another look, a little pebble rolled off the turned-up
edge of my soft felt hat. My eyes followed its fall.
It struck a straw hat and bounded to another. Two
men looked up. I suppose they said something, as
they pointed. All the people suddenly looked up at
me. Instantly they began to disperse. I suppose the
smoking caldron of pitch just above my shoulder scared
them. The pickpocket looked most alarmed, and
rapidly made off around the corner.

I was a bashful boy, and the sudden uplooking of so
many eyes dazed me a little. Nervously I stepped
back, and walked up to the ridge. On my way back I
stumbled over the cleat around which the pulley-rope
went with two hitches. Without noticing that I had
disarranged the tie, I went back down to the edge.

The crowd was smaller than before, but constantly
growing. None seemed there who had looked up at
me. At least there were now no upturned faces. I
looked down again on a street whose pavement was
hidden by hats and parasols.

The pitch beside me was boiling with the little fire I
had set under it. To stop the ferment, I lifted a block
of pitch which weighed about four pounds from the
roof, and gently placed it in the caldron. Instantly
the smoking vessel began to descend.

MR. HONGOAR S STRANGE STORY

173

The small additional weight had been enough to
begin drawing the disturbed rope through the cleat
twenty feet behind me. .-

I grasped at the handle of the caldron. It stopped.
My lifting power was more than enough to restore the
disturbed equilibrium.

I looked around at the cleat. It was clear that the
rope lay so that it might, if further drawn out, give
way at any instant and let the boiling caldron fall into
the throng.

More than one might be killed by the heavy vessel,
and how many hideously wounded by the scalding and
sticky mass !

My hands were already deeply burned, for the han-
dle where I had to grasp it, near the edge of the cal-
dron, was hot.

I seized my soft hat with my left hand. At that the
caldron began to descend again. With my right hand
alone I could not keep it from falling.

I dared not jump back and att«.'M ^t to get a better
hitch on the cleat. The hot pitc'i might be down
among the people before I could htize the rope on the
roof.

My hat was now between my two hands and the hot
handle. That was a relief But my burned palms
were soon less painful than the strain on my back,
neck, arms, and legs.

I know now that I must have lifted with all my

174

MR. HONGOAR S STRANGE STORY

Strength, because I was wild with horror at what might
happen to the people below in consequence of my
carelessness. Out over the edge I had to reach, that
my lifting might be straight upward. I could not put
a foot forward to get a better balance for my body,
without stepping into blank air.

All my force had to be exerted as I stood in the rain
trough, my arms held straight before me, my shoulders
bent forward toward the vessel. At any instant, if I
nervously started, I might pitch over and down into
that mass of women, children, and men along with the
seething black mass whose acrid smoke drifted into my
nostrils.

I thought of swaying the caldron on to the roof as
two strong men were accustomed to do before tipping
its contents into pails. But that feat was wholly beyond
my strength. The two men were always assisted by a
third, who held the rope around the cleat so that he
might stop it if anything went wrong.

Let any one who wants to get a clear idea of my posi-
tion hold a heavy weight straight out before him with his
two arms extended at the height of his shoulders. In
this torturing attitude my strength soon began to fail,
and my arms to tremble. Every muscle of my back,
neck, and legs was strained in agony.

Yet I could not wholly check the caldron's descent.
Tt slowly went down. 'I'he rope slowly paid ont. Very
slowly, understand. It had gone down six inches when

MR. HONGOAR'S strange STORY

175

I knew it was still falling very slowly, but not so slowly
as at first.

"God help me ! God help me !" I kept thinking.
"God, take my life alone, and help me to save the
innocent people away down below. ' '

Of all the thousand that I could see not one looked
up. Some pigeons suddenly flew, and fluttering settled
on the roof of the restaurant across the street, four
stories lower than I. They preened themselves in the
hot sunshine, strutted a little, looked down at the
crowd, and flew suddenly away. I turned my head,
looking along the roofs for aid. Not a soul was to be
seen on any of them. A photographer standing in a
skylight across the block three hundred yards away was
calmly taking up and examining his row of prints. His
side-face was toward me.

Looking far past him I could see the clock face in the
white steeple of Park Street Church, by the Common.
The time was four minutes to one.

The men must be already coming np to work. But
I could not hold on one minute longer. My brain was
reeiiiig again with the sensatiorx of height, and m>
whole body was trembling. , ^

Again I looked down. Such was the anguish of my
longing to shout to the people that I know I tried.
Now children on their way to school had, in large
numbers, joined the throng.

Suddenly the two men employed at the street caldrons

1/6

MR. HONGOARS STRANGE STORY

came out from the museum. One looked up. My
face and posture must have frightened him. He threw
up his hands, and no doubt shouted. The whole crowd
looked up at me. I thought how the pitch would fall
on the uplifted faces, for now I knew I must drop down
in a few seconds.

Next moment the people were flying apart as if an
explosion had scattered them. Still I tried to hold up
the caldron. The last thing I remember was seeing old
Pegram at the back of the crowd that had halted, I
could not tell how far away. He shook his fist furiously
at me.

All at once I understood that they supposed I had
uung down the pitch. For it was gone. I stood on
the roof edge, staggered, and fell.

I fell brick on the nearly flat roof. When I came to
my senses a policeman was waiting to take me to the
station on the charge of having attempted wholesale
murder. Pegram brought it against me.

Nobody had been hurt. The old man was infuriated
by the spattering of pitch over his great show window.
For me — I saw clearly that the evidence was nearly all
against me. The rope had been left fastened ; it had
come undone ; and who but I had been on the roof?

The most sensational p'n er then in Boston declared,
in half a column of dtlirious headlir>i 5, that I hated my
fellow- beings because they could hear and talk while I
was deaf and mute.

,,v H

MR. HONGOARS STRANGE STORY

i;7

Mr. Abdiel Jones got me out of that trouble by
translating my sign language in open court and calling
attention to the cracked, bleeding, and swollen fingers,
burned nearly to the bone, with which I told my tale.

He and all my friends at the asylum, as well as my
boss Flaherty and his foreman, testified to my good
character. See the value of a good character. So I
was declared not guilty.

Then the sensational paper turned around and adver-
tised me as a hero. The other papers said so too,
though I have never been able to see why.

So it came about that I got a big custom from the very
next day, when Mr. Pegram set me up with a stock of
fruit and knick-knacks in the big museum door. This
was his way of showing that he was sorry for charging
me falsely. Also it paid — the papers gave his gener-
osity so much free advertising.

From that I got along, adding one thing to another,
and at last renting half of Pegram' s Block, till now I
am greatly blessed with this world's goods, and able to
help Mr. Abdiel Jones' plans for educating my fellow-
sufferers.

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

IN Montreal, on fine winter evenings, people passing
along the great thoroughfare of St. Catharine's
Street were formerly often attracted into the grounds of
the Tuque Bleue Toboggan Club, by the confusion of
voices and laughter from crowds within. Ther ' the
people gathered to watch the toboggans rushing arojnd
and against a number of long, curving, parallel, and
concentric embankments, with which the slides ended.
These embankments of snow were thrown up to keep
the swift vehicles from crashing into a high board fence
that separated the street from the club grounds, which
were not of an area to afford a straight run to a finish,
from the steep chute whence the toboggans plunged.
Down they swooped, four or five almost simultaneously,
in flight on five separate grooves of ice. Reaching the
level, they shot, with arrowy swiftness, straight for the
high fence till, touching an embankment, they half sur-
mounted it, were nearly overturned and then flung off,
to sweep slanting around the curve into the polished
space of snow, where the run terminated. Because
sometimes, a toboggan leapt across an inner embank-
ment to collide with one circling in an outer grove, and
178

! !

( »

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

179

because of occasional upsets, the sport possessed a
certain element of danger very evident and therefore
exciting to spectators. *

One brilliant February evening I stood close to the
point where the curves begin, observing the approach of
a very swift and heavily-laden toboggan, which had come
down the chute alone and now flew straight toward me
with such momentum as to give me something of the
sensation that comes from watching the approach of an
express train. Involuntarily I stepped aside, as though
the embankments at my feet were not there to check the
toboggan's rush. At that moment I felt my arm
clutched and heard a shrill scream at my elbow. There
stood a lady with whom I had a very slight acquaintance.
She seemed quite unconscious of having seized my arm.
I was aware that all eyes were fixed on her, and that a
perfect lull of voices and laughter had occurred. While
every one gazed at her, she alone watched the approach-
ing toboggan. Her eyes were wide with fear ; her face
showed pale beneath the electric light ; she did not so*
much as breathe, but stood there rigid, grasping my arm,
so that I could feel each finger tip, It was for little
more than an instant ; then the toboggan load was flung
up the embankment at our feet, its ladies screaming with
fearful joy as it sheered madly off, and swept away safely
on its course. I did not watch it further, for the lady
at my side had fainted. Not until a day went by did I
understand the cause.

i8o

STRAIGHT FOR THE CUFF

What a trouble I must have been to you," sa'd
she, next evening, in her own drawing room. "To
think of my fainting — before all those people ! I'm
ashamed of myself! It was so fortunate that yon knew
me. What [)0ssessed me — to go into the grounds, I
mean — I can't think, fori might have known I couldn't
l)ear the sight — indeed, I did know that. I haM re-
fused for years to slide or look it a slide. It was im-
pulse. I was passing, and suddenly I thought I
would dare to look on. How foolish ! Had I an
accident ? Oh, yes, indeed ! A fearful thing — not
here, you know; lOt in Montreal. But we had a
dreadful accident once." And she shuddered at the
recollection. ' ■ Shall I tell you about it ? "

"You had better let me tell it," said her husband ;
"it is sure to make you nervous."

She acquiesced, and he sat beside her and held her
han.' V hile he spoke.

"You know the gorge of the Niagara, below the
falls, don't you?" asked he. "No? Well, you
know there i i gorge. The river jumps down its hun-
dred and sixty feet, and then crowds along in a dark
chasm between almost precipitous walls. To stand
anywhere near the edge and look down is to feel as if
impelled forward to go over — a horrible sensation.
Well, a road on the Canadian side used to run nearly
parallel with and close to the cliff's edge — perhaps the
road is there yet. Driving along it at night one often

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

l8l

shrank back, and clutched the reins tighter, at thought
of the sheer droi' so close by ; and how his horses might
shy and dash over and down — down, turning, struggling,
confused in the air — down into the black gulf! "

''It is a fearful drive at night/' said the lady shiv-
ering.

*' It was especially dangerous ii the winter, when the
niist irom the falls had been drift ng down river, freezing
and making the road slippei . tjlare ice. Then a
sleigh slashed and slipped fron . to side, sometimes
tipping a little, and one felt that a quick overturn might
fling him over the glassy surface, which inclined slightly
to the cliff, vainly grasping for a hold, till at last — over.
In one way or another, the imminence of the precipice
is often forced on the attention of residents near by.
One is always conscious of living near the jumping-off
place, and when one gets back into the country, which
in places rises quickly, a little from the cliff, one has a
glad sensatic n of being out of danger. "

**Yes, I've felt that," said the lady. *'I was always
nervous there. ' '

"Yet she went tobogganing on a slide that ran
straight toward the chasm," explained her husband in
a half-amused, half-chiding tone. And again his wife
shuddered.

* * It was in this way, ' ' he went on. * * The ground, as
I said, slopes quickly upward at a little distance away
from the sheer bank. Now, my wife used to be wildly

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

1.1

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|50 ^^ Ml^

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Photographic

Sdences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

I82

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

fond of tobogganing — a regular Montreal girl, you
know. Her nerves were never weak enough to restrain
her from sliding. So, eight years ago, when we were
living up there, I got leave from a farmer to make a to-
boggan slide on a natural slope in his field. It ran
straight toward the precipice, just as the Tuque Bleue
does toward St. Catharine Street ; and I cut off danger
by a high, curving snow-embankment, exactly in the
Tuque Bleue way. The only effect of the precipice
on our operations was, that I had the embankment
made very high at the point where we ran into it first.
There I had a sort of plank roof built for the founda-
tion and carried the bank up fully twenty feet. It was
quite satisfactory. We dashed into it at an immense
speed when the slide was in good order ; sometimes the
toboggan climbed half-way up or more "

* * Often, at first, I thought we must go over, ' ' inter-
rupted his wife.

" In that case we must have been across the road and
over the cliff in an instant, ' ' he resumed. * * But that
fear soon passed away. We had a jolly winter, the
snow being unusually deep in that district that season.
How we used to shoot down, then go skimming over
the level, then hurl against the embankment like mad,
and go tearing around the curve to a long, slight slope
down river, close to and parallel with the road ! The
only trouble was that many people complained that we
frightened their horses, which in that country seldom

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

183

see tobogganing. At last they threatened legal inter-
ference ; and, no doubt it was too bad of us, consider-
ing the danger from the shying of skittish teams along
that dreadful bank. ' '

** I've often thought since that we almost deserved
to be punished for our selfishness," said the lady.

"Well, by March the complaints had become very
many, and we made up our minds to discontinue the
sport. The mist had been sweeping down river for
some days ; it was a cold snap. The road and narrow
bank beyond were fearfully slippery with ice, made by
the freezing mist ; the teamsters were angrier than ever
at our sliding, and reports reached us that some of them
talked of forcibly hindering us. I determined to save
them the trouble, so on the seventh of the month I
engaged laborers to come next day to remove the
snow and planking, that everybody might know we had
yielded to public opinion.

** About nine o'clock on the evening of the seventh,
my wife went to look out of the dining-room window,
which faced toward the hill where the chute was. It
was a lovely, clear, moonlight night, with a spectral,
thin mist drifting over the landscape, sometimes shifting
to let us see the sky and stars. I came and stood by
my wife's side.

*< 'What a night for tobogganing!' said she sud-
denly. * Do let us go out and have a few more runs ;
it's our last chance this winter.'

1 84

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

* ' Her sister was visiting us — also an enthusiast for
the sport. * Do, ' said she too. Now I had made up
njy mind — or thought I had — not to give teams on the
road any more frights. But the ladies were in a majority
and of course they had their way. In a few minutes
we stood at the head of the slide. I shall never forget
the scene !

** Across the river, down whose chasm the mist
drifted slowly, we could see the moon, high above the
volumes of vapor, in a clear and starry sky. Of the
embankment and the road nothing could be seen, be-
cause of mist clinging to the low ground before us. The
hillside, and part of the level near its foot, showed one
glistening icy groove. Through the dull roar of the not
distant falls we could hear sleigh-bells, and a few shouts
came from the road, toward which we soon swooped
down. The chute was in splendid order — we had used
it till late that afternoon. I think we never flew so
fast ; our speed was frightful ; yet I never imagined we
could leap the embankment.

* * We felt in no danger except that on rushing against
the snow wall we might be rudely overset. The thought
of that horrible chasm yawning not more than seventy
or eighty feet beyond the embankment had lost its
terrors through custom. Down we rushed, our shrill
bells fairly shrieking. I can hear now the gl« 1 ring
of my wife's laugh, as we reached the level and j^immed
on, with that peculiar sensation of being lifted up and

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

185

forward with increasing speed, which comes to tobog-
ganers running very swiftly on a smooth plain.

As my wife laughed, a chorus of shouts — ^alarmed
screams, rather-^— came from the road. * Back ! Hold
on ! Oh, for God's sake, don't come ! Hold on ! "

** Peering ahead, I could for the instant see nothing
except mist. But perhaps barely a second had gone
when I dimly saw forms ahead, and then made out a
large group of men, some waving caps, all wildly gesticu-
lating, some standing right in our way, some on the top
of the embankment. They perceived us clearly then.
*Oh, merciful God,' cried one aloud; 'he's got the
ladies with him ! '

** Then came a confused, wilder cry, and some of the
men ran away, while others bunched up as if to oppose
our passage. My feeling at that moment was of anger
only. I thought they were there to interfere with us.
I had — God forgive me — an instant of savage joy to
think how they would scatter before our desperate rush,
or be hurled down ; for it was not possible to conceive
of human beings stopping our fierce flight.

" ' Out of the road,' I cried, *or we'll be into you !
Out of the way !*

At that instant — if any division of instant can be
imagined when all was occurring as in a flash — the ladies
shrieked their alarm. And before us a great cry arose
again, and a tremendous voice shouted : * Hold — Hold
back ! — Turn out ! — Stop ! — For God's sake stop !—

1 86

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

You'll be over the cuff! — The embankment's
torn away ! ' . .

** The men opened their rank^instinctively — we were
within thirty yards of them — and I saw, through a wide
gap, the massed mist of the gorge, at which we were
hurling !

**AU was plain. The threats against us had been
fulfilled without warning — of course they had not sup-
posed we would be out that night. There was the gap
exactly where the wall should have flung us on the
curve, and I understood that in a few seconds more we
three would fly into the air off that hideous precipice,
to tumble over and over, and fall, mangled, upon the
black flood of the then open river. ' '

"Why did you not throw yourselves off?" I asked.

"I was paralyzed with fear," said the lady, in a
shuddering whisper ; * * and my sister had already fainted
dead away."

"I saw or knew that," went on her husband. **I,
felt that both were immovable and lost. Could I slip off
and let them go? The man had cried, 'Turn out I'
But that was impossible. The grooves from the chute
lasted clear to and around the curve, therefore held the
toboggan straight toward death. There was but one
thing to try, and that I knew was hopeless. Seizing the
siderods I slid off and dragged behind, though well
aware that over that smooth ice I must be pulled with
scarcely any resistance by the astonishing momentum

.( f

STRAIGHT FOR THE CLIFF

187

\.::

the vehicle had attained. One glance I gave — the gap
was very wide — then I held on and dragged, and then
in an instant I knew nothing. "

**But you escaped, you escaped — you did not go
over ! " I exclaimed.

" I will tell the rest," said the quivering voice of the
lady. **My sister had fallen back upon me. I felt
that George was no longer touching me. Oh, what a
cruel wrong I did him in that flash of thought — I be-
lieved he had abandoned us! I shrieked, more, I
think, with the horror of his leaving us than anything
else ; that had in some way crowded out my fear of the
flight into the void before. As I shrieked, I saw the
men huddle together right in our path ; two knelt, with
their shoulders forward, bracing themselves for the
shock. Then there was a horrible_ crash — we seemed
hurled up — and then I fainted. When I recovered
I was at home, my sister beside my bed. She had
escaped with bruises ; but I was very badly hurt, and
George had his shoulder broken."

