Table of Contents

In the Hands of the Malays

IN THE HANDS OF THE MALAYS

ON THE TRACK

CHAPTER I

A SAD CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER II

TRUE FRIENDS

CHAPTER III

MAKING A START

CHAPTER IV

A CLUE

CHAPTER V

THE FOG CLEARS

CHAPTER VI

CONCLUSION

A FRONTIER GIRL

A TALE OF THE BACKWOOD SETTLEMENTS

In The Hands of the Malays and Other Stories

In the Hands of the Malays

And Other Stories

BY G. A. HENTY

Author of "The Cat of Bubastes" "With Kitchener in the Soudan"

"Beric the Briton" "For Name and Fame" &c.

BLACKIE & SON LIMITED

LONDON AND GLASGOW

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Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow

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MAROONED

IN THE HANDS OF THE MALAYS

On the 1st of May, 1669, a man was standing at the edge of the shore of a rocky island, one of a group of a dozen or so similar in character, lying off the south-western portion of Sumatra. It would have been difficult to fix his nationality. The outline of the face was Arab; the colour of the skin showed that though one or other of his parents had been white, the other had been either Arab or Malay. He stood looking after a Dutch vessel, carrying guns, like all those engaged at that time in the Eastern trade. His hands were clenched, and he was regarding the ship with an expression of malignant hate.

Close by where he stood, a roughly-made grave piled with rocks, with a wooden cross standing at its head, showed that a Christian had been buried there. Any seaman of the time who had seen the man would have rightly concluded that he had been marooned for some crime committed on board the ship that was sailing away, and their judgment would have been a correct one.

The Dordrecht, a Dutch merchantman carrying sixteen guns, was chartered by a dozen rich citizens of Holland, who had sailed in her, determined to take up land, to settle, and to cultivate the plants that grew in the island of Java on a large scale. Some were traders, others had been tempted by the tales of the wealth of the island, where the Dutch had, fifty years before, acquired a settlement by conquest. The ship had touched at the Cape to take in a fresh supply of water and fill up with provisions. They had lost their cook overboard in a storm, and thought themselves fortunate in engaging in his place a man who had served with the governor there, and who was recommended as thoroughly understanding his work, whose only drawback was that he possessed a passionate and revengeful disposition, which had led to his dismissal from his office. This, in a vessel carrying a strong crew and some fifty soldiers, was not considered of any importance, and the man speedily justified his recommendation in other respects.

"I don't like the fellow," the lieutenant in command of the troops said to his subaltern one day, when they were a month out from the Cape. "I grant you that he is a good cook, but if I offended him I should not care to touch any food he handled. The fellow is capable of poisoning a whole crew to get his revenge on one of them."

The other laughed. "I grant he has an evil face, Van Houten, but I think that you are a little prejudiced. I own, though, that I felt inclined to knock him down myself this afternoon, when he stood at the door of the galley staring at Fraulein Meyers through his half-closed eyes. He put me in mind of a cat watching a mouse."

"Yes, I have noticed it myself several times," the other said hotly. "It is hardly a thing one can take up. The fellow might declare that it was not her that he was looking at, but that he was merely meditating; and to tell you the truth, although I am no coward, I would rather not make a mortal enemy of that man. I have no fancy for being stabbed to the heart while I am asleep. If he said or did anything insolent it would be another matter. I would have him ironed and sent down below, and kept there till we got to Batavia."

The other laughed again. "You would get into hot water with all the passengers, Van Houten; the fellow cooks so well that they are always singing his praises."

"Yes, there has been a great improvement in the diet since we left the Cape; but still, even at the risk of displeasing the worshipful passengers, I would put the fellow in irons did he give me the shadow of an excuse. I should not be surprised if he did so, for of late I have observed a malignant look on his face as his eyes fell upon me. It is absurd to suppose that the hound feels any ill-will towards me because I am a good deal with Fraulein Meyers. The assumption is too monstrous, but I really don't see any other reason for him to dislike me. I have never spoken to him since he came on board."

"Perhaps the matter will be taken out of your hands altogether," the other said. "I heard the mate having a row with him this morning, and certainly he is not likely to put up with any nonsense; and he is strong enough to pick the Arab, or whatever he is, up with one hand and throw him overboard."

"I am not quite so sure about that, Erasmus. He looks small beside the mate, I acknowledge, but I should say that what there is of him is all sinew and muscle, and it would be like a fight between a panther and a buffalo."

A week later the passengers were down at dinner. They were in high spirits, for the hills of Sumatra were dimly visible on the port side, and another two or three days' sail would take them to Batavia. Suddenly a shout was heard, and then a sudden uproar. The captain and Van Houten ran up. On the deck lay the mate stabbed to the heart, while the cook, with a knife in his hand, was struggling in the grasp of half a dozen soldiers.

"How did this happen?" the captain asked as he came up to the group.

"I don't know how it began," one of the crew said, "but the cook was standing at the door of his galley, the mate said something to him, and the cook burst into a volley of curses. The mate knocked him down, but he was up in a moment. With his knife in his hand he flung himself upon the mate, and the latter fell, as you see. Two or three of us who were close by threw ourselves on the cook, but it was hard work to hold him, for he fought like a wild cat, and he had slashed some of us before we could get hold of his wrists."

"Drop that knife!" the captain said sternly; but the man was half-mad with passion and continued to struggle desperately. Van Houten caught up a belaying pin from its place and struck him heavily on his fingers. The knife dropped to the deck, and one of the soldiers snatched it up. The man instantly ceased struggling and stood impassive, although his breast still heaved with his exertion; then he said in a quiet voice to the young officer: "That is another I owe you, Van Houten, but I will get even with you one day."

"Your threat is an idle one," the captain said. "At sunset you shall swing from the yard-arm. Tie him up tightly, men, and fasten him to the mast. Carry the mate's body forward, and throw a flag over it. We will bury him after we have done with this fellow."

Going below, the captain briefly stated what had occurred.

"But you will not hang him, captain, will you?" one of the lady passengers said. "It is awful that the mate should have been killed, but you see he gave the most terrible provocation. It would be a sad ending to our voyage if a man were hanged on board. Could you not hand him over to the authorities when we get to Batavia?"

"No, madam. I certainly might do so, but the chances are that the fellow would make his escape long before his trial was concluded. I know that he speaks Malay, and he would find some means to get some natives outside to help him, and I do not care to run the risk of the fate that has befallen the mate. I should hardly think that Van Houten would care about it either. I fancy that he would be the first victim, by the look that the fellow gave him."

An hour later the captain went up to Van Houten.

"The women have been begging me not to hang that fellow. As it is evident that I shall gain much ill-will if I do, for he has well satisfied them, and as I have no mind to risk my life and yours if he should get free at Batavia, I have a good mind to land him on one of the islets ahead. I might heave the ship to for an hour, land the poor mate and bury him, and leave the scoundrel there. It will amount to the same thing in the end, for as the rocks are thirty miles from the coast there would be no chance of his getting off, for it would be very improbable that any native craft will come along this way: they always keep close inshore. That way one would avoid a scene with the women; and I own that there is something in what they say. The deed was done in a moment of passion, and under great provocation, for Werter was a strong fighter and a hasty man, and a blow from his fist was no joke."

"Just as you think fit, captain. It will give him time to think over his misdeeds, which no doubt are pretty numerous, for I dare say his career has been a black one. It certainly has, if his face does not belie him greatly. Still, I would much prefer to see him hung."

Accordingly an hour later the vessel was hove to. The remains of the mate, covered with a flag, were placed in a boat; the cook, still bound, was made to descend into it; and the second mate and eight well-armed sailors, with picks and shovels, took their places in it. The ship's carpenter had made a rough cross, which he handed to the second mate. When they reached the shore, two men were left there with the cook; the others dug a shallow grave, laid the body in it, refilled it, and heaped great stones upon it, and then stuck the cross in the sands at its head. The Arab was brought ashore, and the ropes that bound him were unfastened. The crew and second mate took their places in the boat and rowed off to the ship, which was put on her way again as soon as they reached it. As far as they could make out the figure of the man on shore, he was standing where they had left him, gazing at the ship. On the following day there was a heavy gale offshore, and the ship was blown some little distance out of her course.

In two days, however, the wind fell, and the Dordrecht arrived five days later at Batavia. The passengers landed at once, and the captain went ashore on the following day with his log-book. "Is there any special item to which you wish to call my attention?" the official asked.

"This is the only one, sir." And he pointed to the last page. "Cook stabbed the mate."

"And you marooned him on one of the rocky islands off the coast of Sumatra. Why did you not hang him?"

"Well, sir, we had a good many lady passengers on board, and they all rather took the man's part, on the ground that the mate had knocked him down, and that he stabbed him in the heat of passion; but really I think it was because they had been highly satisfied with his cooking during the voyage."

"What nationality was the man?"

"A mixture. He spoke Dutch perfectly well, but his features were Arab rather than European."

The official did not speak for nearly a minute. "What height was he?"

"About the average height," the captain said with some surprise in his tone; "broader than Arabs generally are, but lithe and sinewy. I used to think there must be some Malay blood in him."

The official got up and took down a book from a shelf. "How long had he been at the Cape before you hired him, do you know?" he asked as he turned over the leaves.

"I did not question him. He said that he had been six months cook at the governor's house, and that was good enough for me."

"Had he any particular mark on his face?" the official asked, as he found the entry for which he was in search.

"He had a scar on one cheek," the captain said, "a white line, as if it had been a clean cut with a knife."

"That is the man, then. Your first description at once struck me. I will read to you what is written here. 'Middle height; age about thirty-five; clean shaven; very strong and active figure. Nationality uncertain, believed to be Arab on the father's side by Dutch or Portuguese woman, probably some Malay blood. Long thin scar across one cheek.'"

"That is the man to a T."

"Well, captain, you have missed five hundred pounds and the great credit you would have gained if you had brought in that man dead or alive. He was the boldest and most savage of the pirates who infest these seas, and is feared by the native traders as much as by the Dutch merchants who trade with the East. He never spared a man, white or brown, that fell into his hands. Sometimes he would sail alone, sometimes with a score of native craft. With these he would land on one of the islands or on the mainland, burn, plunder, and murder, and carry off into slavery the young men and women. The last we heard of him was two years ago. A boat was picked up with two men still alive in her; they were the sole survivors of one of our vessels that had been captured by him. He had transferred the greater part of his own crew to her. Every soul on board our ship had been murdered, with the exception of these two men, who managed to conceal themselves among the cargo, and had, while the pirates were carousing, dropped into a boat that lay alongside, and escaped. In the morning they could see their own ship bearing west while the original pirate was making for the north-east.

"From that day nothing was heard of the Arab. It was supposed that he had intended to cruise near the Cape. There his appearance would enable him unsuspected to approach ships. Six months later, however, a ship arriving here brought news that the Heldin, which was the name of the vessel that they had taken, had been lost with all hands some forty miles from the Cape. The natives had brought down a story of a wreck having occurred near their village, and a craft was despatched to the spot, and found the shore strewn with timber. Among the wreckage was the stern of a boat bearing the Heldin's name, and an empty keg also stamped with it. That seemed to settle the question, and the wreck had taken place just about the time that the pirate would, had she held on the course on which she was last seen, have arrived off the Cape. There is not much doubt now that the "Sea Tiger", for so he was always called, managed to reach the shore and make his way to the town, and when he found that he was the sole survivor, and no suspicion existed that the ship had changed hands before she was wrecked, found some sort of employment until, by means no doubt of forged testimonials, he obtained a position in the household of the governor. I must at once inform the council, who are now sitting, of what has taken place."

An hour later a government craft, with twenty soldiers on board, sailed from Batavia, taking with it the second mate of the Dordrecht to point out to them the island upon which the pirate had been landed and the spot where they had set him on shore. She returned a week later. No traces of the man they sought had been found; but on the shore was a deep mark, evidently caused by a native boat having been pulled up there during the storm. The sand around was greatly trampled, there were chips of wood as if some repairs had been done; and there was little doubt that after the storm had abated and the craft been sufficiently repaired, the whole party had sailed away. The news that the famous pirate known as the "Sea Tiger" had escaped and was again at large, caused great consternation among the merchant community of Batavia.

The captain of the Dordrecht was severely censured by the authorities, and was so overwhelmed with reproaches by the merchants that he was glad indeed when he had discharged his cargo and taken in another, and left the island behind him. The female passengers, whose intercession had saved the pirate's life, came in for some share of the unpopularity of the captain, and were made to regret bitterly the part they had taken in the affair. Three months later reports were brought by natives of the doings of a piratical fleet, who had taken and sunk numbers of native craft, had landed at various points on the coast of Sumatra, and destroyed Dutch factories. The natives who had escaped from these massacres all agreed in stating that the leader of this fleet was the dreaded "Sea Tiger" of whom nothing had been heard for so long. Then three Dutch ships which were due did not arrive, and one which came in reported that they had seen a glow of light in mid-ocean. It could have been caused only by a ship on fire very many miles away.

The ship had been headed in this direction, but the wind was contrary and the light had disappeared suddenly. They, however, kept on their course, and although the next morning they came upon some wreckage of charred timber, and had cruised for some hours in the neighbourhood, they had seen no signs of boats. Then rapidly came in the news that descents had been made upon various points on the mainland, and one morning a horseman rode in, saying that a landing had been effected at a point about thirty miles from Batavia. Plantations had been destroyed, all the white colonists killed, and able-bodied natives carried off as slaves. There was only one vessel of war at Batavia, but the governor and council took up two merchantmen that happened to be there, and put on board of each fifty soldiers, together with a strong crew to work the guns. Lieutenant Van Houten was in command of the soldiers on one of these vessels. His engagement to Fraulein Meyers had now been announced. Her father was settled on a plantation that he had purchased from a colonist whose health had suffered from the climate, and who was now returning home. It was twelve miles to the east of the town, and situated near the sea-shore.

He had been appointed to the command at his own request. He had more than shared in the general consternation at the pirate's escape. He was not one, however, to blame the captain. Certainly the Arab had acted under great provocation, and he knew that had he been in the captain's place he would have yielded to the solicitations of the ladies, especially as it seemed that the death of the culprit was as certain as, if slower than, that by the rope. He himself would vastly have preferred to have seen the man hung. He recognized how dangerous an enemy he was; and as soon as he heard of his escape he became anxious about the safety of his betrothed, remembering as he did the evident admiration that this scoundrel had felt for her. He had even begged her father to move into the town until the depredations of the pirates had been arrested. But Mr. Meyers had scoffed at the idea. "It is just the time for nutmeg picking. It is quite absurd. There is no other plantation within three miles, and even if they came along here, it would not pay them to land for the plunder of a solitary house."

His daughter was very tearful when she heard that her lover was going out in search of the pirate. "There is no occasion for you to go," she said. "Why should you have volunteered for such dangerous service?"

"Because I have a particular wish to capture or kill this pirate. I have no doubt that he has a strong enmity against all connected with the Dordrecht, and I shall never feel comfortable so long as he roves the sea. Even putting our own case aside, see the frightful destruction that he is causing. He is depopulating islands, massacring peaceable natives, capturing ships, and murdering all on board. There is not an officer here but is burning to take part in his capture. Besides, I feel he has a particular animosity against me. How it arises does not matter. I know that he has that feeling, and so long as he is abroad and powerful my life is not safe, even in the streets of Batavia."

After this, his betrothed had no further objection to his going. It was known that the pirate's rendezvous was on the east coast of Sumatra, where he had made an alliance with a tribe at war with its neighbours, and had aided in conquering the latter; and it was in that direction that the three ships steered their course, hoping to encounter the pirates as they came down the Straits of Malacca on one of their expeditions. They cruised backwards and forwards for a week without seeing a sail, save a few native boats creeping along close to the shore. One morning, however, the look-out at the mast-head saw a number of sail in the distance. Among them were two vessels much larger than the others. These were doubtless the Dutch ships that had been captured; the others were native craft, most of them rowing, as could be seen as the sun flashed on their oars. Preparations were at once made for battle, for there was no change in the direction of the pirate flotilla after it was certain that they must have seen the Dutch fleet.

"It almost looks", Van Houten said to Erasmus, his young subaltern, who was again with him, "as if they had received information as to our starting in pursuit of them, otherwise there would surely have been some hesitation when they first saw us, some consultation whether they should attack us or not. Unless I am greatly mistaken one of the ships is the Dordrecht. She was only three weeks at Batavia. The fellow must have lost no time in getting allies among the native princes in order to waylay her when she came out again. She would be the first object of his vengeance."

"She certainly looks like her," the other agreed. "Well, if so, there is one more debt to be paid off. The captain was a good old fellow, and I liked the second mate very much. I hope both of them fell before the vessel was seized, for we may be sure that they would not have had an easy death if they were captured. It will be a tough fight, for I have no doubt that the boats are crammed with men. There is one thing which I do not expect they have—many guns, except in the two ships; but counting only fifty men a boat—and no doubt many of them carry a hundred—we shall be tremendously outnumbered if they get alongside."

"Yes. It is a little unfortunate that there is not more wind; then we might keep away from their boats, and pepper them hotly. As it is, they can move three feet to our one."

As soon as the pirates were within range, the three Dutch vessels opened fire. They were unanswered for a short time, for the two pirate ships had been outstripped by the prahs. But several of the latter now took them in tow, and presently they began to return the fire with their bow-guns. Although several of the prahs were sunk, and some so badly damaged that they had to drop behind, the others pressed on.

At a signal from the commander of the ship of war his consorts now brought their heads round so that they lay nearly in a line, with their broadsides to the pirates.

With loud shouts, beating of drums, and the blowing of horns, the prahs came along at racing speed. Instead of using round-shot, the guns were now crammed to the muzzle with bags of bullets, and these did terrible execution. But the Malays did not relax their efforts, and presently dashed alongside of the Dutch ships. Soon a desperate fight took place. The soldiers kept up an incessant musketry-fire as fast as they could load; the sailors cut down those who attempted to board; and the Malays threw showers of spears, stink-pots, and missiles of all kinds.

For half an hour the fight continued, and the result was still in doubt, when there was a crash, and the decks were swept by a storm of bullets. Scarce noticed while the struggle was going on, the two pirate ships had come up, passed ahead of the Dutch vessels, and had sailed close up on the opposite side to that on which the fight with the prahs was taking place. The pirates had shifted all their guns so as to bear on the Dutch vessels. Each mounted sixteen cannon, and these poured in their contents simultaneously. The effect was terrible! More than half the defenders were swept away, and a minute later the pirate ships were alongside; and as the Dutch turned to repel the storm of figures leaping on to their decks, the men in the canoes crowded up on the other side. The Dutch soldiers and sailors fought with desperation. They knew there was no quarter, and held out to the last. But in five minutes the ship of war and the one next to her had been captured, and the last of the defenders slain.

The ship that carried Van Houten was at the end of the line, and had up to now been only attacked by the natives. A few of the sailors were withdrawn from their work of the defence of the bulwarks, and were ordered to haul on the sheets so that the sails might catch what wind there was. If she could escape from the attack of the two ships, she might yet beat off the natives. But it was too late; the pirates threw off the grapnels that attached them to the ships they had captured, and again some of the canoes took them in tow. Several of these were sunk, but the way given was sufficient, and the leading vessel ranged alongside the merchantman.

The exultant shouts of the Malays rose high in the air as the men from the pirate ship and prahs swarmed on deck. The Dutch soldiers held together and fought steadily, but their numbers lessened fast as the spears of the Malays flew among them. Few of them had time to reload their muskets and fire a second shot. Erasmus fell by Van Houten's side when the latter had but a dozen men left around him. The leader of the pirates, whom he now recognized, shouted: "Do not touch that white officer! Make him prisoner—I want him!"

A moment later there was a general rush of the Malays. Three of them sprang upon Van Houten and dragged him to the ground, and soon a yell of triumph told that the last of the defenders had fallen. Van Houten was now allowed to rise to his feet, his arms still clasped by his assailants. "Why don't you kill me, you scoundrel, the same as the others?" he said to the pirate.

"You will be killed soon enough," the Arab said; "but I want to keep you for a while just to have the pleasure of showing you that girl in my hands. I was not good enough to look at her, you thought. Good or not, she shall be mine! I settled on that the first moment that I saw her. Bind him tightly and take him below. Be sure that his cords are tight. No!—tie him to the mast; we shall have the pleasure of looking at him and talking to him sometimes."

Then he gave a number of orders. Prize crews were told off to the three captured vessels; the remaining prahs took the five ships in tow, and in a body they moved away. Six hours' rowing brought them to a narrow inlet. Here was a native village. Two of the men were placed as guards over Van Houten, and the work of emptying the ships of their valuables then began and continued until late at night, everything being taken ashore by the boats. Three days passed in feasting and rejoicing. The prisoner's arms were unbound, so that he could eat the food given him at regular intervals. His guards were changed every two hours, and the pirate came round each day to taunt his captive. Even had the guards been removed, the latter could not have freed himself, for the ropes round his legs and chest were all tied round the other side of the mast, and he could not therefore possibly get at the knots.

On the third evening Van Houten saw that one at least of the two men who came on guard was the worse for liquor. He grumbled loudly at being brought off from the pleasures on shore to look after this white prisoner.

"However," he said, "I have brought off my gourd."

"You had better be careful," the other said. "If the captain came off and found you drunk, he would shoot you like a dog."

"Bah! He went into his hut half an hour ago, and he won't be out again to-night. Besides, I am not going to get drunk; I am just comfortable, that is all."

Nevertheless, the warning had its effect, and the man only took small sips from his gourd. Van Houten let his chin drop on his breast as if asleep, and presently the man, as he passed in front of him, lurched against him. In a moment Van Houten snatched one of the knives from his girdle and hid it beneath his coat. The other guard was standing a few paces away watching the shore, and the action was unnoticed. Feeling for the first time since he had been captured that there was some hope, the young soldier now went off to sleep, a thing he had not been able to do before owing to the tightness of his bonds. When he woke, the sun was just rising, and his guard had been twice changed. The day passed as before, but that evening the boats pushed off to their various ships.

Early the next morning these were towed out of the inlet. The boats that were not to accompany them returned to the village. Slowly and clumsily the sails were hoisted, and the five vessels, each crowded with Malays, set sail. Van Houten had been carried the evening before to the warship of which the pirate captain had taken the command. He was, as before, tied to the mast, but was fastened in a sitting position on the deck instead of a standing one.

"I do not wish you to die yet," the man said, giving him a kick. "I don't want you to be so sleepy that you will be stupid. I want you to be able to take it all in."

The change was an intense relief. For five days he had been kept standing; at times his legs refused to bear his weight, and he had been supported entirely by the ropes round his body. He dropped almost instantaneously asleep when the pirate left him, and the sun was high next day before he awoke. For a time his neck was so stiff from the position he had slept in that he almost cried out from the pain as he lifted it. He had been dreaming that he was in the dungeon of the Spanish Inquisition, and that he was being tortured, and for a moment he could scarce understand where he was, for the pain of the tightly bound ropes seemed to be part of his dream.

Four days passed. He was no longer strictly guarded, for escape in mid-ocean was impossible; nevertheless, the knots of his ropes were examined two or three times a day, as had been the case all along. He was liberated from his bonds for five minutes four times a day, four of the Malays keeping close to him to prevent him from jumping overboard. Early one afternoon the western extremity of Sumatra was made out, and after the fleet had passed through the narrow straits between that island and the island of Banca, they headed south, keeping close inshore, towards the Straits of Sunda. As Van Houten, when he had taken his last walk before it became dark, saw the ships' heads were pointed south, he thought that from the course they were taking they would strike the island of Java early next morning some thirty miles to the west of Batavia.

"I have no doubt you are thinking," the pirate said to him coldly, "that the people on shore will see us in the morning and take the alarm. There is no fear of that. Before it is light, the two ships I had before will make their way to sea again. We shall have the Dutch flag flying, and shall sail along two miles or so from the coast. Of course we shall be recognized as we pass Batavia, and the authorities will suppose that their fleet has not come upon the vessels they were in search of, and, having obtained news that they were likely to attempt a landing on the island farther to the east, are now coasting along in hopes of falling in with them.

"A bold plan, is it not? By evening we shall be back again off the Meyers's plantation, and by nightfall I shall have my beauty on board. We shall have been already joined by our consorts, and shall sail together to Batavia. The artillerymen in the fort will think we have made a capture during the night, and we shall get in without a shot being fired at us. At the same time the party that have landed will attack the place on the land side. Then we will sack and burn the town, attack the forts from the land side, where they are weak, kill the artillerymen, and carry off such guns as we choose. After that, we shall have a wedding, which you shall witness. If we cannot get a minister to perform it, we will manage to do without one. She shall then be taken on board my ship while I superintend your roasting on a bonfire. That is my programme, what do you think of it?"

Van Houten had stared stolidly astern while the pirate was speaking. The latter, apparently not expecting any answer to his question, with a mocking laugh turned away. As soon as it had become quite dark a boat had been lowered, and the pirate had gone on board the other vessels to give his orders. The prisoner listened eagerly for his return. If the boat were pulled up it seemed to him that the last chance of escape was gone, for, cramped as he was by his long confinement, he felt sure he would not be able to swim ashore. He almost held his breath as he heard it returning to the ship's side. There were no such appliances as now exist for raising boats, and to get one of the clumsy and heavy boats on deck was a work of no small labour.

The pirate sprung on deck and gave an order to the men in the boat. As the prisoner did not understand Malay he was ignorant of its purport; but when the four men who had been rowing her came on deck, and one of them, holding the boat's painter in his hand, walked astern with it, he felt sure that she was to be allowed to tow there, at any rate till morning. After the ships had been put on their course, parallel with the shore, there was soon silence on board. There was no moon, but the stars were bright, and the vessels moved along with a gentle breeze, about three knots an hour. That evening the guard of two men had again been posted over the prisoner, for, certain as the captain felt that escape was impossible, he thought it would be as well to neglect no precaution now that land was near. The Malays themselves seemed to consider that a guard was altogether unnecessary, and, after some talk between them, one lay down between the guns, while the other took up his place by the mast and leant against it, close to Van Houten.

The latter waited for half an hour until he felt that the other guard was asleep, then, taking out his knife, he cut the cords. The slight noise as these fell aroused the sentry on guard, half-asleep as he leant against the mast, and he stooped down so as to assure himself that all was right. Van Houten seized his throat with one hand, and with the other drove his knife up to the hilt into him. There was no need to repeat the blow. It had been driven through the heart. Noiselessly Van Houten lowered him to the deck, then, moving a little on one side, propped up the body against the mast in the attitude in which he himself had been bound. After taking off his shoes he made his way astern. The Malays were lying thickly between the guns on either side, but all were sound asleep. Reaching the ladder up to the lofty poop he climbed it.

There were no Malays here except the man at the wheel, and he was so intent on his work that he did not notice Van Houten as he crept past. He found the boat's rope, which was tied to the rail, and lowered himself till he was in the water. The boat was some ten yards astern, and, severing the rope, he was soon alongside her. Keeping his hand on the gunwale, he worked along it till he reached the stern; this he grasped and hung on. The boat soon lost her way, and the ship receded fast. He made no effort to climb into the boat until the latter had quite disappeared from his sight, for had he, in climbing on board, moved one of the oars in her, the rattle might have been heard by someone sleeping lightly on the ship. Once assured that she was well away, he cautiously raised himself and clambered over the stern, using the utmost care in each movement so as to avoid touching anything movable. He waited a quarter of an hour, then he crept forward; took off his coat, cut off one of the sleeves, fastened this round one of the heavy oars and put it out over the stern, so that the cloth was in the groove made for the purpose of enabling one man to scull her when near shore. This would prevent the slightest chance of the pirates hearing him at work.

He found it terribly hard at first, so sore was his body from the pressure of the ropes. Gradually, however, as he warmed to his work, he became able to put out his strength, the stars being a sufficient guide to enable him to make his way straight to shore. He had no fear of being overtaken even if his escape were speedily discovered, for they would not be able to tell how long a time had elapsed since he got away. He thought it probable, however, that the escape would not be discovered until morning. The other Malay would have slept till he was roused by his comrade, and would not be likely to wake until day broke, when he would discover the change that had been effected.

The heavy boat moved but slowly, and it was not until a good hour after leaving the ship that he made out the shore. Fortunately the breeze during the afternoon had been a good one, and so the pirates had passed the Straits of Sunda at nine o'clock, and had then changed their course to the east. What wind there was, was from the north, and so helped him, and two hours after leaving the ship he reached the shore. He had fifty miles to go to Batavia, but there would be plenty of time. It was certain that the attack at the station could not take place till the following night. He knew a plantation where a colonist with whom he was acquainted lived, and this could not be more than two or three miles away. His strength, weakened by suffering and mental torment, was greatly diminished, and after walking for a mile he felt that it would be better for him to rest till morning broke, when he would be able to ascertain exactly where he was, and find his way to the plantation.

Accordingly he lay down, but would not permit himself to doze, as, worn out as he was from want of rest, if he did so he might sleep far into the day. He soon found that, lying down, it would be impossible for him to keep awake, and accordingly sat down by a large rock in the position to which he had become accustomed. The hours passed slowly, but he had now no difficulty in keeping awake. He was filled with exultation at his escape and at the prospect of turning the tables upon the pirate. As soon as day broke he struck inland, for he knew that a road ran east and west, by which the various products of the land were taken to the town. In half an hour he came upon it, and after following it for a mile came upon the plantation fence. Arriving at the gate, he entered and made his way up to the house. There was already movement there. A group of native labourers were receiving orders from an overseer, who looked in astonishment at the appearance of an officer, haggard, and blistered by the sun, and whose uniform was still wet, and one sleeve altogether missing.

"This is the station of Meinheer de Koning, is it not?" Van Houten asked.

"It is, sir; but he is not up yet."

"I am the bearer of important news and must see him at once. Will you order one of the servants to arouse him, and tell him that Lieutenant Van Houten desires to see him instantly on a matter of the most pressing importance?"

In five minutes the planter came down. Philip had met him several times in Batavia. The latter gazed at him in surprise, failing at first to recognize the figure before him as the smart young officer of his acquaintance.

"It is I, just escaped from one of the ships of the 'Sea Tiger', who, with four vessels beside his own, is on his way to attack Batavia, and unless I can arrive there in time to warn them, he will do terrible damage."

"Which way were the ships going?" De Koning asked in consternation.

"They were going east. The five ships are crowded with Malays, and they reckon upon destroying the town and overrunning the whole country. I beg of you that you will at once lend me a good horse."

"You don't look fit to ride five miles much less fifty. I will have two horses put into my vehicle and drive you myself. In the meantime, come in and take a glass of wine and some bread. I will have a basket of provisions put in the trap for you to eat as we go along."

In a quarter of an hour a light vehicle drawn by two horses drew up to the door. Philip, who felt refreshed and strengthened by the wine, at once clambered up. The planter took the reins, and they started.

On their way Philip told the story of the events he had gone through.

"And so the scoundrels captured the ship of war and her two consorts? No wonder they think that, with five ships crowded, as you say, with men, they can take Batavia."

The basket contained a good supply of provisions and fruit, and Philip was able to make a hearty meal after the diet of bread and water on which he had lived for the last ten days. The planter had lent him a doublet, which he had put on in place of his uniform coat, and they therefore attracted no attention when, after six hours' drive, they arrived at Batavia and went straight to the governor's house. The latter, on hearing Philip's story, summoned the members of the council and the military commander. After some discussion the plan of action was decided upon. All the troops in garrison were to march to Meyers's plantation. They were to take with them six light guns. The crier went round the town summoning all the inhabitants to gather in the market-place.

Here the governor told them the news that he had received, and then explained the plan of operations. "The artillery are to remain here to man the guns of the fort in case the pirates should change their plan, and one company of soldiers is also to stay behind to oppose any landing. In the first place, I beg that all having vehicles will place them at our disposal—they will be used to carry the troops out to Meyers's station. Then if the troops hear firing here, they will know that the pirates have changed their plans, and will be brought back to the town with all speed, so that in a little over an hour after the first gun is fired they will be here ready to help in the defence. In the next place, it is all-important for the safety of the island and the town that a heavy blow shall be dealt these pirates. There are now four merchant ships in the harbour and a number of native boats. I trust that every man capable of bearing arms will volunteer to man them. I myself shall remain here, but all the members of the council have decided to go in the boats. I think it probable that by far the greater portion of the Malays will land and attempt to capture Meyers's plantation, with the intention of afterwards marching upon the town and attacking it on the land side. If they do this their ships will naturally be but feebly manned, and we have decided to adopt the suggestion made by Lieutenant Van Houten, who has been in the hands of the pirates and has escaped from them, that as soon as the fight begins on shore, and the attention of the pirates on board is fixed on the struggle, they shall be attacked on the other side by the flotilla of boats.

"This attack shall be chiefly directed against the ship of war, which, I am sorry to say, they have captured. She carries heavier guns than the others, and is a fast sailer. Therefore, when she is once taken, her guns can be turned on the others, and I hope these will all be recaptured. The officers and crew of the merchant ships here will aid in the attack. They have as great an interest as we have in their destruction, and will be able to work the guns. If we are successful, we shall at one blow destroy the power of this terrible pirate, the 'Sea-Tiger', and render the sea open again to commerce. Captain Smidt, one of your council, who is, as you know, a distinguished naval officer, has volunteered to take the command of the expedition, and will lead the boats to the attack.

"He will also arrange the crews of each boat. I beg that you will all inscribe your names as ready to fight for your homes, families, and possessions, all of which will be in grievous danger unless these pirates are crushed. At seven o'clock this evening those who have volunteered will assemble at the fort. The boats will be in readiness with a number painted on each, so that when you are told off you will be able each one to take his place without confusion in his allotted boat, or in one or other of the ships. The pirates will make their landing about eleven o'clock. The boats will row till within three miles of them, then they will be taken in tow by the ships. The sounds of the boats' oars would be heard for a long way on a still night. You will probably get quite close to them before you are seen. The moment the alarm is given, the tow-ropes must be thrown off. The ships will fire a broadside into the man-of-war, and at once range alongside her, and the boats will attack the other pirates."

The speech was received in silence, save that a hearty shout arose when the governor called upon them to volunteer.

"Captain Smidt is already at the town-hall," he said. "Go there and register your names, in order that he may know how many boats will be required, and will be able to make his arrangements accordingly. A cordon of troops has been placed round the town, and no one will be allowed to leave without a permit. Some of the natives might, if they knew the preparations that have been made, make off, and swim to the pirate ships with the news."

As he ceased speaking, the little crowd moved off towards the town-hall. Mounted men were at once despatched to all plantations within fifteen miles, calling upon the planters to drive in instantly with their arms for the defence of the town, which was menaced by an attack from pirates.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the three vessels that had left there ten days before were seen sailing past the town. They should have been sighted some hours earlier, but shortly after daybreak the wind had fallen, and the calm had lasted till midday. All were flying the Dutch flag, which they hauled down in salute to those flying on the fort, but proceeded on their way without changing their course. Everything was apparently quiet in the fort, and the salutes were duly returned. Boats sufficient to carry the number of men available had by this time been drawn up close to the shore, each bearing its number painted on her bow.

At half-past six the townspeople began to gather. All were armed with muskets or rifles, pikes or swords, and quietly and without confusion they took their allotted places, some on the boats, some on the two ships.

The troops had marched an hour before, joined by between forty and fifty men who came in from the plantations. Van Houten had gone with them. They halted half a mile from the station. It was desirable that they should not come up until the native labourers were all asleep. Van Houten himself rode on, and it was nearly nine o'clock as he entered. He was greeted by a cry of joy and surprise from the planter's daughter.

"Why, Philip!" she exclaimed. "How have you got here? We saw your three vessels come along just as it became dark, an hour ago. I suppose you must have landed as they passed Batavia. But what is the matter? you look strangely ill. Have you been wounded in a fight with those pirates?"

"You do look strange," her father added, "and you are not in uniform."

"Things have gone badly," he replied. "Our three vessels have all been captured, and I am the sole survivor of the crews. I have been a prisoner, and only escaped last night."

"Then what are the three ships we saw?" the planter said. "I could have sworn to the man-of-war Leyden. I was not sure as to the other two ships."

"They were full of pirates, meinheer, and have probably been joined by two more ships by this time. They are going to land at about eleven o'clock to burn this place down and carry your daughter off, and after that they will storm and sack Batavia."

"Are you in earnest, Van Houten, or dreaming? If your news is true, there is not a moment to be lost. We must have the horses and trap round at once and drive inland or to Batavia. The town can successfully resist."

"I should certainly advise Elise to retire at once to a station a mile or two away. There will be a battle fought here. Two hundred soldiers and forty or fifty planters, with six guns, halted a mile away. They will be here in an hour's time, and will give the Malays a reception that they do not dream of. As soon as the fight begins, their ships will be attacked by two merchantmen and a flotilla of boats manned by every available man in Batavia, with the exception of the governor himself and a small garrison, who will remain in the fort to protect the town should the pirates change their plans. Captain Smidt is in command of the flotilla, Colonel Stern is with the troops."

"This is startling news indeed," the planter said after a moment's silence. "You say they will not attack till eleven. I will have the horses put in at once. I will take Elise to my neighbour Rogen, whose house is three miles inland. I shall be back again in plenty of time to take my part in the affair. Or, no—you shall drive her there, Van Houten. I dare say that you would like to do so."

"Thank you, sir!"

"But can I not stay here?"

"No, dear," her father said decisively; "you might be hit by a chance shot, and I don't want to be in a state of anxiety about you while I have other things to do."

He rang the bell standing on the table. A servant entered. "In the first place, go and tell Domingo to put the horses into the carriage at once and to bring it round to the door, then bring in glasses and a bottle of Rhine wine."

Ten minutes later Van Houten started with Elise, the native driving. On the way he gave her a sketch of all that had happened since he went away, and told her of the plans of the "Sea Tiger". The girl shuddered.

"From what a fate have you saved me!" she murmured; "but it would not have been so, for I would have killed myself."

"I do not think that he would have given you much opportunity for doing that. He said that he would take good care that no weapon should be put in your way. However, thank God that his schemes have been thwarted by his own folly in torturing me by telling me of his intentions! You need have no fear of the results of this fight; taken wholly by surprise as they will be, and bewildered by the attack on their ships, we are certain to defeat them on land, and I trust that we shall capture all their ships; and the lesson will be so terrible that it will be a long time before any other is likely to follow the 'Sea Tiger's' example."

On arriving at the planter's house he found that he and his son had ridden into Batavia at four o'clock in obedience to the governor's call. His wife and daughter were glad to have Elise with them, and, leaving her to tell the story, Philip drove back to her father's.

The column arrived three minutes after his return, and the colonel went round the ground with Van Houten and the planter. The house stood some three hundred yards from the shore, the ground slanting gradually down from it; there were plantations on either side. Four of the guns were placed under the broad verandah, with the five-and-twenty men who were to work them. The rest were distributed among the shrubberies on either side of the open space running down from the house towards the water, where they would take the pirates, as they advanced, in flank. Van Houten offered to take ten of the planters down to destroy the boats when the Malays had left them.

Ten of the colonists volunteered for the service, and were provided from the storehouse with axes for staving in the boards. They posted themselves in a clump of bushes close to the shore. A quarter of an hour passed, and then they heard five loud splashes and a confused noise, and knew that the pirate's ships had anchored. Then came a creaking of pulleys and grating sounds, and they knew that the boats had been lowered. The lights in the house had all been extinguished, and perfect silence reigned. Presently there was a sound of many oars and the beat of paddles, and five minutes later ten large boats crowded with men appeared, making for the shore, and in a few minutes the grating of the keels was heard on the sand, and dark figures could be seen making their way up the beach.

"There must be three hundred of them at least," Van Houten said to the man who was standing next to him, "and I fancy that about the same number remain on board. As far as I can make out, there are only one or two men left on guard at each boat. We will creep up as quietly as we can, directly the firing breaks out; each of you will pick off his man—the noise will not be noticed in the row that will be going on up above. Then let two go to each boat and stave in a couple of planks, and then go along and do the same with the others, but see that it is done thoroughly. Directly all the boats are damaged hurry back here and open fire upon the pirates as they return. Traces have been fastened to the guns, and the artillerymen will run them down towards the water's edge, and the soldiers will advance and surround the scoundrels as they strive to push the boats off; not one of them should be able to regain their ships."

The pirates were led by a man whose white dress showed up clearly in the darkness, and who Van Houten was sure was the "Sea Tiger" himself. They advanced towards the house in an irregular line, the two flanks rather in advance. No sound was heard among them. It was evident that they had been ordered to preserve silence until the house was surrounded. They went on and on until they could be no longer seen by the watchers. Suddenly a voice shouted "Fire!"

Six guns loaded to the muzzle with bullets spoke out, and the musketry, in a semicircle, flashed from the shrubbery. "Now is our time!" Van Houten cried. The ten men went forward at a run. Within twenty yards of the nearest boat they halted and poured in their fire, and more than half the men standing together on the beach fell. Then they dashed forward. Two minutes sufficed to do the work, and they ran back to the bush from which they started. The din above was terrible. The Malays, for a moment staggered by the terrible and unexpected fire, had run back a few paces; but the voice of their leader encouraged them, and with loud yells they again rushed forward.

The cannon were silent, for loading was a long operation in those days; but by the colonel's orders only half the soldiers had taken part in the first volley, and the others now poured in their fire.

The Malays pushed on recklessly, and were within twenty yards of the house when they paused, as two broadsides were fired in quick succession out at sea. The Dutch vessels had passed behind the pirates, and, having delivered their first broadside, had tacked and laid themselves alongside the ship of war, pouring in their other broadside as they did so. At the same moment a musketry-fire opened from the whole of the pirate ships, answered more loudly from the boats, for comparatively few of the Malays carried firearms.

This unexpected attack did what the fear of death could not effect. With a yell of alarm and rage they turned and ran down towards their boats. Then the soldiers poured out from their concealment. Those by the guns seized the traces and ran them down to a distance of fifty yards from the shore, and poured their contents into the crowded mass. The Malays leapt into their boats and pushed them off, but before they were fairly afloat they were full of water to the gunwale. Most of them jumped over and started to swim towards the ships; others leapt ashore, and, drawing their krises, rushed at the troops and fell there, fighting fiercely to the end. Then the guns were run down to the shore and poured showers of grape among the swimmers. In the meantime firing had ceased on board the ship of war and two of the pirates, and the cheers of their captors rose loudly. On the others fighting was still going on, and the yells of the Malays and the cheers of the Dutch could be plainly heard.

In one the fighting presently ceased, but in the other the Malays were apparently successful. The sounds grew fainter, and the direction showed that the Malays had beaten off their opponents, cut their cable, and were under sail. Three minutes later there was a flash of guns, and their light showed the warship also under sail, evidently in pursuit. Answering guns came back, and these grew farther away. Of the Malays who had landed, some twenty unwounded had alone been taken prisoners. These were placed under a strong guard. The colonel hailed the ships to send a boat ashore. It presently arrived, and they heard, as they supposed, that four of the ships had been recaptured and that the Leyden was in pursuit of the other.

They also heard that only some twenty of the men of the naval expedition had been killed, for so completely were the Malays taken by surprise that their assailants had gained a footing on their decks comparatively without opposition. Sails had been at once hoisted when the boat had rowed ashore, and the vessels made for Batavia, where, at noon next day, the Leyden arrived with her prize. Not a man had fallen of the Dutch force on shore, though a few had been wounded by the Malays, who, finding their retreat cut off, had rushed at them.

Directly the fight was over, Philip drove over in the trap that had been kept waiting on the other side of the house, and told Elise and the Rogens that all was over, that the former's father and he were both unhurt, and that the dreaded pirate had fallen, shot through the head, within twenty yards of the house.

"Your father requests that you will stay here till morning, Elise," he said, "then he will drive over and take you into Batavia, where he will join you, and you will stay there until all signs of the fight have been removed."

Batavia went wild with joy at the news of the capture of the whole of the pirate fleet, and the destruction of the "Sea Tiger" and his followers. No quarter had been given on board the vessels first captured, and thirty Malays alone survived the fight of the vessel brought in by the Leyden. All the prisoners were tried and shot three days later. Van Houten was the hero of the occasion, and received immediate promotion. All felt that, had he not warned them, the town would almost certainly have been captured and every soul in it massacred.

A month later the whole of Batavia and the neighbourhood thronged to the church to witness the marriage of Captain Van Houten and Elise Meyers.

ON THE TRACK

CHAPTER I

A SAD CHRISTMAS

Never had there been such a sensation since the day when Brownsville, Ohio, was first founded, as that which was experienced on the 23rd of December, 1879, at the news that Mr. Partridge, the cashier at the bank, had absconded, and that a great number of valuable securities, and a large sum of money, were missing. The first report indeed stated that the bank would have to suspend payment; but the panic caused by this was speedily allayed by the issue of a notice, signed by James Johnstone, President, to the effect that the loss, although heavy, would in no degree affect the stability of the bank, that the assets were equal to all demands, and that the books had already been placed in the hands of skilled accountants, who would before nightfall certify to the stability of the bank.

This did not, however, prevent a run taking place; but as all demands were promptly met, and as at six o'clock in the afternoon a satisfactory assurance as to the state of the bank, signed by the two accountants, was affixed to the doors, confidence was restored, and the people were able to concentrate their attention upon the subject of the missing cashier. A few said that they had always suspected that something was wrong, but these were the people who are always wise after an event; the majority admitted frankly that there was nothing in William Partridge's antecedents or behaviour which would warrant a shadow of suspicion as to his probity. He was not altogether a popular man, and was what the people of Brownsville called high in his notions; that is to say, he did not care about mixing much in general society, being intimate only with a small circle of friends.

There was nothing indeed in Mr. Partridge's way of living which would not have been warranted by the salary he was known to draw. He lived in a pretty house just outside the town, and certainly spent more money than his neighbours in keeping his garden bright with flowers but he never entertained on a large scale. His dinners were choice but small, he kept no equipage, and had no expensive tastes. His reputation indeed was that of a somewhat retiring man with a higher degree of culture and education than most of his neighbours, with quiet and refined manners and studious tastes. All these things, however, would not have prevented him from being seized with the demon "speculation". For many another man, apparently as quiet and as refined, had ruined himself that way; and the verdict of Brownsville was unanimous that he must have become involved in some extensive speculations which had failed signally, and to bolster himself up must have taken the bank funds and securities, hoping to be able to replace them at the next turn of luck.

Everyone agreed that the greatest credit was due to the president, whose vigilance and astuteness had detected the defalcations before they had reached a point which would have proved ruinous to the bank, its shareholders, and depositors. Mr. James Johnstone had always been a popular personage in Brownsville, but he was never so popular as upon this occasion. A deputation of shareholders and depositors waited upon him to express their thanks for his vigilance and watchfulness; and although Mr. Johnstone did not say much he led them to understand that they had every reason to be grateful, for that things would very shortly have been in a very bad way had it not been for his interposition.

The president was a tall man, and just sufficiently inclined to stoutness to add to his appearance of respectability and solvency. He was smoothly shaven, and wore gold eye-glasses, and looked a director every inch. While his cashier never attended public gatherings on scientific, political, or sordid subjects, the president was always a prominent figure at them. He never, however, took a leading part on either side, but appeared rather in the character of an arbitrator. His speeches were always pleasing to both parties, throwing oil on the troubled waters. He was a large subscriber to all the local charities, and although he himself belonged to the Baptist persuasion he made no distinction between the various creeds in the distribution of his alms. Such being the case, when Brownsville once realized the fact that its own savings were in no jeopardy, its sympathy with the banker for the annoyance and trouble that this occurrence would cause him became very great. The matter was discussed in all lights at every tea-table in Brownsville, and even formed the principal topic of conversation among a number of young people who were preparing a school-room for the festivities which were to take place on the following evening.

"What is to be done about Roland Partridge?" Lilla Fairfax, a girl of some sixteen years of age, asked during a pause in the buzz of conversation.

"Of course he won't have the bad taste to show his face here," Percy Johnstone, the president's son, replied.

"I don't see that," Cissie White, a girl who had, however, taken no part in the conversation, but had been sitting in a corner, undisturbed, manufacturing wreaths, said warmly. "He is not to blame for the faults of his father."

"Bravo, Cissie!" Percy Johnstone said in a sneering voice. "It is as well that he should know what a valiant champion he has; but, you see, we have scriptural authority for saying that children must suffer for the faults of their fathers."

"It was not meant in that way," the girl retorted, "and I think it very mean of you to talk so. I suppose you think because Roland Partridge is to suffer for the fault of his father that you are a great man because of the numerous virtues of yours."

There was a general laugh, for Percy Johnstone was known to give himself airs to no inconsiderable extent on account of the social position of the banker. He coloured hotly at the reply and the laughter that followed it, but found no answer ready at hand.

"But really," Lilla Fairfax said, "we ought to decide what we are to do about Roland Partridge. I don't see that there is any necessity for quarrelling over it, but we have got to discuss it. It would not be quite pleasant, you know, for him to be coming amongst us just as if nothing had happened. You would not like it yourself, Cissie."

"I should not like what?" Cissie White asked shortly.

"Well, you would not like to go out sleighing with him, for example."

"I should certainly go out sleighing with him if he asked me," Cissie answered quietly. "Indeed he did ask me two days ago, and I said yes, and if he comes to fetch me I shall certainly go now."

"He is not likely to," Jane Simmonds, the eldest girl present, said.

"No, he is not likely to," Cissie agreed; "he has other things to think about. I only say that if he does come I shall keep my engagement."

"Quite right, Cissie!" Tom Fernlea said heartily. "I like a friend who is a friend, not a mere fair-weather bird. There is no better fellow going than Roland. He may not be quite so brilliant as some fellows," and he glanced at Percy, "and he does not go out of his own way to make himself popular; but I prefer good, straightforward, earnest fellows, and I would almost back him against all Brownsville."

"There are a good many people," Percy Johnstone said coldly, "who would perhaps have said as much two days ago for his father. Perhaps you may change your opinion one of these days."

"I am not likely to change my opinion of you, at any rate," Tom replied hotly, "and that is a pretty strong one, I can tell you. Everyone knows that you never liked Roland, because he always beat you in class, and he is a better baseball player, and a better skater, and a better fellow all round than you are!"

"Oh dear, oh dear!" Lilla Fairfax exclaimed plaintively, "whatever are you all quarrelling about? We have come here to make decorations for to-morrow, and the demon of discord seems to have entered in. I vote, girls, that the next person who quarrels, whoever he or she may be, shall be unanimously expelled from this society."

There was a chorus of assent. Jane Simmonds dexterously changed the conversation by asking whether the arrangements had quite been settled for the programme of the following evening. It was easy, however, to see, during the rest of the meeting, that less interest than usual was taken in the various discussions, and that the thoughts of most of the young people were otherwise occupied. Little whispered conferences went on before they broke up; the opinions of most of those present were ascertained, and were found to be pretty equally divided, as to the advisability or otherwise of treating Roland Partridge just as if his father had still been occupying the position of cashier at the bank.

While the conversation had been going on, the subject of it was pacing up and down the sitting-room at home discussing the matter with his mother. Roland had, a few days before, gone over to stay for a week with an uncle who lived some twenty miles away, and had that morning received a telegram from his mother begging him to return at once, and it was not until he reached home in the evening that he heard the terrible news.

"But it is impossible, mother, absolutely impossible, that my father can have done this thing!"

"That is what I say, Roland. Your father is the last man in the world to do such a thing."

"He never speculated, as far as you know, mother?"

"No, Roland, I am quite sure that he didn't. He was quite contented with his position. He wanted nothing more; and I have often heard him say that no one connected with a bank had any right whatever to engage in business outside it."

"But what did he say, mother? Surely he must have said something when he left you last night?"

"He came in about half-past nine, Roland. He has been staying late at the bank this week making up the books. He was as pale as death. His lips were trembling, and he could hardly speak. When I begged him to tell me what was the matter with him, he said, as nearly as I can remember his words: 'A terrible thing has happened, and I must go away at once. The bank has been robbed!'"

"'But what has that to do with you, William?' I asked. 'I am accused of doing it,' he said. I almost laughed, it seemed so absurd. But he went on: 'Appearances are terribly against me. It is all a mystery to me. But if I stay I shall be arrested to-morrow morning, and surely condemned, and I could not stand it. It would kill me. I must go. There is no other way. I will write to you and tell you what to do when I can think it over. But I can't think now.' He was in such a nervous state that it was useless to speak to him; and, indeed, I was so stunned with the news myself that I could think of nothing. I did say: 'It would be far better for you to stay, William, and face it out. Your innocence is sure to be proved.' But he only shook his head, and repeated, 'I must go.'

"So I hurried to get a few things together for him, and the moment that I had done so he was off to catch the train. I don't think he was five minutes in the house altogether, and it was not till he had gone that I was able to think clearly what had happened."

"I am not blaming you, mother dear," Roland said tenderly. "But it is most unfortunate that father should have acted as he did. You and I know perfectly well that he is innocent, but his running away will, of course, convince everyone else that he is guilty. It would have been a thousand times better to have braved it out, however strong the circumstances might be that point against him."

"So I think, of course, Roland. But you know what your father is, and naturally I understand him even better than you do. You have only known him since he was prosperous and respected here; but in the early days of our marriage, when he was still a struggling young man, I learnt, I will not say the faults, my son, but the weaknesses of his character. He is, as you know, a man of strict, nay, of extreme, honour and integrity. But he is sensitive almost to a fault. He has no self-assertion and very little self-confidence. He is just the man, in fact, to bend before a storm rather than brave it; and although I may greatly lament it, I am not a bit surprised that, when suddenly confronted with such a terrible accusation as this, and seeing, as he says, that circumstances are altogether against him, he should abandon the field without a struggle rather than face the storm of public obloquy and indignation."

Roland was silent. He knew how his father shrunk from anything like a public turmoil, and how easily upset he was by trifles which another would scarcely have noticed; and although he had never acknowledged as much to himself, he had even when much younger been vaguely conscious that his father was lacking in force of character. There was a disinclination to find fault, a shrinking from unpleasantness, and an avoidance even of argument; a desire that everything should go on with clock-like regularity, and that nothing should disturb the even tenor of life, which seemed to show a constitutional avoidance of effort or struggle. Still, as Roland had, as his mother said, only seen his father under circumstances of ease and comfort, he could not tell how far this was an innate defect in his character until it now showed itself so disastrously.

"You don't know where he has gone to, mother?" he said at length; "because, if you have the slightest idea as to the locality, I will start at once to try and find him, and to persuade him to return, whatever the circumstances may be against him. It would be a thousand times better to brave it out than, by running away, to make what cannot but appear a tacit confession of guilt. And now, mother dear, what do you intend to do?"

"That is what I was wanting to talk to you about, Roland. It seems to me that the best thing to do will be to give up our house at once, and to sell the furniture; and then, in the meantime, if I do not hear from your father, to move right away to some place where we shall not be known, and where I can earn a little money by my needle, and you perhaps can obtain a situation of some sort."

"No, mother," Roland said decidedly. "I quite agree with you as to giving up the house and selling the furniture, but go away we will not. Father may have given up the battle in despair, but I shall stay and fight it out. We know that he did not take this money—it is for me to find out who did so. If we go away the matter can never be cleared up; so long as we remain here there is a chance of our striking on some clue or other."

"It will be dreadful," Mrs. Partridge began.

"It will be horribly painful," Roland agreed. "Awful to have to meet all your old friends and know that they regard one as the son of a swindler. But it has to be done, mother, for only so can we hope to prove that father is an honest man. But I don't ask you to stay, mother. I am quite sure that uncle will be glad for you to go and live with him at the farm. He was saying only yesterday that it had been a dull life for him since aunt had gone."

"No, my boy, I could not do that," Mrs. Partridge said. "I could not leave you here to bear the burden alone."

"Don't think me unkind, mother, when I say I would rather that you would. I think I could bear the changed faces of old friends so long as the slights affect only myself, but I should suffer ten times more in seeing you suffer. Therefore, mother, I do think that my plan is the best. I hope that it will not be for very long; but till matters are made clear it will be best for you to stay with uncle, and I could run over from time to time to see you and tell you how I am getting on."

"At any rate, Roland, there is no occasion to decide for a few days. The first thing to do is to get rid of the house and sell the furniture. When that is done, we can talk matters over again."

The next morning Roland called upon their landlord and asked him if he would take the house off their hands at once. This the landlord willingly agreed to do, and was indeed well pleased with the proposition. He had already been wondering how Mrs. Partridge intended to manage. The lease had still two years to run, but he did not see how she would be able to pay her rent. He had that morning received an application from a gentleman who was willing to take the house if he could obtain possession at once, and Roland's proposal to move out at the end of a week exactly suited him. After settling this matter Roland went to an auctioneer, and arranged that notice should at once be issued of the immediate sale of the furniture. He returned home well pleased with the success of his mission.

"As far as I am concerned, mother, I think things will be better than I expected. I see there is a difference of opinion in Brownsville. I have met several people we know well this morning. Some of them just gave me a nod, as much as to say, we see you, but don't want to speak to you. Others nodded, as if they would have liked to have stopped and chatted with me, but were rather afraid to do so; while Tom Fernlea and two other fellows came up and shook hands just as heartily as usual, and asked when I came back from uncle's, what I had been doing, and so on, as if nothing had happened. At any rate, mother, a thing like this gives one an opportunity of finding out which of your friends are worth having and which are not."