** But how did you escape? " I asked.

"The two men — ^brave fellows they were," an-
swered her husband; "the two who knelt were both
very badly hurt ; for the toboggan flung both down, and
rising flew right into the solid mass of men behind,
there stopping. Half a dozen were more or less
injured. I don't know but it was as terrible an adven-
ture for the teamsters as for ourselves. ' *

THE SWORD OF HONOR

NOT long ago Mr.
Adam Baines, a
gray-haired survivor of the
Pennsylvania Cavalry Serv-
ice, told this curious story
to his friends :

It was the middle of
May and my mind was
running on Memorial Day,
old comrades, and a sword,
which had often caught my eye as I walked past the
pawnshop window. Though it could not dignify the
dingy place, it gained, I thought, additional severity
from the assorted squalor. Back of it, concealing the
interior of Amminadab's store, hung two frowzy gowns
of yellow silk, suggestive of bedizened negresses. Be-
side it lay the scabbard, flexible, white, and gold-
mounted. An open case of tarnished fruit-knives,
some flashy opera glasses, cheap rings, brooches, and
sleeve-links lay strewn about. Rows of questionable

watches hung on hooks close to the window ; I had to
iS8

THE SWORD OF HONOR

189

Stoop below them to see the bleak blade of the sword.
It was plainly a costly thing, not made so much for
service as for distinction to the wearer ; a straight, nar-
row, double-edged, rapier-like weapon, which might
thrust well, though its ivory hilt and carven guard could
not endure the clash of heavy combat. I took it for a
sword of honor at first glance, and fancied many ex-
planations of its presence in a pawnbroker's window —
one of the most pathetic features of a great city — the
showplace of so many mementos of despair !

Why was the sword there ? Honor impawned, and
unredeemed ! The temptation to buy it was on me,
who had no need for a sword nor even a thought of
using it for decoration ; for how shall a man joy in a
sword not his own nor inherited from some sword-bear-
ing ancestor ?

I had no money to spare for the luxury of giving
decent privacy to the old sword, yet curiosity concerning
it so grew in me that I started from suburban Newton
to Boston one morning ten minutes earlier than usual,
solely that I might have time to look more particularly
at the weapon. I had as yet seen no more of it than I
could see in passing rapidly to business or my train, for
a man of many jocular acquaintances is not apt to
linger before a pawnbroker's window on Kneeland
Street at the risk of incurring elaborate imputations
that he had been seen weeping before a family treasure
that he has put ** up the spout. * *

I90

THE SWORD OF HONOR

When now I stopped, I saw that the blade bore an
inscription too faint for my naked eyes to read ; so I
put on my spectacles. It was then clear that the letters,
which occupied a space between the hilt and the begin-
ning of the edge-trenches, were turned with their backs
to me. The inscription must be interesting ; my curi-
osity became imperative ; I opened the pawn-shop
door and confronted Amminadab, the owner of the
sword.

Amminadab did not move from his high chair be-
hind the broad counter, which was partly enclosed by
wire lattice-work, but merely raised his eyes from a tray
of rings at which he had been peering, looked expec-
tant, and remarked, "Veil?"

"You have a sword in your window," said I ; "I
should like to look at it. "

* * You wandt to buy dot sword ? "

' ' Possibly. What' s the price ? ' '

** Brice ? Veil, I don't make no brice for dot sword
yet." He- spoke English as fluently as I, but always as
if with a bad cold in the head, which affected his pro-
nunciation in a much greater degree than I shall try to
imitate. "Maybe I don't sell dot sword. Vat you
give for him, hey ? "

"How can I tell without seeing the sword?" His
reluctant manner surprised and annoyed me.

" I don't care about sell dot sword."

"Hang it, man," I said, "what's the use of hag-

THE SWORD OF HONOR

191

•♦ 9

gling in that way ? If you think I'm going to bid for it
without handling it, you're mistaken. Let me see the
sword if you want to sell it. "
" But I don't want to sell it."

* * What do you show it for, then ? Queer business !
Suppose I offered you fifty dollars for it ? "

His eyes twinkled. * * I got plenty more swords —
not here. I can let you have a first-class sword for
fifty dollars. You want a first-class sword, hey ? "

"Bosh ! that's the sword in the window I want, if
any. Fifty dollars is a good deal of money for you to
turn your nose up at ! "

**I don't turn my nose up at fifty dollars, nor fifty
cents, no, nor one cent ! " he said, as if he felt him-
self accused of flagrant sin. "But — veil now, s'elp
me, I don't like to show dot sword close up. It's the
inscribtion ; dot's what you want to read, and dot's
just what I don't like to show."

"Huh ! you ought to keep the sword out of your
window, then."

" I keep dot sword in the window because " he

stopped and pondered. " Veil, it's none your pizness,
anyvays — unless ' ' he peered at me with sudden sur-
mise. "You know something about dot sword ? "

" How can I tell without examining it? "

* * You suppose maybe you know de cabtain ? ' ' He
spoke with great interest.

" Let me see the sword and I'll tell you."

192

THE SWORD OF HONOR

" You was in the big war ? ' '

"I was."

*' Veil, dot's good ; maybe you know de cabtain in
the army ? "

" Maybe — or in this army," and I displayed the
badge of my Post of the Grand Army of the Repubhc.

"Veil, dot's so; but maybe you always live in
Boston?"

''No; I've lived in Philadelphia, New York, To-
ronto, Montreal, St. Paul."

"Huh ! Veil, I don't suppose you get agvainted
vid de cabtain in any of dose places. Too bad, too
bad ! I tell you, I give fifty dollars myself if somebody
dot used to know de cabtain vas here. Yes, s'elp me,
I give big money — five dollars, anyvays."

"Where did he live?"

" In California, after the war."

"Whereabouts?"

"BlaggCity."

" I never heard of Blagg City.**

" No ; dot's just it ! If there was any Blagg City
now I could find somebody dot used to know de cab-
tain. But it's gone up years ago, all off the face of
the earth. It vas vun of dose gold mine places. ' *

" Where did he live after that ? "

"Veil, plenty places, I guess; but I don't know
none except Boston, and I can't find anybody in
Boston dot knowed him before."

THE SWORD OF HONOR

193

"That's queer. Why do you want to find some one
that knew him before ? ' '

"Veil, s'elp me Moses, if you could see the cab-
tain's daughter you'd want to find somebody to help
her yourself ! ' ' Amminadab spoke with such emotion
that I felt myself quite drawn to him.
** Does she live here ? "

"Live ! Veil, you might call it living. She sews,
poor child — ^ach, it's the pity of the world ! — she vorks
in a sveatshop. It's Jacob Lowenthal she vorks for.
Come — you vas a soldier in dot big war ; de cabtain
vas a soldier ; I'll show you dot sword, and I'll tell you
all I knows about it. Who can tell? maybe you'll help
her out of dot sveatshop. I done all I can — maybe
you think the profit is big in my pizness? Veil, there's
no profit, not to speak of — ^anyvays she von't be helped
by me. Here, read what dot sword says. ' '

He had stooped through the yellow silks that hid the
window, and now held the blade cautiously in his two
hands.

I took the beautiful sword, in which the inscription
lay almost as indistinctly as a watermark lies in writing-
paper.

Independence Day, 1867.

This sword of honor is presented to

Captain Horatio Polk Blagg

by the inhabitants of Blagg City, California,

to replace his veteran sword destroyed by the

recent fire,

' ' ' •'

194 THE SWORD OF HONOR

* and in token of their admiration for his glorious

record of valor in

The Army of Virginia,

as well as their profound esteem for his character

as a Gentleman and his services on the late

' Vigilance Committee.

, \^

\ ' '

** The Army of Virginia ! " said I. "Why, he was
a Confederate."

** Confederate," s£fld Amminadab, an immigrant
since the war ; •* what's Confederate ? "

** A rebel ; a Southern captain."

"The cabtain was on the rebel side ? "

"Yes, certainly. General Lee's army was called
the Army of Virginia ; our army against him was called
the Army of the Potomac."

"Veil, -s'elp me ! and I spend more as fifty cents in
postage and paper to the war department and the pen-
sion agents, trying to get a pension for dot child ! The
government don't give pensions to the children of rebel
soldiers, hey?"

" No. But tell me about the captain. We may be
able to find some relatives of his in the South, yet."

" Rachel ! " he called loudly ; and in came a hand-
some, fat, untidy young woman through the door from
the back shop. " Rachel, you vait here, if you please.
I vant to tell this gentleman about the cabtain. Maybe
he can find out how to help dot child ; he vas a soldier
himself. But hold on — you vas on the other side."

( '

. \^

■■■^■j '

THE SWORD OF HONOR

195

' ' That' s all right, ' ' I said. ♦ * North and South are all
one now. I shall be glad to do anything I can to help
the captain or his daughter."

** Ach, but that's the sad story," said Rachel. " It
was one day I was waiting in the shop for Amminadab ;
he'd "

**ril tell dot story myself, if you please," said
Amminadab sharply, and drew me hastily into the
back shop, a storeroom for dingy pledges and a place
to which customers were brought for private bargain-
ing.

Amminadab gave me a chair, took another himself,
and as if compelled by the genius of that room to whis-
per hoarsely as in bargaining, thrust his face near mine,
and began :

"It vas so, just as Rachel vas telling. Von day I
vas looking at some chewels in here, and Rachel
opened dot door and said, * Pizness, Amminadab ' ; so
I come out into the shop. There stood an old, tall
man. His hair vas very white and long, and he car-
ried something under t:ie long cloak dot covered his
arms. So I just said, * Veil ? ' At dot he kind of
flushed and catched at vat he had under his cloak, and
he looked so grand and so kind of sorry too, dot I vas
kind of ashamed I hadn't spoke kinder ; so I said,
* Maybe you vas vanting to buy something you saw in
dot vindow, sir ? '

***No — no — not that,' he said, very nervous. 'I

196

THE SWORD OF HONOR

came in because ' and he stopped, as if he vas too

sorry or ashamed.

**Then Rachel said, * Any gentleman may be stuck
for money now and then these hard times. ' Dot woman
of mine has got the kindest heart ; she'd broke down
my pizness in two veeks if I don't mind out ! *You
go away, Rachel,' I said; 'I'm doing pizness here. '
And so she come in back here, and some ways the old
gentleman don't seem he vas feel so ashamed ven there
was no woman to be pitying him.

** * I do want to raise some money,' he said. * Not
for long — ^it can't be for long. I will pay you soon.'

" 'Dot's all right, sir,' I told him. 'I don't lend
money except on goods, and so I keep my security all
right.'

"He flushed up again. *I give you my word,' he
said.

** 'All right, sir; all right. I prefer to deal with a
gentleman of his word ; but it's pizness to look at the
goods. You got something there, sir? '

** He fumbled at his cloak, and drew out something
narrow in a long, black oilcloth bag. ' 'It's my sword,'
he said ; and he looked hard at the street door, and
said, * I suppose some one may come in at any moment.
Have you no private place ? ' So I said, ' Please come
in here, sir. * And Rachel went back to mind the shop.

"I offered him a chair, but he wouldn't sit down.
He stood right there and pulled the string at the end of

THE SWORD OF HONOR

197

the bag, and drew out dot sword so careful as it vas a
baby. Then some ways, with a quick motion, he
wrapped the bag around his wrist, and his left hand vas
on the scabbard and his right vas on the hilt, and he
stood up very straight, and out flashed dot sword so
quick I jumped up with my two hands out before me
Hke dot. I don't like the vay dot sword flash, anyhow.
But I know swords like I know everything, and it vas
easy to see dot sword cost a big lot more money than
anybody would ever give for it again.

*' He handed me the scabbard, and I looked at it ;
he don't seem like he want me to handle the sword ;
and fact is, I don't care about handling sharp swords,
anyvays. So he laid it down on dot table and I looked
at it and turned it over, and put down my head and
read dot inscribtion. His face vas vorking very miser-
able as I read it, and he gave two or three little coughs.

" 'It's the last thing in the world I would borrow
on,' he said ; 'and indeed it's the last thing I've got
left of any value. But I must have money to-day.'

" * Vas you expecting to borrow on dot sword, sir? "

"'Why, of course.' And I heard him visper to
himself, ' My God, my God, that I should be brought
to this!'

" ' Veil, sir, dot sword is a good sword ; but there's
no kind of security in a sword.'

"'What, you can't lend on it? It's a valuable
sword ; it cost ' and he stopped, as if ashamed.

198

THE SWORD OF HONOR

" ' How much was you wanting? ' I asked.

** * As much as possible. I will certainly pay it back.
I couldn't lose my sword. Ah, it can't be but I shall
get some better employment,' to himself, you under-
stand.

** * I might advance five dollars on it,' I said.

" *Five dollars ! Five dollars ! Oh, dear heaven !
Why, the sword is worth ' and he stopped again.

** ' Dot sword don't cost no less than one hundred
dollars,' I said. 'Dot ivory is carved very fine, and
dot blade is Toledo inlaid with gold. But s'elp me,
sir, it ain't salable one bit, and I can't make use of it
in my family. Five dollars; s'elp me, I can't do
better. '

"Veil, he gave a cry out, and stared at me so hard
I vas scared. Then he kind of vispered to himself,
* It may save her life. Five dollars — it will buy the
medicine and wine. I'll have to take your offer. Of
course you'll not put my sword in your window? '

** * No, sir J not as lohg as the ticket runs,' I said.
And I made him out the ticket and gave him the
money, and he turned away as if he vas in a dream of
sorrow. Just outside the street door he stopped, and
he clutched at the left side of his cloak as if he had lost
something ; and I guess it vas that he missed the sword,
and at that he looked just dreadful, and he went totter-
ing avay, bowed down, amongst the stream of peoples.
And dot's the first and last time I ever see the cabtain.

THE SWORD OF HONOR

199

* * Veil, sir, I put avay the sword in its bag, and I told
Rachel, ' My five dollars is gone. I'm a fool for pizness.
I vas crazy to lend five dollars on dot sword. Dot old

cabtain is going to die
before long. But Ra-
chel cheered me up
about it. ' Oh, you'll
rent it out to students
for fancy dress,' she
said, and so I felt bet-
ter.

" Veil, two months
went by — the ticket had three months to run — and
two weeks more went by, and I made up my mind my
five dollars vas gone, when in came a small, little, fair-

200

THE SWORD OF HONOR

haired girl and laid dot ticket on the counter. She
was maybe about seventeen, but little and in shabby
black, and lean and pale as starvation ; and ach 1 but
her blue eyes vas sorry ! It's too much misery I see
in the faces that come here for me to notice misery
much ; but dot young girl's face vas like a seraph
what's got it's heart broke somevays. And she looks
at me so sad, and she says, 'You've got my father's
sword,' and sure enough, it vas the ticket I gave the
cabtain.

" Was your father wishing to get out his sword? " I
asked.

" 'My father is dead,' she said, just like a marble
angel might visper. * Father died three weeks ago, and
I found that iicket in his pocketbook. I want to know
if I can get more time to pay back the money. I can
only pay two dollars now. '

'"I'm afraid you need the money more as dot
sword,' I said.

" 'Oh, no, no ! I couldn't bear to live and think
my father's sword of honor was sold away so I could
never get it,' and her lip began to tremble and she
looked at me, trying so hard to keep her face brave
dot Rachel — Rachel vas standing beside me all de
time — Rachel slipped around the counter and stood
beside her, and began to pat .her hand — she was such
a young girl to be so sad ! And with that the old
cabtain' s daughter broke right down and began to cry

THE SWORD OF HONOR

20 1

and cry, and Rachel just picked her up in her arms like
she was a baby, and carried her in here. Veil, dot's
all right for Rachel ; but pizness is pizness, and I vas
afraid I'd be foolish about money if I come in and see
dot young girl cry some more. I could hear through
the open door, and Rachel Was saying, 'You'll take
the sword with you. I've got my own money — I'll
settle with Amminadab myself. He's just got to do
his business on business principles. '

" *Oh, but you're good and kind,' I could hear the
girl visper; 'but I couldn't take it back in that way,
there would seem to be a stain on the sword.'

** *Ach, now, now ! ' says Rachel. 'What for? '

" ' My father engaged to pay back the money, and
— and I couldn't take charity; you mustn't be vexed
— you're so kind to me. But if you'd ask him to give
me more time. I've worked hard and I've saved these
two dollars since poor father was taken away. I could
save three more, I'm sure, if Mr. Solomons would give
me three months more. '

'* 'You've been starving yourself, my child,' Rachel
said. 'You're all gone away to a shadow. Have you
no one to help you ? '

'"No one in all the world. My father was a
gentleman, and when we got so poor he got out of the
way of having friends — poor father ! And so there
seemed to be no place for him anywhere, and at last
he came to Boston, and now it's all at an end.'

202

THE SWORD OF HONOR

'"It was such hard times in Boston last year,' said
my Rachel.