There was a certain indication of bitterness in his tone, and his mother looked at him a little anxiously. "You will not get cynical, I hope, Roland, my dear boy. You must remember that a vast number of people act quite as much in accordance with what they think other people will do, as with their own convictions. We are all apt to be guided by the opinions of the world; and though it seems hard that the sins of parents should in any degree be visited upon their children, we must remember that children get the benefit the other way. If a boy or a girl's father is a rich and popular man, they will be made more of than when not so situated. Of course this is wrong, and everyone should be judged by themselves, and no doubt that eventually is the case. Of course if one whom we believed to be a true friend fell away at a time of trial, it would be a proof that his friendship was not a true one; but we must not be surprised if any mere acquaintances go with the stream, whatever its direction may be."

"You are becoming quite a philosopher, little mother," Roland laughed. "At any rate, as I said, things are better than I expected. Of course it is no good doing anything for the next day or two;" and a shade passed over Roland's face as he thought how widely his Christmas day would differ from his anticipations of it; "but next week I will go round and see if I can get something to do. I am not particular what it is, as long as it enables me to stay at Brownsville."

CHAPTER II

TRUE FRIENDS

Late in the afternoon Roland went out to get a few things that were required. Suddenly he came on a group of half a dozen girls who had just finished putting up the decorations in the school-room. The first couple passed him with a bow, but Cissie White, who was walking next, stopped with her companion and shook hands with him.

"How are you, Roland? We have missed you at decorations this afternoon."

"I was sorry not to be able to come, Cissie," Roland said, "and I am sorry I shall not be able to keep my engagement to go sleighing on the 26th."

"I am very sorry too; I should have been so glad to have gone with you, if you could have taken me, but I was afraid you would not be able to. I want to tell you, Roland,"—and she hesitated. "I don't know whether people talk about such things, but I am sure you won't mind. I want to tell you how sorry we all are about the news we have heard, and to say I hope it is not going to make any difference to you."

"I am afraid it must make a difference, Cissie," Roland answered; "but thank you very much for what you have said, and I want to tell you that whatever people may think, I and my mother know that my father did not do this thing that they accuse him of, and some day I hope to prove his innocence."

"I am so glad to hear you say so, Roland; it did seem impossible, and yet,"—and she hesitated.

"And yet everyone said so," he put in. "Unfortunately my father is a very nervous and sensitive man, and the thought of such a charge made him well-nigh beside himself, and he went away; but he is not guilty for all that, and some day I will prove it. Will you please tell the people—the people I know, I mean—not that my father is innocent, for they might not believe it, but that his wife and son are absolutely sure that he is so?"

"I will indeed, Roland, and I am very, very glad to hear what you say. You may be sure that whatever other people say in future, I shall believe it as you tell me. Good-bye now!" And again shaking hands warmly, she hurried away after her companions, who were waiting for her at the corner of the next block.

"What have you found to talk about, Cissie? I would have stopped and spoken too, only I could not think what I should say."

"I told him that I was sorry to hear the news," Cissie said, "and that I hoped it would not make any difference to him."

"Oh, Cissie, you don't mean to say you alluded to that! How could you!"—a chorus from the others.

"Why not?" Cissie asked. "He knew that we must be thinking about it, and why shouldn't I say it? and I am glad I did, for if I had not spoken perhaps he would not have alluded to the matter, and he told me that whatever other people might say, he and his mother were quite sure that Mr. Partridge did not take the money."

There was an incredulous "Oh!" from her hearers, and Jane Simmonds asked, "What did he run away for, then, if he wasn't guilty?"

"Because he is sensitive, and could not stay to face such an accusation. Of course Roland did not say that he was foolish, but I could see that he thought that it was an awful pity."

"I should think it was," Jane Simmonds replied sarcastically. "Of course his wife and son say they think he is innocent, that is only natural; but they won't get anyone to believe them."

"You are wrong for once, Jane," Cissie said quietly, "although I know that it must appear to you to be quite impossible; but, as it happens, I believe them entirely, and although I am a very insignificant person, still I am somebody, and that, you see, upsets your sweeping assertion."

"Well, my dear," Jane Simmonds replied, "if you wish to retain your reputation as a sensible girl I should advise you to keep your opinion to yourself, unless indeed you wish to set up as knowing more than anyone else in the town."

"I shall do nothing of the sort," Cissie replied. "Cassandra was looked upon as an idiot, you know, but she turned out to be right. Brownsville is welcome to entertain the same opinion about me, and I am content that they should think so till I turn out to be right, as you will see will be the case in the end; and now I must be off to tea."

The sale came off on the day arranged. No word had been received from Mr. Partridge, but his wife had hardly expected that he would write so soon; and as she knew he had some hundred dollars in his possession when he went away, she was under no uneasiness respecting him. On the morning of the sale she went to her brother's, Roland's plan having finally been decided upon as the best. The day before the sale Mrs. Partridge received a note from Mr. Johnstone saying that he should be glad to obtain a position for her son in a mercantile house in New York; to which Mrs. Partridge replied that she was greatly obliged and thankful for the offer, but that Roland had quite made up his mind that for the present he should remain in Brownsville, where he hoped to obtain some sort of occupation.

The refusal was speedily known in Brownsville, Percy Johnstone spreading the news everywhere; it excited surprise among some, displeasure among many.

"I think it was wonderfully good of my father," Percy told his friends, "after the trouble and loss the fellow's father has caused, to offer to put him into a situation. I should have thought that he would have been only too glad to have got away from here, and I am sure his absence would have been a relief to us all. I can't understand his motives."

Many others, even among those most favourably disposed towards Roland, were inclined to agree with Percy. His continued presence in Brownsville would be a source of embarrassment and trouble to those who had previously been intimate with him, and it did seem strange that he should prefer to live among people cognisant of his father's misdoings, instead of taking the opportunity that offered of beginning life elsewhere.

Mr. Johnstone's conduct in interesting himself on his behalf was considered kind in the extreme. Still more surprise was excited when, at the meeting of the directors of the bank called a day or two after the beginning of the new year, after explaining the amount of the loss to the bank, he said, in reply to questions, that he had not as yet offered any reward for the apprehension of the fugitive, and had not indeed instructed the police to take any steps in the matter. Rumours to that effect had already been current, for the police authorities, when interviewed on the subject, had declared that they had no instructions on the matter; but it was generally supposed that this was mere official reticence intended to lull the fugitive into security, while they were quietly working to arrest him. The announcement of Mr. Johnstone caused quite a sensation among his colleagues.

"I must say, Mr. Johnstone," one said angrily, "that your course in this matter appears to me to be most extraordinary. As you did not call us together at once, we naturally supposed that you were taking all the necessary steps, and that Partridge would, in a few days at latest, be in the hands of the police; and now you meet us and tell us that you have done nothing. You said, in fact, when we wanted to go into the question on the morning after the discovery of the cashier's flight, and one of us suggested that a hot pursuit should be at once set on foot, that we could safely leave that matter in your hands, and that we had best confine our attention to the investigation of the accounts."

Several others spoke to the same effect, and Mr. Johnstone then rose with his usual placid and undisturbed aspect. "Gentlemen," he said, "in the first place I have not called you together earlier because just at this time of year every man is occupied more or less by family matters; and as it did not seem to me that there was any extreme urgency in the matter, I thought I would allow you to enjoy the holiday undisturbed. Now, as to the main subject of your remarks, namely, that I have taken no steps to secure the arrest of our late cashier. Well, gentlemen, I am aware that in not doing so I have assumed a certain amount of responsibility. Certainly, when I met you ten days since, I had intended to set the police at work without delay. For the first twenty-four hours, however, I was so occupied with the investigations into the state of the books, and, I may say, with reassuring the minds of our depositors and restoring confidence, that I had really no time to move in the matter.

"Then, gentlemen, came Christmas, with Christmas thoughts, Christmas sermons, and Christmas associations, and I said to myself, this man is undoubtedly a thief and a defaulter. But how stands it? The man should be punished; but, gentlemen, for the last fifteen years he has been our friend. We have all been proud of him as a gentleman of singular culture. Most of us have been intimate at his house and acquainted with his wife, one of the most charming ladies in our section. In all these years his conduct has been above reproach, and although he has had passing through his hands the funds of the bank, he has up till now accounted for them up to the last penny. There can be no doubt that the mania of speculation, which is the bane of our civilization, seized upon this unhappy man, and that in a moment, I may say of temporary insanity, he laid his hands upon the bank funds to meet some loss, intending, no doubt, to replace them at the earliest opportunity.

"Well, gentlemen, that opportunity never came. We know the usual sad story in these cases. Loss follows loss, and a man becomes desperate, until at last comes the inevitable discovery. Gentlemen, we all know that the man who does these things should be punished, but it seemed to me that no punishment that the law could allot would add very greatly to that which he must be now suffering. Imagine, gentlemen, a man with refined tastes and habits skulking, a fugitive from justice, perhaps by this time half-way across the ocean, knowing that he can never raise his head again in the society of honest men. There was nothing to gain, for you may be sure that the money has long since passed out of his hands, and I feel that it would do us no good were he arrested and tried. Everyone knows now that the bank has made a loss; they are also satisfied that the bank is solvent; confidence is restored, and we have avoided anything like a run. No one, indeed, has any idea how large the losses really are outside this board.

"Now, gentlemen, if we were to have a trial, the real amount of the loss would become known; and although we ourselves may feel confident that we can weather the storm, and can in time pull round, it is by no means certain that the public will take the same view. The run which has now been averted might then take place, and the bank be compelled to shut its doors. And you know, gentlemen, that when you come to a forced realization of effects, how far the sum realized falls short of the value placed upon it, and how heavy the calls upon the shareholders to make up the deficiency! Well, gentlemen, we are all large shareholders in the bank, and now that ten days have elapsed, and we have kept matters quiet, I ask you, is it worth while to run the risk of bringing ruin upon the bank, and beggary upon its shareholders, merely for the pleasure of knowing that our defaulting cashier has got so many years of penal servitude?"

Put in this light the matter assumed a very different appearance. The directors knew well enough that although they had put a good face on the matter, the loss did seriously compromise the stability of the bank, and that the less the matter was dragged before the public the better. The directors looked at each other in silence when Mr. Johnstone concluded. But one said: "The public will think it a most extraordinary thing that we do not prosecute."

"But we intend to prosecute," Mr. Johnstone said. "It is distinctly understood that is our intention. But facts have come to our knowledge which leave no doubt that our cashier escaped into Canada within a few hours of his leaving this place, and it is believed by this time he has crossed the Atlantic. Should he ever return to this country he will, of course, be prosecuted at once on grounds of public policy and as a duty to the shareholders; but at the same time we have no objection to its being whispered abroad that although the directors would strictly carry out their duty had the opportunity been afforded, they are at heart by no means sorry, both for the sake of the man himself and for that of his wife, that he has succeeded in escaping before the hand of justice could be laid upon him."

After some further discussion, the view taken by the president was unanimously approved of, and the report that the cashier was known to have escaped into Canada, and had made his way to Europe, and that the bank authorities were convinced that he had managed to take but little with him, and were not sorry that the painful duty of prosecuting him had been avoided, was speedily spread through the town.

The unpleasantness which his former friends had anticipated from the strange resolution of Roland Partridge to remain in Brownsville was not experienced, for he never showed himself in his old resorts, and was seldom to be met with in the streets. It was known that he had applied for several situations, but without success, and that he was at present living in a poor lodging in the outskirts of the place.

"Have you seen Roland Partridge lately?" Cissie White asked Tom Fernlea.

"No, I haven't. I have not seen him since Christmas eve."

"Have you been to see him, Tom? you know where he lives."

"Yes, I know. No, I have not been there yet. I have been meaning to go every day, but what with the sleighing parties, and one thing and another, I have never found time."

"Then you ought to have found it," Cissie said indignantly. "I did not think that you were that sort of boy, Tom. I thought that you would have stuck to your friend. I am downright ashamed of you."

"Well, I am ashamed of myself, now that you have put it so, though I really do mean to stick to him, you know. I have an engagement this evening, but I will get out of it and go."

"You ought to have gone a week since," Cissie said, very little mollified. "Call yourself a friend, and let your amusements stand in the way for ten days of your going to see a chum who is all alone and in trouble! I would not give a fig for such friendship as that!"

"Well, you are a staunch friend anyhow, Cissie!" Tom said admiringly. "It is not every girl who would care to stick up for a boy as you do for Roland."

"Why shouldn't I stick up for him?" she asked scornfully. "His mother and mine were friends, and many a pleasant afternoon have I spent there. Why shouldn't a girl stick up for her friend as well as a boy, I should like to know? I liked Roland Partridge better than any of the boys in our set, and I don't care who knows it. And I say it is scandalous his being cut because his father turned out badly, even if he did turn out badly, which I don't believe."

"Oh, come now, Cissie, that is too much. Somebody said that you did not believe Mr. Partridge was guilty, but I put that down to pure obstinacy. Well, you need not look angry about it, because I like people who are obstinate for their friends; but I did not imagine that you really could think so."

"Why shouldn't I? I have a right to my thoughts, Tom Fernlea, I suppose, as well as you have. Do you think that Roland Partridge would tell a lie?"

"No, I am sure that he wouldn't," Tom said. "All the years that I have known him I have never heard him tell anything like an untruth."

"Well then, why shouldn't you believe him now he says that he and his mother are absolutely convinced that his father is innocent? I suppose they are quite as likely to know the truth of the matter as anyone in Brownsville."

"Well, Cissie, if Roland says that, he must have grounds for such a statement. Anyhow, I will go to see him this evening. I need not tell him, I suppose, that you sent me?"

"If you do I will never speak to you again, Tom Fernlea, so now you know."

When Tom called at Roland's lodgings that evening he was told that he was out, whereupon he took post at the door and waited for an hour, when his friend returned.

"I have come for a chat," he said, "old fellow, if you will let me in. I have been waiting for an hour to see you. I should have called before, but you know how engaged fellows are, just at this time of the year. However, I was determined I would come this evening, so I threw over the party at the Dawsons', and here I am."

"I am glad to see you, Tom. Come in," Roland said quietly. He led the way up to his room, and lighted a candle.

"You are looking pale and out of sorts, old fellow," he said as he saw Roland's face. "I know you have had an awful lot to upset you, but still it is of no use letting it make you ill. It is easy, I know, for me to talk," he went on, as he saw a slight smile on Roland's face, "for I am sure that I should be horribly cut up if I were in your position. Do you think it quite wise, Roland, your determination to stop here? I should have thought that you would be only too glad to be away from it all, but they say that you refused an offer that Mr. Johnstone made you of a situation in New York. Of course, you know your own business best, but if I had been in your place I should have jumped at it."

"Well, you see, Tom, it depends how you look at things. If I thought my father guilty I would go right away, quick enough, but as I am sure that he is not, you see I stop."

"Yes; Cissie White was telling me so this afternoon, Roland. I heard before that she was saying so, but it was not until she told me herself this afternoon that I believed she was quite in earnest. You will excuse my saying so, but up till then I had thought as other people do; but when she said that you had assured her that your mother and yourself were thoroughly convinced that your father was innocent, I saw matters in an entirely different light. For I know that even on such a thing as that, you would not say anything that you didn't really believe; but in that case you don't mind my asking you why your father went away?"

"I don't mind your asking at all, Tom. I would much rather people spoke plainly what they think, instead of avoiding all allusion to the subject. I was away, you know, when father went, but from what he said to my mother I imagine that in some way, I can't say how, he felt that circumstances were against him, and that although he was perfectly innocent he was not in a position to prove it. He is a very sensitive, nervous man, and I believe he felt at the moment that anything in the world would be better than standing up before everyone who believed that he was guilty. I think that it was a terrible mistake; however, I can understand my father, whose disposition is entirely different from mine, taking the course he did. Now, believing as I do that he is the victim of somebody else's crime, I made up my mind to stay here and brave it out, in order that, if it be possible, I may find out who has done it. How I am going to set about it I cannot tell you, but I may say that I will watch everyone who is connected with the bank, and possibly I may obtain some clue."

"I understand now, Roland, and quite agree with you as to your course. I am very glad that you have told me, for before, I could not make you out."

"Of course you understand, Tom, this is for you alone. If the real thief had an idea that he was being watched, it would make him careful and diminish my chances. I had rather people thought that I had stopped here from pure pig-headed obstinacy."

"You have not got a place yet, have you, Roland?"

"No; I have applied for several situations, but have always met with refusals; no doubt the people thought that I was better away out of this."

"I will speak to my father, if you don't mind, Roland, my giving him a hint of what your motives are. The old man is no talker, and I know he used to like you very much, and I am sure he will do what he can for you. Is there anything else that I can do?"

"The thing I want to know," Roland said, "is if anyone connected with the bank here has been speculating in New York, but I don't know how to set about it."

"Let me see," Tom said thoughtfully. "You know my cousin Arthur went away last year to a broker's office there; of course he knows lots of clerks in other offices. Now, if you don't mind my writing to him and telling him frankly all about it, I am sure he will set to work, heart and soul, in the matter, and maybe he will find out something."

Roland eagerly agreed, and then for a couple of hours the lads sat chatting about school and other matters, and when Tom took his leave he felt that he had cheered his friend up and done him service.

CHAPTER III

MAKING A START

Two days later Tom Fernlea again called on Roland.

"My father says will you look round to his office to-morrow morning? He did not tell me exactly what he wanted you for, but I expect it is all right. He was very much interested in what I told him yesterday, and when the old man takes a thing up he generally carries it through, so I expect there is something in the wind. What a pity it is, Roland, you did not see your father before he went away! I have been thinking it over, and it seems to me that if he had told you the whole circumstances, you would have been sure to have got some clue to work upon."

"That is what I have thought a hundred times, Tom. I hope that we shall hear from him ere long. I may tell you privately that he is in Canada. My mother has had two short notes from him. He is evidently in a sadly depressed state, but says he is well. The letters having Canadian stamps on them, we knew they came from there, but he says nothing about where he is. He is no doubt afraid that he may be traced and his extradition demanded; but I hope soon that he will give us some address to which we can write to him. Directly he does, I shall send him a letter saying that I am settled here, and am going to make it the business of my life to prove his innocence, and shall implore him to write to me fully every detail he can respecting the affair, as his story may give me some sort of a clue as to the real thief."

The next morning Roland presented himself at the office of Mr. Fernlea, who was the leading lawyer of the town. He was at once shown into the inner office.

"Glad to see you, Roland; you have not been up at the house with Tom for the last month. He has been talking to me about this business of your father's. I quite take the view you do. I have been puzzled over the affair ever since I first heard of it, but your father's foolish flight deceived me, as well as the rest of us. I have no doubt what you say is correct, and that he has been so badly scared that he helped the game of the rascals who are the real criminals by bolting. However, although that may be your opinion and mine, it does not advance the case a bit. Your father, by his own act, has, so to speak, pleaded guilty, and has been condemned and sentenced accordingly by public opinion, and I tell you frankly that I don't think it is likely you will ever obtain a reversal of the sentence. Still, I approve of the resolution which Tom tells me that you have taken. You could not have a nobler aim in life than to clear your father's name, and I am ready to aid you so far as to give you a seat in my office here with a salary of six dollars a week—no great thing, but enough to keep you. It is unlikely, to my mind, that you will ever get any clue which will aid you; but if you should do, I shall be most heartily glad to help you with my advice, or in any other way in my power. I had always a high respect for your father, and will be glad to assist you for his sake, but I may say frankly, I will do so especially because you are a great friend of my Tom; and although he is not particularly bright he has, I think, enough good sense to choose his friends wisely, and indeed I know now, from my own observation in this instance, he has done so. Now what do you say to my offer?"

"I am extremely obliged to you, sir; it is most kind of you, and is far better than anything I had hoped for."

"That is settled then; you may as well begin at once. Mr. Mullins will show you what you have to do."

Roland was indeed glad at the opening which Mr. Fernlea had made for him. The utmost he had hoped for was to obtain a position in a store, and as hitherto it had been intended that he should go to Harvard at the beginning of the next term, the thought of entering a store had gone somewhat against the grain. Now, with the position in Mr. Fernlea's office he might be considered not only to retain the position he occupied among his school-fellows and friends, but to have taken the first step in a promising career.

When it became known in Brownsville that Mr. Fernlea had taken Roland Partridge into his office, there was much surprise and comment. More than one leading man in the place had made overtures to the lawyer for placing his son with him, but he had always declined, saying that he found that he and Mullins were able to get through the work, and that he did not care for the trouble of teaching young bears. There was a general feeling among these that the lawyer had, in some sort of way, done them a personal wrong by thus taking into his office the son of a defaulter, and one whom they had hoped would be obliged to leave the place from his inability to find employment there.

The lawyer, however, was not the man to concern himself with the opinions of others, and would have been unconscious of the comments his decision had excited had not Tom told him, laughing, that he had outraged the feelings of all the old women in the place. Tom did not forget his promise to write to his cousin in New York, and to interest him in the search which Roland had undertaken, and did this so effectually that he received a letter by return saying that the writer would do anything he could to aid his old school-fellow, and that he would set enquiries on foot among all his acquaintances in brokers' offices to find out, if possible, if any resident in Brownsville had lately been going into extensive speculations. A few days after Roland had entered upon his new duties Mr. Fernlea called him into his office.

"By the way, Partridge," he said, "I have been thinking over that matter of yours with the idea that I might perhaps hit upon some clue upon which you might work. I have not done so, for a curious difficulty at once presented itself. It naturally occurred to me that one of the methods to be first pursued was to find out through whose hands some of the stolen securities had passed, and then to trace them backwards; but when I came to think of it, it at once struck me that the list of the securities stolen had never been published. This was so singular and so out of the usual course that yesterday I spoke to one of the directors of the bank, who had come in to smoke a cigar with me. He said it had been decided by the board that as the frauds had extended over some months, and as the defaulter had got safely away to Canada, there was no chance of being able to recover the securities, which by this time had probably passed through a dozen hands, and it was thought better for the credit of the bank, and so on, to let the whole matter drop, but of course the defaulter would be arrested at once if he ever showed his face in this country again.

"The course the directors have taken strikes me as being a very unusual one. I do not say that from some points of view it may not be a very wise one. The loss may be heavier than people suppose, and they may think it better not to call any further attention to it. It may be that it was policy, in fact I think perhaps it was so. Still, it is certainly unusual, and angry men do not always take the wisest course. I said as much to my friend. From what he said, I gathered that they had been to some extent influenced by a feeling of sympathy with you and your mother, and by their respect for your father's former position in the place. He said that was the view the president took, and that they all fell in with it. It wasn't my business to make any remark, and I changed the subject, but I must own, the more I think it over the more unusual and singular it appears to me.

"No doubt they were influenced far more by the thought of the credit of the bank than by their sympathy with your father and mother, and I must say that I am glad I am not a large shareholder in the bank. Still, it is curious, and at any rate one result is that there are no clues to be obtained from following up any of the missing securities. Of course the directors all know what has been taken, but naturally they will keep their own council, and no help is to be obtained in that way."

Now that it was manifest that Roland Partridge was settled for good in Brownsville the little party who had from the first taken his side gained ground rapidly. Their argument was indeed unanswerable: now that he was there it was as well to make the best of it. Tom Fernlea and several others of his set would anyhow stick to him, and as he would be met in their company it was of no use pretending to ignore his presence; it would indeed only cause unpleasantness and disagreement. Consequently, it was decided, with but few dissentient voices, headed by Percy Johnstone, that Roland Partridge should again be received into the set as if nothing unpleasant had taken place. Accordingly, he received an invitation to one of the first parties that was got up. He showed it to Tom Fernlea.

"Yes, I knew it was coming," Tom said, laughing. "We have won all along the line."

"Of course I shall not go," Roland said.

"Of course you will go," Tom replied. "Don't make a fool or a martyr of yourself. What has happened was natural enough. People thought your father had got into a scrape, and all the shareholders of the bank considered that they lost a lot of money by him. It was generally thought that you would be leaving the town, and naturally there was some sort of awkwardness about your joining in our fun as usual. Nobody thought any the worse of you, for it was, of course, not your fault; it was simply the awkwardness. Now that you are going to stay, the matter has altered. A month has passed, and the story has become an old one. Everyone will meet you just as before, and I shall be glad to have you with us again. Besides, if you were to refuse, it would place me and the others who have stuck to you all along in a very uncomfortable position; for whenever you happened to be with us, and we met some of the people whom you refuse to visit, we should either have to pass without speaking, or you would have to stand aloof in the cold while we were talking to them. You made up your mind to live here, and it is of no use your putting your back up and going about like a moral hedgehog. So sit down like a good fellow, and write and say that you will be happy to accept the invitation; then go at once and secure a cutter for the day, and ask Cissie White if she will keep her old engagement. I am going to take Bessie Hartley, and I will arrange that two or three others shall start just at the same time and place, so we can all drive there together in a party."

Roland felt that his friend's advice was good, and, although it needed an effort to follow it, he sat down at once and wrote saying that he would be very glad to join the party. Then he went out and secured the cutter, and called at Mrs. White's and saw Cissie.

"I have been asked to join the sleighing party next Thursday, Cissie; will you let me drive you?"

"With pleasure, Roland. I have an outstanding engagement with you, you know, and I have been hoping that you would call and remind me of it; in fact I made so sure you would, that I considered myself engaged and refused two invitations yesterday."

"That was good of you, Cissie; you have been my best friend all through this business."

"Not better than many others, Roland," she said quietly. "The two sides were pretty equally divided all along, and, now we have won, it is a triumph for us all."

Four cutters drew up together at Mrs. White's door at four o'clock on the Thursday afternoon. Tom Fernlea and Bessie Hartley occupied one; two of the others were filled with couples full of life and spirits; while Roland Partridge held the reins in the fourth. Cissie White was all ready to start and came out at once, and was soon muffled in the rugs by his side.

"Hoorah!" Tom Fernlea shouted as they started. "This is what I call jolly—a glorious day, capital company, and lots of fun before us!"

The whole party were in great spirits, and their laughter rose high as, at a rapid pace, they dashed along towards their destination. This was a barn belonging to the father of one of the party, who lived ten miles away. Two or three of the boys had gone over the day before to sweep and decorate the place. The contributions of provisions had been sent over in a sleigh the previous afternoon, and two or three cutters had driven on an hour or two before the rest, to light the fire and prepare tea. A fiddler had been engaged, and after tea they were to dance, and drive back at ten o'clock by moonlight.

On the way the party overtook several of the cutters, and ten of them dashed up together in procession to the barn. The jingling of the bells and the joyous shouts brought the early arrivals to the door, and there was general greeting and shaking of hands, and Roland, who had rather dreaded the moment, soon felt himself at home again. First of all the horses had to be put up in the stables and some empty barns, and when this was done the boys made their way to the place of assembly. Some forty young people were gathered there, all in the highest spirits. A great wood fire blazed at one end, and over it hung a huge cauldron of boiling water. Tables of boards and rough trestles were arranged down the side of the barn. They were covered with snowy table-cloths, on which were placed a great variety of eatables.

A committee had decided what each of those present should contribute. The most solid viands had been provided by the lads, and cold turkeys, chickens, and joints of meat showed that there was an ample store for the fifty who were to share the feast; while the variety of fruit-pies, cakes, and sweets of all descriptions showed that the girls had fully done their share. As soon as the last comers had arrived the meal began, and all did full justice to it, for the drive had sharpened their appetites. By the time it was finished it was growing dark, and while the boys cleared the tables and carried them outside, others lit the candles, placed in the sconces hired for the occasion and nailed against the sides of the barn, while the girls washed up the tea-things and packed them away in baskets ready for transport home on the following day. Then came five hours of dancing, and as the clock struck ten the boys hurried off for the horses, and the party started for home. Roland had enjoyed himself thoroughly. With the exception of Percy Johnstone and one or two others, everyone had behaved to him just as if the last month had been a blank, except perhaps that there was a little extra kindness and cordiality, as if each wished to show how glad he or she was to see him among them again.

"It was not so very dreadful, was it?" Cissie asked as they drove homeward.

"It was not dreadful at all," he said. "I think, Cissie, half our troubles arise from our own selfconsciousness. We fancy people are thinking and talking about us, when in fact they are not giving us a thought; and if one does but grasp the nettle firmly, one finds that there is no sting in it."

The next morning Roland received a letter from his mother saying that she had again heard from his father, and although he had not precisely given his address, he had given indications by which a letter could be addressed to him under a name not his own; and Roland that night sat down and wrote to him at great length. He told him that he and his mother were convinced that he was the victim of another's misdoings, and that he had determined that if it was humanly possible he would find out the guilty party; but that before he set about doing so with any chance of success, it was absolutely necessary that he should be in possession of all the facts of the case, and he implored him to write fully and frankly to him, giving him every detail, however minute, which could bear upon it. He concluded by saying:

"My dear father, I know how very painful to you the thought must be of appearing in the light of a suspected person in the presence of those who have known and respected you, but I cannot but think that it would have been better if you had made an effort and faced it out, for your innocence must sooner or later have been proved. However, for the sake of your good name and my mother's happiness, it is clearly incumbent on you now to aid us to the utmost in our effort to re-establish your good name, even if to do so you should have to come back and demand a trial. However, this is not necessary now, and I hope never will be. But the first thing of all is for us to understand exactly what the circumstances were that have caused a suspicion of this crime to fall upon you."