** * Yes. Oh, so bitter hard ! Father was ready to
do anything — he was peddling books at last— and I got
a Uttle sewing ; but then I took sick and all the burden
was on poor old father. It was when I was sick that
he brought his sword here, and that was the last thing
he would have parted with, except me. He bought
things for me with it, and I know now he just starved
himself.' She stopped, and I could hear her sobs.
* So I had scarcely got well again before he was down
sick — and — oh, it's all, all ended now — poor father !
He never told what he had done with his sword, and
I was afraid to distress him if I asked him. But he
valued it more than his life ; and indeed I couldn't live
and not get it ! And, oh, if your husband will give
me three months longer ! *

"So I opened dot door, and I said, *I will keep it
three months or three years, if you like,' and the end
of that talk vas that I made her out a new ticket for
the three dollars. Dot vas all right, hey ? "

"Why, yes," said I. "I don't see what more you
could do, as she wouldn't take help. And has she
never been able to pay the money ? "

"Not von cent! At last she come and told my
wife, * I try, oh, Mrs. Solomons, I try so hard — but I
can't save one quarter-dollar in all this time !' And it
vas then I found out she vas vorking in Lowenthal's^

THE SWOKD OF HONOR

203

sveatshop. And there she is vorking now ; and every
day I'm afraid she'll come and find dot sword in my
window. I've been showing it in hopes somebody will
see it that knew the cabtain. ' '

"Can't you get her to tell you the names of some
friends or relations ? ' '

"No — not one word. I guess there's some secrets.
But I was trying to fmd out myself, and like von big
fool I never even found out that the cabtain was a
Southerner."

"We must see if anything can be done to help
her," I said. "At least she ought to have her father's
sword. Here's three dollars ; you take the sword to
her and tell her that an old soldier who respects her
father's memory sends it to her. "

"Veil, yes, I might try that. But if she would take
it from somebody dot respects the cabtain' s memory,
she'd take it from Rachel or me."

"Try it, anyway," and I pressed the money on
him.

"Veil," he said, looking over the money, "pizness
is pizness, and if I'm going to call myself paid, I've
got a right to the interest."

"Certainly, certainly," I said, amazed; for I did
not doubt and don't doubt now that he was ready to
give up his entire claim as a matter of kindness. But
if he was to call himself paid off, why — "pizness !"
and I paid him the interest.

204

THE SWORD OF HONOR

That was on Saturday. On Monday I went into the
pawnshop again.

"Veil, vat you think ?** ejaculated Amniinadab,
spreading both hands, palms up, when he saw me.
' < She took dot sword all right ! And she said, ' God
bless you!' Now how vas dot? She took it from
you, and she wouldn't take it from me !"

"Partly because you told her I was an old soldier,
and partly because you and your wife have been so
good to her that she didn't wish to cost you money be-
sides," I suggested.

"Ach, no. She don't like to take nodings from a
Jew— dot's it. Veil, no matter, I bury dot poor, good
young girl at my own exbense some of these days.
She is working her life out just to live ! " .

"Sad she can't get better employment?"

* * Embloyment ! — a total stranger in Boston ! — and
she that would be just rags if she vasn't so neat!
Don' 1 1 tell you before that she sold every bit of her
clo'es, except what she stood in, to bury the old cab-
tain? Her clo'es is so shabby she can't get good vork
— and besides, ain't Boston got plenty of girls looking
for good vork, and ain't plenty of 'em starving? No,
she can't get better employment unless somebody gets
it for her. For me, all I can do is get her vork in some
sveatshop maybe no better than Lowenthal's."

Well, last week a pale young girl, starting from

THE SWORD OF HONOR

205

Boston on a train bound for Gloucester, said, as a
Newton lady kissed her good-bye: "Oh, you've all
been so kind to me ! May God bless you all, and bless
the Grand Army forever."

I had done no more than to introduce the case to my
post of the Grand Army. They put their hands in
their pockets, and left the diplomacy to the Newton
lady. She called on Miss Blagg at the sweatshop, and
the outcome was that the young lady was provided
with a good situation not far from Gloucester, as gov-
erness to young children in an excellent family. The
outfit for our Post's adopted daughter would have been
unreasonably sumptuous, had she not vetoed our de-
signs in large part. Of Miss Blagg' s family and per-
sonal history we were fully informed ; but it would be
improper to tell you the reasons she and her father had
against seeking aid from, his relatives in the South.

When she had left us I went in to tell Amminadab,
but he smiled immensely at my assumption that he
needed any information in the case.

" Veil, you don't imagine that the cabtain's daughter
don't say good-bye to us ! Boh ! she come in here
yesterday on purpose. And she cried ven she vas
telling about how good the Grand Army was to a
Southern soldier's daughter ; and she said it was such
a noble-hearted kindness that she couldn't have any
right to refuse. And she said about you, * God bless
you and God bless the Grand Army. ' ' '

206

THE SWORD OF HONOR

"That's not all," said Rachel; "the captain's
daughter kissed nu I And she said, ' God bless Am-
minadab ; and she said she'd never forget how kind we
were to her, and ' '

"Oh, don't, now, Rachel — dot's enough. The
young lady vas egcited, and she said too much about
us. But I vas glad she said, ' God bless Mr. Solo-
mons.' Dot's all clear profit — she never cost me von
cent!"

AN ADVENTURE uN THE
ST. LAWRENCE

LAST summer, in the clubhouse of the Kenoutche-
wan Bait-fishers, a well-known Canadian lawyer
told the following story :

Some years ago, while out for an afternoon's fishing
with my son Harry, who was then ten years old, 1
anchored our skiff off the northeast or lower end of
Gomeguk Island, where one division of the St. Lawrence
runs in a deep groove, much frequented by channel cat-
fish.

Steamers seldom passed through the channel where we
floated, though the wash of upward bound boats dis-
turbs the surface slightly as they swing half-around,
about three hundred yards down river, to enter the
southern and straighter, though shallower, channel,
which most pilots prefer.

Harry found the occasional rocking by steamboat

waves a pleasant variation from the scarcely perceptible

motion with which we drifted — only one of our fifty-six

pound weights being out as a bow anchor — against the

gentle current, under the pressure of a breeze up

207

208 AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

stream. The sharp stern of the skifif floated free and
riding with forty feet of line out she swayed from side
to side of the deep water, which never furnished me
with better sport than on that day.

The big, dun-backed, yellow-bellied, strong, clean,
tentacled fish took my minnows eagerly, and fought in
a highly satisfactory manner for their own lives. So it
went on, till Harry, who had come out with emphatic
asseverations that he would gladly fish till midnight,
disclosed a keener enthusiasm for something to eat
about tea time than he did about the fish I was catch-
ing, and often inquired anxiously when I intended
going home.

I lingered, however, for "just one more bite," —
taking four fish by the delay, — till the sun sank slowly
behind the island. Then glancing under my eyebrows
at Harry while stooping to impale a new minnow, his
woe-begone little face gave me a distinct thrill of com-
punction and flinging away the bait I said : Well, small
boys mustri't be made too hungry, I suppose. We
will go home now, Harry."

I was rather astonished that his face, which had
brightened with my words, suddenly clouded, as he
looked keenly down river. Then the explanation
came.

**Oh, there's another steamboat coming up, father ! "
he exclaimed. * * Do stay a little longer ! I wish you
would stay till we get her swell"

.- u

AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 209

It was to me a striking illustration of how curiously
and wonderfully boys are made. Here was a lad too
hungry to enjoy the deep and philosophic pleasure of
fishing, but not hungry enough to forego an absurd de-
light in being rocked by half a dozen steamboat rollers.
However, his request coincided with my inclination,
and putting on a new bait I engaged again in the most
fascinating of pastimes.

I sat in the bow, with my face up stream, Harry
watching, with big eyes, the oncoming steamer, the
intermittent rumble of whose paddle-wheel became
momentarily more distinct, till the slap and thrust of
each float could be heard close behind. Suddenly my
little boy jumped up and exclaimed, in a tone of much
surprise :

"Why, father, look at the steamboat !"

I turned to see in the twilight the big, white **The-
ban," not three hundred yards distant, not swinging
into the south channel, but coming, at about half speed,
straight at where we lay !

Dazed, I sat silent a moment, then roared at her,
"Ahoy, 'Theban,' ahoy ! " with all my power of lung,
searching my pockets at the same time for my clasp-
knife to cut the anchor rope. There was no time to
haul in the weight ; to cut away was the only chance of
escape.

The channel of the river, as I knew well, was too

narrow for the big boat to give us more than the

■J*

2IO AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

narrowest berth, and there was no sign that her pilot
intended to yield us any. I could see him dimly in
the wheel-house, and, apparently, not another soul was
on board. , ■ .._

She did not slow down in the least, though I con-
tinued to yell madly. The roar of her paddle-wheels
was terribly loud. ,. .

Harry's childish treble shrieked through my hoarse
shouts, but there was no sign that we were seen or
heard. Yet it was impossible to believe the pilot
to be unaware of the boat in his course, lead colored
though it was, and deep as were the shadows of the
island.

On she came, during the few seconds while these
observations went through my mind, straight at us. .
The swamping of our skiff in the steamer's roll was
certain now, even should she sheer off as much as ,
possible in passing — certain, even if we had been sud-
denly freed from the anchor line.

I had passed it through the ring of the painter
before the bow, and secured it to the seat. This
fastening I tore away with one jerk, but there were fifty
feet more rope in the coil lying at my feet. To run
that out through the ring would require more time
than we had, and to row off rapidly with the rope
dragging across our bow was impossible, even though
many minutes had been to spare.

Feeling very helpless and desperate, I went through

i-i

AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 211

igh

all my pockets for the knife, till it flashed on me that,
some time before, it had dropped from the gunwale in
which I had stuck it, and was now lying out of reach
under the footboard.

Harry now began to cry loudly, calling, **Oh, what
will mother do?" ,,

The undulation that precedes a large steamer rocked
us. Raising my eyes from a vain endeavor to get a
glimpse of the knife, the steamer seemed almost upon
us. I never saw a vessel shoulder up so monstrously at
the distance ! So close was she, that in the twilight I
could clearly see the red paint of her run gleaming in
the water about her.

With the quick device and lightning activity of de-
spair I seized an oar and, kneeling on the bow, with
one downward drive of its- handle knocked the staple
that secured the ring clear away, and with another
motion flung out the coil of rope into the water.

But the bowsprit of the * * Theban ' ' was not five sec-
onds away then. I struggled madly to get some head-
way, hoping to escape the paddle-wheels, but my poor
little boy, wild with fear, impeded me by clinging
about my legs. Using all my force on the oar as
a paddle, I did, however, manage to give her a
slight motion up stream, stern first, but too late ;
the next moment the figurehead and swelling bow
of the ** Theban" blotted out the sky, and she was
upon us.

II:'

212 AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

Not with her cut-water, fortunately, or we should
have been instantly smashed down ; it ran out twenty
feet beyond us before we were touched. Had she not
been half slowed down to take the windings of the
channel, we should doubtless have been overwhelmed
by the roll of water from her bow ; but somehow the
skiff rode this, and the next moment was thrust against
the river and crowded so hard against the steamer
where she widened that we moved on as if glued to
her side.

Obviously, this strange situation could endure but
for a few moments, and then my little fellow and I
must be drawn under and battered to pulp with the re-
morseless crash of the paddle-wheel so terrible and so
near.

To leap far enough out for escape from them was
impossible. I had clasped Harry in my arms with
some unreasonable imagination that my interposing
body might save him from the crushing blows of the
floats. The hope to sink beneath them did not flash
among the first crowding thoughts of those despairing
moments, not till my glance fell on the fifty-six weight
that still lay in the boat.

Instantly I stooped, seized it with my right hand,
and, with my little boy close hugged, leaped desper-
ately from the boat into the water.

The sensation of being sucked or trailed through an
amazing current, the roar of the battered water, the

I -'

AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 213

overpowering fear of the cruel paddles, — how well I
remember ! Suddenly — it was as though a wave had
flung its mass at me — my legs were swept down with
the water driven from the impact of the floats, my hold
was nearly jerked from the fifty-six pounds of weight
that I held, then down, down, down until the weight
touched the rocky bed. I let go and rose through
twenty feet of water with a gasp, to see the "Theban"
roaring away steadily on her course.

Poor little Harry had never ceased struggling ; he
struggled more violently as now he caught a half-
choked breath. I tore his arms from my neck with
a desperate motion as we began to sink again, and
turned his back to me. We rose again, treading water.
I managed to support his head out of the water long
enough to make him understand that he must be-
come perfectly motionless if he wished me to save
him.

The poor little man behaved splendidly after that,
but by several slight immersions had lost his senses in a
half-drowned faint before I managed to get ashore. I
had, however, no great difficulty in restoring him.
Fortunately there was a house on the Island, and there
we spent the night.

You may be sure that I lost no time in investigating
the conduct of the * * Theban' s ' ' pilot. The man denied
all knowledge of the occurrence, and I could see that
he was really surprised and shocked ; but that he felt

214 AN ADVENTURE ON THE ST. LAWRENCE

in some degree guilty I could also perceive. Not one
of the deck-hands, none of the officers, would confess
any knowledge in the matter, and not till the cross-
examination of the crew on my suit for damages against
the steamboat company did the truth come out. Then
a clean breast was made.

The pilot had secretly brought a jug of whisky
aboard, and while the captain was below at his tea, the
mate and the whole watch, defying all the rules of the
company's service, had taken occasion to finish the
liquor. As for the pilot, he explained that he had
been "too drunk to do more'n steer, sir, and could
jest on'y see my landmarks. I took the north
channel," he concluded, "because I wanted folks to
know that I was puffickly sober."

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

" T~\ON'T take it, did you say? Well, I'm glad I

J--' can say that I can take it or leave it, as I
please," and the young fellow who had invited his
traveling acquaintance to drink, screwed the flask's
cover down, fitted on its drinking cup, and replaced it
in his pocket. **I always carry a little of the right sort,
A I," he said, with an air of superior worldliness.
"Are you a teetotaller, sir? "

**I don't like the word 'teetotaller,* but I never
drink. I dare not," repeated the older man.

On flew the train, the car swaying, the rattle becom-
ing a roar when the door opened, the stillness at
stopping places emphasized by the sough of high wind
and the beating of rain. Still neither of the men left
the smoking compartment of the Pullman car. The
younger traveler became absorbed in a bundle of formal-
looking letters, over which he smoked a cigar before
speaking again.

"It must be late," he said, looking up. "What!
After eleven o'clock? Well, I'll have another taste
and go to my berth. You're about the most silent
companion I've fallen in with, sir. Every time I've

215

2l6

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

looked up for two hours I have observed you looking
at me seriously. See anything wrong?"

** I have been wondering what your alert face will be
like in ten years."

**A regular sober-sides face, you may depend on
that. Full of business — that's what Pm going in for."

* ' Well, I hope it may be. Somehow I find myself
taking an extraordinary interest in the question. If
you will permit me, I'll tell you why."

"Teetotal story, sir?" said the young man banter-
ingly.

''You might call it that."

* ' I guess I must have heard it already. Teetotal
stories are mighty stale. ' *

* ' Degradation through drink is a tragedy ever stale,
and ever freshly illustrated. I was going to tell you a
personal experience. ' '

*' You don't look like a reformed drunkard, sir."

* * No, I never drank. But I dearly loved one who
did. Shall I tell you about him ? "

"If it will not be too painful, sir," said the young
fellow, moved to sympathy by something in his com-
panion's ton^.

"Well, first read a part of a letter I received some
time ago," said the older man, taking out a huge
pocketbook, in which there were many papers, from
which he extracted the letter, and folded this passage
down.

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

217

!>'

The young fellow took it, and read, with a strong
sensation of intruding upon private grief :

Ah, my dear fellow, I have three little children and
a wife whose childlike and innocent life should have
led me to better things. Many a care and many a
sorrow she has had since she married me, and many a
time, God knows, I've been deeply penitent to have
given her cause for grief.

But I have the restless blood of a drunkard in my
veins, and it carries me away to dreadful, and disgraceful
sprees. I promise, I swear off, I protest by all that's
good and holy that liquor shall never pass my lips again,
but all to no purpose. A craving — a devil — takes
possession of me, and after weeks, or even months,
of abstention I break out and degrade myself and
shame my children, and heap misery on them and my
wife.

The old year is closing as I write and the new comes
up before me like an enemy — so much do I feel my
weakness. Th^t God may close my old life and open
a new and better one to me is the cry of my heart to-
night ; for if I do not find strength that the past gives
me no hope of gaining, before the leaves of next sum-
mer wither I shall fill a drunkard's grave and leave my
wife and little ones to the mercy of the world.

" Surely the man who wrote that never drank again,"
said the young traveler, handing back the page.

**I will tell you," he said, and then told the story
substantially as follows :

That letter was written by my own brother. I had not
seen him for several years. He was a lawyer, practising
in a place far from me and all of our family. We

2l8

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

had thought of him as a prosperous and happy man.
His marriage had set at rest some fears excited by his
earlier life. You can understand that that letter v/as a
dreadful shock to me. His reference to the drunkard's
blood in his veins had a significance for me that you
cannot understand, for on one side of my parentage I
come of a family that has suffered beyond telling
through the drinking habit. Clever men in it ; witty,
great-hearted fellows, much loved, popular, eloquent.
One was a Supreme Court judge ; two were among
the foremost orators of their native State. Their
fame blazed up in their very youth. It declined just
as men began to expect something really great of
them. It ended before middle age in drunkenness
and death.

On the other side, my relatives are steady-going
people without any brilliant qualities. I take after
them, and remembering the others, I have never
dared to taste liquor.

But my brother did dare. You remember your
expression awhile ago, *'I am glad I can say that I can
take it, or leave it alone, as I please. ' ' How often I
had heard the very words and tone from poor Randal.
Just about your age he must have been when he used
to meet my expostulations by that perennial boast of
young men.

"What's the use of telling me about my uncles,
Fred? " he would say. '*They craved liquor. I never

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

219

touch it, except for the sake of a little jollity. I can
take it, or leave it, as I please. ' '

But I'll not weary you by details of his youthful
escapades. As I said, we believed him to have turned
over a new leaf after his marriage in a distant State.
He brought his wife home to us for a few weeks, a
lovely, golden-haired young creature. Well ! well !
no use telling about that. He had "finally sworn
off" then, and they were very happy. After that I
knew no more of him than that he reported, in oc-
casional letters, the growth of his family and prosperity.
The sad letter which you have read came after a wide
gap in our correspondence. I instantly determined to
make time for a long visit to him, and wrote him to
that effect. He responded joyfully, and in early sum-
mer I made the journey.

On arriving at the village I was surprised that he did
not meet me. Inquiring where Randal's office was,
the stationmaster told me that he would not probably
be at his office that day ; ** he was a little out of sorts,"
the man had heard. I would find him at home ; it
wasn't far ; and the railway man gave me directions.

Following them I walked on through a pretty little
town of comfortable brick houses and shady, sandy
streets, a most peaceful place. Reaching its outskirts
as instructed, I soon faced a handsome house with an
extensive lawn in front, well kept, with flower beds and
many evidences of care.

220

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

I had associated my brother's confession with the
drunkenness seen in my own town, and imagined him
as having become miserably poor ; hence I was a good
deal relieved by the appearance of prosperity about
his residence.

"Pooh!" I said to myself, going up the gravel
path, "he has exaggerated his vice. No doubt he
had taken too much about Christmas time, and was
suffering from a bad headache in consequence. ' '

As I approached it struck me as rather strange that
no one was to be seen about the house. I observed
that the garden ran far back to a cedar wood or swamp,
and from this wood I thought I heard faint shouts.

I ascended the veranda steps. Not a face appeared
at the windows. As I rang the bell, I heard a child
crying within. With the faint jangle that came to me
the cry ceased. I stood expectant. The child again
began its wail, but no one came. I rang again and
again. With each sound of the bell the child's voice
ceased, to rise again as the tinkle died away. Much
puzzled, I went around to the rear wing.

The kitchen door stood wide open, a bright fire was
in the stove, there were dishes unwashed and food in
course of preparation, but no servants. Entering, I
looked into three comfortable rooms, finding no person.
In the fourth, a large sitting room, a very little girl sat
in the middle of the floor, surrounded by toys. I
knew at once that she must be little Flora, my brother's

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

231

youngest, his pet, being the youngest girl, a baby of
something more than two years.

She looked up at me, round-eyed with wonder. "Is
this little Flora?" I r.sked.

"I's papa's little girl," she answered, very dis-
tinctly. "Papa ! papa I " and she began to cry again.

Unwilling though she was, I took her in my arms
and soon managed to soothe her by the ticking of my
watch. Then I carried her through every room in the
house without finding another soul.

Trying in vain to account for the desertion, I re-
turned downstairs and to the kitchen. As I reached
it, two small boys came in, little Randal and Fred. I
knew them from photographs.

They stared at me with alarm. Both had been cry-
ing, I could see. When I told them I was Uncle Fred
they came to me shyly.

* * And where are papa and mamma ? " I asked.

The little fellows hung their heads. " Papa is sick,"
said Randal, the elder, hesitatingly.

** But where is he?"

" He got up and ran out," said the poor little man,
raising a chubby hand to his eyes.

" And where are mamma and all the rest? "

"Mamma didn't know papa had gone till he was
near into the woods," he said, pointing to the rear of
the garden, "and then she ran after him, and she
called Kitty and Jane and Thomas, and we ran after

222

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

them, and they sent us home to take care of the baby.
They can't find papa, and he's lost," so my little
nephew explained through his sobs.

Scarcely had he done speaking when a man appeared
at the edge of the wood, and soon afterward a group
following him. Then he stopped, turned, and shook
his fist at them.

* * Go ' way ! Lemme alone ! Don' come near me ! ' '
and I recognized my brother's voice.

Those who followed sc-emed either to fear or to
humor him, for they kept their distance. On he came,
tumbling over the fence into the garden. Then he
picked himself up, reeled, steadied himself, lurched
forward again, and sometimes running, but always keep-
ing his feet, approached me.

The boys, crying and shuddering, stood clutching
me till he was two-thirds of the way up the garden.

**Come, Freddy," said little Randal with a sudden
recollection, *' we mustn't see papa when he's sick,"
and led the other in.

It was the most piteous child's voice — the most
piteous thing — those two little lads, fond and ashamed
of their own father !

He came on, not noticing me till within a few paces.
He was unshod and only half clad, just as he had run
out in semi-delirium, and had been staggering through
mud and water.

At last he stopped, looked at me in evident recog-

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

223

nition, trying to control his swayings ; then, as if un-
conscious of any shame, came toward me. '^

"It's you, Fred. When'd you come? Why din'
you lemme know, Fred ? "

His hand closed like a vise on mine ; his whole
strength — and he was a very large, powerful man —
seemed to fly to his fingers, but they trembled as he
grasped my hand.

I could not speak. He looked stupidly into my face,
with half-open, bloodshot eyes, for a few moments ;
then, ignoring me as completely as if I had been
always there, reached out his arms for Florry.

''Come to papa — thass papa's dear li'l girl." At
his husky, affectionate, distressing voice I strained the
child closer, but she held out her arms to him, and
staggering forward, he grasped her.

Kissing and fondling little Florence, he entered the
kitchen and cautiously ascended the steps leading to
the hall. I kept my hand on his arm, and of this sup-
port he seemed wholly unconscious. It was plain that
his debauch had been a long one, for his hair was neg-
lected, his beard of a week's growth.

My brother fell into a chair, still fondling his little
daughter, and looked dumbly around. I seemed no
more to him than any senseless object in the room.
To me, this sodden, silent man was as one I had never
known, so changed was his from the bright, alert face
of which yours has reminded me.

224

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

V-

Soon I heard voices, and left the room to meet my
brother's wife. Poor Lucy ! I was ashamed to meet
her, ashamed that she should know that I had seen
him ; I wished that I could have escaped unobserved.
Little did I know how far the poor girl was past vain
efforts to conceal her husband's vice. i.

She came silently to me, unsurprised — not to be sur-
prised by anything in life. Her fair hair, that I remem-
bered as seeming blown about her flower-like face, was
smooth and lank each side her forehead. She was very
pale, and oh, how old she looked ! Her eyes — they
give tragedy to black-eyed women — I could not have
believed that such settled misery could over look forth
from eyes of blue. She did not weep, she did not
speak. Holding my hand, she only looked at me with
those hopeless eyes.

Seeing us, the servant who had entered went back
and closed the door. Then the little boys stole softly
down, hand in hand, averting their looks of shame
from the room where their father sat, and, standing by
their mother, covered their faces in her skirts.

Not a word was uttered in the group, and the
hall clock above us ticked and ticked its strokes of
doom. We could hear the unconscious baby crowing,
and my brother's affectionate mumbhng to her.

"Papa's li'l girl — papa's dear li'l baby girl."

Sir, I don't think I can tell you the rest. Oh, well,
we stood for some little time, listening. Then my

n \\

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

225

brother said, coaxingly, "Papa '11 leave dear li'l girl
down, 'n go'n see li'l girl's Uncle Fred." At the
same time he rose, and we entered.

"Let me take the baby, Randal," said Lucy, very
gently.

" Go 'way, Lucy dear ! Mus'n't in' fere with baby,"
he expostulated with drunken, not unkindly gravity.

"But you want to go upstairs, don't you, Randal
dear?"

* * Yes, I wan' to go ' pstairs. Go' n' set baby down
firs' , ' n' give her toys. You oughtn' t take baby, Lucy ;
she's too heavy — must take care not hurt yourself,
Lucy." The survival of his affection through his deg-
radation, seemed somehow more heart-breaking than
violence from him would have been.

I did not think he could set the child down, but re-
fusing to be assisted in the least, he stooped very care-
fully, though swaying a little, and placed her again
among her playthings on the floor. For a few moments
he stood leaning, smiling down on her drunkenly,
fumbling his fingers without sound in attempting to
snap them for her amusement. The child looked up
into his face, and held out her arms.

" Baby want to kiss papa," he said in a gratified
tone, and stooped lower. And then, before either of
us could reach him, he fell forward full length, his
whole weight crushing little Florry down.

She cried out, and seemed to smother. The next

226

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

instant he had rolled aside, and there the little, lovely
child lay, bleeding at the mouth. . '

The poor mother, with a shriek, lifted her baby to
her heart. It sighed, sighed — and lay still. Randal,
by my aid, had reached his feet. The struggling fear,
hope, and horror of his face I shall never forget ! '•

* ' Baby ! " he said, stooping down. * * Baby, look at
papa. Baby — just once — ^look at papa. O my God !
Lucy, have I killed my Uttle baby girl ? "

Even so it was, for little Florry never held out her
arms to him again. The mother — but I need not de-
scribe the anguish of that household. We hardly
knew when my brother recovered from the insanity of
liquor, for it was followed by the delirium of brain
fever. There he lay for a fortnight, talking constantly
of Florry, and when consciousness returned still lay
there, exhausted, silent, a mere wreck, often crying
dumbly. Two months elapsed before he left his
room. •

Sir, he swore he never would touch liquor again,
swore it, as his letter says, by all that was good and
holy. And even between his protests, he said to me,
**I can't keep from it, Fred, I can't — it's too strong
for me." I could not believe that he judged truly of
his weakness, but he knew it too well — ^it was no longer
for him to take it or leave it alone.

One day, when we believed him safe at his office, he
entered the house, looking, I thought, remarkably well. *

TOLD ON A PULLMAN

227

lis

But when Lucy saw his face, she sprang up with a
bitter, trembling cry. He stood, as if listening, at the
door of the room, looking in.

**Lucy, Where's little Florry? I want to take her
out with me," he said in a perfectly natural voice.

Though quite steady on his legs, and with perfect
control cl his utterances, he had drunk himself into
absolute forgetfulness !

And from that day out he could not be restrained.
He would have liquor. Again and again he escaped
from the room in which we tried to confine him. His
cunning and agility were preternatural. The demon
that he had dared to trifle with never left hiin afterward,
and, at last, searching for him after an escape in the
night, we found him half-naked, face down, quite dead,
in a ditch.

And now I ask you whether I can credit any man
who says of liquor that he **can take it, or leave it
alone"?

The young traveler made no answer except that he
took from his pocket the flask which had led to the
story, and poured its A i contents into the wash-basin
of that Pullman car.

/■<;•■

V 1

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

BETWEEN Michipicoten and Nepigon Bays the
north shore of Lake Superior erects an ironlike
front against waves scarcely less enormous than the
vastest of the ocean. They whelm up before a gale
from the south with the unchecked oscillation of one
hundred and fifty miles, to swing upon that high-walled
coast with a ma^sy and solemn force more appalling
than the fury of breakers.

So deep, commonly, is the water at the foot of the
cliffs that no vessel can hope to find near them a secure
anchorage against a gale driving on the heights. Har-
bors there are none ; islands affording shelter are far
apart ; and the north shore is altogether so dangerous
that lake captains shun it when they can.

Because we knew all this on board the big steam -yacht
**Trampler," Captain Lount dropped anchor in the
lee of the Slate Islands on the evening of August ninth.
He might have run on eastward that night to Michipico-
ten, but there was no telling what weather might come
before morning. In the heated term that side of Lake
Superior is often swept by such cyclonic squalls as work

havoc on the Atlantic coast at the same season.
228

'n%

} 1

-fy

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

229

George Crombie and his three guests cared little
whether the "Trampler" stopped for the night or
steamed on. We were four rather reckless students who
had been up the Nepigon River trout-fishing for ten
days, while the big yacht, owned by George's father, lay
waiting for us at the Hudson Bay Company's crazy
wharf at Red Rock. Now we were, day after day,
enjoying most fascinating fly-fishing in lake water, under
the towering cliffs of the main shore.

Joe Wislemkoom, one of our Ojibway guides, was de
lighted with the * ' Trampler' s ' ' halt at the Slate Islands ;
indeed he liked nothing better than halting, except
fishing, shooting, and eating, yet he responded to
orders with great alacrity. Whenever we halted, Joe
generally reposed, in accordance with the Indian
maxim, "Walking is better than running, standing is
better than walking, sitting is better than standing, and
lying down is better than sitting."

* * Good bully man you for stop ! ' ' Joe said to
Captain Lount. * * Catchum big trout to-morrow. Two
gemplen fish by him big steamboat all 'round islands.
Oder two gemplen take little steamboat — take canoe —
come with Joe Wislemkoom. Me show him Hole in
de Wall — big trout — long your arm, mebby. ' '

In compliance with this suggestion, Mandeville
Merritt and George Shepley stayed at the islands next
morning, while Crombie and I took a canoe with the
steam-launch and headed northeastward.

230

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

"If the Hole in the Wall is where Joe says it
is," said Captain Lount, "you ought to get back to-
night, if nothing goes wrong with the launch or the
weather."
. / "Oh, yes, we'll probably be back before dark," said

> / Crombie. " But if there's much wind we'll stay in the
Hole in the Wall. Joe says there' s good shelter there. ' '

"I've always heard so, but I've never seen the
place," said Lount. "The trouble is to find it;
but I've no doubt Joe can do that. Shall I run over
for you with the yacht in the morning in case you
don' t turn up before ? " , •

"You'd better," said Crombie. "We'll steam out
into the lake and expect to see you about eight o'clock
or so."

As we scuttled away at six o'clock, with a full camp
kit stored partly in the launch and partly in the towed
canoe, the morning was clear and calm. The Hole,
Joe thought, was not more than twenty miles away ;
by nine o'clock we should be well within its shelter.
No sign of danger was in the sky, for the air seemed
no more sultry than it had been for several days.

Crombie, a bit of a mechanician, liked to run the
launch himself Perhaps he was too fond of crowding
on steam ; perhaps there had been an unsuspected flaw
in the machinery ; at any rate, there was a sudden
clatter of broken irons, and the screw stopped when we
were about half a mile from the north shore clifFs. ^

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

231

I was then in the bow with Joe Wislemkoom, scan-
ning the coast, which rose brown li^e an iron wall fully
four hundred feet high. Joe huo begun to look care-
fully for the Hole in the Wall, which joined the lake
in such a manner, he said, that the Hole would not be
seen till we were close to
it. He had drawn a rude
diagram in my note-book,
which I pocketed on hear-
ing the crash. ' ^Launch

*' What's the row? " I asked turning to Crombie.

**Oh, just something wrong," he answered crossly.
•* Leave me alone. I'll fix it in a minute."

As nothing exasperated this amateur mechanic more
than to be overlooked while trying to right some of the
numerous "wrongs" that occurred under his dealing
with machinery, I turned again to the cliffs.

No birds winged about that treeless and stern desola-
tion except a few white-paper-like gulls that seemed to
be fishing at one point on the cliff's foot. No sound
disturbed the great silence except Crombie' s angry
tinkering. Lake Superior's clear green lay so calm
that no motion of the little launch v/as perceptible
except when it swayed with Crombie' s movements from
side to side. The canoe lay at an unvarying distance
of about twelve feet from us, though the least zephyr
would have kept it swinging at its rope's end.

" Mebby Hole in Wall?" said Joe Wislemkoom,

232

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

doubtfully, pointing to the gulls. ** Long time since I
be here — my fader' n me. Gull fly all same way by
Hole den."

" Couldn't you see the Hole from this distance ? "

** No — him look all same like wall till near, near.
Don't see no more gull nowhere," and he gazed east-
ward and westward.

"Well, perhaps it's the place," I said.

•'Mebby — only de rock no look same like I'll re-
memb' by gull. Wall look like he been rub long 'way
up."

"Your eyes must be better than mine, Joe."

*' For sure better. You no see like tree by gull? "

"No, I don't see the least sign of a tree anywhere
about there."

"Tree dere all same — no branch on him — not big
tree. You want see him? Mebby, if take canoe,
you'n me see Hole."

• ' Do, for goodness sake take the canoe and go ! "
said Crombie. "You can whip that water while I'm
fixing things. It may take me an hour. I'd sooner
you'd go. Perhaps we'll be here till noon, and some
fresh trout would go well for lunch."

Joe and I promptly got into the canoe, which con-
tained a bell tent, two long-handled hatchets, and a kit
for camp-cooking. All our provisions were in the
lockers of the launch. So short was the distance to
shore that I never thought of lightening the canoe, nor

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

233

putting food aboard it. With a bamboo rod and a
landing-net beside me I grasped the bow paddle, and
away we shot toward the gulls.

"Yes, b'gum ! Hole in Wall. Look !" cried Joe,
at a quarter of a mile from shore.

Directly in our front was what looked like a narrow
discoloration extending from the watet to the top of the
cliff. As we went nearer, I saw this to be caused by a
sharp indentation of part of the wall. In this gap
water was soon visible, and then the break of the cliff's
sky line could be seen.

Not far from the west corner of the gap, but on the
lake face of the cliff, flew the gulls, somewhat disturbed
by our approach. Beneath them could be seen such a
scuttling of fish as alewives make on the sea coast.
We knew that thousands of trout were playing there
on some small, hidden protrusion of rock, but Joe
seemed unconcerned about them. He was gazing,
open-mouthed, at the traces of man's work on the cliff.

A tall cedar, with stubs of branches left, as if to assist
men in climbing, stood against the precipice. Its foot
was in water. Its top went up full sixty feet to what
could scarcely be called a ledge. On both sides of the
cedar, and as far upward as we could see, the face of
the cliff had been cleared of mosses and lichens for a
space some twenty- five feet wide.

"What for? Who make?" asked Joe, as if not
only puzzled but alarmed.

234

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

" Beats me, Joe," I said. " Looks as if men had
been hauling something up the wall here."

In fact, as I learned later, a Canadian Pacific Rail-
way contractor had fixed a windlass on the cliff top
three years earlier and hauled up telegraph poles there.
The raft of poles had been towed into the Hole in the
Wall for shelter from storms, and brought by small cribs
to this point, which was most convenient for lifting the
sticks.