CHAPTER IV

A CLUE

A week later Roland received a letter from his father in answer to that he had written him. Its contents were as follows:

"My dear Roland,—I know that with your young heart and strong courage and a complete and happy absence of nerves, you cannot but think it weak and cowardly of me to run away instead of waiting and fighting hard against circumstances. I know as well as anyone can tell me that this is the course I should have adopted, and a score of times since I came away I have been on the point of returning and giving myself up, but each time when it has come to the point I have drawn back, and despised myself for my cowardice. But I cannot overcome it. I had an unhappy childhood under a stern father and a very unkind stepmother, and I think that any spirit I ever had was frightened out of me by the time I entered life—a shrinking, sensitive young fellow, conscious that I possessed fair abilities, but altogether unfit to fight my own way.

"For some years life was very hard to me, and my failing increased rather than diminished; and then by some good chance, certainly from no solicitation on my part, a course opened before me. I married. Your mother's firmness gave me support, and her love and goodness brought me happiness. Then when I obtained the post of cashier at the bank of Brownsville, it seemed that my trials were over. Although I could never bring myself to mix much with other men, I gained confidence in myself, and believed that I had grown out of that extreme sensibility which had rendered my early years so unhappy. When the trial came upon me suddenly I found that I was mistaken. The thought of standing before the world accused of theft filled me with an overpowering fear, and rather than stay and face it I should have put an end to my existence. I know that you will scarcely understand this feeling. I know that you will think it weak and cowardly. I simply say, my boy, that I cannot help it, and that I can no more withstand it than a madman can check his impulses.

"And now I have told you so much, my son, I will tell you of the events of that evening. For some days I had been low and out of sorts; a haunting sense that something was wrong had been upon me. The last clerk, before leaving, had, as usual, laid the keys on the desk beside me. I told him he could go, as I had some hours' work before me. For an hour I went through the books, and then a sudden impulse seized me. I would examine some of the securities and see that none were missing. I took the keys and went down to the strong room, a thing which I never that I can recall had done after the bank was shut; took out some large parcels of shares and bonds, and locked the doors again. I took them up with me to count in my room, and compare them with the books. I had just set to work when I heard the latch-key of the front door turn, and a minute later Mr. Johnstone came in. 'You are at work late, Partridge,' he said. 'I saw your light burning as I was passing. Why, hallo!' he said with a change of voice, 'what have you got all the securities up for? that is rather unusual, isn't it? Wasn't the strong room locked up before the clerks went away?' It had not struck me that there was anything strange about it, but the tone of the president's voice showed me that there was, and my old nervousness seized me as if with a sudden grip; and I have no doubt that the tone in which I explained my reason for going down into the strong room and bringing up the securities added to his suspicion. However, he said coldly: 'I am not aware of anything that should have excited your suspicions that all was not right, and induced you to unlock the strong room after the bank was closed. However, as you have brought up some of the securities, and I have nothing to do for the next half-hour, I will go through them with you.'

"He sat down by my side, and took the book containing the lists of the securities held by the bank and I read out the number of the bonds. 'New York Centrals of five hundred dollars each.' Presently he said sharply: 'That does not tally with the book.' He ran his eye down and remarked: 'There are fifty missing here, running in successive numbers, between the last two you read out.' 'Perhaps they are out of place,' I said, and looked through the rest of the bonds, but they were not there. 'How do you account for this?' the president asked sharply. 'I cannot account for it,' I said, bewildered. 'Oh!' he said in an awkward tone, that particularly struck me. 'Here are your initials to all these figures, showing that they have been paid out. When were they redeemed?' I looked at the book; there were my initials sure enough. The bonds had not been redeemed at all, I was certain, but there were my initials. I looked at them thunderstruck.

"'I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Partridge,' the president said, 'but this, you must admit, has a very curious appearance. Here I find you have, after the bank has closed, opened the strong room, and have got some of the securities up here, and I find that some of them are missing, but that the book is initialled by you, so that anyone else going through it with the securities would suppose that they had been parted with in due course. Your own manner, if you will excuse my saying so, strikes me as altogether suspicious. However, let us go through some more.'

"Each bundle that we examined showed deficiencies, and although I had not brought up one-tenth of the bonds and securities, we found a deficiency of over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. When we had done, Mr. Johnstone did not make a single observation beyond briefly pointing out the numbers of the missing securities, and added: 'You see, Mr. Partridge, I have but one course to follow. The bank has been robbed of an immense amount. How much as yet I have no means of knowing. I find you here with the securities brought out of the strong room at this unusual hour. These securities were entirely in your hands, and no one touches them but yourself. You can give me no explanation of the deficiency, and in every case your initials are appended, as a proof that they have been paid out in due course. Under such circumstances it is my duty to at once give you into custody.'

"I had been getting more nervous and confused as each fresh discovery was made, and the horrible consciousness of my position became stronger.

"'I am innocent, sir!' I exclaimed; 'before God I am innocent!'

"'In that case, Mr. Partridge, you will no doubt be able to prove it to the satisfaction of the jury. In my mind I confess the matter is clear. This book in which your entries are made is your own private property, and you keep it, I presume, in your own safe here, of which no one but yourself has a key, and it is not the sort of book that you are in the habit of leaving about. What you have done with the proceeds of the bonds I know not, but that you have taken them seems to me as clear as day. Of course the matter may be explained in some way. I hope that it will be. You have worked here with me for the last fifteen years, and I have hitherto not only had implicit confidence in you, but respect and liking. I would give anything to escape the situation in which I am placed, but my duty is clear. I must hand you over to the police.'

"'It will kill me!' I said. 'I am innocent, Mr. Johnstone, innocent as a child, but the disgrace of this will kill me!'

"He was silent for some time, and then he said: 'I am sorry for you, Mr. Partridge, with all my heart, and still more sorry for your wife. This money, I suppose, is hopelessly gone in some wild speculation,'—I again protested, but he waved to me to be silent—'and irretrievably lost. For the sake of our long friendship and of the good lady your wife, I will suffer you to leave this office a free man. I will take no steps till morning. More than that, I will, if possible, keep the affair out of the hands of the police for the next twelve hours, by which time you ought to be across the frontier into Canada. I am risking a great deal in doing this, but I will do it, and I will satisfy my colleagues as well as I can. There, let no more be said. Go! and strive in future, by a life of strict honesty, to justify the course which I am taking.'

"I murmured something, whether of thanks or protest I know not, and, seizing my hat, went out into the air. Anyone who had noticed me on my way home must have thought me drunk, for I know that I staggered blindly along. Your mother will have told you what happened when I got home. That is the tale, Roland, and it makes things look very black against me. I was at the bank late, having opened the strong room and taken out the securities. The president, coming in and finding me so employed, went through the books with me, and discovered large deficiencies in the securities, which were never handled by anyone but myself. Worst of all, in my private book, kept always under lock and key, are my initials, showing that I am cognizant of the securities having been parted with. Lastly, there is my flight and my manner against me. In answer I give my bare protest that I knew nothing about the securities being missing, and that though the initials appear indeed to be my own, that I certainly never signed them, though I own that the book was never to my knowledge out of my custody at any time, and that the safe in which it was kept was always locked up by me of an evening. That somebody has taken the securities is clear; also that somebody has got at my book and forged my initials.

"But it is only this bare assertion that I have against all the facts that seem to prove me guilty. I am going west. I have made the acquaintance of a gentleman, who has given me letters to two or three large store-keepers in Winnipeg, where, under another name, I hope to obtain employment. There, I trust, your mother will follow me. As for yourself, you have told me you have been taken by Mr. Fernlea into his office, and I trust, in spite of the terrible blot I have brought upon our name, that you will succeed. I have, however, no hope that you will be able to clear up the mystery of which I am the victim. Still, I will not dissuade you from trying, and although I cannot hope, I shall pray, day and night, that success may attend your efforts."

Roland read the letter through and through until he had almost learnt it by heart. The next morning he took it in to Mr. Fernlea. "You know what my object is in remaining at Brownsville, Mr. Fernlea. I should like you to read this letter which I have received from my father. I need not say that I shall show it to no one else. I received it yesterday evening, and have been thinking it over all night, but I cannot see that it furnishes me with any clue such as I had hoped. But you may think differently."

Mr. Fernlea read the letter through to the end; then, without a word, he turned it over and re-read it. "Frankly, Roland," he said, when he laid it down, "is there no impression left in your mind after reading that letter?"

"Well, sir," Roland said hesitatingly, "it seems too absurd, but I cannot but think it a little strange that Mr. Johnstone should let my father go off like that."

"That is it," Mr. Fernlea said. "Johnstone has the reputation of being a pleasant gentleman adverse to trouble and contention, and desirous of keeping on good terms with everyone, but he has nevertheless been always sharp enough on creditors to the bank, and has several times prosecuted when it appeared that the bank was the victim of sharp practices. I have always wondered that no attempt to discover and arrest your father was made when the loss was first discovered, which was, I understood, when Johnstone examined the bonds on the morning when your father was found missing; but now that I find he knew it before your father left, it is still more surprising to me that he should have let him go. He assumed, as it seems by this letter, that your father had spent all the proceeds of the robbery; but why should he assume that?

"Your father might still have had a great number of bonds in hand, and by arresting him at once a considerable number of the stolen securities might have been recovered. But this is not all. There is one very singular fact in the story. Your father was reading over the numbers of the bonds, when Mr. Johnstone suddenly exclaimed, 'That is wrong; there are fifty bonds missing between the last two numbers you read out. Where are they?' Why should he have said that? As I take it, the number of the bonds which had hitherto been read corresponded with the number of those marked still in hand, that is to say, of those against which no initial had been placed. But it seems that these fifty were initialled. What was there, then, to call Johnstone's attention to the fact that they should have been there? That is very remarkable, to say the least of it."

Roland clasped his hands before him. "Oh, Mr. Fernlea, do you really think—"

"I don't think anything, Roland," Mr. Fernlea said sharply. "Mr. Johnstone is president of the bank, a prominent citizen, a man of unblemished reputation. I simply say that these facts, stated together, are singular, and I think they give you a clue. How that clue is to be followed up, I cannot at present suggest, I simply affirm that it is a clue. Now I want you to take the next train to Chicago. A client of mine wants some enquiries made about a house which he is thinking of purchasing. Here are the papers connected with it; you can study them as you go along. Of course you will go to the land office and see if there are any mortgages on it, and you will look up the titles."

Roland reached Chicago in the afternoon, where he at once set about making the necessary enquiries. The lawyers upon whom he first called at once showed him the titles, which appeared to him to be correct, but of which he made an abstract for Mr. Fernlea's inspection. He then went to the land office and found that mortgages were registered on the house. From there he walked to the address of the owner, which he found to be in a small street. The house was shut up. He made some enquiries carefully among the neighbours, and found the reputation of the man was the reverse of favourable. It was now getting late in the afternoon, and he rode to the Central Telegraph office to send off a short message to Mr. Fernlea with the result of his enquiries. Two or three persons were writing their messages, and to his surprise he at once recognized in one of them Mr. Johnstone of Brownsville.

There was nothing in the least strange that the banker should be at Chicago, a hundred and fifty miles from Brownsville; and had it not been that Roland had been thinking of him all day, the meeting would not have given him a second thought. As it was, he drew back instantly and took his place at a distant desk to write his own message. "House mortgaged for 2500 dollars, title apparently good; vendor's house shut up, neighbours give bad account of him; I wait instructions." Just as he had finished, Mr. Johnstone turned from the desk and went up to the pigeon-hole and handed in his message. A question or two was asked, and having paid his money he left.

Roland at once went to the same pigeon-hole. The girl was in the act of handing the message she had just received to an operator. "It is a cipher. What tiresome things those are! one has to be so careful with them, and there is no sense to help one."

"Mine is not a cipher," Roland said as he handed his in; "but my handwriting is not a very clear one. Your last message ought not to be difficult to make out, for I know Mr. Johnstone's writing is as clear as print."

"Johnstone!" the girl said, glancing back over the other's shoulder; "it isn't Johnstone, it is Westerton."

Roland felt a thrill shoot through him, but he answered carelessly: "Oh, is it? I was mistaken in my man then, I thought I knew him."

An hour later he received a telegram from Mr. Fernlea in answer to that he had sent. It simply said "Come back". He accordingly took the night train to Brownsville, and appeared at the office as usual in the morning.

"You have found out just what we wanted to know, Partridge. The man is a sort of acquaintance of my client, and wanted him to let him have a thousand dollars to-day, pending the examination of the titles. Of course he said nothing about the mortgage already on the house. My client believed it was all right, and would have advanced the money had I not begged him to wait twenty-four hours; so your trip has prevented him from throwing away a thousand dollars."

"I am very glad I went, sir, on my own account," Roland said, "for I have made a discovery which may be of importance. I have found out that Mr. Johnstone is in the habit of going over to Chicago and despatching telegrams there in the name of Westerton."

And he then related the incident of the telegraph office.

"That may be of importance," Mr. Fernlea said, "but we must not place too much importance upon it. He may possibly have sent off a message for some friend; still, it is a clue."

So Tom Fernlea thought when Roland told him the circumstances. "I must get you to write off again, Tom, to your cousin. You told me two days ago that, so far, he had not found out among his acquaintances that anyone here connected with the bank was speculating. The thing now is to ask among them if anyone knows of a Mr. Westerton of Chicago, dealing in ventures of that sort."

CHAPTER V

THE FOG CLEARS

A week later Tom brought Roland a letter which he had received from his cousin. "My dear Tom,—The plot begins to thicken, and I think we are on the right scent. I was taking drinks with some other stock exchange men this afternoon, when I said, 'Does anyone know Westerton of Chicago?'

"'Yes, he is a client of ours,' one of them replied. 'He speculates pretty heavily in all sorts of stock and has dropped a lot of money the last six months. Do you know him? Because if you do, it is more than anyone in Chicago seems to. The chief has asked lots of men there about him, but no one seems to know the name. Of course it does not matter to us, because there is always ample cover, so we cannot burn our fingers; but it does seem rum that a man who can go in for such heavy speculations should not be known to anyone there.'

"'No, I don't know him,' I said, 'but a man was asking me about him. I fancy he speculates with him too.'

"'Likely enough, these fellows always have two or three agents. We think it rather probable that it is a false name. There is many a man who dabbles in speculations, that none of his friends would ever believe did anything of the sort, such as clergymen, and merchants with solid businesses, whose credit would be injured if men thought that they speculated, and so on. We who are behind the scenes would astonish the world if we were to tell all we know.'

"However, I turned the subject, as I did not want him to suspect that I had any particular interest in Westerton. So, you see, Tom, the first step is gained, and we have found out that the respectable president of Brownsville Bank speculates largely under an assumed name. I don't know what Partridge's next move may be, but if I can give any further assistance you can rely upon me."

"What are you going to do next?" Tom said as he closed the letter.

"I haven't the least idea, Tom; but at any rate, I will consult your father. It is something to learn as much as we have, and we certainly seem to have got on the right clue. I never quite despaired, but I feel now pretty certain that we shall get to the bottom of it at last."

"It will do Percy Johnstone a world of good to take down his conceit a bit—a stuck-up monkey!"

"Don't say that, Tom. I felt it myself so much that I am sure I could not wish my worst enemy to go through such a thing."

"I don't wish Percy Johnstone any particular ill, Roland; but if somebody has got to suffer, I would rather it was him than anyone else in Brownsville. The insufferable airs that fellow gives himself are disgusting."

Mr. Fernlea was greatly interested when he heard the news. "I have no doubt whatever that you are on the right track now, Roland. Taking your father's letter, the points we noticed when we read it, and the facts we know now, that Johnstone is a heavy and unsuccessful speculator, seem to show without doubt that he is the real thief. His conduct in not arresting your father at once, and in allowing him without pursuit to get across the frontier, is accounted for now. He did not want anything like a public trial, for in that case the numbers of the missing bonds must have been made public, and might in that way have been traced to him. I have no doubt whatever that he is the thief. But the question is, how are we to prove it?

"Of course if Johnstone goes on at this game and it continues to be unnoticed, there will be a smash up sooner or later; but even then the whole thing might not come out. If your father should come back here, they would be obliged to arrest him. But even if he denounced Johnstone as the real thief, we have nothing to go upon. The mere fact that he has speculated would in itself be no proof, or that he did so under an assumed name, for he would urge that many people do the same, and that he only adopted this precaution because, being in the position of president of the bank, he did not wish people here to know that he dabbled in shares. I own that I do not see what our next step is to be. It seems to me that we must wait and watch."

"That is what I was thinking, sir. Will you kindly give me leave to be away from your office till this is done? I should like to come here of a morning and go in and out as if I was in your employment, in case Mr. Johnstone was watching me, which is not likely. He would then suppose that I am still working for you, but went out rather frequently on errands."

"Certainly, Roland, and if you want any money let me know. Anything that you may require to carry the matter through I shall be glad to let you have."

"Thank you, sir! but I hope I shall not be obliged to avail myself of your kind offer. My mother still has the proceeds of the sale of our furniture, and I need hardly say how glad she will be to spend it if she knows that there is a chance of proving my father's innocence."

Roland now kept a strict watch upon Mr. Johnstone's movements, and the next time that gentleman boarded the train at Brownsville, Roland did the same, but got into a third-class compartment forward. He was close at hand, however, when the banker presently took out his ticket, which was only for a town some thirty miles out; but when the train stopped at this station the banker ran into the office, and, procuring a ticket for Chicago, continued his journey to that city. When he alighted there Roland followed him. He went to a small house in a retired quarter, and on knocking at the door was admitted without question, and Roland concluded that he habitually stayed there. He came out in a few minutes without the bag which he had carried in, and as soon as he was fairly away Roland, seeing that there was a notice in the window that there was an apartment to let, knocked at the door.

"You have a room to let," he said. "Can I see it?"

"Certainly, sir;" and Roland followed the woman upstairs. "The room will do very nicely," he said. "I shall not be a troublesome lodger, for I am a great deal away, and shall only sleep here occasionally; but I like to have a place of my own instead of always putting up at an hotel."

"That is just the case with our lodger downstairs, sir. He does not often sleep here—not more than one night in the week. He travels, I believe, for some house of business; but, as he says, he likes to have a quiet place to come to when here."

"He is your only other lodger, I hope?" Roland said, "for above all things I like quietness."

"Yes, sir; we only let these rooms. He is quiet enough. When he comes here he generally comes in the afternoon, but goes out directly, and comes back again at seven to his dinner; and he always goes off at six o'clock in the morning. A quieter gentleman no one could wish to have for a lodger than Mr. Westerton."

Roland at once agreed to take the room, and, paying a deposit, said that he would come on the following day to take possession. "My name is Rowlands, but it is not likely that anyone will come to enquire for me."

Having watched Mr. Johnstone off by the first train in the morning, Roland went to his lodgings, where he soon became friendly with his landlady, who was quite ready to gossip. She was full of praise for her other lodger. "I expect he has got a good situation," she said. "Money don't seem of any consequence to him. He always has the best of everything that is in season, no matter what it costs, and he has got quite a cellar of wine, and always takes a bottle with his dinner. I am sure the room was furnished nice enough for anything when he came; but he had all the furniture turned out, and put in fresh himself, and a heap of money it must have cost him, I can tell you; fresh paper on the walls, and looking-glasses, and pictures. They are nice rooms, indeed they could not be nicer—except that the sitting-room is spoilt by a big ugly safe he has got, to keep his papers in. It just spoils the room, as I told him. But he don't seem to mind, so there ain't no reason why I should."

"I should like to see the rooms," Roland said. "Not that I can afford to furnish mine like them at present."

"I will show you them with pleasure, sir. Only, if you meets him and gets to know him afterwards, don't you let out that I showed you his rooms. He is a mighty perticular sort of gent, though he is so affable and pleasant."

The rooms were quietly and handsomely furnished, as Roland had expected. There was nothing whatever in them to give a clue to the identity of their owner. No letters or papers were lying about. Roland's attention was particularly drawn towards the safe. It was a strong, burglar-proof structure, by one of the best makers.

"Yes," he said, "I agree with you. The furniture is very handsome and good, but I should not care, if it were mine, to spoil it with that safe."

"He told me he had lost a valuable lot of papers once, and had determined that he would never run such a risk again, and so he got a safe that could be neither carried off nor broken into."

The next day Roland returned to Brownsville and informed Mr. Fernlea of the progress that he had made.

"Capital, Roland! I shall certainly employ you in any detective work that may in future come into the office. The two next steps to be taken are clear enough, but it is not so easy to see how we are to take them. In the first place, we shall have to obtain a list of the missing securities, and the next to find out whether any of them are still in that safe. Those are the steps, but how on earth are we to take them? Your father would hardly be likely to remember the numbers of the missing bonds, and I could not ask one of the directors without taking him into our confidence, which I am averse to doing, for they all hold Johnstone in such respect that our idea would seem to them altogether preposterous."

"At any rate I could write to my father and ask him," Roland said. "He may not remember the numbers; it is hardly possible that he should, when there are such a lot of them missing; but he might be able to give us some hint how to set about it."

Accordingly Roland wrote a letter to his father informing him of the steps which he had taken and the discoveries which he had made.

"You see, father," he wrote, "that while Mr. Fernlea has no more doubt than I have that Johnstone stole the securities which he accused you of taking, it is very difficult to bring the matter home to him; and as a first step it is absolutely necessary to get the numbers of the bonds, and that without there being a possibility of its coming to his ears that I am moving in the matter. Can you suggest any plan?"

A week later, when Roland had returned to his lodgings after dark, a man was standing at the gate.

"Roland, my boy, is that you?"

"Good heavens, father, how you startled me! I am glad indeed to see you again, but it is surely imprudent to venture back just at this moment, for were your presence here discovered it would upset all our plans. But come in. I have a key, and you can go up with me. But even if the woman of the house saw you, she would hardly be likely to recognize you, for she has not been settled in the town very long."

As soon as they were in his room Roland struck a light, and was able to look at his father. He would hardly have recognized him, so pale and haggard was he. "Why, father, have you been ill?"

"Not actually ill, Roland, though almost out of my mind at times; but I trust that it is nearly over. Your letter has given me new life, for it has made me hope that this black cloud which has fallen over me will be cleared away, and that I can again lift up my head and look my fellow-men in the face. I am ready now to give myself up, if Mr. Fernlea thinks that it will be the best thing for me to do, and to stand my trial. Before, I had nothing, save a bare negative, to oppose the evidence against me. Now there is at least a story to tell."

"We must not tell it at present, father; we must wait till it is complete. If there is any evidence in that safe at Chicago connecting Johnstone with the thefts, we may be sure that it would be destroyed the instant you appeared on the scene. The first thing, as Mr. Fernlea says, is to obtain a list of, at any rate some of the securities that are missing. We hardly hoped that you would be able to furnish them."

"No, Roland. I could tell you the stocks to which they belonged, but not the numbers. And, so far as I know, there is but one way of doing so besides that of obtaining the list from one of the directors, which, you said in your letter Mr. Fernlea thinks would be dangerous to do."

"And what is that, father?"

"It is for me to go to the bank and get the book which Johnstone and I went through together that night."

"But how are you to do that, father? It is probably in the safe if it is still in existence."

"I supposed so, Roland. But when I went away I never thought of leaving the keys behind me, and found them days afterwards in the pocket of my overcoat. Unless they have changed the fastenings, there is nothing to prevent my unlocking the door, going up to my old room, entering it, and opening the safe as usual. There would be no occasion even for a light, for I know the feel of the book so well, with its locked clasp, that I could tell it in the dark if I put my hand on it."

"But it would be an awful risk, father, were you detected. You would be accused—" And he hesitated.

"Of trying to rob the bank for a second time," Mr. Partridge said. "Well, if necessary, I must run the risk."

"At any rate, father, before you attempt it I must speak to Mr. Fernlea. He has been so good a friend throughout the business that we must not move a single step without consulting him. I will go up and see him at once. Before I start I will tell the woman of the house that I have a friend come to stop with me for a day or two. She has a spare room, and will get it ready for you. Will you have some supper before I start?"

"No, no, Roland. Go at once, and I will have a nap in your easy-chair while you are away, for I have travelled without stopping once since I got your letter. I am not so strong as I used to be."

Mr. Fernlea listened attentively to Roland's account of his interview with his father.

"It is a dangerous step to take," he said thoughtfully, "but I don't know that I can propose anything better. Of course, if he is taken, I should come forward and declare that he was my client, that he has been wrongly accused all through, and that he was only going to the bank for the purpose of possessing himself of the book which was his private property, in order to obtain the list of the missing securities, that he might, if possible, trace their course. I should reserve suspicion about Johnstone until the trial, but, of course, there they would have to accuse him of the original theft of the securities. I will go back with you now and talk to him myself."

"My poor friend," he said as he entered the room where Mr. Partridge, too anxious to sleep, was walking restlessly to and fro, "I see that all this has told upon you sadly. However, I hope that we are in a fair way of putting matters right at last. I tell you frankly, I thought at the time that it was foolish of you to run away as you did. But I think now that it has turned out the best, for we had little or no defence beyond a bare denial, whereas we could make out a strong case of suspicion anyhow against Johnstone from what we know already."

"Do you approve of my plan for the recovery of the book?"

"Yes, if it can be carried out. But I fear that they are likely to have changed the locks. That is the first suggestion which the new cashier, on learning that the keys were missing, would make."

"I did not think of that till I was half-way here, but I am afraid that it is only too likely."

"The best plan, father," Roland said, "will be to give me the keys of the door. I can go round to-night and try it. If I find it opens it, you can carry out your plan to-morrow night; if not, there is no use your running the risk of being detected."

"But you might be taken in my place, Roland."

"Not at all, father. I am not going to enter the bank. I shall simply put the key in the lock and turn it, and see if the door opens, and I shall take good care that no one is near when I do it. If by any possible chance I were caught at it—I don't see, though, how such a thing can happen—I should simply say that, having come across the key, I went for a matter of curiosity to see if it was the one that would open the bank door."

"Yes, I don't think there would be much risk in that," Mr. Fernlea agreed. "You had better go at once, Roland, and I will remain with your father until you come back. If by any chance you are detected in trying the door, it would be far better that it should be at this time of the evening, when you might be passing by accidentally, and have acted upon the impulse to see if the key fitted, than if you were to go down in the middle of the night."

In twenty minutes Roland returned.

"A new lock has been put upon the door, father. The key won't go in at all."

Mr. Partridge gave an exclamation of disappointment.

"Don't trouble about that," Mr. Fernlea said. "I don't think that it matters very much. You see, the list would only be perfect so far as the securities you went through which was only a small proportion of those in the hands of the bank. It is essential that we should get the entire list. It might happen that he has parted with those which you know to have been stolen, while he may have some of the others still in his possession. I will think the matter over to-night, and see if I can hit upon a plausible excuse for wanting to get the list of the missing securities without being obliged to hint at the purpose for which we require them."

CHAPTER VI

CONCLUSION

In the morning Mr. Fernlea said to Roland, when he appeared at the office, "The more I think of it, the more I am convinced that it would be dangerous to try and get any of the directors to act with us. Johnstone virtually runs the concern, and the others know very little about it, and I do not think that I could get any of them to move. The best man that I can think of is Hertman. He is one of our most prominent men of business, and is a large shareholder in the bank, and is intelligent and independent; and if he were convinced that wrong had been done he would take it up. Hitherto he has, of course, been under the impression that your father was guilty, and expressed himself freely in condemnation of the policy of the directors in allowing him to escape and in hushing matters up. He is not a client of mine, but I am concerned in business transactions with him, and I think he has a respect for my judgment, as I have for his. I have written a note saying that I want to speak to him on business, and shall be glad if he will come over to my office, or I will go over to his, as will be most convenient to him. Will you take it across at once? His office is in Exchange Street."

Mr. Hertman glanced at the note, and told Roland to say that he would be across in a few minutes.

"What I am going to say, Mr. Hertman, will surprise you," Mr. Fernlea said, when his visitor had taken a seat. "You are, I am aware, one of the largest shareholders in the bank."

"I am sorry to say that I am," Mr. Hertman said. "I wish I were not, but I can't get rid of my shares except at a very heavy loss. That mysterious affair three months ago has greatly depressed the value of the stock, for, in fact, no one seems to know what is the amount of the losses we suffered. The directors told me that the matter was kept quiet to avoid a run upon the bank, and in that respect no doubt they succeeded, and public confidence seems pretty well restored. I have no idea as to how we have come out of it."

"Well, Mr. Hertman, it may surprise you when I tell you that in this matter I am acting on behalf of Partridge."

"What! the absconding cashier, Mr. Fernlea?"

"Just so. I have always entertained a strong idea that he was innocent and was the victim of others, and I am happy to say I am now far on my way to be able to prove it."

"You don't say so!" Mr. Hertman said in surprise; "why, I thought there was no doubt in the matter."

"So most other people thought," Mr. Fernlea said dryly, "and certainly his running away instead of staying to meet the charge was terribly against him, but it has not proved so unwise a step as I thought it would. Had he been arrested and tried then, it would have gone hard with him; but as matters have turned out, things have come to light which alter the complexion of the case. You have heard, perhaps, that I took his son into my office."

"Yes, I heard that," Mr. Hertman replied. "I thought that it was a piece of mistaken kindness on your part, and that the young fellow would have done better to leave the place and begin life elsewhere."

"I took him, Mr. Hertman, in order that he might remain upon the spot to devote himself to getting at the bottom of this mystery, and I may tell you at once that he is within a short distance of success."

Mr. Fernlea then related the whole of the incidents connected with the search.

"There can be little doubt that you are right in the matter," Mr. Hertman said, when he had concluded, "and that this man Johnstone is really the culprit. A great wrong has clearly been done, and you can command my assistance to the utmost in aiding you. What is wanted—funds? I will draw you a cheque for any amount that you may require."

"Thank you, Mr. Hertman! From my knowledge of your character I expected nothing less, but that is not my object in taking you into our confidence. What we want is the list of the securities stolen."

"I should doubt," Mr. Hertman said, "whether there is any such list in existence. One of the directors, who is a personal friend of mine, told me at the time of the meeting that the president explained to them what shares and scrip were missing, and their value, and that the board had individually pledged themselves to keep absolute silence until the meeting of shareholders, which will not take place for another six months yet. Certainly if your suspicions are correct, and I think they are, it would be greatly to the interest of the president that nobody except himself should have such a list.

"In that case," Mr. Fernlea said, "the only way of getting at them is to obtain Partridge's private book. There has been no fresh cashier appointed, has there?"

"No; the chief clerk is acting as cashier at present; the appointment has not been filled up."

"Do you possess any influence with him?"

"Yes, a good deal; he got his appointment as clerk there some fifteen years ago from my recommendation. He is the son of a man with whom I am closely connected in business matters."

"Then perhaps you might manage it for us. What I should propose, if you will consent, is, that some afternoon when we know that Johnstone has just left for Chicago, you should see this man, and tell him you have a clue to some of the missing securities, but that it is necessary for you to ascertain the exact numbers, and that you think you can do so by an examination of the book kept by Partridge, on which, as I understand, Johnstone scored with red ink some at least of those found to be missing. You might say that you only wanted it for two or three hours, and that if he would let you have it, you would pledge yourself to place it in his hands again the first thing the next morning. You could, of course, say that, for the success of the endeavour you are making, it is absolutely necessary that no one, not even the president and directors, should have an idea that anything was being done in the matter."

"I think I can do that," Mr. Hertman said. "Smithson will naturally think that if anything comes of it he will get some credit for aiding us in the matter."

"Very well, then," Mr. Fernlea said; "I will let you know next time that Mr. Johnstone goes to Chicago. He generally takes the trip once a week, and to-morrow is his usual day."

The next evening the book was handed to Mr. Fernlea.

"Can I be of any further use?" Mr. Hertman asked.

"Well, if you can spare two or three hours I should be glad if you would go through the lists with us. Partridge is in the next room waiting."

"Certainly I will. I tell you I have taken up this business in earnest, and am prepared to help you in every way possible."

A minute later Mr. Partridge was called in.

"I am glad to see you," Mr. Hertman said, "and regard you as a deeply wronged man, and would spend my bottom dollar, if necessary, in clearing up this business."

The three men at once sat down to their work, and turned to the pages where Mr. Johnstone had scored a line of red ink against the securities found to be missing.

"We will take down the numbers and descriptions of the marked ones first," Mr. Fernlea said, "because as to these there can be no mistake."

This was soon done.

"Now, Mr. Partridge, will you look at these initials closely; are they yours?"

After a long examination Mr. Partridge said, "They are very like mine."

"Well, let us compare them with the real ones," Mr. Fernlea said, producing a magnifying glass.

"I see a difference," Mr. Hertman said. "Do you see, in your own initials, you do not take your hand off the paper at all, while in these there is a little break; the W. J. are written together, but the writer has paused before making the P. The manner in which you form the letter P is rather a peculiar one, while the W. and J. are easy enough to imitate; and I expect that after having finished the first letters he looked at the copy before commencing the third. You see," he continued, "the upstroke from the J to the P is as nearly as possible continuous, but with the glass you can make out that sometimes the lines do not quite touch, and at others they overlap slightly."

The others at once perceived the point that he had indicated, and they now went through the whole book and without difficulty marked off the shares against which the false initials had been placed. It took them five hours' work, and it was just midnight when they concluded.

"We have got the list complete now," Mr. Fernlea said.

"And a very long one it is," Mr. Hertman said. "Seven hundred thousand dollars! why, it is more than the called-up capital of the bank. He never told the men who examined the books on the day after the affair was first known, what the real extent of the loss was, or they would never have signed that announcement reassuring the public. However, there is a reserve to call up, and if things are put into good hands the bank may pull through yet. Now what is the next step that you propose, Mr. Fernlea?"

"I intend myself to go to New York to obtain the assistance of the police and to call upon the broker who has acted for Westerton—that is, for Johnstone. I shall tell him frankly we are tracing an extensive robbery, and that we have reasons to believe that large numbers of the foreign securities have passed through his hands, sent to him from Chicago. I shall show him this list, and ask him if he has dealt in any of them. If he says yes, we shall then have nothing to do but to go to Chicago and obtain a warrant for the arrest of Westerton. We will not bring Johnstone into it. Then the next time he goes over, we will pounce upon him. I should like you to give me an authority to ask for you, as one of the principal shareholders of the bank."

"I will go with you myself," Mr. Hertman said. "I shall have to go there on business in a few days anyway, and can kill two birds with one stone." "I suppose you will take Mr. Partridge with you?"

"Certainly. I shall have to tell the whole story to the commissioner of police, and he will want what I say confirmed, both as to the theft and the numbers of the missing securities."

The mission to New York was attended with complete success. The broker, when called upon by Mr. Fernlea, Mr. Hertman, and the chief commissioner himself, had no hesitation in disclosing his dealings with Westerton. It was found that a large proportion of the securities noted had passed through his hands.

"I have had my own suspicions that something was not quite right with that gentleman lately. Two months ago he made a very lucky hit in corn. Up to that time he had been unfortunate; and, as you see, all those securities have been sold by him through me to meet his losses. Since then he has been buying. But what struck me as singular was that he insisted upon getting back the very securities he had parted with. He had a special reason, he said, for wanting these particular shares and no others. It gave me a lot of trouble, because the buyers had often parted with them, and sometimes they had gone through two or three hands, and I had to offer something over the market price to get them again. However, with the exception of sixty thousand dollars' worth, I have got them all, or rather, he has got them, and I am in treaty for most of those he still wants. He said in his letter that it was a crotchet of his, and I put it down that he was either a crank or a thief, and yet, even in the latter case, I could not see any reason for his wanting to get into his hands securities which he had once parted with."

"I can only suppose," Mr. Fernlea said, "that he was afraid that at the meeting of the shareholders they would insist upon a committee being appointed to investigate the whole affair, and the list of the missing securities would then be published, in which case they would, of course, be traced back to him—at least to Westerton."

"Then his name is not Westerton?"

"It is not," the chief commissioner said. "But I don't think we will mention just at present what his real name is, though you are likely to know it before long. Now," he went on, when they had left the broker's office, "our course is clear enough. I will send one of my men with you gentlemen to Chicago, with instructions to the local police to aid him in the arrest of one Westerton on the charge of stealing a large number of valuable securities, the property of the Brownsville Bank. And I think I can congratulate you and the other shareholders of the bank on what you have just heard. I fancy it likely that in that safe will be found the whole of the missing property, with the exception of the small number not yet bought up, and even these will probably be recovered, for of course the broker has already received money to buy them with."

Five days later Roland Partridge, looking out from his window at his lodgings in Chicago, saw six men stop before the house. He went quietly downstairs and opened the door, and said, "That is the room."

The door opened and the party entered.

"Westerton, alias Johnstone, I arrest you on the charge of stealing securities, the property of the Brownsville Bank."

There was an exclamation, a slight struggle, and then Mr. Johnstone stood handcuffed among his captors. The safe stood open. Mr. Fernlea and Mr. Hertman stepped forward and glanced at its contents.

"It is as we expected," the former said. "I cannot say how many are missing, but these are the securities stolen from the bank."

"I have been recovering them," Mr. Johnstone said hoarsely. "I have been purchasing them so as to save the shareholders the loss. Another week and I should have got them all. I received a batch to-day, and there are only fifteen thousand dollars' worth missing."

"That may be true enough," Mr. Hertman said, "but we know that you stole them all in the first place—that you yourself stole them, and put the blame on your unfortunate cashier."

The excitement in Brownsville on the absconding of the cashier of the bank was as nothing to that caused when the local paper came out with the following telegram from its correspondent at Chicago:—

"A most important arrest was effected here this evening in the person of a man known as Johnstone, alias Westerton. This man has for months occupied a lodging in Hale Street in this city. He only used it one night a week, and was supposed by Mrs. James, the landlady—a person of the highest respectability—to be a commercial traveller. This evening he was arrested by an officer who came down especially from New York, aided by our own active and intelligent police authorities, on the charge of stealing a great number of valuable securities, the property of the Brownsville Bank, which institution was, as our readers may remember, threatened with a run, towards the conclusion of last year, by the discovery of a robbery, which was at that time supposed to have been effected by Mr. William Partridge, the cashier of the bank.

"The extraordinary part of the business is, that the man Westerton turns out to be the president of the bank, Mr. James Johnstone, who has hitherto borne the highest of characters, being considered quite the leading citizen of Brownsville. The whole circumstances are most romantic, and I shall be able to telegraph further details for your next edition. I am enabled to state that this startling discovery has been brought to light chiefly by the efforts of Mr. Roland Partridge, son of Mr. William Partridge, hitherto suspected of the theft. Mr. Partridge has been assisted by those well-known citizens of Brownsville, Mr. Fernlea and Mr. Robert Hertman. These gentlemen are, with the two Mr. Partridges, at present in Chicago, and will, I understand, leave by the first train in the morning for Brownsville. The prisoner will also be taken over in course of the day in charge of the police, and will be charged before the justices of your city with his offence. I am informed that the greater portion of the securities stolen have been recovered by the police, so that the bank is not likely to be the loser of more than a few thousand dollars by this crime."

Brownsville could at first scarcely believe the news, but enquiries elicited the fact that Mr. Johnstone was absent, and that the police had, late the previous evening, on the receipt of a telegram from Chicago, gone to his house and placed seals upon the drawers and cabinets. The machines of the Brownsville Gazette were insufficient to cope with the demands for papers of the second edition, which gave full details of the affair, and were bought up even more eagerly than the first.

There was quite a crowd at the station to meet the first train from Chicago, and a number of gentlemen who had previously known Mr. Partridge, pressed forward to shake hands with him and to congratulate him as he alighted from the train with his two friends. Roland did not accompany him, having left the train two stations back to fetch his mother, to whom the glad news had been telegraphed on the previous night. Mr. Partridge could not himself go, as his presence would be necessary at the court. There was no feeling of pity for Mr. Johnstone. Later on he received sentence of five years' penal servitude—a sentence that would have been heavier had not the court believed his statement that he had intended to return the stolen securities to the bank. But the effect of this was in public opinion neutralized by his conduct in throwing the blame on to Mr. Partridge, and in allowing him to suffer for his guilt.

Mr. Partridge was forced to overcome his objection to public gatherings so far as to receive a banquet and presentation from his fellow-townsmen, and was unanimously elected by the shareholders of the Brownsville Bank president of that institution. Mr. Johnstone's family left the town immediately after his arrest, and Percy Johnstone is at present a clerk in a store in Broadway. Roland Partridge is still in Mr. Fernlea's office, and will shortly, it is said, be admitted as a partner in the business. About which time, it is also rumoured, he will enter into another partnership with a young lady who was his staunchest defender in his dark days.

A FRONTIER GIRL

A TALE OF THE BACKWOOD SETTLEMENTS

A girl of fifteen, slim and lithe in figure—although it would scarcely have suggested itself to a casual observer, so disfigured was it by the thick, homespun garment in which she was clothed—stood looking out from the door of a log cabin over the lake which lay a hundred yards away. Her face would have been almost childish had it not been for a certain alertness of expression and keenness of glance which would never have been seen in the face of a town-bred girl, nor in one brought up in a country where the only danger ever to be encountered was in crossing a meadow in which a bull was grazing. Mary Mitford was the only child of the settler who owned the cabin. He had at one time been a well-to-do farmer, but he had fallen into difficulties and been obliged to give up his farm and travel farther west, where land could be had for the taking up.

The times had been peaceful, and although the spot he had fixed upon was ten miles from the nearest village, that did not deter him from settling there. It was a natural clearing of some twenty acres in extent. The land was fertile, and sloped gradually down to the lake. A clear spring rose close to the spot where he had determined to make his house, and as to Indian troubles he shrugged his shoulders and said: "If the Indians break out I shall only have to shut up my cabin and move into the village; but as there is no house nearer than that, no tracks in the forest leading past my place, and nothing worth stealing, it is hardly likely that the red-skins will come my way. They are more likely to attack the village than they are to visit my shanty."

He had now lived on his little farm for four years, and had had no reason to regret his choice. The cabin originally built had been enlarged. He had a horse to do his ploughing, and some ten acres under tillage; a score of half-wild pigs roamed by day in the forest, picking up their living there, and returning of their own accord to their sties in the evening for their one regular meal. Five or six cows and a score of sheep grazed on the untilled ground; geese and ducks waddled down to the lake at daybreak and returned at nightfall; two or three dozen chickens found plenty of grubs and worms to eat between the rows of corn and vegetables on the tilled ground. Altogether John Mitford was doing well. He went down once a week with ducks, geese, fowls, and vegetables to the village, using a large boat, on which he had built a sort of cabin where he often passed the night on the lake, returning home to breakfast with a goodly store of wild duck he had shot, and sometimes a stag which he had overtaken as it swam across the lake.

So well had he done, indeed, that he had settled to take on three or four hired men to extend the clearing by cutting down and grubbing up the forest. He had been ably assisted by his wife, who not only looked after the house, but assisted on the farm at busy times; while Mary, who was but nine years old when they came there, made herself as useful as she could at light work, fed the animals, cooked when her mother was in the fields, and as she grew older spent a good deal of her time in a small birch-bark canoe her father had bought for her in the village. She added a good deal to the family store by fishing; not only was the house well supplied, but she enabled her father to take a large basketful down when he went to the village, where the people were all too busy to fish for themselves.

She also learned to use her father's rifle with a skill equal to his own, and could hit any duck that came within range of the weapon. From time to time there were rumours of trouble with the Indians; but these either proved to be without foundation, or the troubles took place at distant spots on the border. Sometimes Mary's mother accompanied her father to the village when stores had to be laid in, and materials for garments purchased for which their own homespun cloth was unsuitable. They had started together this morning, and the three men who had been engaged were to return with them. These were to be accommodated in an outhouse until they had built a log cabin for themselves, and a store of groceries, saws and axes, blankets, and other necessaries for their use were also to be purchased and brought up.

They had, when the settler had gone down on the previous week, heard that councils had been held among the village elders as to the rumoured Indian troubles, and as to the best method of defending the place should the enemy threaten an attack. John Mitford had received many warnings, but he paid little attention to them, and while speaking lightly of them to his wife, remarked with a laugh, that with the hired men they would have quite a garrison.

"They will all bring their guns up with them," he said, "and it will scarcely be worth the while of any Indians to attack us when they know that we should be able to make a stout fight, and that even if they took the place there would be nothing to pay them except our scalps for the loss of life they would suffer. The men I hired to-day are all accustomed to border work, and claim to be good shots. I can say as much for myself, and Mary here is a good bit better than I am, and you have learned to make very fair practice, wife."

"I have not had time for much of it, John, but at least I think that I could scarcely miss an Indian at fifty yards; however, as you say, we have been hearing these rumours every three or four months since we settled here, and nothing has ever come of it."

So little did they think of the matter that when they started in the scow an hour before daybreak no allusion was made to it, and Mary was to have supper ready for them on their return.

"Remember that there will be six, Mary, and you will have to provide plentifully for the men. It would never do to give them a bad impression on their arrival. We shall be back before nightfall."

When they had gone, Mary went about her usual work—let the pigs out, and saw them well on their way towards the forest, the ducks started down to the lake and the chickens to the fields, while the geese began to graze in the meadow between the house and the lake, where the horse and other animals joined them as soon as they were let out. Having attended to these matters, she went about the work of the house. From time to time she came to the door to see that all was going on well. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when she heard a sudden squeal of alarm in the forest, and a minute or two later the pigs came galloping out of it. Accustomed as Mary was to all the noises of the place, the sudden outcry startled her.

"What can have frightened the pigs?" she said to herself; "it may be that a mountain lion has sprang down upon one of them, but it may be that there are Indians."

She went back at once into the house, pulled out the moss from the loopholes that had been made when it was built in case they should ever be attacked, and, going from one to another, gazed into the forest. Before doing so, she had looked to the priming of the three rifles and two shot-guns that hung on the walls. She could see nothing, but observed that there was a general feeling of uneasiness among the animals. The horse had stopped feeding, and with ears outstretched seemed to be listening for sounds in the forest; the cows, after staring about, commenced to walk in the direction of their byres; and some geese which were near the edge of the lake, gave warning cries, keeping close together, and also moved towards the house. The girl had heard so many stories of Indian raids on lonely settlements that she felt sure that an attack would not be made until after dark. They could hardly know that she was alone in the house, and would not risk losing lives by an advance against it in broad daylight.

As she moved from loophole to loophole she thought over what was best to be done. Although the Indians might wait till nightfall, if they saw no advantage in attacking before, they would assuredly fall upon her father's party as they landed, as, with the advantage of such a surprise, they might expect to slaughter them without resistance. It was hardly likely that any large party could be in the wood. She had heard her father often say that any body of Indians on the war-path would make straight for the settlements and would not waste their time upon isolated farms, though stragglers from the main body might do so.

"I must do something at once," she said to herself at last; "if the Indians see no one about they may crawl up here, and though I might shoot one or two of them, I could not be on all sides of the house at once. If I were killed, father and mother would be sure to fall into the trap. From the way those geese behaved I believe it must be a party who were travelling down the lake, and, knowing of the clearing, they landed some little distance away and moved along the shore. As canoes often traverse the lake, and the Indians have an eye for every detail, they would know that its occupants possess a scow, and that as it was not there some of the inhabitants were certainly away. They would therefore probably wait until their return before making an attack on the hut, which could be easily captured; while, were they to attack the cabin at once, the firing might be heard, and those on the scow being thus warned might go at once to the village, where their report would give the alarm to the inhabitants, and so put them on their guard against the attack that was to be made upon them by the main body that night."

All these things were thought over by the girl. She had so often listened to the stories of Indian raids told by passing hunters who put up for the night, that she was able to judge the situation as accurately as an older settler might have done. She was pale, but this was the only sign of her consciousness that her life was in extreme danger. She knew that if an attack had not been made at once, the Indians must have good reasons for waiting. From time to time Indian canoes had stopped there, and the occupants had landed in order to exchange skins and other articles for tobacco and powder, and so save themselves the journey down to the settlement, and they would know that her mother, father, and herself were the sole occupants. The absence of the scow showed that her father was away, and that the place could be easily captured, though perhaps not without loss of blood, for women of the frontier were usually able to use a rifle on an emergency. She went out occasionally, took some food for the pigs, and hung up some clothes to dry, in a quiet and unconcerned manner, in order to show that no suspicion was entertained that Indians were in the neighbourhood.

At last she determined upon the best course to be pursued. It was above all things necessary to warn her parents. That the attempt might cost her her life did not weigh in the slightest; she would certainly be killed if she remained there. There was just a possibility that she might succeed in saving their lives as well as her own by action. Once in her canoe she might escape; it was very small and light. Constant exercise had so strengthened her arms that she could make it fly through the water at a speed at which few of the Indians with whom she had sometimes tried a spin could surpass. The canoe or canoes, however, in which the red-skins had arrived were doubtless paddled by three or more men, and these would certainly overtake her. It was the knowledge that this was so that had prevented her from making an earlier start. To give her a chance of getting away she must carry a rifle with her, and once the lurking enemy, who were doubtless watching her every movement, perceived that she was armed they would guess at once that she was conscious of their presence, and would rush out and tomahawk her before she reached the water's edge.

At last she decided upon a plan. Taking off her gown, she fastened the rifle with a cord round her body. The butt was against her shoulder and the barrel came down just below her ankle, projecting but an inch or two below her gown. When she put it on again, even the sharpest Indian eye could scarcely notice this as she walked through the grass. She had passed the rope but once round her body, and had tied the end in a bow so that she could in a moment unloose it on reaching the canoe, for it would be impossible for her to kneel down with the rifle in its present position. She took a powder-horn which she slung over her shoulder by a cord, and put a dozen bullets into her pocket. Then she put some grain into a basket, and was ready to start. Before leaving the house she stood for a few minutes in silent prayer, for she was unable to kneel; then she went out.

It needed a great effort to saunter leisurely along, but the thought of her parents' danger nerved her, and she went from animal to animal, giving each a handful or two of grain, calling them to her, and singing in a voice in which at first there was a little quaver, but which soon rang out loud and fearlessly. Fortunately the horse and one or two of the cows were feeding close down by the lake. As she went her hopes rose. After feeding them she strolled in a leisurely way towards her canoe, and, standing close to it, looked over the water, then she went down to its edge, and gazed down the lake as if looking for the returning scow. After standing thus for a minute or two she returned to the canoe, pulled at the ends of the rope under her loose dress, and let the muzzle of the rifle drop to the ground. She stooped over the canoe as if arranging the paddles, and placed the rifle in it. The action, she thought, could hardly have been seen by the Indians, for the trees were two hundred yards on each side of her. She then lifted the light canoe and carried it down to the water.

This was the critical moment. The Indians might allow her to go unmolested, thinking that she was only going for a short paddle to pass away the time until her parents returned, and in that case they would crawl across and enter the cabin in order to take the party by surprise as they unsuspectingly strolled up from the scow. On the other hand, if they thought that she had had any idea of their presence, and was going to warn her father, they would know the coveted scalps would be lost if they did not succeed in catching her. As she seated herself in the canoe and took up her paddle, her heart beat high with hope, but, glancing towards the trees, she saw six red-skins running at full speed from the edge of the forest. What she hadn't reckoned upon had occurred. Their sharp eyes had caught the flash of the sun upon the barrel of the rifle as she put it in, and they at once guessed that she was aware of their presence, and was endeavouring to escape.

It was well that she had lost not a moment's time after placing the canoe in the water. Her nervousness had now passed away, and with rapid but steady strokes she drove the light craft ahead, and was fifty or sixty yards out on to the lake before the Indians reached the spot she had left. They had been silent hitherto, but their yells rose fiercely as they fired shot after shot; but the powder sold to the Indians was always of a poor quality, and though the balls fell close to her none struck her. The red-skins did not wait to reload, but ran back to the forest, and a minute after they had disappeared among the trees she saw a canoe with three paddlers dash out from some bushes in which it had been concealed. She had but some three hundred yards' start, and although she was rowing her hardest, looking over her shoulder from time to time, she found that they were gaining upon her. When a mile had been passed she was but seventy or eighty yards ahead. With a sweep of her paddle she turned the canoe broadside to her pursuers, laid her paddle in, seized her rifle, took a steady aim, and fired.

The report was followed by a yell, and the Indian in the bow dropped his paddle and fell back. At other times, at so short a distance, she would not have missed her aim at the centre of his chest by a finger's breadth; but though she had held her breath in order to steady her rifle, her arms were quivering from her exertions, and she had only hit him on his right shoulder, the red mark on the brown skin showing where he was struck. A moment later she was again on her way. The fall of the man against the red-skin behind him had nearly upset the Indian canoe, and she had gained several lengths before the pursuit was continued. She looked round, and saw that the wounded man was again kneeling in his place. His paddle had fallen overboard when he was struck, and even had it not been so, he could have rendered but slight assistance to his comrades with but one hand available.

"It is lucky that he was not killed," she said to herself. "If he had been, they would have thrown him overboard."

A minute later she heard a splash. The wounded man had leapt into the water, and was making for the shore.

"It is a fair race now," she thought. "Their canoe is a large one, as it held three sitters besides the rowers. Now I must take it steadily. I am sure they will not gain on me as long as I can keep up—it is just a question of last."

She rowed, however, her hardest for a few minutes, as it was all-important to get beyond the range of the Indians' guns. When a glance round showed her that she was some hundred and twenty yards ahead of her pursuers, she settled down into a long steady stroke. She knew well that she was now practically safe, for even if one of their guns could carry to her, it was difficult even for the best shot to aim from a dancing canoe. For half an hour there was no change in the position. The Indians were rowing their hardest, but the weight of their comparatively heavy canoe was telling upon them as much as the labour of driving her light craft was upon the girl. It was well for her that an out-of-door life and daily practice had hardened her muscles and strengthened her frame. She had once paused for a couple of seconds and pulled off her frock, which at once cumbered her movements and was terribly hot. The speed of the canoe had scarcely slackened when the paddle was at work again, and she felt a sensible relief from the freedom of her limbs.

A few minutes later a little cry of joy broke from her as she saw the scow come out from behind a point some two miles away. The sight gave her renewed hope and strength. They must have left the village earlier than she had expected. On the other hand, a yell from the red-skins told her that they too had seen the scow, and would certainly exert themselves to the utmost to overtake her before she reached it. Although it had seemed that the paddlers were all doing their best before, the added speed of the canoes told that their exertions had been redoubled. When within a mile of the scow, the girl glanced backwards. The Indians had gained some thirty yards upon her; but another five minutes would bring her within rifle-shot of the scow. She could see by the motion of the oars that the rowers were doing their utmost, while the others were standing up watching the chase with their rifles in their hands.

Her strength was failing her fast now, but she struggled on determinedly; at least she had saved her father and mother. Two minutes later she started at the report of a gun behind, and the splash of a ball in the water alongside the canoe. She felt that she was safe now. The red-skins would not have stopped to fire had they not felt that it was their last chance of revenge. A few more strokes and she looked round. The Indians were already on their way towards the shore. Then she let her paddle drop, and collapsed in the bottom of the canoe, hearing but faintly the sound of repeated shots from the scow, which was now but a little more than a quarter of a mile away. Hitherto they had been unable to fire, as the two canoes were in a line. Faintly she heard a shout in her father's voice: "Are you hit, Mary?" But she was incapable of making an effort to reply, and it was not until the scow came alongside and she was lifted on board that she was able to answer. The relief of her father and mother was intense when they found that she was unwounded. They had heard the Indians fire, and at the distance they were away it had seemed to them that the canoes were close to each other. They then saw the red-skins at once make for shore, and she had so quickly afterwards sunk into the canoe that they greatly feared she was wounded. The men with them, however, were unanimous in agreeing that she had not been hit. If she had been, they argued, her pursuers would certainly have paddled up to the canoe and taken her scalp before making for the shore. It was some time before she was able to tell her story, and the frontiersmen were as warm in their expressions of admiration for her coolness as were her parents.

A consultation was now held as to the best plan to be pursued. It was finally agreed that one of the men should take the canoe and return to the village, which was but four miles away, and warn them to prepare for an attack that night. The stockades had already been strengthened, and if prepared, it was probable that the settlers would be able to beat off any attack. The scow was then put in motion again. It was felt that the three Indians on shore would have done nothing until they learned from the men in the canoe that the pursuit had failed, and that the settlers had been warned. They would probably have followed along the shore to see the result, and might either return, burn the cabin, and slaughter the cattle, or might go on and join the Indians who were doubtless gathered close to the village. The frontiersmen were of opinion that they would take the latter course.

"The red-skins are fond of revenge," one of the men said, "but they are fonder of scalps. They will not expect to get much plunder from your house, and will certainly get no scalps; and though they might do a lot of mischief on your clearing, this would offer less satisfaction to them than getting their share of the plunder and scalps from the village."

"Besides," another put in, "they would certainly get into bad odour with their tribe if they were absent from the attack. I take it for certain that they had orders to go straight there, and that it was only the hope that they would bring in some scalps that induced them to land at your clearing. I think that it is plumb sure that they will go straight on."

Rowing vigorously, they reached the farm an hour before sunset. To their great satisfaction they saw the animals grazing as usual, the cabin intact, and no signs of an enemy's presence; nevertheless the frontiersmen advised Mr. Mitford to proceed cautiously, for it was just possible the Indians were hidden in the house. Accordingly he told his wife and daughter to remain in the scow, which, when the men landed, was pushed off into deep water and the grapnel dropped. The men moved up through the trees until abreast of the house.

"I am convinced that they are not there," the settler said. "The animals are all feeding quietly, and the geese are just in front of the door. I am sure that if red-skins were inside, the horse and cattle would all be gathered by the water, and the geese, which are as watchful as dogs, would not be near the house."