Nothing remained of the contractor's work except
the cedar tree which had been fixed there to afford
men working at the water's edge a means of ascending
to a safe standing-place in case of sudden storms. It
was clamped by iron bands and nuts to screw-headed
bolts wedged firmly into holes drilled on the cliff's
face. Thus that unrotting timber had endured the
beating of three years' storms, though it was deeply
dented and somewhat shredded by the pounding of
ice.

The thing was so mysterious to Joe and me that we
resolved to examine it thoroughly before casting a fly
among the throngs of trout. So we tied the bow of
the canoe to the foot of the cedar, pulled thick folds
of the tent over the bark sides to protect them from
rubbing on the face of the cliff, and then climbed the
iron-clamped tree.

Near its top we stepped off upon a sort of rough-
topped rock platform, which could have afforded stand-

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

235

ing-room to forty men. Above this the clifT leaned
very slightly inward, but presented no sign of another
standing-place above us, so far as we could see.

As there was nothing of interest on the rock platform
except some granite shards and sand, which marked
where a fire had long burned, I was turning to gaze at
the blue -green endless expanse of Superior, when Joe
broke into a cry of alarm.

•* Murdy — see wind ! " he shouted.

When I had last looked seaward there was not even
a cloud as big as a man's hand. Now, perhaps ten
minutes later, an amazing, wraithlike, white mass was
hurtling, through sunshine, from the south.

"Down, quick! Let's get back to Crombiel" I
shouted, seizing the cedar's top.

** No — no good — save canoe ! " said Joe.

The squall was traveling at a rate so prodigious that
it seemed already to have leaped half-way to the launch,
where we could still hear Crombie absorbed in his
hammering. I yelled at him, but he gave no sign
of hearing. It was plain that our canoe would go
under in an attempt to reach him. Could the launch,
without power of motion, weather the shortest hurri-
cane ?

** Canoe — save canoe ! " said Joe again.

As he climbed down, and I after him, cool puffs
stirred the water below us. I glanced at the launch ;
it was already dancing, and Crombie was standing

236

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

gazing at the coming fury. The gulls
were now flying far overhead, as if
to sail inland and avoid being bat-
tered against the cliff by the blast.
Our canoe was rocking violently, and
all the scurrying of trout had ceased.
Joe, standing in two feet of water
on what was a narrow, rounding pro-
trusion of rock, pulled up the tent,
packed it on my back, and cried :
*'Go up — quick — come down —
:} quick! Mebbe save canoe, too."
I supposed he meant to stay below
and hold it from battering on the
wall, but I heard him clattering after
me with the cooking-kit and axes, for
an Indian hates to abandon such
property. He threw the things on
the standing-place and turned
to go down. Perhaps our
united strength could haul
up the light canoe.

But now the squall was
on us. It had totally hid-
den the launch. It seemed
to scoop up water and drive
heavy spray on the fierce
edge of its wind. I was lit-

(

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

237

\ I

erally forced back to the wall. There the blast soon
"banked" and left a space now still, now of furious
wind eddies. Fearful of being blown off sidewise, I
lay down just as Joe stumbled and fell beside me.

There we crouched in such a demoniac shrieking of
the elements as I have never elsewhere heard. Soon a
slash of cold water doused us. It seemed incredible
that wave crests could have so suddenly leaped so high,
but we were drenched again and again before the mist
or rack of the storm let us see anything of the lake
once more.

Its waters were tumbling far below us in waves of
amazing volume, whose crests were being swept off and
whirled high, as if carried by an upward slant of the
wind rising to go over the precipice. Swift masses of
cold water continued to be launched at us as if from
the sky. So thick was the air with spume that I could
see the terrible face of the deep only at intervals, and
yet the whole scene was now again illuminated by the
high sun's pouring of rays through the flying scud.

Twenty minutes more and the tempest had passed,
but there was still a high wind. The spume fell out of
the air; the waves began rolling out of confusion into
regular march ; crests no longer drenched us. We
stood up and looked for Crombie. Not a trace of the
launch could be seen.

** Mebbe little steamboat blow in by Hole in Wall,"
said Joe, peering to the eastward.

238

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

But the Hole, though within a hundred yards of us,
was completely hidden by the cliff. We could see no
sign of the gap except that the water before it did not
surge high and fall back in a huge returning wave. I
fancied that a certain set of crests indicated the current
that must be running into the Hole with so sudden a
lifting of the lake's north side. I even imagined that
Crombie might have clung to the bulkheaded launch,
after its inevitable rolling over, and been drawn into
the calm shelter beyond. • ' ■ ir---.

But a steady gaze downward scattered all my hopes. '
Some fragments of our canoe were being thrashed to
and fro with the rope which had tied it to the cedar.
But more than the canoe tossed there.

** Little steamboat!" gasped Joe, and descended
twenty feet. He returned quickly, looking horrified.

"Broke all to pieces," he said. **Come in right
here. Poor Misser Crombie ! He was good bully kind
man — good to Indian all time, all time." ,

Two hours later, when wind and sea had gone down,
we were able to descend and stand once more on the
little shoal place. Thousands of trout were again
scuttling around there, quite regardless of the boiler of
the launch, which had been thrown upon the protrud-
ing rock and battered almost to pieces against the
precipice. Little else of her wreckage was to be seen,
though she must have come in bodily and gone to
pieces right below our perch. I climbed back to it, .

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

239

it,

imagining poor Crombie's body streaming along in the
clear undercurrents, among companies of inquisitive
fish.

For hours I sat silently beside Joe, gazing wofully at
the calm spread of Superior, Sunset came, gilding,
reddening, empurpling, and miraging the interminable
expanse. Very slowly the August darkness drew over
the face of the deep. The light of moon and stars
showed us dimly the barriers of our prison. There
were one hundred and fifty miles of water to the south,
and four hundred feet of cliff at our backs.

Hunger made us the more wakeful, but we could
endure fasting well enough till the time set for the
"Trampiet' " coming to seek us next morning.
\- **S'post I : steamboat sink in storm, too?" asked
Joe, suddenly voicing my fears.

"Then we'll be done for,*' I said.
' * ' You mean we starve ? ' ' said Joe.

** Or drown ourselves," said I.

"No starve," he replied composedly. ** No drown
ourself. But starve bad way for die. I sooner be kill
dead, me."

With grief for Crombie, who was the only child of his
parents, with heartsick imaginings of their woe over
his death ; with keen though unreasonable self-blame
for having left him in the launch ; with fear that the
** Trampler " had gone down with my other comrades ;
and with bewildered speculations as to how Joe and 1

240

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

could escape from the cliff without any sort of boat, I
lay gazing at the stars and moon in sky and water long
after the Indian was sleeping soundly. We sat rather
than lay close together, with folds of the tent under
and over us, for the August night was cool beside that
vast cold lake.

It was quarter to two in the morning by my watch
when I was roused from dozing by the long shriek of a
steam whistle.

*' Big steamboat ! " exclaimed Joe, wakening with a
snort. ' * No — what ? " for the note was unfamiliar,
and came to us as if from over the cliff.

" Not the 'Trampler,' anyway," I said. Just then
another long whistle of a different tone came as from
the sky. * ' Oh, now I know ! Those are two railway
trains passing near here. The Canadian Pacific Rail-
way runs only one train a day each way, and they meet
near here in the night. The road can't be more than
a mile back of the cliff top."

* * So ! S' pose we go on him cars ? * ' said Joe, with
a sort of hopeless derision, and then calmly went to
sleep again, while my brain, partly deadened by doz-
ing, wove fantastic plans for an ascent to the railway
track.

By six o'clock in the morning we were keenly watch-
ing the southwestward horizon, hoping to see the
"Tram pier" emerging from the slow wraiths of mist
that clung to the water. But nine o'clock passe4

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

241

without sight or sound of her. Then we were quite
sure sue had been caught steaming on the windward
of the islands and sunk by the tornado of yesterday.

There was no hope that another vessel of any kind
would be soon seen on that little-frequented coast.
To leave the cliff or ascend it seemed ecjually impossi-
ble. Indeed, death seemed so inevitable that my mind
ceased entirely to work on the problem of escape till
about noon. Then, as occurred at each meal time,
the pangs of hunger were very painful and suggestive.
I had chewed some pieces cut from the tent and was
going down the cedar for a drink of water, when it
occurred to me that we might loosen the tree from its
iron clamps, pull it up, lay its top against the cliff and
ascend its length above our standing-place.

Possibly there might be another standing-place over
our heads. We had seen none from below, but I knew
that it is difficult to distinguish small indentations on
the face of brown granite cliffs. It was conceivable
that we might use the cedar to rise from standing-place
to standing-place and so surmount the cliff; but Joe
laughed with derision when I explained the idea.

** Cedar not heavy wood — no," he said. " But four
men not lift him — too big." This was true, for the
cedar was fully a foot in diameter at the butt.

** We could split it, Joe," said I, looking at the axes.

** Split easy — cedar good for split — but him fast-
ened."

242

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

"Knock the nuts around and loosen the tree."

**Hey! Yes — by gum!" exclaimed Joe. "We
split him — we tie him pieces togedder on end — climb
up, mebby."

At this he sprang to his feet with elation, but at once
began to laugh again.

"Big fool, Joe Wislemkoom," he said. " How we
lift him long if can't lift him short? "

"But you don't quite understand the plan, Joe. I
don't mean to tie the pieces together by the ends.
We can lift a split length and go up on it, and perhaps
find one standing-place after another to the top. ' '

" We split him easy," exclaimed Joe, at once adopt-
ing the idea and going to work. . . ■ ..

It was the work of half an hour to knock the nuts
off the rock bolts, loosen the clamps and let the cedar
fall. We stood on the little shoal below, cut some
poor wedges from the butt, and contrived to split
the trunk into six almost equal pieces before two
o' clocks

Then, with little difficulty, we stood the six pieces
on end side by side. At the tips they were little more
than two-thirds of ordinary fence-rail size, and there-
fore were withy. Nevertheless, they easily supported
Joe as he climbed up to the dry standing-place again,
using for footholds the stubs of branches which we had
been careful to save as far as possible.

I went up after Joe, while he held the tips, and we

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

243

stood again together more than fifty feet above the
lake, but not now hopeless of escape, though the
enterprise was of the most desperate nature. There
might be no standing-place within reach above us, and
if there were many, our venture would become more
perilous by climbing to each in succession.

Nothing but the fe'^ 'n^^ certainty that as .c or
starvation were our alternatives nerved us for the
danger. It must be encountered at once, lest our
strength should quite depart by hunger. So we pulled
up two pieces of the cedar and let their tops touch the
wall as we raised them straight above us.
^ When their butts were firmly placed Joe prepared to
ascend again. But now a new idea struck me as my
eye happened to fall on the tent-ropes.
** Let us make a ladder, Joe. " ,
*' How make ladder? Nossin make him wis."
* * Pull up a third stick. Cut short pieces from it.
Tie them to two side pieces by the tent-ropes."

"Good bully man you!" said Joe, and went to
work eagerly on the plan.

We tied a crosspiece between the butts, another
three feet higher, a third about the height of our
heads. Joe stood on this, tied a fourth, ascended and
tied a fifth, and so rose till he was forty feet above me.
Then he stepped off with a cry of delight on another
standing-place, above which the withy tips of the lad-
der had protruded without; our seeing this from below.

244

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

"No — you not come. I make more ladder first,"
shouted Joe, when I called to him to hold the tips for
my ascent.

So out he came again with his ropes to tie on more
rungs — which almost brought us to destruction.

The tips were now unsupported by the wall, for the
ladder, at about forty feet above me, rested against the
second standing-place. With some sudden movement
of Joe's on the upper part, both butts sprang outward
quickly. Another six inches and they would have been
off my standing place. I flung myself down to get a
lower grip, clung desperately, and screamed, "Joe,
come down ! "

He sprang before my words reached him and safely
reached the rounding shelf near him, but his jump was
so sudden as to spring the tips outward. It seemed
that the ladder must fall backward. I jumped up to
get a higher grip. I pulled hard, but I knew I was
pulling in vain. I dared not lean out farther, and was
about to let go, when the ladder's slant was suddenly
reversed. Joe had flung a tent rope so cleverly that
the wooden "clamp" at its end had whirled round
one side of the ladder and practically tied the rope, so
that he could jerk the ladder back to him.

Again he held the tips while I ascended. We now
stood about ninety feet above the gulls, which had
resumed their fishing below, but it seemed improbable
that we could go any higher. \

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

245

This standing-place was more truly a ledge than that
which we had left below, but it was much narrower,
and its top rounded outward and downward. The
difficulty was to find a spot where the ladder would
stand under a man's weight. To give it a sufficient slant
inward would be to place the butts half-way out on the
rounding slope. This had, indeed, a rough surface,
but I dreaded lest the springing of the ladder under
Joe should throw it from its hold.

But desperate exigencies force men to desperate
trials. We lifted the ladder ; we set it against the wall ;
I crouched at its butts and clasped them. Once more
Joe went up safely, and now stood almost sixty feet
above me.

Up to this time giddiness had not troubled me ; but
no sooner did I begin to climb after Joe than fear came
cold to my heart. There was now, I reflected, nothing
to prevent the butts slipping except their friction and
Joe's insecure hold on the withy tips.

Instead of waiting to get control of my nerves, I
pressed upward in an access of nervous excitement.
The enormous mass of the precipice now weighed on
my wild imagination, and I quivered on the quivering
ladder. Throwing back my head to look up at Joe,
I saw the face of the cliff rising, it seemed, to the
infinite blue. There I stopped, while a deepened
sense of the horrors of the venture astonished my reel-
ing brain.

246

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

Perhaps faintness from hunger brought the giddiness.
The voi'^ behind me swooned, I felt, with expectancy
of my fall. Still I clung to the ladder ; all my remain-
sanity was as if centered in my grasp-
hands. They held me, though my
^«ajy arms were extend-

. j ed at full length
and my body lean-
ing backward from
the feet.

I could no lon-
ger control the
muscles of my
neck. My head
fell backward
limply, as I heard
Joe shriek at me
some words that I
did not distin-
guish. Echoes of
his voice seemed
to come from the
water, I clutched
harder ; * the faint feeling passed ; I vehemently pulled
to bring my front close to the ladder again.

At that sudden jerk the butts moved ; the full strain
of the ladder and my weight came on Joe's hands.
For one moment I was aware that the lips ran pressing

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

247

against the wall as the butts shot outward ; then I was
launched through the air, as if face down and feet first
on a toboggan, into the deep of Lake Superior.

Souse ! And still I clung to the ladder. It must
have much broken the force of my fall, for I felt
neither battered nor breathless. For only a few sec-
onds was I under ; then my head was in air, and 1
floating easily on the ladder.

"There — there he is ! " I heard shouting near me,
and then splashing oars. Turning I saw Captain Lount
and four men in the "Trampler's" gig.

*'Are you hurt?" shouted Lount.

"No, I'm all right."

"Where's Mr. Crombie and the launch?"

" Dead — sunk ! " I cried ; and being hauled aboard,
explained the yesterday's disaster.

"It's terrible — terrible ! " said Lount. " How am
I to face his father ? Why did I give in to the boy ?
He would run that launch himself ! ' '

"Where's the ' Trampler ' ? " I asked.

"The * Trampler' s' ashore in the lee of the Slate
Islands. I was caught outside in that infernal squall,
and ran around in the mist of it till her nose went on a
shoal. We'll get her off" all right, though. I sent two
men up to Red Rock for a tug this morning, and then
pulled over to look you up.

" Queer we didn't see you," said I.

"I didn't see you till we were right here. We

248

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

\ \
\

pulled close to the face of the clifT, fearing to miss the
Hole in the Wall. Where is it ? "

"Just there — not a hundred yards away."

" Well, ril take a look at it. Pull away, boys."

'' But Joe ! " said I. ** We've got to get him off,"
and I looked up to the poor fellow, more than a
hundred and fifty feet above us.

"Oh, I forgot Joe. Joe, how are you going to get
down ? " shouted Lount.

" Do' know. Jump, if I got to."

As he yelled, he swung the three tent-ropes still re-
maining in his hand.

"What's he got in his hand?" Lount asked me.
"Ropes, eh? Oh, then we'll get him down all right.
I fetched a lot of tools and rope, in case something
had gone wrong with the launch."

"Joe!" he shouted. "Untwist those lopes, then
tie the pieces together — you understand? — niake long
cord."

" No good," shouted Joe. " Can't come down all
same."

"Not on that rope; but I'll send you up another
when you give me the end of the long cord you'll
make. ' '

" No good — no way for tie rope here."

"I'll send you up a cold chisel and a hammer.
You'll drill a hole and leave the chisel in it to hold the
rope end. Do you understand me ? "

THE HOLE IN THit WALL

249

** Good bully man you ! " shouted Joe, in his favorite
expression of approval.

He was saved after about an hour and a half of
work, and still the sun was an hour high.

"While we're here," said Lount, *' we may as well
have a look into the Hole in the Wall," and away we
went, while Joe was devouring food with savage satis-
faction.

The Hole in the Wall ! Conceive a canal sixty feet
wide, between granite walls four hundred feet high.
Imagine the chasm to turn sharply to the left at less
than a hundred yards from the lake front, and then,
less sharply, to the right within sixty yards farther.
Conceive this turn to disclose a straight waterway a
quarter of a mile in length, and terminating in a sheer
waterfall or spray fall four hundred feet high. Such is
the Hole in the Wall.

But there was something more amazing than the
singular cleft itself. As we neared the fall I saw in the
dim chasm what I verily believed, for a full minute, to
be the ghost of poor Crombie. The figure was bare-
headed, but otherwise fully clad. It moved to and fro
on a low foreshore near the spray fall, and seemed
wrin^ng its hands in distraction.

*.* Crombie ! Crombie ! Is it you ? " I screamed.

I suppose the sound of our oars had been previously
drowned by the noise of the cataract. At my voice he
turned, and instantly took a composed air.