The others agreed, and, stooping low, made their way through the standing grain until within some thirty yards of the house. Then with rifles advanced ready to fire, they dashed forward. Still all was quiet.

"They are not here," one of the men said positively. "They certainly would have fired, and not let us get up against the wall. We have only to walk in."

They went round to the door and entered. All was exactly as Mary had left it. The fire had burnt low, but the pot was still simmering over it. The farmer went down to the water and fetched up his wife and Mary.

"If it hadn't been for you, Mary," he said, "everything would have been destroyed here, and we should be lying dead on the shore."

The question was next discussed what they had best do. The frontiersmen were unanimous in their opinion that there was no fear of an attack that night, but were equally certain that one would be made the next night, or at the latest on that following.

"No matter whether they take the village or not, they are sure to attack you. If they have won, the varmint you have baulked to-day will bring a party of their friends here for plunder and scalps. If they are beaten off they will, before they return home, ravage every outlying farm. To make matters sure, I should say it would be safest for your wife and daughter to sleep on board the scow. We can bring her in close to the shore and camp down there ourselves, so that, if needs be, we can get on board and put out into the lake. They have only one canoe, as far as we know; but if they had a dozen they would not dare to attack us. I do not think that there is a chance of any trouble to-night. In the morning, I should say your best plan would be to get the things you most value on board the scow, with enough meat and provisions to last for a week. You must stay with the ladies on board, and we will drive all the animals a couple of miles into the forest. The worst that can happen then is that, when the Indians come, they will burn down the house. I don't see that we can prevent that. If we were to lay off here in the scow, we could keep them from approaching within range of our rifles, but we could not prevent them from coming down from behind the house.

"It does not matter about the cabin," the settler said; "that is easily put up again. And, indeed, I had intended before long to pull it down and rebuild it in better style, and put it close down by the water."

"That would be a good plan, boss. If you were to put it there, and make a strong palisade running from it on each side down to the water, you could fight it out against a big lot of red-skins, and if the worst came to the worst, could make off in your scow. I would put a bag or two of grain in the boat, if I were you, now. When you start in the morning, row along the shore to the east till you see us come out. We will bunch the animals close by there, and if we give them a feed every evening they are safe not to wander very far. It is not likely the red-skins will trouble to hunt for them; they will burn your house and then make off. You might leave half a dozen of your sheep here. If they come, the Indians can make a meal, and they won't be wanting to search the woods for one, and are safe to make off without delay. When they have once got a beating they don't care to hang about; and if they have succeeded at the village, and got scalps and booty, some of them will at once start for home to have a dance after their victory, and the others will be off to strike a blow at some other village before the news of what has occurred reaches the settlers."

And so the matter was carried out. The night passed quietly, but in the morning the frontiersmen, putting their ears down to the surface of the lake, could make out heavy firing in the distance, and knew that the attack on the village had begun. The work was then set about. The whole of the feathered stock were tied by their legs and placed in the scow. The store of provisions, groceries, the linen, and clothes were all placed on board, and then the settler, with his wife and daughter, pushed off, while the three men drove the animals into the forest. Three hours later those on the scow saw them appear at the edge of the lake nearly three miles from the clearing, and the scow was at once rowed ashore. The animals had been driven to a small clearing a quarter of a mile away, and on the party going up they were found to be still there. Mary went round petting them and giving them handfuls of grain, and after remaining there for half an hour they returned to the lake. The scow was hidden under some branches overhanging the water. In the afternoon a small canoe with a solitary paddler was seen coming along, keeping close inshore. As it approached, Mary recognized her canoe, and the men declared that the rower was their comrade who had gone to give the alarm to the village.

"What news, Reuben?" they shouted as soon as he was within hearing.

"Bad news," he said. "The village is taken, and every soul but myself murdered! They made a good fight, but the red-skins were too strong. I got hit in the leg pretty early in the fight, and, finding that I was no more use, I got two women to carry me down to the canoe. I knew that I should be as comfortable there as anywhere, and if things went wrong it gave me a chance. Two hours later I heard by the screaming that the red-skins had forced the palisades and were in the village, so I thought that it was time for me to be off. I was able to sit up, though I was badly hit below the knee, and I paddled off and made for the clearing. When I got there I saw at once that all the animals were gone, and made sure that they had been driven into the forest, and that you had taken to the scow. I did not suppose that you had gone very far, so I came on looking for you, and glad enough I was to hear your shout."

"You fear that all in the village have been murdered?" Mr. Mitford said.

"I have not a doubt of it. Those red fiends spare no one, especially as there was a stout resistance, and a good many of them have been wiped out."

He was now helped out of the canoe. His comrades, all of whom had much experience of wounds, examined his leg carefully, and were of opinion that, although the bone was splintered, it was not broken, and that the ball had gone out behind.

"The best thing to do," one of them said, "will be to make a deep cut and pick out all the pieces of bone. It will never heal properly with them in."

"Fire away then!" the wounded man said coolly. "It is best to make a good job of it at once. Now I know that the bone is not really broken I don't mind what you do with it."

"Do you happen to have a new knife, Mr. Mitford?" one of the other frontiersmen said, turning to the settler. "One wants a new knife and a sharp one."

"I cannot give you a new one, but it was only yesterday that I ground my own knife, and it is both sharp and clean."

"That will do first rate."

And, taking the long knife the settler wore in a sheath hanging from his belt, he proceeded to operate. Not a groan or a sigh proceeded from the wounded man. Accustomed to a hard life as these men were, they were almost as insensible to pain as the Indians themselves. After the splinters of bone had been removed, the wound was washed with warm water and then carefully bandaged. A fire had by this time been lit a short distance in the forest in a position where its light could not be observed by any passing canoe. Here the men bivouacked, taking it by turns to keep watch. For four days they remained here; then one of them started as soon as it was dark, in Mary's canoe, to examine the clearing. He returned in little over an hour. The cabin and outbuildings had all been burnt, and the place was absolutely deserted. It was agreed that there was not the slightest chance of the Indians returning there, and the settler and three of the men at once began to fell trees; while the fourth, who could not assist in active work for some time, went down in the canoe to the village, which he found had been entirely destroyed, but that a body of the State militia had arrived there. From them he learned that another village had been destroyed; but in an attack on a third the Indians had been repulsed with great loss, and had not since been heard of, and it was believed that they had retired to their own villages.

Three months later a log-house had been erected by the water-side, with palisades running down into deep water. It was large and comfortable, and being built of square logs and well loopholed, and with the doors and windows on the water-side only, it could resist a formidable attack. A very strong gate in one of the palisades would admit of the animals being driven in there for shelter. All those which had been taken into the forest had been recovered. The house done, the men set to work to enlarge the clearing, and ten years later it was one of the largest and best-cultivated farms on the lake. Mary, whose exploit had gained for her a wide reputation throughout the district for her courage and coolness, had long before married a young Englishman who had come out with some capital, with the intention of farming. Mary would not hear of leaving her father and mother, and accordingly he entered into partnership with Mr. Mitford, and his energy and capital had no small share in developing the farm. A second log-house was built within some twenty yards of the other, and connected with it by a strong palisade. However, the settlers were never again disturbed by the Indians, and so many new-comers had settled beyond them that it could no longer be called an outlying settlement, especially as a town of considerable size had sprung into existence on the site of the village that had been destroyed.

Table of Contents

Through Three Campaigns

Preface.

Chapter 1: An Expedition.

Chapter 2: The Start.

Chapter 3: The First Fight.

Chapter 4: In The Passes

Chapter 5: Promoted.

Chapter 6: Unfair Play.

Chapter 7: Tales Of War.

Chapter 8: The Dargai Pass.

Chapter 9: Captured.

Chapter 10: Through The Mohmund Country.

Chapter 11: An Arduous March.

Chapter 12: A Tribal Fight.

Chapter 13: The V.C.

Chapter 14: Forest Fighting.

Chapter 15: A Narrow Escape.

Chapter 16: The Relief Of Coomassie.

Chapter 17: Stockades And War Camps.

Chapter 18: A Night Surprise.

Chapter 19: Lost In The Forest.

Chapter 20: At Home.

Through Three Campaigns

Preface.

Our little wars attract far lSess attention among the people of this country than they deserve. They are frequently carried out in circumstances of the most adverse kind. Our enemies, although ignorant of military discipline are, as a rule, extremely brave; and are thoroughly capable of using the natural advantages of their country. Our men are called upon to bear enormous fatigue, and endure extremes in climate. The fighting is incessant, the peril constant. Nevertheless, they show a magnificent contempt for danger and difficulty; and fight with a valour and determination worthy of the highest praise.

I have chosen, as an illustration of this, three campaigns; namely, the relief of Chitral, the Tirah campaign, and the relief of Coomassie. The first two were conducted in a mountainous country, affording every advantage to the enemy; where passes had to be scaled, torrents to be forded, and deep snow to be crossed. In the other, the country was a combination of morass and thick forest, frequently intersected by wide and deep rivers. The work, moreover, had to be done in a tropical climate, during the rainy season. The conditions, therefore, were much more trying than in the case of former expeditions which had crossed the same ground and, in addition, the enemy were vastly more numerous and more determined; and had, in recent years, mastered the art of building extremely formidable stockades.

The country has a right to be proud, indeed, of the prowess both of our own troops and of our native regiments. Boys who wish to obtain fuller details of these campaigns I would refer to Sir George Robertson's Chitral; H. C. Thomson's Chitral Campaign; Lieutenant Beynon's With Kelly to Chitral; Colonel Hutchison's Campaign in Tirah; Viscount Fincastle and P. C. Eliott Lockhart's A Frontier Campaign; and Captain Harold C. J. Biss's The Relief of Kumasi, from which I have principally drawn the historical portion of my story.

G. A. Henty.

Chapter 1: An Expedition.

"Well, Lisle, my boy, the time is drawing very near when you will have to go home. My brother John will look after you, and choose some good crammer to push you on. You are nearly sixteen, now, and it is high time you buckled to."

"But you have always taught me, father!"

"Yes, that is all very well, but I could not devote three hours a day to you. I think I may say that you are thoroughly well grounded--I hope as well as most public-school boys of your own age--but I can go no further with you. You have no idea what cramming is necessary, now, for a young fellow to pass into the army. Still I think that, by hard work with some man who prepares students for the army, you may be able to rub through. I have always saved up money for this, for my brother is by no means a rich man, and crammers are very expensive; so the next time I see a chance of sending you down to Calcutta, down you go. My agents there will see you on board a ship, and do everything that is necessary."

"Of course, father, if I must go, I must; but it will be beastly, after the jolly time I have spent in the regiment, to set to and do nothing but grind, for the next three years."

"We all have to do a good many unpleasant things, Lisle; and as we have decided that you shall enter the army, you must make up your mind to do the necessary work, even though it be disagreeable."

"All right, father! I know what depends upon it, and I will set to."

"I have no doubt you will, Lisle, for you have plenty of common sense, though you are a little inclined to mischief--not that you are altogether to blame for that, for the officers encourage you in it."

This conversation took place between Captain Bullen, of the 32nd Pioneers, and his son. The regiment was in cantonments near the northern frontier of India. The captain had lost his wife some years before and, as their two youngest children had also died, he had not been able to bring himself to send the remaining boy home. The climate was excellent, and the boy enjoyed as good health as if he had been in England. Captain Bullen had taken a great deal of pains with his son's education but, as he said, he had now taught the boy all that he knew; and felt that he ought to go to England, and be regularly coached for the army.

Next day the captain entered his quarters, hurriedly.

"I am off," he said. "Those rascally Afridis have come down and looted several villages; and I am to go up, in command of a couple of companies, to give them a lesson."

"They are not very strong, are they, father?"

"No, I don't suppose they can put a couple of hundred men in the field. We shall take the two mountain guns with us, and batter holes in their fortresses, and then attack and carry them easily. There is no sign of movement among the other tribes, so we need not expect any serious opposition."

A week later, the little detachment entered the valley in which the Afridi villages lay. The work had been fatiguing, for the country was very rough; and the mules that carried the guns met with such difficulties that the infantry had to turn to, and improve the paths--if paths they could be called, for they were often little better than undefined tracks. As the expedition moved up the valley, the tribesmen opened on them a distant fire; but scattered after a few shells from the mountain guns were thrown among them. The fortified houses, however, were stubbornly held; and indeed, were only carried after the guns had broken in the doors, or made a breach in the walls.

During the attack on the last house, a shot struck Captain Bullen in the chest, and he instantly fell. When they saw this, the Pioneers dashed forward with a howl of rage, carried the fort, and bayoneted its defenders. The doctor of the party at once examined the wound, and saw that it would probably be fatal.

"Patch me up, Lloyd, so that I may get back to camp and see my boy again," the wounded man whispered.

"I will do my best," the doctor said, "but I doubt whether you will be able to stand the journey."

The Pioneers, after setting fire to all the houses in the valley, started at once for home. Captain Bullen was placed on a stretcher, and four men at a time carried him down, taking the utmost pains not to jolt or shake him. His face was covered with light boughs, to keep off the flies; and everything that was possible was done to conduce to his comfort.

The doctor watched him anxiously. His condition became more serious, every day. As they neared the camp, a messenger was sent down with a report from the native officer of what had happened; and the Pioneers all came out to see their favourite officer brought in; and stood, mournful and silent, as he was carried to his bungalow.

"Don't come in yet, lad," the surgeon said, to Lisle. "Your father, at present, is incapable of speaking; and he must have a little rest before you see him, for the slightest excitement would probably cause a gush of blood to the wound, which would be fatal."

Lisle's grief was unbounded. He could not listen to the kind words with which the officers tried to soothe him, but wandered away out of camp and, throwing himself down, wept unrestrainedly for an hour. Then he roused himself, and walked slowly back. By a mighty effort he had composed himself, for he knew that he must be calm when he saw his father.

Half an hour later, the doctor beckoned him in.

"He is conscious now," he said, "and has whispered that he wishes to see you. He has been very calm, all the way down, and has spoken of you often."

"I will do my best," Lisle muttered, keeping down his tears with a tremendous effort; and then went into his father's room.

He could not trust himself to speak a word but, walking up, took his father's hand and, kneeling down, pressed it to his lips, his whole form shaking with agitation.

"I am glad I have held out until I got back," his father said, in a low voice. "It is all up with me, my boy, and I have only a few hours to live, at most. I am sorry, now, that you did not start for England before this happened; but I have no doubt that it is all for the best. I shall die, as I should wish to die, doing my duty and, except for leaving you, I shall feel small regret."

"Must you leave me, father?" Lisle sobbed.

"Yes, my boy, I have known it from the first. It is only my intense desire to see you again that has kept me up. The doctor said he did not expect that I should last more than two or three days, at most.

"You will bear in mind what I said to you, the day before we started. I have no fear about you, Lisle; I am sure you will make an honest gentleman and a brave soldier, and will do credit to our name. I should stay here a few weeks longer, if I were you, until some others are going down. The officers are all fond of you, and it would be better for you to have company, than to make the long journey to the coast alone.

"My voice is failing me, lad, and I can say no more, now; but you can sit here with me, till the end comes. It will not be long. When you have completed your training, the fact that I have died in this way will give you a good claim to a commission."

Lisle sat with his father for some hours. Occasionally the dying man moved and, leaning over him, he could catch the words "God bless you!" Before midnight the brave spirit had passed away, and Lisle went out and cried like a child, till morning.

The funeral took place next day. After it was over, the colonel sent for Lisle; who had now, after a hard struggle, recovered his composure.

"Did your father give you any instructions, Lisle? You may be sure that whatever he said we will carry out."

"He said that he thought it would be best for me to stay here for a few weeks as, among so many kind friends, I should be able to bear it better than if I went down at once."

"Quite right, lad! We shall all be very glad to have you with us. You can remain in the bungalow as long as you like. It is not likely to be wanted, for some months. Your father's butler and one or two servants will be enough to look after you; and you will, of course, remain a member of the mess. In this way, I hope you will have recovered some of your cheerfulness before you start."

It was a hard time for Lisle for the next week or two, for everything reminded him of his father. The risaldar major and the other native officers, with all of whom he was familiar, grasped him by the hand when they met, in token of their sympathy; and the sepoys stood at attention, with mournful faces, when he passed them. He spent the heat of the day with his books, and only stirred out in the early morning and evening, meals being considerately sent down to him from the mess. At the end of a fortnight he made a great effort and joined the mess, and the kindness with which the officers spoke to him gradually cheered him.

Then there came an excitement which cheered him further. There were rumours of disaffection among the hill tribes, and the chances of a campaign were discussed with animation, both among officers and soldiers. The regiment was a very fine one, composed of sturdy Punjabis; and all agreed that, if there were an expedition, they would probably form part of it. Lisle entered fully into the general feeling, and his eyes glistened as he listened to the sepoys talking of the expeditions in which they had taken part.

"It would be splendid to go," he said to himself, "but I don't see how the colonel could take me. I shall certainly ask him, when the time comes; but I feel sure that he will refuse. Of course, I ought to be starting before long for Calcutta; but the expedition will probably not last many weeks and, if I were to go with it, the excitement would keep me from thinking, and do me a lot of good. Besides, a few weeks could make no difference in my working up for the examination."

The more he thought of it, the more he felt determined to go with the column. He felt sure that he could disguise himself so that no one would suspect who he was. He had been so long associated with the regiment that he talked Punjabi as well as English.

His father had now been dead two months and, as the rumours from across the frontier grew more and more serious, he was filled with fear lest an opportunity should occur to send him down country before the regiment marched; in which case all his plans would be upset. Day after day passed, however, without his hearing anything about it, till one day the colonel sent for him.

"The time has come, lad, when we must part. We shall all be very sorry to lose you, but it cannot be helped. I have received orders, this morning, to go up to Chitral; and am sending down some sick, at once. You must start with them. When you reach the railway, you will be able to get a through ticket to Calcutta.

"As long as it was likely that we should be going down ourselves, I was glad to keep you here; but now that we have got orders to go off and have a talk with these tribes in the north, it is clearly impossible for us to keep you any longer. I am very sorry, my boy, for you know we all like you, for your own sake and for your good father's."

"I am awfully obliged to you all, colonel. You have been very good to me, since my father was killed. I feel that I have had no right to stop here so long; but I quite understand that, now you are moving up into the hills, you cannot keep me.

"I suppose I could not go as a volunteer, colonel?" he asked, wistfully.

"Quite impossible," the colonel said, decidedly. "Even if you had been older, I could not have taken you. Every mouth will have to be fed, and the difficulties of transport will be great. There is no possibility, whatever, of our smuggling a lad of your age up with us.

"Besides, you know that you ought to go to England, without further delay. You want to gain a commission, and to do that you must pass a very stiff examination, indeed. So for your own sake, it is advisable that you should get to work without any unnecessary delay.

"A party of invalids will be going down tomorrow, and you can go with them as far as Peshawar. There, of course, you will take train either to Calcutta or Bombay. I know that you have plenty of funds for your journey to England. I think you said that it was an uncle to whom you were going. Mind you impress upon him the fact that it is absolutely necessary that you should go to a first-rate school or, better still, to a private crammer, if you are to have a chance of getting into the service by a competitive examination."

"Very well, colonel. I am sure that I am very grateful to you, and all the officers of the regiment, for the kindness you have shown me, especially since my father's death. I shall always remember it."

"That is all right, Lisle. It has been a pleasure to have you with us. I am sure we shall all be sorry to lose you, but I hope that some day we shall meet again, when you are an officer in one of our regiments."

Lisle returned to the bungalow and called the butler, the only servant he had retained.

"Look here, Robah, the colonel says that I must go down with a sick party, tomorrow. As I have told you, I am determined to go up country with the troops. Of course, I must be in disguise. How do you think that I had better go?"

The man shook his head.

"The young sahib had better join his friends in England."

"It is useless to talk about that," Lisle said. "I have told you I mean to go up, and go up I will. There ought to be no difficulty about it. I speak three or four of these frontier languages, as well as I speak English. I have at least learnt that. I have picked them up by talking to the natives, and partly from the moonshee I have had, for four years. My dear father always impressed upon me the utility of these to an officer; and said that, if I could take up native languages in my examinations, it would go a long way towards making up for other deficiencies. So I am all right, so far as language is concerned.

"It seems to me that my best plan will be to go up as a mule driver."

"It is as the sahib wills," the old man said. "His servant will do all he can to help him."

"Well, Robah, I want you in the first place to get me a disguise. You may as well get two suits. I am sure to get wet, sometimes, and shall require a change. I shall take a couple of my own vests and drawers, to wear under them; for we shall probably experience very cold weather in the mountains."

"They are serving out clothes to the carriers, sahib."

"Yes, I forgot that. Well, I want you to go into their camp, and arrange with one of the headmen to let me take the place of one of the drivers. Some of the men will be willing enough to get off the job, and a tip of forty rupees would completely settle the matter with him. Of course, I shall start with the sick escort but, as there will be several waggons going down with them, they will not travel far; and at the first halting place I can slip away, and come back here. You will be waiting for me on the road outside the camp, early in the morning, and take me to the headman.

"By the way, I shall want you to make up a bottle of stain for my hands and feet; for of course I shall go in the native sandals."

"I will do these things, sahib. How about your luggage?"

"Before I leave the camp tonight I shall put fresh labels on them, directing them to be taken to the store of Messieurs Parfit, who were my father's agents; and to be left there until I send for them. I shall give the sergeant, who goes down with the sick, money to pay for their carriage to Calcutta.

"And about yourself, Robah?"

"I shall stay here at the bungalow till another regiment comes up to take your place. Perhaps you will give me a chit, saying that I have been in your father's service fourteen years, and that you have found me faithful and useful. If I cannot find employment, I shall go home. I have saved enough money."

An hour later, Robah again entered the room.

"I have been thinking, sahib, of a better plan. You wish to see fighting, do you not?"

"Certainly I do."

"Well, sahib, if you go in the baggage train you might be miles away, and see nothing of it. Now, it seems to me that it would be almost as easy for you to go as a soldier in the regiment, as in the transport train."

"Do you think so, Robah?" Lisle exclaimed excitedly.

"I think so, sahib. You see, you know all the native officers, and your father was a great favourite among them. If you were dressed in uniform, and took your place in the ranks, it is very unlikely that any of the English officers would notice you. These matters are left in the hands of the native officers.

"Yesterday a young private died, who had but just passed the recruit stage, and had been only once or twice on parade. You might take his name. It is most unlikely that any of the white officers will notice that your face is a fresh one and, if they did ask the question, the native officer would give that name. The English officer would not be at all likely to notice that this was the name of a man who had died. Deaths are not uncommon and, as the regiment is just moving, the matter would receive no attention. The book of this man would be handed to you, and it would all seem regular."

"That is a splendid idea, Robah. Which officer do you think I had better speak to?"

"I should speak to Risaldar Gholam Singh. He was the chief native officer in your father's wing of the regiment. If he consents, he would order all the native officers under him to hold their tongues and, as you are a favourite with them all, your secret would be kept."

"It is a grand idea, and I certainly don't see why it should not work out properly."

"I have no doubt that the risaldar major will do all he can for you."

"Do you think so, Robah?"

"I am sure he will. He was very much attached to your father, and felt his loss as much as anyone. Indeed, I think that every one of the native officers will do all he can for you."

"That would make it very easy for me," Lisle said. "Till you suggested it, the idea of going as a soldier never occurred to me but, with their assistance, it will not be difficult."

"Shall I go and fetch the risaldar here, sahib?"

"Do so. I shall be on thorns until I see him."

In a few minutes the officer, a tall and stately Punjabi, entered.

"Risaldar," Lisle said, "I know you were very much attached to my father."

"I was, sahib."

"Well, I want you to do something for me."

"It would be a pleasure for me to do so, and you have only to ask for me to grant it, if it is in my power."

"I think it is in your power," Lisle said. "I will tell you what I want. I have made up my mind to go with this expedition. I thought of disguising myself, and going as a baggage coolie; but in that case I should be always in the rear and see none of the fighting, and I have made up my mind to go as a private in the ranks."

"As a private, sahib?" the officer exclaimed, in astonishment. "Surely that would be impossible. You would be detected at the first halt. Besides, how could the son of our dear captain go as a private?"

"I do not object to go as a private, risaldar. Of course I should stain myself and, in uniform, it is not likely that any of the white officers would notice a strange face."

"But you would have to eat with the others, to mix with them as one of themselves, to suffer all sorts of hardships."

"All that is nothing," Lisle said. "I have been with the regiment so long that I know all the ways of the men, and I don't think that I should be likely to make any mistake that would attract their attention. As to the language, I know it perfectly."

"I hardly dare do such a thing, sahib. If you were discovered on the march, the colonel and officers would be very angry with me."

"Even if I were discovered, it need not be known that you had assisted me, risaldar. You may be sure that I should never tell. If you were questioned, you could declare that you had taken me for an ordinary recruit. If I deceived everyone else, I might very well deceive you."

The risaldar stood thoughtful for some time.

"It might possibly be managed," he said at last. "I would do much for Captain Bullen's son, even risk the anger of the colonel."

"I understand that a sepoy died yesterday. He was quite a young recruit, and the white officers had not come to know his face. I might say that I am a relation of his, and am very anxious to take his place."

"You could take his place in the ranks under his name."

"That would certainly be a good plan, if it could be carried out. I should only be asked a few questions by the sepoys of my company. It would seem to them natural that I should take my cousin's place; and that, as the regiment was moving, and there was no time to teach me drill, I should be expected to pick up what I could on the way. But indeed, I have watched the regiment so often that I think I know all the commands and movements, and could go through them without hesitation. Besides, there won't be much drilling on the march. There will probably be a good deal of skirmishing, and perhaps some rough fighting."

"But if you were to be killed, sahib, what then?"

"I don't mean to be killed if I can help it," Lisle said; "but if I am, I shall be buried as one of the sepoys. The officers will all believe that I have gone home and, though they may wonder a little that I never write to them, they will think it is because I am too busy. It will be a long time, indeed, before any of my friends write to ask about me; and then it will be supposed that I have been accidentally killed or drowned.

"At any rate, I should have the satisfaction of being killed in the Queen's service. All the men are delighted at going, and they will run the same risk as I do."

"Well, sahib," the risaldar said, "I will do it. I would very much prefer that you had never asked me, but I cannot say 'no' to you. I will think it over; and tell you, tomorrow morning, what seems to me the best plan. I don't see, at present, how you are to disappear and join the regiment."

"That is easy enough," Lisle said. "I am going to start tomorrow with the sick convoy; but shall slip away from them, after I have gone a short distance. Robah will meet me with my uniform and rifle; and I shall come into the camp again, in uniform, after it is dark."

"You appear to have thought it all out," the officer said, "and if your scheme can be carried out, there should be no difficulty, after the first day or two. You are more likely to pass unnoticed, on a march, than you would be if you were staying here. The men will have other things to think about, and you will only have three men marching with you in the column to ask questions. Indeed, there is very little talking on the line of march.

"Well, I will think it over, and see you in the morning."

This was as good as consent, and Lisle was highly delighted. In the morning, the risaldar called again.

"I have spoken," the risaldar said, "to the three officers of the company to which the soldier Mutteh Ghar belonged; and they all agreed, willingly, to help you to carry out your scheme, and think that there is very little probability of the fact that you are a new recruit being noticed. The general discipline of the regiment is in our hands. The British officers direct, but we carry out their orders. As the man was only on parade twice and, on neither of these occasions, came under general inspection of the white officers, it is probable that they do not know his face. It is certainly best that you should take Mutteh Ghar's name, as the soldiers will see nothing strange in our placing a young recruit in the ranks, after his cousin had died in the regiment. We are all of opinion, therefore, that you can take your place without difficulty; and that the chance of the change being detected by the British officers is extremely slight. We think, however, that it will be next to impossible for you always to keep up your character, and believe that you will find it so hard to live under the same conditions as the others that you yourself will tire of it."

"I can assure you that there is no fear of that," Lisle said earnestly. "I want to take part in the expedition, and am quite prepared to share in the habits and hardships of the men, whatever they may be. You know, if I were discovered I should be sent off at once, even if a fight were imminent. I think I can say that, when I undertake a thing, I will carry it through.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I feel to you all, for aiding me to carry out my wish. Will you kindly convey my thanks to the officers of the company, and particularly urge upon them that they must show me no favour, and pay no more attention to me than to the other men? Anything of that sort would certainly give rise to comment and suspicion."

"I have already told them that," the officer said, "and I think they thoroughly understand how they must act.

"The sick party are to start tomorrow morning. How do you wish the uniform of your supposed cousin to be sent to you?"

"If you hand it over to Robah, he will bring it out to me. The rifle, of course, should be handed quietly to me when I return to camp. I cannot march in with it. I shall not come in till after dark. Then the havildar must take me to one of the sepoy tents, and mention to the men there that I am Mutteh Ghar's cousin; and that, as a great favour, I am to be allowed to accompany the regiment."

"Of course, you will take with you the usual underclothes to put on, when you lay aside your uniform; and especially the loincloth, and light linen jacket, which the men use in undress."

"I will see to all that, risaldar. I can assure you that, so far from finding it a trouble to act as a native, I shall really enjoy it; and shall make very light of any hardships that I may have to undergo. When it comes to fighting I am, as you know, a very good shot; and should certainly be able to do my part, with credit."

"I will tell the havildar to be on the lookout for you, when you come into camp, and to bring you straight to me. I will then see that your uniforms and belts are properly put on, before I send you off under his charge. I hope the matter may turn out well. If it does not, you must remember that I have done my part because you urged it upon me, and prayed me to assist you for your father's sake."

"I shall never forget that, Gholam Singh, and shall always feel deeply indebted to you."

When the risaldar had left, Lisle called Robah in.

"All is arranged, Robah; and now it remains only to carry out the details. In the first place, you must get me the stain; in the second, you must go into the bazaar and buy me a loincloth and light jacket, such as the soldiers wear when they lay aside their uniforms. As to the uniform, that is already arranged for; and I shall, of course, have one of the sheepskin greatcoats that have just been served out, and which I expect I shall find indispensable. Put in my kit bag one pair of my thickest woollen vests and drawers. I cannot carry more, for I mean to take one suit of my own clothes to put on in case, by any accident, I should be discovered and sent back. I can get that carried on the baggage waggon.

"Tomorrow we shall start at five o'clock in the morning and, at the first halt, I shall leave the party quietly. I have no doubt that Gholam Singh will give orders, to the native officer in charge, that I am to be permitted to do so without remark. As soon as I leave the convoy you must join me with my uniform and, above all, with the stain. You can bring out a bag with some provisions for the day, for I shall not return to camp until after dark."

When Robah went away to make the necessary purchases, Lisle packed up his baggage and labelled it. His father's effects had all been sold, a few days after his death; as it would not have paid to send them home. They had fetched good prices, and had been gladly bought up by the other officers; some as mementoes of their late comrade, and some because they were useful.

Several of the officers came in and chatted with him while he was packing, all expressing regret that he was leaving. At mess that evening they drank his health, and a pleasant journey; and he gravely returned thanks. When the mess broke up he returned to the bungalow, and packed a small canvas bag with the suit he was going to take with him.

Then he examined and tried on the uniform of the dead sepoy; which Robah had, that evening, received from the risaldar. It fitted him fairly well. In addition to the regular uniform there was a posteen, or sheepskin coat; loose boots made of soft skin, so that the feet could be wrapped up in cloth before they were put on; and putties, or leggings, consisting of a very long strip of cloth terminating with a shorter strip of leather. These things had been served out that day to the troops, and were to be put on over the usual leg wrappings when they came to snow-covered country. They were to be carried with the men's kits till required. For ordinary wear there were the regular boots, which were strapped on like sandals.

"Well, I think I ought to be able to stand anything in the way of cold, with this sheepskin coat and the leggings, together with my own warm underclothing."

"You are sure," Robah said, "that you understand the proper folding of your turban?"

"I think so, Robah. I have seen them done up hundreds of times but, nevertheless, you shall give me a lesson when you join me tomorrow. We shall have plenty of time for it.

"Now, can you think of anything else that would be useful? If so, you can buy it tomorrow before you come out to meet me."

"No, sahib. There are the warm mittens that have been served out for mountain work; and you might take a pair of your own gloves to wear under them for, from all I hear, you will want them when you are standing out all night on picket work, among the hills."

"No, I won't take the gloves, Robah. With two pairs on, my fingers would be so muffled that I should not be able to do good shooting."

"Well, it will be cold work, for it is very late in the season and, you know, goggles have been served out to all the men to save them from snow blindness, from which they would otherwise suffer severely. I have been on expeditions in which a third of the men were quite blind, when they returned to camp."

"It must look very rum to see a whole regiment marching in goggles," Lisle laughed; "still, anything is better than being blinded."

"I shall see you sometimes, sahib; for the major engaged me, this morning, to go with him as his personal servant, as his own man is in feeble health and, though I am now getting on in years, I am still strong enough to travel with the regiment."

"I am delighted, indeed, to hear that, Robah. I shall be very glad to steal away sometimes, and have a chat with you. It will be a great pleasure to have someone I can talk to, who knows me. Of course, the native officer in command of my company will not be able to show me any favour, nor should I wish him to do so. It seems like keeping one friend, while I am cut off from all others; though I dare say I shall make some new ones among the sepoys. I have no doubt you will be very comfortable with the major."

"Yes, sahib, I am sure that he is a kind master. I shall be able, I hope, sometimes to give you a small quantity of whisky, to mix with the water in your bottle."

"No, no, Robah, when the baggage is cut down there will be very little of that taken and, however much there might be, I could not accept any that you had taken from the major's store. I must fare just the same as the others."

"Well, sahib, I hope that, at any rate, you will carry a small flask of it under your uniform. You may not want it but, if you were wounded and lying in the snow, it would be very valuable to you for, mixed with the water in your bottle, and taken from time to time, it would sustain you until you could be carried down to camp."

"That is a very good idea, Robah, and I will certainly adopt it. I will carry half a pint about with me, for emergencies such as you describe. If I do not want it, myself, it may turn out useful to keep up some wounded comrade. It will not add much to the load that I shall have to carry, and which I expect I shall feel, when we first march. As I am now, I think I could keep up with the best marcher in the regiment but, with the weight of the clothes and pouches, a hundred and twenty rounds of ammunition, and my rifle, it will be a very different thing; and I shall be desperately tired, by the time we get to the end of the day's march.

"Now it is twelve o'clock, and time to turn in, for we march at five."

The next morning, when the sick convoy started, the white officers came up to say goodbye to Lisle; and all expressed their regret that he could not accompany the regiment. The butler had gone on ahead and, as soon as Lisle slipped away, he came up to him and assisted him to make his toilet. He stained him from head to foot, dyed his hair, and fastened in it some long bunches of black horse hair, which he would wear in the Punjabi fashion on the top of his head. With the same dye he darkened his eyelashes and, when he had put on his uniform, he said:

"As far as looks go, sahib, it is certain that no one would suspect that you were not a native. There is a large bottle of stain. You will only have to do yourself over, afresh, about once in ten days. A little of this mixed with three times the amount of water will be sufficient for, if you were to put it on by itself, it would make you a great deal too dark."

They spent the day in a grove and, when evening approached, returned to camp.

"And now, goodbye, sahib! The regiment will march tomorrow morning, at daybreak. I may not have an opportunity of seeing you again, before we start. I hope I have done right, in aiding you in your desire to accompany the expedition; but I have done it for the best, and you must not blame me if harm comes of it."

"That you may be sure I will not, and I am greatly obliged to you. Now, for the present, goodbye!"

Chapter 2: The Start.

The havildar was on the lookout for Lisle when he entered the camp; but he did not know him, in his changed attire and stained face, until the lad spoke to him.

"You are well disguised, indeed, sahib," he said. "I had no idea that it was you. Now, my instructions are to take you to Gholam Singh's tent."

Here Lisle found the risaldar and the other two native officers. He saluted as he entered. The risaldar examined him carefully, before speaking.

"Good!" he said; "I did not think that a white sahib could ever disguise himself to pass as a native, though I know that it has been done before now. Certainly I have no fear of any of the white officers finding that you are not what you seem to be. I am more afraid, however, of the men. Still, even if they guessed who you are, they would not, I am sure, betray you.

"Here are your rifle and bayonet. These complete your outfit. I see that you have brought your kit with you. It is rather more bulky than usual, but will pass with the rest.

"The subadar will take you down to the men's lines. I have arranged that you shall be on the baggage guard, at first, so that you will gradually begin to know a few men of your company. They will report to the rest the story you tell them, and you will soon be received as one of themselves.

"I will see that that sack of yours goes with the rest of the kits in the baggage waggon. These officers of your company all understand that you are to be treated like the rest of the men, and not to be shown any favour. At the same time, when in camp, if there is anything that you desire, or any complaint you have to make, you can talk quietly to one of them; and he will report it to me, in which case you may be sure that I shall set the matter right, if possible."

"I don't think there is any fear of that, risaldar. I am pretty well able to take care of myself. My father gave me many lessons in boxing; and I fancy that, although most of the men are a great deal bigger and stronger than I am, I shall be able to hold my own."

"I hope so, Bullen," the havildar said gravely, "but I trust that there will be no occasion to show your skill. We Punjabis are a quiet race of men; and though, of course, quarrels occasionally occur among us, they generally end in abuse, and very seldom come to blows. The greater portion of the regiment has been with us for some years. They know each other well, and are not given to quarrelling. They will scarcely even permit their juniors to go to extremes, and I need not say that the officers of the company would interfere, at once, if they saw any signs of a disturbance.

"I have had a meal cooked, which I hope you will eat with us. It is the last you are likely to be able to enjoy, for some time. We shall feel honoured if you will sit down with us."

An excellent repast was served, and Lisle did it full justice. Then the officers all shook him by the hand, and he started with the subadar for the men's lines, with hearty thanks to the others. When they arrived at the huts, the subadar led the way in.

"Here is a new comrade," he said, as some of the men roused themselves from the ground on his entrance. "He is a cousin of Mutteh Ghar, and bears the same name. It seems that he has served in another regiment, for a short time; but was discharged, owing to sickness. He has now perfectly recovered health, and has come to join his cousin; who, on his arrival, he finds to be dead. He is very anxious to accompany the regiment and, as he understands his work, the risaldar has consented to let him go, instead of remaining behind at the depot.

"He is, of course, much affected by the loss of his cousin; and hopes that he will not be worried by questions. He will be on baggage guard tomorrow, and so will be left alone, until he recovers somewhat from his disappointment and grief."

"I will see to it, subadar," one of the sergeants said. "Mutteh Ghar was a nice young fellow, and we shall all welcome his cousin among us, if he is at all like him."

"Thank you, sergeant! I am sure you will all like him, when you come to know him; for he is a well-spoken young fellow, and I hope that he will make as good a soldier. Good night!"

So saying, he turned and left the tent.

Half an hour later, Lisle was on parade. There were but eight British officers; including the colonel, major, and adjutant, and one company officer to each two companies. The inspection was a brief one. The company officer walked along the line, paying but little attention to the men; but carefully scrutinizing their arms, to see that they were in perfect order. The regiment was put through a few simple manoeuvres; and then dismissed, as work in earnest would begin on the following morning.

Four men in each company were then told off to pack the baggage in the carts. Lisle was one of those furnished by his company. There was little talk while they were at work. In two hours the carts were packed. Then, as they returned to the lines, his three comrades entered into conversation with him.

"You are lucky to be taken," one said, "being only a recruit. I suppose it was done so that you might fill the place of your cousin?"

"Yes, that was it. They said that I had a claim; so that, if I chose, I could send money home to his family."

"They are good men, the white officers," another said. "They are like fathers to us, and we will follow them anywhere. We lately lost one of them, and miss him sorely. However, they are all good.

"We are all glad to be going on service. It is dull work in cantonments."

On arriving at the lines of the company, one of them said:

"The risaldar said that you will take your cousin's place. He slept in the same hut as I. You will soon find yourself at home with us."

He introduced Lisle to the other occupants of the hut, eighteen in number. Lisle then proceeded to follow the example of the others, by taking off his uniform and stripping to the loincloth, and a little calico jacket. He felt very strange at first, accustomed though he was to see the soldiers return to their native costume.

"Your rations are there, and those of our new comrade," one of the party said.

Several fires were burning, and Lisle followed the example of his comrade, and took the lota which formed part of his equipment, filled it with water, and put it in the ashes; adding, as soon as it boiled, the handful of rice, some ghee, and a tiny portion of meat. In an hour the meal was cooked and, taking it from the fire, he sat down in a place apart; as is usual among the native troops, who generally have an objection to eat before others.

"Those who have money," his comrade said, "can buy herbs and condiments of the little traders, and greatly improve their mess."

This Lisle knew well.

"I have a few pice," he said, "but must be careful till I get my pay."

As soon as night fell all turned in, as they were to start at daylight.

"Here is room for you at my side, comrade," the sergeant said. "You had better get to sleep, as soon as you can. Of course, you have your blanket with you?"

"Yes, sergeant."

Lisle rolled himself in his blanket and lay down, covering his face, as is the habit of all natives of India. It was some time before he went to sleep. The events of the day had been exciting, and he was overjoyed at finding that his plan had so far succeeded. He was now one of the regiment and, unless something altogether unexpected happened, he was certain to take part in a stirring campaign.

While it was still dark, he was aroused by the sound of a bugle.

"The men told off to the baggage guard will at once proceed to pack the waggons," the sergeant said.

Lisle at once got up and put on his uniform, as did three other men in the tent. The kits and baggage had already been packed, the night before; and the men of the guard, consisting of a half company, proceeded to the waggons. Half an hour afterwards, another bugle roused the remainder of the regiment, and they soon fell in.

It was broad daylight when they started, the baggage followed a little later. The havildar who was in charge of them was, fortunately, one of those of Lisle's company. There was but little talk at the hurried start. Two men accompanied each of the twelve company waggons. Half the remainder marched in front, and the others behind. Lisle had been told off to the first waggon.

It was a long march, two ordinary stages being done in one. As the animals were fresh, the transport arrived at the camping ground within an hour of the main column. Accustomed though he was to exercise, Lisle found the weight of his rifle, pouches, and ammunition tell terribly upon him. He was not used to the boots and, before half the journey was completed, began to limp. The havildar, noticing this, ordered him to take his place on the top of the baggage on his waggon.

"It is natural that you should feel it, at first, Mutteh Ghar," he said. "You will find it easy enough to keep up with them, after a few days' rest."

Lisle was thankful, indeed, for he had begun to feel that he should never be able to hold on to the end of the march. He remained on the baggage for a couple of hours, and then again took his place by the side of the waggon; receiving an approving nod from the havildar, as he did so.

When the halt was called, the men at once crowded round the waggons. The kits were distributed and, in a few minutes, the regiment had the appearance of a concourse of peaceable peasants. No tents had been taken with them. Waterproof sheets had been provided and, with these, little shelters had been erected, each accommodating three men. The sergeant told Lisle off to share one of these shelters with two other men. A party meanwhile had gone to collect firewood and, in half an hour, the men were cooking their rice.

"Well, how did you like the march?" one of them said to Lisle.

"I found it very hard work," Lisle said, "but the havildar let me ride on the top of one of the waggons for a couple of hours and, after that, I was able to march in with the rest."

"It was a rough march for a recruit," the other said, "but you will soon get used to that. Grease your feet well before you put on your bandages. You will find that that will ease them very much, and that you will not get sore feet, as you would if you marched without preparation."

Lisle took the advice, and devoted a portion of his rations for the purpose, the last thing at night; and found that it abated the heat in his feet, and he was able to get about in comfort.

Each soldier carried a little cooking pot. Although the regiment was composed principally of Punjabis, many of the men were of different nationalities and, although the Punjabis are much less particular about caste than the people of Southern India, every man prepared his meal separately. The rations consisted of rice, ghee, a little curry powder, and a portion of mutton. From these Lisle managed to concoct a savoury mess, as he had often watched the men cooking their meals.

The sergeant had evidently chosen two good men to share the tent with Lisle. They were both old soldiers, not given to much talking; and were kind to their young comrade, giving him hints about cooking and making himself comfortable, and abstaining from asking many questions. They were easily satisfied with his answers and, after the meal was eaten, sat down with him and talked of the coming campaign. Neither of them had ever been to Chitral, but they knew by hearsay the nature of the road, and discussed the probability of the point at which serious opposition would begin; both agreeing that the difficulties of crossing the passes, now that these would be covered with snow, would be far greater than any stand the tribesmen might make.

"They are tough fighters, no doubt," one of them said; "and we shall have more difficulty, with them, than we have ever had before; for they say that a great many of them are armed with good rifles, and will therefore be able to annoy us at a distance, when their old matchlocks would have been useless."

"And they are good shots, too."

"There is no doubt about that; quite as good as we are, I should say. There will be a tremendous lot of flanking work to keep them at a distance but, when it comes to anything like regular fighting, we shall sweep them before us.

"From what I hear, however, we shall only have three or four guns with us. That is a pity for, though the tribesmen can stand against a heavy rifle fire, they have a profound respect for guns. I expect, therefore, that we shall have some stiff fighting.

"How do you like the prospect, Mutteh Ghar?"

"I don't suppose I shall mind it when I get accustomed to it," Lisle said. "It was because I heard that the regiment was about to advance that I hurried up to join. I don't think I should have enlisted, had it been going to stay in the cantonment."

"That is the right spirit," the other said approvingly. "It is the same with all of us. There is no difficulty in getting recruits, when there is fighting to be done. It is the dull life in camp that prevents men from joining. We have enlisted twice as many men, in the past three months, as in three years before."

So they talked till night fell and then turned in; putting Lisle between them, that being the warmest position.

In the morning the march was resumed in the same order, Lisle again taking his place with the baggage guard. The march this time was only a single one; but it was long, nevertheless. Lisle was able to keep his place till the end, feeling great benefit from the ghee which he had rubbed on his feet. The havildar, at starting, said a few cheering words to him; and told him that, when he felt tired, he could put his rifle and pouch in the waggon, as there was no possibility of their being wanted.

His two comrades, when they heard that he had accomplished the march without falling out, praised him highly.

"You have showed good courage in holding on," one of them said. "The march was nothing to us seasoned men, but it must have been trying to you, especially as your feet cannot have recovered from yesterday. I see that you will make a good soldier, and one who will not shirk his work. Another week, and you will march as well as the best of us."

"I hope so," Lisle said. "I have always been considered a good walker. As soon as I get accustomed to the weight of the rifle and pouch, I have no doubt that I shall get on well enough."

"I am sure you will," the other said cordially, "and I think we are as good marchers as any in India. We certainly have that reputation and, no doubt, it was for that reason we were chosen for the expedition, although there are several other regiments nearer to the spot.

"From what I hear, Colonel Kelly will be the commanding officer of the column, and we could not wish for a better. I hear that there is another column, and a much stronger one, going from Peshawar. That will put us all on our mettle, and I will warrant that we shall be the first to arrive there; not only because we are good marchers, but because the larger the column, the more trouble it has with its baggage.

"Baggage is the curse of these expeditions. What has to be considered is not how far the troops can go, but how far the baggage animals can keep up with them. Some of the animals are no doubt good, but many of them are altogether unfitted for the work. When these break down they block a whole line; and often, even if the march is a short one, it is very late at night before the last of the baggage comes in; which means that we get neither kit, blankets, nor food, and think ourselves lucky if we get them the next morning.

"The government is, we all think, much to blame in these matters. Instead of procuring strong animals, and paying a fair price for them; they buy animals that are not fit to do one good day's march. Of course, in the end this stinginess costs them more in money, and lives, than if they had provided suitable animals at the outset."

Lisle had had a great deal of practice with the rifle, and had carried away several prizes shot for by the officers; but he was unaccustomed to carry one for so many hours, and he felt grateful, indeed, when a halt was sounded. Fires were lighted, and food cooked; and then all lay down, or sat in groups in the shade of a grove. The sense of the strangeness of his condition had begun to wear off, and he laughed and talked with the others, without restraint.

Up to the time when he joined the regiment, Lisle had heard a good deal of the state of affairs at Chitral; and his impression of the natives was that they were as savage and treacherous a race as was to be found in Afghanistan and Kashmir. Beyond that, he had not interested himself in the matter; but now, from the talk of his companions, he gained a pretty clear idea of the situation.

Old Aman-ul-mulk had died in August, 1892. He had reigned long; and had, by various conquests and judicious marriages, raised Chitral to a position of importance. The Chitralis are an Aryan race, and not Pathans; and have a deep-rooted hatred of the Afghans.

In 1878 Aman placed Chitral under the nominal suzerainty of the Maharajah of Kashmir and, Kashmir being one of the tributary states of the Indian Empire, this brought them into direct communication with the government of India; and Aman received with great cordiality two missions sent to him. When he died, his eldest son Nizam was away from Chitral; and the government was seized by his second son, Afzul; who, however, was murdered by his uncle, Sher Afzul. Nizam at once hurried to Chitral; and Sher Afzul fled to Cabul, Nizam becoming the head of the state or, as it was called, Mehtar. Being weak, he asked for a political officer to reside in his territory; and Captain Younghusband, with an escort of Sikhs, was accordingly sent to Mastuj, a fort in Upper Chitral.

However, in November Nizam was also murdered, by a younger brother, Amir. Amir hurried to Chitral, and demanded recognition from Lieutenant Gurdon; who was, at the time, acting as assistant British agent. He replied that he had no power to grant recognition, until he was instructed by the government in India. Amir thereupon stopped his letters, and for a long time he was in imminent danger, as he had only an escort of eight Sikhs.

On the 8th of January, fifty men of the 14th Sikhs marched down from Mastuj and, on the 1st of February, Mr. Robertson, the British agent, arrived from Gilgit. He had with him an escort of two hundred and eighty men of the 4th Kashmir Rifles, and thirty-three Sikhs; and was accompanied by three European officers. When he arrived he heard that Umra Khan had, at the invitation of Amir, marched into Chitral; but that his progress had been barred by the strong fort of Drosh. As the Chitralis hate the Pathans, they were not inclined to yield to the orders of Amir to surrender the fort, and were consequently attacked. The place, however, was surrendered by the treachery of the governor. Amir then advanced, and was joined by Sher Afzul.

Mr. Robertson wrote to Amir Khan, saying that he must leave the Chitral territory. Amir paid no attention to the order, and Mr. Robertson reported this to the government of India. They issued, in March, 1895, a proclamation warning the Chitralis to abstain from giving assistance to Amir Khan, and intimating that a force sufficient to overcome all resistance was being assembled; but that as soon as it had attained its object, it would be withdrawn.

The Chitralis, who now preferred Sher Afzul to Amir, made common cause with the former. Mr. Robertson learned that men were already at work, breaking up the road between Chitral and Mastuj; and accordingly moved from the house he had occupied to the fort, which was large enough to receive the force with him.

On the 1st of March, all communications between Mr. Robertson and Mastuj had ceased; and troops were at once ordered to assemble, to march to his relief. It was clearly impossible for our agent to retire as, in order to do so, he would have to negotiate several terrible passes, where a mere handful of men could destroy a regiment. Thus it was that the Pioneers had been ordered to break up their cantonment, and advance with all speed to Gilgit.

Hostilities had already begun. A native officer had started, with forty men and sixty boxes of ammunition, for Chitral; and had reached Buni, when he received information that his advance was likely to be opposed. He accordingly halted and wrote to Lieutenant Moberley, special duty officer with the Kashmir troops in Mastuj. The local men reported to Moberley that no hostile attack upon the troops was at all likely but, as there was a spirit of unrest in the air, he wrote to Captain Ross, who was with Lieutenant Jones, and requested him to make a double march into Mastuj. This Captain Ross did and, on the evening of the 4th of March, started to reinforce the little body of men that was blocked at Buni.

On the same day a party of sappers and miners, under Lieutenants Fowler and Edwards, also marched forward to Mastuj. When Captain Ross arrived at Buni he found that all was quiet, and he therefore returned to Mastuj, with news to that effect. The party of sappers were to march, the next morning, with the ammunition escort.

On the evening of that day a note was received from Lieutenant Edwards, dated from a small village two miles beyond Buni, saying that he heard that he was to be attacked in a defile, a short distance away. He started with a force of ninety-six men, in all. They carried with them nine days' rations, and one hundred and forty rounds of ammunition.

Captain Ross at once marched for Buni, and arrived there the same evening. Here he left a young native officer and thirty-three rank and file while, with Lieutenant Jones and the rest of his little force, he marched for Reshun, where Lieutenant Edwards' party were detained. They halted in the middle of the day; and arrived, at one o'clock, at a hamlet halfway to Reshun.

Shortly after starting, they were attacked. Lieutenant Jones, one of the few survivors of the party, handed in the following report of this bad business.

"Half a mile after leaving Koragh the road enters a narrow defile. The hills on the left bank consist of a succession of large stone shoots, with precipitous spurs in between. The road at the entrance to the defile, for about one hundred yards, runs quite close to the river; after that it lies along a narrow maidan, some thirty or forty yards in width, and is on the top of the river bank, which is here a cliff. This continues for about half a mile, then it ascends a steep spur.

"When the advanced party reached about halfway up this spur, it was fired on from a sangar which had been built across the road and, at the same time, men appeared on all the mountain tops and ridges, and stones were rolled down all the shoots. Captain Ross, who was with the advanced guard, fell back on the main body. All the coolies dropped their loads and bolted, as soon as the first shot was fired. Captain Ross, after looking at the enemy's position, decided to fall back upon Koragh; as it would have been useless to go on to Reshun, leaving an enemy in such a position behind us."

Captain Ross ordered Lieutenant Jones to fall back with ten men, seize the lower end of the defile, and cover the retreat. No fewer than eight of his men were wounded, as he fell back. Captain Ross, on hearing this, ordered him to return, and the whole party took refuge in two caves, it being the intention of their commander to wait there until the moon rose, and then try to force his way out.

But when they started, they were assailed from above with such a torrent of rocks that they again retired to the caves. They then made an attempt to get to the top of the mountain, but their way was barred by a precipice; and they once more went back to the cave, where they remained all the next day.

It was then decided to make an attempt to cut their way out. They started at two in the morning. The enemy at once opened fire, and many were killed, among them Captain Ross himself. Lieutenant Jones with seventeen men reached the little maidan, and there remained for some minutes, keeping up a heavy fire on the enemy on both banks of the river, in order to help more men to get through.

Twice the enemy attempted to charge, but each time retired with heavy loss. Lieutenant Jones then again fell back, two of his party having been killed and one mortally wounded, and the lieutenant and nine sepoys wounded. When they reached Buni they prepared a house for defence, and remained there for seven days until reinforcements came up.

In the meantime the 20th Bengal Sappers and Miners, and the 42nd Kashmir Infantry had gone on, beyond the point where Captain Ross's detachment had been all but annihilated, and reached Reshun; and Lieutenants Edwards and Fowler, with the Bengal Sappers and ten Kashmir Infantry, went on to repair a break in the road, a few miles beyond that place. They took every precaution to guard against surprise. Lieutenant Fowler was sent to scale the heights on the left bank, so as to be able to look down into some sangars on the opposite side. With some difficulty, he found a way up the hillside. When he was examining the opposite cliff a shot was fired, and about two hundred men rushed out from the village and entered the sangars.

As Fowler was well above them, he kept up a heavy fire, and did great execution. The enemy, however, began to ascend the hills, and some appeared above him and began rolling down stones and firing into his party. Fowler himself was wounded in the back, a corporal was killed, and two other men wounded. He managed, however, to effect his retreat, and joined the main body.

As the enemy were now swarming on the hills, the party began to fall back to Reshun, which was two miles distant. They had an open plain to cross and a spur, a thousand feet high, to climb. During this part of the retreat an officer and several men were wounded but, on reaching the crest, the party halted and opened a steady fire upon the enemy; whom they thus managed to keep at a distance till they reached Reshun, which they did without further loss.

The force here were occupying a sangar they had formed, but so heavy a fire was opened, from the surrounding hills, that it was found impossible to hold the position. They therefore retired to some houses, where firewood and other supplies were found. The only drawback to this place was that it was more than a hundred yards from the river, and there was consequently great danger of their being cut off from the water.

As soon as they reached the houses they began to fortify them. The roofs were flat and, by piling stones along the edges, they converted them into sangars. The walls were loopholed, the entrances blocked up, and passages of communication opened between the houses. A party of Kashmir volunteers then went down to the other sangar and brought the wounded in, under a heavy fire.

At sunset the enemy's fire ceased, as it was the month of Ramzam, during which Mahomedans have to fast all day between sunrise and sunset. As night came on the little party took their places on the roofs, and remained there till daylight. By this time all were greatly exhausted for, during their terrible experiences of the previous day, they had had no food and little water.

When day dawned half the men were withdrawn from their posts, and a meal was cooked from the flour that had been found in the houses. A small ration of meat was also served out. During the day the enemy kept up a continuous fire but, as they showed no intention of attacking, the men were allowed to sleep by turns.

After dark Lieutenant Fowler and some volunteers started for the river, to bring in water. They made two trips, and filled up all the storage vessels at the disposal of the garrison. The night passed quietly but, just before dawn, the enemy charged down through the surrounding houses. Lieutenant Edwards and his party at once opened fire, at about twenty yards' range. Tom-toms were beaten furiously, to encourage the assailants; but the tribesmen could not pluck up courage to make a charge and, at nine o'clock, they all retired. During the attack four of the sepoys were killed, and six wounded.

Next night another effort was made to obtain water. Two sangars were stormed, and most of their occupants killed. The way to the water was now opened but, at this moment, heavy firing broke out at the fort; and Lieutenant Fowler, who was in command, recalled his men and returned to assist the garrison.