250

THE HOLE IN THE WALL

"Certainly it's me," said Crombie ; ''or I, if you
insist on having a starved man grammatical. Can't you
see ? Have you got any grub aboard ? "

*' How on earth did you get here ? "

"Swept in by the wind and current yesterday," he
said. ** Hurry up with that grub."

"When I saw the squall coming," said he, between
mouthfuls, as we rowed for the Slate Islands, "I put
on three cork jackets. In about five minutes the sea
swamped her, and I just tried to swim against the
waves. It didn' t seem a very long time before I found
myself being hurried along by a current between high
cHffs, and I knew I must be in the Hole in the Wall.
There I've been ever since. The trouble was to find
a landing-place. But the water was quite calm inside,
and at last I got to where you found me. There I took
off all my clothes, dried them, put them on and waited.
Now tell me what you and Joe did on the cliff, for I'm
sure your canoe was smashed, or else you'd have gone
exploring for my remains."

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLD'S

FAIR

-;>•

"ly TAUD BRUCE, of our party at the World's
IVX Columbian Fair, returned to our lodgings one
August evening with shining eyes. Truly they do al-
ways shi e, but this shining, or perhaps a telltale flush
of divine pity on her fair face, seemed of peculiar sig-
' ( nificance to those who know her best. Up spoke her
aunt. Miss Forsyth :

** Who is it, Maud ? — for I'm sure you've been giving
charity to somebody. Fancy ! she's found a deserving
person in Chicago !" and the old maiden lady looked
around on us with affected amazement.

Maud, I may as well say here, is nineteen. Her
brother John, who is at once a sportsman and a bit of a
poet, has described her on two occasions in my hearing.
Once he said she was smart as a weasel and soft as mush ;
the other time he spoke very tenderly: "She goes
through our coarse world blessing it by her pure looks,
her gentle presence, her flowing goodness. She's a sort
of modern heavenly Una, without any milk-white lamb.
But Maud's smart, mind you," ended John, as if in
vindication.

252

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLD S FAIR

Well, this young lady has an independent income so
large that she might almost be called rich. It came to
her but a year ago, no matter how, after she had taught
school for ten months. This occupation pleased her
so well that she seriously thought of continuing it.

** But finally," says John, **she concluded to devote
the rest of her life and most of her money to deserving
persons ; washerwomen with drunken husbands, news-
boys with delicate lungs, one-legged veterans, and so
on. You bet none of them fool her, either. She soon
detects humbugs — oh, yes, Maud's smart. Won't lend
me a dollar ; says I'm too extravagant."

When I add that Miss Maud is quite brave, most in-
genious, energetic, indomitable, and that nobody be-
longing to her ever thinks that she is not capable of
going alone and safely in the worst quarters of the North
End of Boston, you may understand that she "flew
round the great exhibition on her own hook, ' ' as John
said, pretty much as matter of course.

** ]^Ione of us can see anything satisfactorily if we go
mumpsing round together, Kke a party of sheep," said
Maud. This was true, and our habit was to scatter on
entering the grounds, go each as we pleased all day,
and meet in the evening for dinner, either on the Plais-
ance or at our lodgings, as might be previously agreed.

We were lodging at Cobb Hall, Chicago University,
just across Fifty-ninth Street from the Plaisance, and
almost opposite the great Ferris Wheel.

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

253

Maud, at her aunt's quizzing question, smiled happily,
but stood silent, with an air of having been detected,
for she does not love to boast of her good designs ; but
now she was almost too full of her new idea to conceal it.

''Come now, Maud, own up like a little man," said
John. "Who is it? You've been giving money away
to somebody — though you know how sorely I need
some diamonds and other trifles like those at Tiffany's
show in the Liberal Arts Building."

** Nonsense, Jack," said Maud.

** Oh come, sis, don't hide your light under a bushel.
Who was he ? What were his name and station, age
and race ? Or was it a she ? If so, how old ? Was
she very ragged ? Hau she more than one borrowed
baby for the occasion ? Or did she say her mother was
ninety-two, without a soul to help her, and she bed-
ridden, with a large washing to do this afternoon ?
Come, own up — give us all the particulars of the rob-
bery. Who plundered you ? "

*'He wouldn't take any," said Maud, blushing.

**He! Oh, is it that interesting young divinity
student that waits on our table downstairs ? Well, that
beats my time. Think of a divinity student ' '

''Jack ! As if I would dare to offer him money !
Dear me, 'I wish it wouldn't hurt his feelings, though !
tt would be so good to help him through his course ! ' '

" Who, then ?" asked her aunt.

"Well, nobody," said Maud, affecting pettishness.

254

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

** Or, if you must know all about it, his name is Adam
Franks."

** Who on earth is Adam Franks? "

"Why, that boy who usually drives us down to the
Intramural entrance. He's never been inside the fair-
grounds ! Hadn' t you even found out his name ? * '

**Pooh, no ! Catch me asking him questions — that
grumpy fellow ! " said John. ** I didn't think he could
say anything except ' Pare ten cents ' and * G'lang ! ' "

**He's not grumpy — not exactly," said Maud.
"He's a very nice, good boy, I'm sure. I was the
only passenger coming up just now, so I asked him if
he'd seen the view from the Fenls Wheel. * No, I
aint,' he said. 'But you ought to. It's one of the
best things,' I told him. A grim sort of smile came on
his face, and then he seemed to choke a little.

"So I remembered," went on Maud, " that he was
driving a one-horse carriage for a living, and couldn't
be making a great deal ; for there isn't a word. of truth
in all the newspaper stories about cab-drivers being ex-
tortionate here ; and I said, * Won' t you let me treat
you to the Ferris Wheel, please? You've driven us so
nicely for a whole fortnight ! ' and I held out a fifty-
cent piece. ' '

"And he wouldn't take it?" queried Jack incred-
ulously.

" No ; he pushed away the money, and wouldn't
look at me for a whole minute or so. Then he said.

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

255

'You're very kind, miss, but 1 couldn't take it.' I
told him I was sorry if I'd hurt his feelings ; I didn't
mean to. I suppose he drove a whole block before he
turned around and said, 'You didn't hurt my feelings,
miss ; I beg your pardon. But I haven't been inside
the Fair at all'

"Think of it!" exclaimed Maud, flushing and
standing looking out at the sunset with half-formed
tears in her gray eyes. "That boy is about fifteen,
I should think. He's naturally hungry to see every-
thing and hear everything. He'd been driving visitors
up and down, up and down, nearly all day long for
almost four months — driving them nearly the whole
length of the Plaisance, right along side of its high
board fence. Think of that boy — how eager he must
be to see all that he's heard of and caught glimpse of!
And he's never been inside the ground once."

** Lots of time yet. I wasn't inside until two weeks
ago. Think of it ! think of it ! " mimicked Jack, "and
lend me twenty^ dollars, Maud. ' '

Maud seemed as if she did not hear her brother's
mockery.

"The poor fellow !" she went on quickly. "All
the fascinating sounds and sights he's been condemned
to hear from just outside that great boys' paradise !
The bright diadem of the Administration dome shining
a quarter of a mile away, and he's never seen the beauty
beneath ! He's heard the bawling of those unspeakable

256

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLD 9 FAIR

Turks all day, that wooden-nerved Chinaman beforle the
joss-house incessantly inviting, the whang and l)ang of
drums and tom-toms ; he must have seen the heads of
the herd of Arab dromedaries swaying in procession ;
he has listened day after day and for hours a day to the
Mussulman muezzin proclaiming Allah il Allah and all
the rest, telling that God is great and good—

Maud Bruce, star lecturer. Terms, one hundred
dollars an evening," interrupted Jack, in a low tone.
But Maud did not seem to hear him.

"The Ferris Wheel revolving before him, a great web
of fairy iron by day, and such an enchanting, enor-
mous fire-wheel by night, and he's never even seen
how people get into the cars ! " said Maud. "Those
lovely ostriches, the Dahomey people, the Eskimos and
their skin kayaks, the turrets and towers of the German
villages, the distant bands, the cute Japanese — he has
heard of them all and has never seen them ' '

* * Sooner keep his fifty cents, ' ' said Jack.

"Don't talk nonsense, Jack!" Maud turned on
him sharply. ^*^ Mean nonsense too! Nobody that
had fifty cents to spare could keep it rather than go
into the Fair ; you know that perfectly well. The boy
has some good reason ; I know he has. He is denying
himself for some good purpose ; I'm sure he is, and
I'm going to find it out ; see if I don't. And I'm
going to show him that show — laugh away, Jack, but I
am! You'll see!"

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

257

"But Maud, dear," said her aunt, **you can't be
expected to pay every poor person's entrance fee. If
he won't go in, he won't ; that's all there is about it."

** You think so, aunt. Well, my plan is not to fold
my hands in this world and comfort my soul with the
drug nothing-can-be-done. "

** Maud's a rustler ! " said Jack emphatically.

"Why, I couldn't go in again — not to see the won-
der of the peristyle and ejxeat plaza illuminated — not
even to see the Russian pictures — nothing. I just
couldn't go in and think of that poor boy hungry out-
side for a sight of what will never be in the world again
after a few weeks. I must get him in. "

"What are you going to do about it, Maud, if he
won't go? " quizzed Jack.

"I'm going to sleep on it," said Maud, "and in the
morning I'll have a plan. Good-night, all. Good-
night, aunty ! ' '

Next morning there was no Maud at breakfast with
us. The young divinity student reported that she had
breakfasted at sharp seven. Her sleepy aunt had not
heard her leave their * ' study and two-room ' ' suite.
Evidently she was * * rustling, ' ' as Jack said.

Our first glimpse of her plan was gained from Joe
Franks, Adam's younger brother, who was often on the
front seat with Adam, and who was accustomed to drive
their vehicle when the elder boy went home for dinner,
or supper, or an occasional hour's rest. Joe was a

258

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

stolider-looking boy than Adam, but still bright enough
to remember very clearly anything to which he had
listened with interest.

"I'm taking my brother's place all day to-day," Joe
explained to our queries. "Adam was hired by a
young lady."

' * What for ? " asked Jack.

" To wheel her in one of them wheeled chairs. She
said she was bound to be wheeled all day. Adam
■didn't want to go — he's kind of cranky, anyhow, afraid
somebody' 11 get him to take charity — but the young
lady soon showed him he wasn' t sensible. ' '

* ' What did she say ? " I asked.

** 'Well,' says she, 'I'm sorry you won't wheel me.
I feel as if I know you after your driving me up and
down about twice a day for two weeks. And now I'll
have to hire a man that I don't know to wheel me,
and it will cost me just the same as if you'd push the
wheel' "

" And what did your brother have to say, to thp<^ ? "
asked Miss Forsyth.

"Well, he says, says he, 'I'd like to wheel you,
miss, only I don't understand how it can be that it
will cost you just the same.' And says the young lady,
* It's this way. A wheeled chair is twenty-five cents
an hour without a guide to wheel it. I can't wheel
myself, can I? So I've got to pay a guide if you won't
come. The guide will cost me twenty-five cents an

/ !

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

259

hour. Now I'll pay you the same. I've made up my
mind,' she says, ' to be inside from the first thing this
morning till the last at night, for once. We get in at
eight o' clock say, and we stay till eleven at night. That' s
fifteen hours ; three dollars and seventy-five cents you
make, and it doesn't cost me one cent more than if you
won't do me the favor. I think you might,' says she.
I almost thought she was going to cry, ' ' Joe concluded.

We all laughed with delight, seeming to see Maud,
slim, eager, beautiful, shrewdly cozening the independ-
ent boy into a day of enjoyment ; for the work of wheel-
ing her in one of those chairs would be nothing to a
big, sturdy fellow like Adam.

' * And so he agreed ? * ' said Jack.

"Well, I left him puzzling over it down there at the
Fifty-ninth Street entrance," said Joe. "There were
some passengers just come in by train wanting to be
drove up here, and when I got back the young lady
and Adam was gone. ' *

" Have you ever been inside ? " I asked.

"Twict," said Joe. "Adam was bound I should;
he wouldn' t go himself. You see we hire this rig and
two horses for change about, and some days we don't
make much more'n enough to clear ourselves. Besides,
there's my sister ; and Adam made up his mind he
wouldn't go in at all unless we could get ahead enough
for him to take her in. She ain't able to get about
alone. We all live with our aunt and we pay her for

26o

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

the housekeeping. Alice earns her share ; she knits
things, and I don't know what all. But she couldn't
go in without somebody."

What this meant we did not then dis* over, for Joe's
tale, which I have much condensed in this mere report
of occurrences, had occupied us until he delivered us
at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance to the Fair.

About half- past twelve o'clock that day our party of
five — we were six with Maud — had met by agreement
on a bench near the southeast corner of the noble
California building. We were about to rise and go in
there for lunch on the roof when Maud's clear voice
startled us. She was not visible, however. Rising and
peering around the corner, we saw her in a two-seated
wheeled chair, with Adam Franks beside it. Their
backs were toward us. Another girl sat beside Maud,
a pale, thin girl, in a woebegone hat.

"Yes, I'm going to lunch with you right here," said
Maud decidedly. "I know you have brought plenty
for three. I'll just jump out and buy a little fruit ;
that will be my share. Wait here till I come back,
please. ' '

Out she sprang and away she went into the California
building. The eyes of the two she left followed her
fondly. We were guilty of listening to their talk during
her absence.

"Ain't she just an angel? " said the girl.

"Beats all how smart she is too," said the boy.

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

261

"Why, she's showed us more this morning ! Seems
to know all about everything. And we'll see the illu-
minations and the boats of all nations going round to-
night — and — and everything. ' '

"And to think it doesn't cost a cent for me to be
wheeled, — not a cent ; your pay for wheeling her more
than pays my seat in the double chair."

"It only costs us one dollar for our entrances; I
couldn't let her pay that — could I, Alice ? "

"Of course you couldn't ; and wasn't she nice not
going on trying to get you to let her pay for us coming
in ? Why, we could afford a dollar for coming in, easy.
The thing was that I couldn't go round at all except
you got me a wheeled chair, and we couldn't afford
that, and think of the way she fixed it — so smart — it's
really only your time gone for one day — and Joe saves
ihat, him driving; and we're going to j everything
right along till the last thing to-night," ended the girl,
with a sort of ecstasy.

Dear Maud ! We now understood her whole shrewd
plan — everything except how she had contrived to get
a double-seated chair without a guide, the rule being
that only single-seated chairs were hired without guides.
In fact, she had privately bargained to pay as much for
the chair alone as chair and guide would have cost, bwt
Adam did not know of this proceeding, which was es-
sential to her scheme.

262

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

The girl with Maud was certainly Adam's sister, who
seemed andy indeed, was a cripple. Later we learned
that Adam had balked in the morning after Joe left,
balked on the ground that he had vowed to himself he
would not see the Fair without his sister.

Upon this Maud had persuaded him to walk with
her over the little distance to Fifty-seventh Street where
the small house of the orphaned crippled girl and her
two brothers stood. Maud had then unfolded her
scheme for a double chair, Adam's pay for wheeling her
to pay for Alice's seat in the chair. The housekeeping
aunt highly approved of the project, and at once set
about preparing lunch for two.

So Maud had contrived to save their sense of inde-
pendence and yet enabled them to see the great show at
her expense. A fellow hackdriver had driven the cripple
over to the Fifty-ninth Street entrance, and scorned
to charge fare. Adam could accept this from a brother
whip, because he knew he might repay the favor in kind.

Soon Maud came out of the California building with
pears, peaches, candy, and a large bottle of orange
sherbet. The others could never have suspected what
her share of that lunch cost. She took her seat in the
chair. We kept out of sight. Adam wheeled them
away and we saw no more of our pretty philanthropist
until very late in the evening.

Then she came into her aunt's study, where we werte

AN INCIDENT AT THE WORLDS FAIR

263

all awaiting her, and her face, tired though she was,
was as the face of the angel in the cathedral east window
when the high sun pours as it were the glory of God
through it down into the dim aisle.

Jack rose, put his arms around his sister, and kissed
her reverently on the brow.

* * May God bless you forever, dear ! We know
pretty well what you've been doing to-day," and then
we related what we had heard and seen. She modestly
told us the rest.

The last thing she said that night was a strange thing.
I think I still hear it sounding clearly and sweetly along
the long and gloomy corridors of the great University
Hall:

"I've been exceedingly happy to-day — I am now.
They were so happy. O God — bless God for doing so
much for me ! "

■v;;

DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE

PINNAGER was on snow-shoes, making a bee-line
toward his field of sawlogs dark on the ice ot
Wolverine River. He crossed shanty roads, trod heaps
of brush, forced his way through the tops of felled
pines, jumped from little crags into seven feet of snow
— Pinnager's men called him **a terror on snow-
shoes." They never knew the direction from which
he might come — an ignorance which kept them all busy
with axe, saw, cant-hook, and horses over the two
square miles of forest comprising his **cut."
. It was "make or break" with Pinnager. He had
contracted to put on the ice all the logs he might
make ; for every one left in the woods he must pay
stumpage and forfeit. Now his axemen had done such
wonders that Pinnager's difficulty was to get his logs
hauled out.

Teams were scarce that winter. The shanty was
eighty miles from any settlement ; ordinary teamsters
were not eager to work for a small speculative jobber,
who might or might not be able to pay in the spring.
But Pinnager had some extraordinary teamsters, sons

of farmers who neighbored him at home, and who were
264

V r

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

265

sure he would pay them, though he should have to
mortgage his land. • ^

The time was late February ; seven feet of snow,
crusted, on the level ; a thaw might turn the whole
forest floor to slush; but if the weather should "hold
hard" for six weeks longer, Pinnager might make
and not break. Yet the chances were heavily against
. him.

Any jobber so situated would feel vexed on hearing

that one of his best teams had suddenly been taken

out of his service. Pinnager, crossing a shanty road

with the stride of a moose, was hailed by Jamie Stuart

1 1 . with the news : .

*'Hey, boss, hold on! Davie Mc Andrews' leg's
broke. His load slewed at the side hill — log catched
him against a tree."

"Where is he ? " shouted Pinnager furiously.

"Carried him to shanty."
i "Where are his horses?"

"Stable."

"Tell Aleck Dunbar to go get them out. He must
take Davie's place — confound the lad's carelessness ! "

" Davie says no ; won't let any other man drive his
horses. ' '

"He won't? I'll show him!" and Pinnager made
a bee-line for his shanty. He was choking with rage,
all the more so because he knew that nothing short of
breaking Davie McAndrews' neck would break Davie

206

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

?vIcAndrews' stubbornness, a reflection that cooled
Pinnager before he reached the shanty.

The cook was busy about the caboose fire, getting
supper for fifty-three devourers, when Pinnager entered
the low door, and made straight for one of the double
tier of dingy bunks. There lay a youth of eighteen,
with an unusual pallor on his weather-beaten face, and
more than the usual sternness about his formidable jaw.

" What's all this, Davie ? You sure the leg's broke ?
I'd 'a thought you old enough to take care."

''You would?" said Davie grimly. "And your-
self not old enough to have yon piece of road mended
— you that was so often told about it ! "

* * When you knew it was bad, the more you should
take care. "

**And that's true, Pinnager. But no use in you
and me choppin' words. I'm needing a doctor's
hands on me. Can you set a bone ? "

•'No, I'll not meddle with it. Maybe Jock Scott
can; but I'll send you out home. A fine loss I'll be
at ! Confound it — and me like to break for want of
teams ! "

"I've thocht o' yer case, Pinnager," said Davie,
with a curious judicial air. "It's sore hard for ye ; I
ken that well. There's me and me feyther's horses
gawn off, and you countin' on us. I feel for ye, so I
do. But I'll no put you to ony loss in sendin' me
out." )

i /

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

267

*' Was you thinking to tough it through here, Davie?
No, you'll not chance it. Anyway, the loss would be
the same — more, too. Why, if I send out for the
doctor, there's a team off for full five days, and the
expense of the doctor! Then he mightn't come.
Wow, no ! it' > out you must go. "

"What else?" said Davie coolly. ** Would I He
here till spring and my leg mendin' into the Lord kens
what-like shape ? Would I be lettin' ony ither drive
the horses my feyther entrustit to my lone ? Would I
be dependin' on Mr. Pinnager for keep, and me idle ?
Man, I'd eat the horses' heads off that way; at home
they'd be profit to my feyther. So it's me and them
that starts at gray the morn's morn."

"Alone!" exclaimed Pinnager.

" Just that, man. What for no?"

"You're light-headed, Davie. A lad with his leg
broke can't drive three days."

" Maybe yes and maybe no. I'm for it, onyhow."

" It may snow, it may "

' "Aye, or rain, or thaw, or hail; the Lord s no in
the habit o' makin' the weather suit ony but himsel'.
But I'm gawn ; the cost of a man wi' me uld eat the
wages ye're owing my feyther."

"I'll lose his team, anyhow," said Pinnager, "and
me needing it bad. A driver with you could bring
back the horses."

"Nay, my feyther will trust his beasts to nane

"-\

268

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

but himsel' or his sons. But I'll have yer case in
mind, Pinnager; it's a sore neecessity you're in. I'll
ask my feyther to send back the team, and another to
the tail of it ; it's like that Tam and Neil will be home
by now. And I'll spread word how ye* re needin'
teams, Pinnager; it's like your neighbors will send ye
in sax or eight spans. "

*'Man, that's a grand notion, Davie! But you
can't go alone ; it's clean impossible."

'Tmgawn, Pinnager."

"You can't turn out in seven feet of snow when you
meet loading. You can't water or feed your horses.
There's forty miles the second day, and never a
stopping-place ; your horses can' t stand it. ' '

"Pm wae for the beasts, Pinnager ; but they'll have
no force but to travel dry and hungry if that's set for
them."

"You're bound to go?"

" Div you tak' me for an idjit to be talkin' and no
meanin' it? Off wi' ye, man ! The leg's no exactly
a comfort when Pm talkin'."

* ' Why, Davie, it must be hurting you terrible ! ' '
Pinnager had almost forgotten the broken leg, such was
Davie's composure. '

"It's no exactly a comfort, I said. Get you gone,
Pinnager ; your men may be idlin' . Get you gone,
and send in Jock Scott, if he's man enough to handle
my leg. I'm wearyin' just now for my ain company."

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

269

. I

As Davie had made his programme, so it stood. His
will was inflexible to protests. Next morning at dawn
they set him on a hay-bed in his low, unboxed sleigh.
A bag of oats supported his back ; his unhurt leg was
braced against a piece of plank spiked down, Jock
Scott had pulled the broken bones into what he
thought their place, and tied that leg up in splints of
cedar.

The sleigh was enclosed by stakes, four on each side,
all tied together by stout rope. The stake at Davie's
right hand was shortened, that he might hang his reins
there. His water-bucket was tied to another stake,
and his bag of provisions to a third. He was warm in
a coon-skin coat, and four pairs of blankets under or
over him.

At the last moment Pinnager protested: **I must
send a man to drive. It sha'n't cost you a cent,
Davie."

"Thank you, kindly, Pinnager," said Davie gravely.
" Pll tell that to your credit at the settlement. But
ye' re needin' all your help, and Pd take shame to
worsen your .hances. My feyther's horses need no
drivin' but my word. ' '

Indeed, they would *'gee," '*haw," or **whoa"
like oxen, and loved his voice. Round-barrelled, deep-
breathed, hardy, sure-footed, active, gentle, enduring,
brave, and used to the exigencies of **bush roads,"
they would take him through safely if horses' wit could.

270

DOUR DAVIES DRIVE

Davie had uttered never a groan after those involun-
tary ones forced from him when the log, driving his leg
against a tree, had made him almost unconscious.
But the pain-sweat stood beaded on his face during the
torture of carrying him to the sleigh. Not a sound
from his lips, though ! They could guess his sufferings
from naught but his hard breathing thiough the nose,
that horrible sweat, and the iron set of his jaw. After
they had placed him, the duller agony that had kei)t
him awake all night returned ; he smiled grimly, and
said, " "hat's a comfort. "

He 11 eaten and drunk heartily; he seemed
SDoih^ sti;^ ; but what if his sleigh should turn over at
some !-H;i'"g placo of the rude, lonely, and hilly forest
road?

As Davie chirrup'^d to his horses and was off, the
men gave him a cheer ; then Pinnager and all went
away to labor fit for mighty men, and the swinging of
axes and the crashing of huge pines and the tumbling
of logs from rollways left them fancy-free to wonder
how Davie could ever brace himself to save his broken
leg at the cahots.

The terrible cahots — plunges in snow-roads I But
for them Davie would have suffered little more than in
a shanty bunk. The track was most!-/ two smooth ruts
separated by a ridge so high and hard that th'^ sleigh-
bottom often slid on it. Horsi;. less sure-footed would
have staggered much, and bitten crossly at one another

' /

/ 1

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

271

1 I

while trotting in those deep, narrow ruts, but Davie's
horses kept their ' jog ' ' amiably, tossing their heads
with glee to be traveling toward home.

The clink of trace-chains, the clack of harness, the
glide of runners on the hard, dry snow, the snorting of
(he frosty-nosed team, the long whirring of startled
grouse — Davie heard tsnly these sounds, and heard
them dreamily in the long, smooth flights between
cahots.

Overhead the pine tops were a dark canopy with
little fields of clear blue seen through the rifts of green ;
on the forest floor small firs bent under rounding
weights of snow which often slid off as if moved by the
stir of partridge wings ; the fine tracery of hemlocks
stood clean ; and birches snuggled in snow that mingled
with their curling rags. Sometimes a breeze eddied
downward in the aisles, and then all the undergrowth
was a silent commotion of snow, shaken and falling.
Davie's eyes noted all things unconsciously; in spite
of his pain he felt the enchantment of the winter
woods until — another cahot ! he called his team to
walk.

Never was one cahot without many in succession ;
he gripped his stake hard at each, braced his sound
leg, and held on, feeling like ^o die with the horrible
thrust of the broken one forwa^-d and then back ; yet
always his will ordered his desperate senses.

Eleven o'clock ! Davie drew up before the half-breed

■-^Ml

272

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

Peter Whiteduck's mid wood stopping-place, and briefly
explained his situation.

"Give my horses a feed," he went on. ** There's
oats in this bag. I'll no be moved mysel'. Maybe
you'll fetch me a tin of tea; I've got my own pro-
visions. " So he ate and drank in the zero weather.

"You'll took hi' drink of whiskey," said Peter,
with commiseration, as Davie was starting away. •

"I don't use it."

"You'll got for need some 'fore you'll see de Widow
(ireen place. Dass twenty-tree mile. "

' ' I will need it, then, ' ' said Davie, and was away.

Evening had closed in when the bunch of teamsters
awaiting supper at Widow Green's rude inn heard
sleigh-bells, and soon a shout outside :

"Come out, some one !"

That was an insolence in the teamsters' code. Come
out, indeed ! The Widow Green, bustling about with
fried pork, felt outraged. To be called out ! — of her
own house ! — like a dog ! — not she !

" Come out here, somebody ! " Davie shouted
again.

"G' out and break his head one of you," said
fighting Moses Frost. " To be shoutin' like a lord !"
Moses was too great a personage to go out and wreak
vengeance on an unknown.

Narcisse Larocque went — to thrash anybody would
be glory for Narcisse, and he felt sure that Moses

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

273

would not, in these circumstances, let anybody thrash
him. .•

"What for you shout lak' dat? Call mans hout,
hey ? " said Narcisse. "I'll got good mind for broke
your head, me ! " ■■

"Hi, there, men!" Davie ignored Narcisse as ho
saw figures through the open door. " Some white
man come out. My leg's broke."

Oh, then the up-jumping of big men ! Moses,
striding forth, ruthlessly shoved Narcisse, who lay and
cowered with legs up as a dog trying to placate an
angry master. Then Moses carried Davie in as gently
as if the young stalwart had been a girl baby, and laid
him on the widow's one spare bed.

That night Davie slept soundly for four hours, and
woke to consciousness that his leg was greatly swollen.
He made no moan, but lay in the darkness listening to
the heavy breathing of the teamsters on the floor.
They could do nothing for him ; why should he awaken
them ? As for pitying himself, Davie could do nothing
so fruitless. He fell to plans for getting teams in to
Pinnager, for this young Scot's practical mind was
horrified at the thought that the man should fail finan-
cially when ten horses might give him a fine profit for
his winter's work.

Davie was away at dawn, every slight jolt giving his
swollen leg pain almost unendurable, as if edges of
living bone were griding together and also tearing

274

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

',/''

cavities in the living flesh ; but he must endure it, and
well too, for the teamsters had warned him he must
mcci 'strings of loadin' " this day.

The rule of the long one-tracked road into the wilder-
ness is, of course, that empty outgoing sleighs shall turn
out for incoming laden ones. Turn out into seven feet
of snow ! Davie trusted that incoming teamsters would
handle his floundering horses, and he set his mind to
plan how they might save him from turn Idling about on
his turned-out sleigh.

About nine o'clock, on a winding road, he called,
"Whoa!" and his bays st >od. A sleigh piled with
baled hay confronted him thirty yards distant. Four
others followed closely ; the load drawn by the sixth
team was hidden by the woodland curve. No team-
sters were visible ; they must be walking behind the
procession ; and Davie wasted no strength in shouting.
On came the laden teams, till the steam of the leaders
mingled with the tiouds blown by his bays. At that
halt angry teamsters, yelling, ran forward and sprang,
one by one, up on th'^ir loads, the last to grasp reins
being the leading driver. , ' •'

"Turn out, you fool!" he shouted. Then to his
comrades behind, "There's a blamed idyit don't know
enough to turn out for loading ! " '

Davie said nothing. It was not till one angry man
was at his horses' heads and two more about to tumble
his sleigh aside that he spoke : ..

DOUR DAVIE S DKIVE

275

" My leg is broke. " , ' • • '

** Gah ! G'way ! A man driving with his leg broke !
You're lying! Come, get out and tramp for your
horses ! It's your back ought to be broke — stoppin'
loadin'!"

** My leg is broke," Davie calmly insisted.

" You mean it? "

Davie thfw ulT his blankets.

"Begor, it is broke!" "And him ivih' him-
self!" ** It's a terror!" "Great spun' irely!"
Then the teamsters began planning to clear the way.

That was soon settled by Davie's directions:
* ' Tramp down the crust for my horses ; onhitch them ;
lift my sleigh out on the crust ; pass on and set me
back on the road. " ■ .

Half an hour was consumed by the operation —
thrice repeated before twelve o'clock. Fortunately
Davie came on the last "string" of teams and halted
for lunch by the edge of a lake. The teamsters fed
and watered his horses, gave him hot tea, and with
great admiration saw him start for an afternoon drive of
twenty-two miles.

"You'll not likely meet any teams," they said.
"The last of the 'loading' that's like to come in soon
is with ourselves. ' '

How Davie got down the hills, up the hills, across
the rivers and over the lakes of that terrible afternoon
he could never rightly tell.

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276

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

"Pm thinkin' I was light-heided," he said after-
ward. "The notion was in me somehow that the Lord
was lookin* to me to save Pinnager's bits of children.
I'd waken out of it at the cahots — there was mair than
enough. On the smooth my head would be strange -
like, and I mind but the hinder end of my horses ti^l
the moon was high and me stoppit by McGraw's."

During the night at McGraw's his head was cleared
by some hours of sound sleep, and next morning he
insisted on traveling, though snow was falling heavily.

** My feyther's place is no more than a bittock ayont
twenty-eight miles,' he said. "Pll make it by three
of the clock, if the Lord's willin', and get the doctor's
hands on me. It's my leg Pm thinkin' of savin'.
And mind ye, McGraw, you've promised me to send
in your team to Pinnager. "

Perhaps people who have never risen out of bitter
poverty will not understand Davie's keen anxiety about
Pinnager and Pinnager's children ; but the McAndrews
and Pinnagers and all their neighbors of "the Scotch
settlement" had won up by the tenacious labor and
thrift of many years. Davie remembered well how,
in his early boyhood, he had often craved more food
and covering. Pinnager and his family should not be
thrown back into the gulf of poverty if Davie Mc-
Andrews' will could save them.

This day his road lay through a country thinly
settled, but he could see few cabins through the driving

DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE

277

Storm. The flagging horses trotted steadily, as if aware
that the road would become worse the longer they were
on it, but about ten o'clock they inclined to stop where
Davie could dimly see a log house and a shed with a
team and sleigh standing in it. Drunken yells told

him this must be Black
Donald Donaldson's notorious
tavern ; so he chirruped his horses
onward.

Ten minutes later yells and sleigh-bells were follow-
ing him at a furious pace. Davie turned head and
shouted ; still the drunken men shrieked and came on.
He looked for a place to turn out — none ! He dared
not stop his horses lest the gallopers, now close behind
him, should be over him and his low sleigh. Now his
team broke into a run at the noises, but the fresh

278

DOUR DAVIE'S DRIVE

horses behind sped faster. The men were hidden
from Davie by their crazed horses. He could not rise
to appeal ; he could not turn to daunt the horses with
his whip ; their fronthoofs, rising high, were soon within
twenty feet of him. Did his hones slacken, the others
would be on top of him, kicking and tumbling.

The cahofs were numerous ; his yells for a halt be-
came so much like screams of agony that he took shame
of them, shut his mouth firmly, and knew not what to
do. Then suddenly his horses swerved into the cross-
road to the Scotch settlement, while the drunkards gal-
loped away on the main road, still lashing and yelling.
Davie does not know to this day who the men were.

Five hours later David McAndrews, the elder, kept
at home by the snowstorm, heard bells in his lane,
and looked curiously out of the sitting-room window.

"Losh, Janet!" he said, most deliberately. "I
wasna expeckin' Davie j here he's back wi' the bays."

He did not hurry out to meet his fourth son, for he
is a man who hates the appearance of haste ; but his
wife did, and came rushing back through the kitchen.

"It's Davie himsel' ! He's back wi' his leg broke !
He's come a' the way by his lone I "

* < Hoot-toot, woman ! Ye' re daft I ' '

"I'm no daft J come and see younel'. Wae's me,
my Davie's like to die ! Me daft, indeed I I need

to send Neil straight awa' to the village for Doctor
Aberdeen."

It,

DOUR DAVIE S DRIVE

279

And so dour Davie's long drive was past. While his
brother carried him in, his will was occupied with the
torture, but he had scarcely been laid on his bed when
he said, very respectfully — ^but faintly — to his father :

"You'll be sendin' Neil oot for the doctor, sir?
Aye; then I'd be thankfu' if you'd give Aleck leave
to tak' the grays and warn the settlement that Pinnager's
needin' teams sorely. He's like to make or break; if
he gets sax or eight spans in time he's a made man."

That was enough for the men of the Scotch ^ttle-
ment. Pinnager got all the help he needed ; and yet
he is far from as rich to-day as Davie McAndrews, the
great Brazeau River lumberman, who walks a little lame
of his left leg.

PETHERICK'S PERIL

EACH stoiy of the Shelton Cotton Factory is fifteen
feet between floors ; there are seven such over
the basement, and this rises six feet above the ground.
The brick walls narrow to eight inches as they ascend,
and form a parapet rising above the roof. One of the
time-keepers of the factory, Jack Hardy, a young man
about my own age, often runs along the brickwork, the
practice giving him a singular delight that has seemed
to increase with his proficiency in it. Having been a
clerk in the works from the beginning, I have frequently
used the parapet for a footpath, and although there
was a sheer fall of one hundred feet to the ground,
have done it with ease and without dizziness. Occa-
sionally Hardy and I have run races, on the opposite
walls, an exercise in which he invariably beats me, be-
cause I become timid with increase of pace.

Hopelessly distanced last Wednesday, while the men
w off" at noon, I gave up midway, and looking down,
observed the upturned face of an old man gazing at me
with parted lips, wide eyes, and an expression of horror
so startling that I involuntarily stepped down to the
bricklayer's platform inside. I then saw that the ap-
280

PBTHERICKS PERIL

281

parently frightened spectator was Mr. Petherick, who
had been for some weeks paymaster and factotum for
the contractors.

♦♦What's the matter, Petherick?" I called down.
He made no answer, but walking off rapidly, dis-
appeared round the mill. Curious about his demeanor,
I descended, and after some little seeking found him
smoking alone.

•♦ You quite frightened me just now, Petherick," said
I. •' Did you think I was a ghost ? "

*♦ Not just that," he replied sententiously.

** Did you expect me to fall, then ? " I inquired.

"Not just that, either,'^ said he. The old man
was clearly disinclined to talk, and apparently much
agitated. I began to joke him about his lugubrious
expression, when the one o'clock bell rang, and he
shuffled off hastily to another quarter.

Though I puzzled awhile over the incident, it soon
passed so entirely from my mind that I was surprised
when, passing Petherick in the afternoon, and intending
to go alofl, he said, as I went by :

" Don't do it again, Mr. Frazer ! "
What?" I stopped.
"That!" he retorted.
Oh ! You mean running on the wall," said I.

'♦I mean going on it at all !" he exclaimed. His
earnestness was so marked that I conceived a strong
interest in its cause.

282

PETHERICKS lERIL

"I'll make a bargain with you, Mr. Petherick. If
you tell me why you advise me, I'll give the thing
up!"

**Done!" said he. "Come to my cottage this
e: ning, and I'll tell you a strange adventure of my
own, though perhaps you'll only laugh that it's the
reason why it sickens me to see you fooling up there."

Petherick was ready to talk when Jack and I sat
down on his doorsteps that evening, and immediately
launched into the following narrative :

,.i

I was born and grew to manhood near the highest
cliffs of the Polvydd coast. Millions of sea-fowls make
their nests along the face of those wave-worn precipices.
My companions and I used to get much excitement,
and sometimes a good deal of pocket money, by taking
their eggs. One of us, placing his feet in a loop at
the end of a rope and taking a good grip with his
hands, would be lowered by the others to the nest.
When he had his basket full they'd haul him up and
another would go down.

Well, one afternoon I thus went dangling off. They
paid out about a hundred feet of rope before I touched
the ledge and let go.

You must know that most of the cliffs along that
coast overhang the water. At many points one could
drop six hundred feet into the sea, and then be forty
or fifty feet from the base of the rock he left. The

petherick's peril

283

coast is scooped under by the waves, and in some
places the clifT wall is as though it had been eaten
away by seas once running in on higher levels. There
will be an overhanging coping, then — some hundred
feet down — a ledge sticking out farther than that of
the top ; under that ledge all will be scooped away.
In some places there are three or four such ledges, each
projecting farther than those above.

These ledges used to fall away occasionally, as they
do yet, I am told, for the ocean is gradually devouring
that coast. Where they did not project farther than
the upper coping, the egg-gatherer would swing like a
pendulum on the rope, and get on the rock, if not too
far in, then put a rock on the loop to hold it till his
return. When a ledge did project so that one could
drop straight on it, he hauled down some slack and left
the rope hanging. Did the wind never blow it off?
Seldom, and never out of reach.

Well, the ledge I reached was like this. It was some
ten feet wide ; it stuck out maybe six feet farther than
the cliff top ; the rock wall went up pretty near perpen-
dicular, till near the coping at the ground, but below the
ledge, the cliff's face was so scooped away that the sea,
five hundred feet below, ran in under it nigh fifty feet.

As I went down, thousands of birds rose from the
jagged places of the precipice, circling around me with
harsh screams. Soon touching the ledge, I stepped
from the loop, and drawing down a little slack, walked

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PETHERICK S PERIL

off briskly. For fully a quarter of a mile the ledge ran
along the clifT's face almost as level and even in width
as that sidewalk. I remember fancying that it sloped
outward more than usual, but instantly dismissed the
notion, though Gaffer Pentreath, the oldest man in
that countryside, used to tell us that we should not get '
the use of that ledge always. It had been as steady in
our time as in his grandfather's, and we only laughed
at his prophecies. Yet the place of an old filled fissure
was marked by a line of grass, by tufts of weeds and
small bushes, stretching almost as far as the ledge
itself, and within a foot or so of the cliff's face.

Eggs were not so many as usual, and I went a long
piece from my rope before turning back. Then I
noticed the very strange conduct of the hosts of sea-
fowls below. Usually there! were hundreds, but now
there were millions on the wing, and instead of darting
forth in playful motions, they seemed to be wildly
excited, screaming shrilly, rushing out as in terror, and,
returning in masses as though to alight, only to wheel
in dread and keep the air in vast clouds.

The weather was beautiful, the sea like glass. At no
great distance were two large brigs and, nearer, a small
yacht lay becalmed, heaving on the long billows. I
could look down her cabin stairway almost, and it
seemed scarcely more than a long leap to her deck.

Puzzled by the singular conduct of the sea-birds, I
soon stopped and set my back against the cliff, to rest

petherick's peril

285

while watching them. The day was deadly still and
very wann.

I remember taking off my cap and wiping the
sweat from my face and forehead with my sleeve.
While doing this, I looked down involuntarily to the
fissure at my feet. Instantly my blood almost froze
with horror ! There was a distinct crack between the
inner edge of the fissure and the hard-packed, root-
threaded soil with which it was filled ! Forcibly I
pressed back, and in a flash looked along the ledge.
The fissure was widening under my eyes, the rock
before me seemed sinking outward, and with a siiudder
and a groan and roar, the whole long platform fell
crashing to the sea below ! I stood on a margin of
rock scarce a foot wide, at my back a perpendicular
cliff, and, five hundred feet below, the ocean, now
almost hidden by the vast concourse of wheeling and
affrighted birds.

Can you believe that my first sensation was one of
relief? I stood safe ! Even a feeling of interest held
me for some moments. Almost coolly I observed a
long and mighty wave roll out from beneath. It went
forth with a high, curling crest — a solid wall of water !
It struck the yacht stern on, plunged down on her
deck, smashed through her swell of sail, and swept her
out of sight forever.

Not till then did my thoughts dwell entirely on my
own position ; not till then did I comprehend its hope-

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lessness t Now my eyes closed convulsively, to shut
out the abyss down which my glance had fallen ;
shuddering, I pressed hard against the solid wall at my
back ; an appalling cold slowly crept through me.
My reason struggled against a wild desire to leap ; all
the demons of despair whispered me to make an instant
end. In imagination I had leaped ! I felt the swoon-
ing helplessness of falling and the cold, upward rush of
air !

Still I pressed hard back against the wall of rock,
and though nearly faint from terror, never forgot for an
instant the death at my feet, nor the utter danger of
the slightest motion. How long this weakness lasted I
know not ; I only know that the unspeakable horror of
that first period has come to me in waking dreams
many and many a day since ; that I have long nights
of that deadly fear ; that to think of the past is to
stand again on that narrow foothold; and to look
around on the earth is often to cry out with joy that it
widens away from my feet.

(The old man paused long. Glancing sidewise at
Jack, I saw that his face was pallid. I myself had
shuddered and grown cold, so strongly had my imagi-
nation realized the awful experience that Petherick de-
scribed. At length he resumed his story:)

Suddenly these words flashed to my brain: "Are
not two sparrows sold for a farthing? And one of
them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.

PETHERICKS PERIL

287

Fear not, therefore ; ye are of more value than many
sparrows." My faculties were so strained that I seemed
to hear the words. Indeed, often yet I think that I
did truly hear a voice utter them very near me.

Instantly hope arose, consciously desperate indeed ;
but I became calm, resourceful, capable, and felt unac-
countably aided. Careful not to look down, I opened
my eyes and gazed far away over the bright sea. The
rippled billows told that a light outward breeze had
sprung up. Slowly, and somewhat more distant, the
two brigs moved toward the horizon. Turning my head,
I could trace the narrow stone of my footing to where
my rope dangled, perhaps three hundred yards distant.

It seemed to hang within easy reach of the cliff's
face, and instantly I resolved and as instantly proceeded
to work toward it. No time remained for hesitation.
Night was coming on. I reasoned that my comrades
thought me killed. They had probably gone to view
the new condition of the precipice from a lower station,
and on their return would haul up and carry off the
rope. I made a move toward it. Try to think of that
journey I

Shuffling sidewise very carefully, I had not made
five yards before I knew that I could not continue to
look out over that abyss without glancing down, and
that I could not glance down without losing my senses.
You have the brick line to keep eyes on as you walk
along the factory wall ; do you think you could move

1 I

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PETHE..ICKS PERIL

along it erect, looking down as you would have to?
Yet it is only one hundred feet high. Imagine five
more such walls on top of that and you trying to move
sidewise — incapable of closing your eyes, forced to look
down, from end to end, yes, three times farther !
Imagine you've got to go on or jump off ! Would you
not, in an ecstasy of nervous agitation, fall to your
knees, get down face first at full length, clutch by your
hands, and with your shut eyes feel your way? I
longed to lie down and hold, but of course that was
impossible.

The fact that there was a wall at my back made it
worse ! The cliff seemed to press outward against me.
It did, in fact, incline very slightly outward. It seemed
to be thrusting me off. Oh, the horror of that sensa-
tion ! Your toes on the edge of a precipice, and the
implacable, calm mountain apparently weighting you
slowly forward.

(Beads of sweat poured out over his white face at the
horror he had called before him. Wiping his lips
nervously with the back of his hand, and looking
askant, as at the narrow pathway, he paused long. I
saw its cruel edge and the dark gleams of its abysmal
water. )

I knew that with my back to the wall I could never
reach the rope. I could not face toward it and step
forward, so narrow was the ledge. Motion was per-
haps barely possible that way, but the breadth of my

PETHERICKS PERIL

289

shoulders would have forced me to lean somewhat more
outward, and this I dared not and could not do. Also,
to see a solid surface before me became an irresistible
desire. I resolved to try to turn round before resum-
ing the desperate journey. To do this I had to nerve
myself for one steady look at my footing.

In the depths below the myriad sea-fowl then rested
on the black water, which, though swelling more with
the rising wind, had yet an unbroken surface at some
little distance from the precipice, while farther out it
had begun to jump to whitecaps, and in beneath me,
where I could not see, it dashed and churned with
a faint, pervading roar that I could barely distinguish.
Before the descending sun a heavy bank of cloud had
risen. The ocean's surface bore that appearance of
intense and angry gloom that often heralds a storm,
but, save the deep murmur going out from far below
my perch, all to my hearing was deadly still.

Cautiously I swung my right foot before the other
and carefully edged around. For an instant as my
shoulder rubbed up against the rock, I felt that I must
fall. I did stagger, in fact, but the next moment stood
firm, face to the beetling cliff, my heels on the very
edge, and the new sensation of the abyss behind me
no less horrible than that from which I had with such
difficulty escaped. I stood quaking. A deHrious
horror thrilled every nerve. The skin about my ears
and neck, suddenly cold, shrank convulsively.

\ \

290

PETHERICKS PERIL

Wild with fear, I thrust forward my head against
the rock and rested in agony. A whir and wind of
sudden wings made me conscious of outward things
again. Then a mad eagerness to cUmb swept away
other feeling, and my hands attempted in vain to clutch
the rock. Not daring to cast my head backward, I
drew it tortoise-likie between my raised shoulders, and
chin against the precipice, gazed upward with straining
of vision from under my eyebrows.

Far above me the dead wall stretched. Sidewise
glances gave me glimpses of the projecting summit
coping. There was no hope in that direction. But
the distraction of scanning the chfT-side had given my
nerves some relief; to my memory agajn returned
the promise of the Almighty and the consciousness
of his regard. Once more my muscles became firm-
strung. *

A cautious step sidewise made me know how much
I had gained in ease and security of motion by the
change of front. I made progress that seemed almost
rapid for some rods, and even had exultation in my
quick approach to the rope. Hence came freedom to
think how I should act on reaching it, and speculation
as to how soon my comrades would haul me up.

Then the idea rushed through me that they might
even yet draw it away too soon, that while almost in
my clutch it might rise from my hands. Instantly all
the terrors of my position returned with tenfold force ; ,

PETHEKICKS PERIL

291

■I

Vt.

an outward thrust of the precipice seemed to grow
distinct, my trembling hands told me that it moved
bodily toward me; the descent behind me took an
unspeakable remoteness, and from the utmost depth of
that sheer air seemed to ascend steadily a deadly and a
chilling wind. But I think I did not stop for an
instant. Instead a delirium to move faster possessed
me, and with quick, sidelong steps — my following foot
striking hard against that before — sometimes on the
point of stumbling, stretched out like the crucified, I
pressed in mortal terror along.

Every possible accident and delay was presented
to my excited brain. What if the ledge should narrow
suddenly to nothing ? Now I believed that my heels
were unsupported in air, and I moved along on tip-toe.
Now I was convinced that the narrow pathway sloped
outward, that this slope had become so distinct, so
increasingly distinct, that I ipight at any moment slip
off into the void. But dominating every consideration
of possible disaster was still that of the need for speed,
and distinct amid all other terrors was that sensation of
the dead wall ever silently and inexorably pressing me
outward.

My mouth and throat were choked with dryness,
my convulsive lips parched and arid ; much I longed to
press them against the cold, moist stone. But I never
stopped. Faster, faster, more wildly I stepped — in a
delirium I pushed along. Then suddenly before my

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PETHERICK S PERIL

Staring eyes was a well-remembered edge of mos^y
stone, and I knew that the rope should be directly
behind me. Was it ?

I glanced over my left shoulder. The rope was
not to be seen ! Wildly I looked over the other— no
rope ! Almighty God 1 and hast thou deserted me ?

But what ! Yes, it moves, it sways in sight ! it
disappears^to return again to view I There was the
rope directly at my back, swinging in the now strong
breeze with a motion that had carried it away from my
first hurried glances. With the rdief tears pressed to
my eyes and, face bowed to the precipice, almost
forgetful for a little time of the hungry air beneath, I
offered deep thanks to my God for the deliverance
that seemed so near.

(The old man's lips continued to move, but no sound
came from them. We waited silent while, with closed
eyes and bent head, he remained absorbed in the
recollection of that strange minute of devoutness. It
was some moments before he spoke again:)

I stood there for what now seems a space of hours,
perhaps half a minute in reality. Then all the chances
still to be run crowded upon me. To turn around had
been an attempt almost desperate before, and certainly,
most certainly, the ledge was no wider where I now
stood. Was the rope within reach ? I feared not.
Would it sway toward me ? I could hope for that.

But could I grasp it should I be suved? Would

Between Earth and Sky.

"Was the rope within reach?"

Page 292.

PETHERICKS PERIL

293

it not yield to my hand, coming slowly down as I
pulled, unrolling from a coil above, trailing over the
ground at the top, running fast as its end approached
the edge, falling suddenly at last ? Or was it fastened
to the accustomed stake ? Was any comrade near who
would summon aid at my signal ? If not, and if I
grasped it, and if it held, how long should I swing in
the wind that now bore the freshness and tremors of an
imminent gale ?

Again fear took hold of me, and as a desperate man
I prepared to turn my face once more to the vast ex-
panse of water and the nothing beyond that awful cliff.
Closing my eyes, I writhed around with I know not
what motions till again my back pressed the cliff. That
was a restful sensation. And now for the decision of
my fate I I looked at the rope. Not for a moment
could I fancy it within my reach ! Its sidewise sway-
ings were not, as I had expected, even slightly inward
■ — ^indeed when it fell back against the wind it swung
outward as though the air were eddying from the wall.

Now at last I gazed down steadily. Would a leap
be. certain death? The water was of immense depth
below. But what chance of striking it feet or hiead
first? What ch mce of preserving consciousness in the
descent ? No, the leap would be death ; that at least
was clear.

Again I turned to the rope. I was now perfectly
desperate, but steady, nerved beyond the best moments

294

PETHERICK S PERIL

of my life, good for an effort surpassing the human.
Still the rope swayed as before, and its motion was very
regular. I saw that I could touch it at any point of
its gyration by a strong leap.

But could I grasp it ? What use if it were not firmly
secured above ? But all time for hesitation had gone
by. I knew too well that strength was mine but for a
moment, and that in the next reaction of weakness I
should drop from the wall like a dead fly. Bracing
myself, I watched the rope steadily for one round, and
as it returned against the wind, jumped straight out
over the heaving Atlantic.

By God's aid I reached, touched, clutched, held
the strong line. And it held ! Not absolutely. Once,
twice, and again, it gave, gave, with jerks that tried my
arms. I knew these indicated but tightening. Then
it held firm and I swung turning in the air, secure
above the waves that beat below.

To slide down and place my feet in the loop was
the instinctive work of a moment. Fortunately it was
of dimensions to admit my body barely. I slipped it
over my thighs up to my armpits just as the dreaded
reaction of weakness came. Then I lost consciousness.

When I awakened my dear mother's face was be-
side my pillow, and she told me that I had been tossing
for a fortnight in brain fever. Many weeks I lay there,
and when I got strong found that I had left my nerve
on that awful cliff-side. Never since have I been able

PETHERICKS PERIL

295

to look from a height or see any other human being on
one without shuddering.

So now you know the story, Mr. Frazer, and have
.had your last walk on the factory wall.

He spoke truer than he knew. His story has given
me such horrible nightmares ever since that I could no
more walk on the high brickwork than along that nar-
row ledge of the distant Polvydd coast.