On the following day a white flag was hoisted, and an emissary from Sher Afzul said that all fighting had ceased. An armistice was accordingly arranged. All this, however, was but a snare for, a few days later, when the two British officers went out to witness a polo match, they were seized, bound with ropes, and carried off. At the same moment a fierce attack was made on a party of sepoys who had also come out. These fought stoutly, but were overpowered, most of them being killed.

The garrison of the post, however, under the command of Lieutenant Gurdon, continued to hold the little fort; and refused all invitation to come out to parley, after the treachery that had been shown to their comrades. The two officers were taken to Chitral, where they were received with kindness by Amir Khan.

The news of this disaster was carried to Peshawar by a native Mussulman officer, who had been liberated, where it created great excitement. As all communication with Chitral had ceased, the assistant British agent at Gilgit called up the Pioneers; who marched into Gilgit, four hundred strong, on the 20th of March. On the 21st news was received of the cutting up of Ross's party, and it was naturally supposed that that of Edwards was also destroyed.

Colonel Kelly of the Pioneers now commanded the troops, and all civil powers; and Major Borradale commanded the Pioneers. The available force consisted of the four hundred Pioneers, and the Guides. Lieutenant Stewart joined them with two guns of the Kashmir battery.

Two hundred Pioneers and the Guides started on the 23rd. The gazetteer states that it never rains in Gilgit, but it rained when the detachment started, and continued to pour for two days. The men had marched without tents. Colonel Kelly, the doctor, Leward, and a staff officer followed in the afternoon, and overtook the main body that evening.

The troops had made up little tents with their waterproof sheets. Colonel Kelly had a small tent, and the other officers turned in to a cow shed. The force was so small that the Pioneers asked the others to mess with them, each man providing himself with his own knife, fork, and spoon, and the pots being all collected for the cooking.

The next march was long and, in some places, severe. They were well received by the natives, whose chiefs always came out to greet them and, on the third day, reached Gupis, where a fort had been built by the Kashmir troops. At this point the horses and mules were all left behind, as the passes were said to be impassable for animals; and native coolies were hired to carry the baggage.

Lisle had enjoyed the march, and the strange life that he was leading. He was now quite at home with his company and, by the time they reached Gupis, had become a general favourite. At the end of the day, when a meal had been cooked and eaten, he would join in their songs round the fire and, as he had picked up several he had heard them sing, and had a fair voice, he was often called upon for a contribution. His vivacity and good spirits surprised the sepoys who, as a whole, were grave men, though they bore their hardships uncomplainingly. He had soon got over the feeling of discomfort of going about with naked legs, and was as glad as the soldiers, themselves, to lay aside his uniform and get into native attire.

The sepoys had now regular rations of meat. It was always mutton, as beef was unobtainable; but it was much relished by the men, who cut it up into slices and broiled it over a fire.

Not for one moment did Lisle regret the step he had taken. Young and active, he thoroughly enjoyed the life; and looked forward eagerly to the time when they should meet the enemy, for no doubt whatever was now felt that they would meet with a desperate resistance on their march to Chitral. Fears were entertained, however, that when they got there, they would find that the garrison had been overpowered; for it was certain that against this force the chief attack of the enemy would be directed. The overthrow of Ross and his party showed that the enemy were sturdy fighters; and they were known to be armed with breech-loading rifles, of as good a quality as those carried by the troops.

In the open field all felt that, however numerous the tribesmen might be, they would stand no chance whatever; but the passes afforded them immense advantage, and rendered drill and discipline of little avail.

Chapter 3: The First Fight.

And yet, though he kept up a cheerful appearance, Lisle's heart was often very heavy. The sight of the British officers continually recalled his father to his memory. But a short time back he had been with him, and now he was gone for ever. At times it seemed almost impossible that it could be so. He had been his constant companion when off duty; had devoted much time to helping him forward in his studies; had never, so far as he could remember, spoken a harsh word to him.

It seemed like a dream, those last hours he had passed by his father's bedside. Many times he lay awake in the night, his face wet with tears. But with reveille he would be up, laughing and joking with the soldiers, and raising a smile even on the face of the gravest.

It had taken him but a very short time to make himself at home in the regiment. The men sometimes looked at him with surprise, he was so different from themselves. They bore their hardships well, but it was with stern faces and grim determination; while this young soldier made a joke of them.

Sometimes he was questioned closely, but he always turned the questions off with a laugh. He had learned the place where his supposed cousin came from and, while sticking to this, he said that a good fairy must have presided over his birth; information that was much more gravely received than given, for the natives have their superstitions, and believe, as firmly as the inhabitants of these British islands did, two or three hundred years ago, in the existence of supernatural beings, good and bad.

"If you have been blessed by a fairy," one of the elder men suggested, "doubtless you will go through this campaign without harm. They are very powerful, some of these good people, and can bestow long life as well as other gifts."

"I don't know whether she will do that. She certainly gave me high spirits. I used to believe that what my mother said happened to her, the night after I was born, was not true, but only a dream. She solemnly declared that it was not, but I have always been famous for good spirits; and she may have been right, after all."

There was nothing Lisle liked better than being on night picket duty. Other men shirked it, but to him there was something delightful to stand there almost alone, rifle in hand, watching the expanse of snow for a moving figure. There was a charm in the dead silence. He liked to think quietly of the past and, somehow, he could do so far better, while engaged on this duty, than when lying awake in his little tent. The expanse and stillness calmed him, and agreed far more with his mood than the camp.

His sight was keen, even when his thoughts were farthest away and, three times, he sent a bullet through a lurking Pathan who was crawling up towards him, astonishing his comrades by the accuracy of his aim.

"I suppose," he said, when congratulated upon the third occasion on which he had laid one of the enemy low, "that the good fairy must have given me a quick eye, as well as good spirits."

"It is indeed extraordinary that you, a young recruit, should not only make out a man whom none of us saw; but that you should, each time, fetch him down at a distance of three or four hundred yards."

"I used to practice with my father's rifle," he said. "He was very fond of shikari, and I often went out with him. It needs a keener sight to put a bullet between the eyes of a tiger, than to hit a lurking Pathan."

So noted did he become for the accuracy of his aim that one of the native officers asked him, privately, if he would like to be always put on night duty.

"I should like it every other night," he said. "By resting every alternate night, and by snatching a couple of hours' sleep before going on duty, when we arrive at the end of a day's march in good time, I can manage very well."

"I will arrange that for you," the officer said. "Certainly, no one would grudge you the duty."

One night, when there had been but little opposition during the day, Lisle was posted on a hill where the picket consisted of ten men; five of whom were on the crest, while the other five lay down in the snow. The day had been a hard one, and Lisle was less watchful than usual. It seemed to him that he had not closed his eyes for a minute, as he leant on his rifle; but it must have been much longer, for he suddenly started with a feeling that something was wrong, and saw a number of dark figures advancing along the crest towards him. He at once fired a shot, and fell back upon the next sentry. Dropping behind rocks, they answered the fire which the enemy had already opened upon them.

The whole picket quickly gathered and, for a time, checked the advance of the enemy; but these were too numerous to be kept at a distance, and parties of them pressed forward on each flank.

"We must retire till we can find better shelter," the sub-officer in command said. "We shall soon have reinforcements up from the camp, when it is seen that we are seriously engaged. Fall back, men, steadily. Take advantage of every bit of cover, but keep as well together as possible, without risk."

Firing steadily, they made their way down the hill, and finally took up a position among a clump of rocks. Two had been shot dead, and two others were wounded; and it was because these could not be left behind that the stand was made. The two wounded men, though partially disabled and unable to crawl, could still use their rifles; and the little party kept up so hot a fire that, though the enemy were massed from twenty to thirty yards away, they could not be brought to unite in a general attack; not even by the shouts and yells of their comrades behind, and a furious beating of tom-toms.

The defenders were all lying down, each of them having chosen a position where he could see through a crevice between the rocks. Lisle was lying next to the sergeant. Presently the latter gave an exclamation, fired his rifle, and shifted his position behind the rock.

"Mutteh Ghar," he said, "I have seen you bring down three of the skulking ruffians. Do you see those two there close together, about forty yards away? There is a man behind them who has just carried off two of my fingers.

"Keep your eye on those rocks. Just above where they touch each other there is an opening, through which you can see the snow behind. That is where he fired from. Oblige me by putting a ball in his head, when he raises it."

A couple of minutes passed. Lisle was lying with his rifle on the spot. Presently the opening was obscured, and he fired at once.

"Thank you!" the sergeant said. "You got him, sure enough. The head did not disappear to one side or to the other, but went straight back. I fancy that you must have hit him between the eyes."

Presently the enemy's fire became still more furious and, several times, some of them rose and ran two paces forward, but only to fall prone under the defenders' fire.

"I expect they see help coming up," Lisle said, "and are making a last effort to wipe us out before they arrive.

"I think they will try a rush," he continued, in a louder voice; "see that your magazines are filled up, lads, and don't waste a shot if they come at us."

A minute later there was a shrill and prolonged cry and, at once, twenty dark figures burst from their shelter and rushed forward. The defenders also sprang to their feet, and their rifles flashed out with a stream of fire. But the vacancies thus caused in the enemy's ranks were immediately filled.

"Now with your bayonets," the sergeant shouted. "Keep in a close body, and do you two wounded men cover us with a constant fire."

Then, with a cheer, the six men and the sergeant rushed forward. Much as the Afridis feared the bayonet, confident in their strength they withstood the charge. They had, fortunately, emptied their rifles before rushing forward but, drawing their knives, they fought fiercely. These, however, were no match for the bayonets and, consequently, they suffered heavily.

Three of the Pioneers received severe gashes. The group were brought to a standstill, and they stood in a little circle while the attack continued. One sepoy was stabbed to the heart by a fanatic, who rushed at his bayonet and, pushing himself along, fell dead as he struck his fatal blow.

Things were looking very bad. Scarce one had escaped without a wound, and the sergeant had dropped, bleeding profusely; when, to their delight, a volley burst from within fifty yards of them and, in an instant, their assailants turned and bolted.

After the sergeant had dropped, Lisle had somehow taken his place, cheering the men on and lending his aid to those most severely pressed. Once or twice he managed, after despatching an assailant, to slip a couple of cartridges into his rifle, and so added to the execution. Indeed, it was in no small account due to his exertions, after the sergeant fell, that the resistance was maintained.

A minute later, the active little Ghoorkhas rushed forward; and those who first arrived passed the little knot of defenders with a cheer, and set off in pursuit of the enemy. Presently, however, one of their officers came up.

"You have had a stiff fight, lads," he said, "and by the look of the ground round about, you must have defended yourselves gallantly; for there are a dozen dead bodies lying near you, and I can see many more, a little way up the hill. What have been your losses?"

The sergeant raised himself on his elbow.

"We had two killed, as we came down," he said, "and two others wounded. I believe one has fallen here, and I think most of us are wounded with knife thrusts."

"Well, you have done splendidly, sergeant. I will detach men to help to carry you and the wounded men down to the camp. The others can accompany them. We shall take up the work, now; but I am afraid we sha'n't have any fighting, though we may shoot down a few as they make off. I fancy, however, that the lesson you have given the beggars has taken all fight out of them."

When half down the hill, they met a party of the Pioneers coming out. The Ghoorkhas at once handed the wounded over to them, and started up the hill again. The sergeant had fainted from loss of blood, and no questions were asked till the injured men were all placed in little hospital tents, and their wounds attended to. Two of them had bullet wounds, and three had received knife wounds on the shoulder or arm. Only Lisle and one other escaped unhurt. As soon as the wounds had been attended to all, except the sergeant, and two more seriously wounded than the others, were sent off to their tents.

One of these was Lisle's tent fellow. He said:

"Mutteh Ghar, I don't know what to say to you. You seem but a lad, and a light-hearted one; but you have proved yourself the best of us all. I was lying next to you, and I will swear that you brought down eight of them with your rifle, before they charged. Even while I was fighting I always heard your voice, like a trumpet; and after the sergeant had fallen you seemed to take command, as if it was your right. You saved my life when you bayoneted two of the three who were grappling with me, and you seemed to be everywhere."

"I did what little I could," Lisle said. "I certainly did not intend to take the command, when the sergeant fell; but somehow I could not help shouting and, as our circle had closed in so, I slipped out of my place and fought wherever the pressure was greatest."

"There is no doubt," the soldier said seriously, "that your mother's statement was a true one, and that a fairy did promise her to look after you. Out of the eleven of us, only one besides yourself has escaped without a wound; and yet none of us exposed himself more than you did. I shall not forget that I owe my life to you. We must find some other name for you. You can't be called 'the boy' any longer."

In the morning, one of the colonel's orderlies was told to fetch Lisle.

"The colonel wishes to see you, Mutteh Ghar."

Lisle put on his uniform with some uneasiness. He was conscious that, in the excitement of the fight of the night before, he had frequently shouted in English; and he feared that the sergeant had reported this. However, he marched to the spot where the colonel and a group of officers were standing, and then stood at attention.

"Mutteh Ghar," the colonel said, "the sergeant this morning made his report; and he states that, though all his men behaved admirably, you distinguished yourself in a singular manner. He says that before the final attack began you had killed eight or ten of the Pathans, that you were fighting beside him when he was wounded, and that you then seemed to take the command. Although lying on the ground, he was able to see what was going on; and he says that but for your cheers, and for the manner in which you went to the assistance of men hard pressed, he is convinced that the whole detachment would have been killed before the Ghoorkhas arrived."

"I had no idea of assuming the command, sir; but my tongue always runs fast, and I dare say I did shout, almost unconsciously. I think the sergeant has made more of my doings than I deserved."

"I don't think it likely. It is no small thing for so young a soldier to so distinguish himself. The sergeant will not be able to resume his duties for some time, and I therefore appoint you a corporal; and shall put your name in orders, today, for very distinguished service. How long is it since you joined the regiment?"

"A short time before we marched."

"Well, you have done honour to the corps and, in the name of myself and my officers, I thank you."

Lisle saluted, and returned to the lines.

"The colonel has made me a corporal," he answered, as the others gathered round and questioned him.

A cheer burst from them, for his tent companion, and the other men who had returned, had all spoken in the highest terms of his conduct. Lisle was quite confused by the heartiness of their reception.

"He is a wonderfully young fellow," the colonel said, as he left them. "The sergeant said that he was young, but really he looks little more than a boy. Curiously, his face reminds me of someone, though I cannot say whom; and yet, if he only joined a short time before we marched, it is not likely that I should have noticed him before."

"It was the same thing with me, colonel," the major said. "I have noticed him several times on the march and, while the rest of the regiment were plodding on in silence, he always seemed the centre of a merry group. I have often said, to myself, I wished we had a few more men in the regiment who could take the hardships they had to undergo as lightly and as merrily as he does. His face has also struck me as being somehow familiar.

"I was speaking to the sergeant about him, and he said that he was the most popular man in his company, and a general favourite. His temperament is altogether different from that of the majority of our soldiers, which is earnest and quiet."

Two or three of the other officers also spoke of noticing the cheerful influence he seemed to have on the men.

"I must have a talk with him," the colonel said, "after the campaign is over, and find out something about it. It is quite evident that his pluck is as great as his cheerfulness, and it is certainly very extraordinary that a young and recently-joined soldier should have such an influence with men many years older than himself. If I am not mistaken, we shall find him in the ranks of the native officers, before long. Considering his age, and what he has already done, he may well hope some day, if he escapes being killed, to be risaldar major of the regiment.

"I should almost fancy that he must be the son of some native of good family, but without influence to secure him a post as officer; and that he has run away to endeavour to fight his way up to a commission."

Henceforth Lisle stood in high regard among his comrades, and was known as the 'fighting boy' in the regiment. He himself was always ready to answer to any name by which he was addressed. He had no desire to push himself forward to any prominence among them, or of thinking himself any way above his comrades; but naturally he was pleased at finding himself generally liked. He had come to see the fighting, and take part in it, and had no thought of distinguishing himself especially; as he intended to leave the regiment as soon as the campaign was over, and carry out the plan which his father had formed for him. He feared to excite the jealousy of his comrades and, though there were no signs of this, he felt that his promotion caused some difference in the manner of other men towards him.

This was so marked, indeed, that he could not help thinking that the men by whose side he had fought had reported to their comrades that, in the heat of the fight, he had several times shouted in English; and that there were general suspicions as to his identity. As long as this was not communicated to the officers it did not matter; and indeed this was not likely for, if the feeling was noticed by the native officers, it would soon come to the ears of Gholam Singh, who would at once order the men to keep silence concerning it.

Gradually his nickname changed, and he became known among the sepoys of the regiment as the "young sahib." He protested against it, but in vain. It was not, however, without its advantages. At the end of a long march, the men who had brought in firewood always handed him some. Men would offer to clean his rifle, cook his dinner, and do other little offices for him. He would, however, never accept these kind offers.

"Why do they call you sahib?" one of the English officers asked him, when he heard him so addressed.

"I do not know," he answered. "It is a silly joke of the men. I have protested against it, without success. If they chose to call me 'colonel,' I could not help it. I suppose it is because they see that I am, like the white officers, always cheerful and good tempered. There is certainly no other reason that I know of."

"The regiment have taken to call Mutteh Ghar 'the young sahib,'" the officer reported, at mess that day. "I asked him about it, and he says no doubt it is because he is, like us, always good tempered and cheerful."

"He is certainly very unlike the others," the major said. "I have no doubt the men consider it a great compliment, to him, to call him so."

"Do you know, colonel," one of the subalterns said, "the idea has struck me that he may be young Bullen, who may have joined the regiment surreptitiously, instead of going down to Calcutta."

There was silence among the others.

"It can hardly be that, Macdonald," the colonel said, "though it is certainly curious that we seemed to feel that we knew his face, when he came up before us. The young scamp could never have played such an audacious trick upon us."

"I don't know, colonel," the major said, "he is just the sort of lad that would try such a scheme. I know I have twice seen him talking with my butler; who was, as you know, Captain Bullen's servant."

"Well, it may possibly be so," the colonel said, "but at any rate it is only suspicion, and we had better leave the matter as it stands. If it is young Bullen, I don't know that he has done a bad thing for himself. If he goes on as he has begun, his experience will go a long way towards getting him a commission; and he will be a great deal better off than if he were grinding up for two years in England. Such a strong recommendation as I could give him would be of great value to him and, moreover, he has a claim on the ground that his father was killed on service.

"At any rate, we must take no action, whatever, at present. It is no slight thing he has done; that is, if it be he. Few of us would care to go through this campaign as sepoys--their work is terribly hard, poor fellows--to say nothing of the unpleasantness of having to live among the natives. I certainly shall consider that he has well earned a commission, if he comes through the campaign."

"But he is too young for one," the major said.

"I should not think it necessary to mention his age, in recommending him," the colonel said. "We know that he is doing a man's work, manfully. He has earned, as you say, the general liking of the men; and is a deal better fitted for a commission than half the fellows they send out to us.

"Well, we may all be mistaken, and he may only be a brave young fellow of good ancestry; so we will think no more of it, at present, and we will wait to see how things turn out, before showing any signs of our suspicions."

Now, however, that the idea had been mooted, the officers, as they went up and down the line, looked closer at Lisle than they had hitherto done; and all agreed that, in spite of his uniform and his colour, he was Captain Bullen's son. Ignorant of their suspicions, Lisle carried out his work, as usual, as a sub-officer. He shared the shelter tents of the men, and performed his duties regularly. He still carried a rifle; and indeed, if this had not been the rule he would not have accepted his promotion, as he preferred fighting with a weapon to which he was accustomed.

His work during the day was but little changed. When the regiment was marching in a column, four abreast, he had his appointed place by the side of it and, when they arrived in camp, it was part of his duty to see that the little tents were all pitched, rations distributed, kits handed over, and the men made as comfortable as possible. No sub-officer was obeyed with greater alacrity and, when he returned from his picket in the early morning, he always found his ration ready cooked for him.

It was impossible for him to help feeling pleased at these signs of the liking of the men, and he redoubled his efforts to cheer them on the line of march; and to aid any men who seemed unable to climb up through the snow, by carrying their rifles and ammunition pouches for them. He had long since grown accustomed to carrying weights, and was able to keep up with the most seasoned marchers.

On two or three occasions Gholam Singh was able to report favourably of his conduct, in thus relieving men of their arms. The colonel always took these communications in the ordinary way.

"There is no doubt," he said, when the conversation turned on the subject, "that Gholam Singh must have been an accessory to young Bullen's plot. I have been looking up the list of the deceased sepoys, and I find that a recruit of the same name died, two days before we marched. In some way young Bullen, if it is really the boy, contrived to take the dead man's place and name. This could have been very well done, without any of us knowing. None of us were familiar with the dead man's appearance, and Gholam Singh, and some of the other native officers, must have arranged that he should take his place. If this has been the case I shall, of course, be obliged to speak sharply to the risaldar major; but in reality I shall not be very angry with him, for he will certainly have done young Bullen a good turn."

"I am sure it is Bullen," one of the officers said, "for when I came up suddenly behind him, today, I heard him whistling an English tune. Of course, it may have been played by the band when we were in camp, but whistling is not a common Punjabi accomplishment, and I don't know that I ever heard native boys whistle before. He stopped directly I came up, but I could make no mistake about the tune; for I hung behind a little, and was amused at seeing the men marching by him trying to keep step, while they were over their knees in snow. I caught a grin on their faces at their failure, though they looked as grave as usual when they saw me."

"Well, we must let things go on as they are," the colonel said, "until we get to Chitral. Then we will have him up, and get to the bottom of the affair. If it turns out to be Bullen, he must at once leave the ranks and join us again. I shall then have to ask for a commission for him, and give him temporary rank as junior lieutenant, until an answer to my recommendation arrives. Even if it is not Bullen, it may be--unlikely as it seems--some other Englishman; but in any case, we could not allow an Englishman to be in the ranks."

"I don't think there is any doubt about it, colonel," the major said. "I have had a good look at him, several times, and could almost swear to his identity, well as he is got up."

Lisle pursued the regular course of his work, in happy unconsciousness that any suspicion as to his identity entered the minds of his officers. His spirits were now not forced; the fatiguing marches, the night pickets, and the pressure of his duty so occupied his thoughts that he had little time to dwell upon his loss. It was now three months since his father had died, and yet it seemed to him in the far distance, so much had happened since. Occasionally he thought with disgust that, when this was all over, he must return to England to the uncle he had never seen, and become a schoolboy, spending his days in study; and perhaps, in the end, fail to pass his examination. He would be a stranger amongst strangers. He could not expect that his uncle should feel any particular interest in a lad he had never before seen, and he drew pictures to himself of the long, friendless interval before, even at the best, he could again don a uniform.

But upon such thoughts he did not allow himself to dwell. It had to be done, and he would, he supposed, get through it all right. He might find friends among the fellows at the same crammer's. At any rate, three years would soon pass, and he must make the best of it.

"I suppose the crammer will be in London," he said. "Everything there will be new to me and, no doubt, I shall find it very interesting. They say that it is an immense place, to which even the biggest Indian city is but a mere trifle. It will be curious to see everyone in dark clothes, with none of the gay colouring of India.

"Father often said that the pleasantest time of his life was the years he spent in England, while he was cramming for his exam. There were theatres, and all sorts of other places of amusement. He had the best of companions and, after they had finished their work, they were at liberty to do pretty nearly whatever they liked.

"I think I shall get my uncle to send me to the same crammer as father went to, if he is still alive. I put down his address once, in my pocketbook, and shall be able to find it again when I get down to Calcutta, and recover my traps.

"Well, I need not worry myself by thinking of it, now. It will all come some day, and I dare say I shall find it pleasant enough, when I once get accustomed to it."

Such thoughts often passed through his mind at night for, during the day, he had not a minute to himself. He was almost sure, now, that the men had discovered his identity, by the many little marks of kindness they had shown him, and by the manner in which his fellow sub-officers always spoke to him with a certain air of respect. This, however, did not worry him. He felt certain that they would keep the secret; and at the end of the campaign he must, of course, disclose himself and obtain his discharge. Until then, no one would have time to think much of the matter, still less find any opportunity of reporting it to Colonel Kelly.

He wondered how the colonel would take it, when he went up to say who he was. He did not think he would be very seriously angry, though probably he would wig him sharply. At any rate he had not done badly, and had brought no discredit to the regiment.

He had unconsciously adopted the regimental belief that he was a lucky man, and should get through the campaign unhurt. He was particularly anxious that he should do so as, were he confined in hospital for a few days, he would have no opportunity of renewing his stain; in which case he would undoubtedly be detected. They had advanced so far now, however, that even if he were discovered, they could hardly send him back before he got to Chitral. He might, of course, be detained at Reshun, which would be a horrible nuisance.

One night his camp mate said to him:

"You ought to be with the officers, Bullen sahib. It is not right for you to be working as we do."

"Why do you call me Bullen Sahib, Pertusal?"

"Everyone knows it, sahib. Little by little we nave found you out. We had some suspicions from the first, but now we are sure of it. Only your father's son would have fought as you did on the hill and, when we came to look very closely at you, we all recognized you, in spite of your dye."

"Then I wish I hadn't fought quite so hard, Pertusal, for I had hoped that I had altogether escaped recognition. I thought that I could have gone through the campaign without anyone suspecting who I was."

"We did not suspect at first, sahib. We quite took you for one of ourselves. No, the cheerfulness with which you bore your hardships, and your readiness to assist anyone, surprised us. You were so different from us all that we could not help wondering who you were; but I don't think any of us really suspected that you were Captain Bullen's son, till that fight. I know that when I was busy fighting, sorely pushed as we were, I wondered when I heard you shout in English; and I had heard you call out so often, when you were playing cricket with the officers, that I recognized your voice at once.

"Then the wonder that we felt about you ceased. It seemed for a moment impossible, for I had seen you go off with the sick convoy. Then it seemed to me that it was just the thing that Captain Bullen's son might be expected to do. You would naturally want to see fighting, but I did wonder how you managed to come back and get enlisted into the regiment. I remember, now, that I wondered a little the first night you joined. You were in uniform and, as a rule, recruits don't go into uniform for some time after they have joined. It was therefore remarkable that you should turn up in uniform, rifle and all."

"It was the uniform of the original Mutteh Ghar," Lisle said. "My servant had managed to get it; and the story that I was the man's cousin, and was therefore permitted to take his place, was natural enough to pass."

"But some of our officers must have helped you, sahib?"

"Well, I won't say anything about that. I did manage to join in the way I wanted, and you and your comrade were both very kind to me."

"That was natural enough, sahib. You were a young recruit, and we understood that you were put with us two old soldiers in order that we might teach you your duty. It was not long, however, before we found that there was very little teaching necessary for, at the end of a week, you knew your work as well as any man in the regiment. We thought you a wonder, but we kept our thoughts to ourselves.

"Now that we know who you are, all the regiment is proud that your father's son has come among us, and shared our lot down to the smallest detail. I noticed that you were rather clumsy with your cooking, but even in that respect you soon learned how things should be done.

"I suppose, sahib, we shall lose you at the end of the campaign?"

"Yes; I shall have to start for England, at once; for in order to gain a commission, I must study hard for two or three years. Of course, I shall then have to declare myself to the officers, in order to get my discharge. I am afraid that the colonel will be very angry, but I cannot help that. I am quite sure, however, that he will let me go, as soon as he knows who I am. It will be rather fun to see the surprise of the officers."

"I don't think the colonel will be angry, sahib. He might have been, if you had not done so well; but as it is, he cannot but be pleased that Captain Bullen's son should have so distinguished himself, even in the 32nd Pioneers, who have the reputation of being one of the best fighting regiments in all India."

"Well, I hope so, Pertusal. At any rate, I am extremely glad I came. I have seen what fighting is, and that under the most severe conditions. I have proved to myself that I can bear hardships without flinching; and I shall certainly be proud, all my life, that I have been one in the column for the relief of Chitral--that is to say, if we are the first."

"We shall be the first," the soldier said, positively. "It is hard work enough getting our baggage over the passes; but it will be harder still for the Peshawar force, encumbered with such a train as they will have to take with them.

"Ah! Sahib, if only our food were so condensed that we could carry a supply for twelve days about us, what would we not be able to do? We could rout the fiercest tribe on the frontier, without difficulty. We could march about fifteen or twenty miles a day, and more than that, if necessary. We could do wonders, indeed."

"I am afraid we shall never discover that," Lisle said. "The German soldiers do indeed carry condensed meat in sausages, and can take three or four days' supplies with them; but we have not yet discovered anything like food of which men could carry twelve days' supply. We may some day be able to do it but, even if it weighed but a pound a day, it would add heavily to the load to be carried."

"No one would mind that," Pertusal said. "Think what a comfort it would be, if we could make our breakfast before starting, eat a little in the middle of the day, and be sure of supper directly we got into camp; instead of having to wait hours and hours, and perhaps till the next morning, before the baggage train arrived. I would willingly carry double my present load, if I felt sure that I would gain that advantage. I know that the officers have tins of condensed milk, one of which can make more than a gallon; and that they carry cocoa, and other things, of which a little goes a long way. Now, if they could condense rice and ghee like that, we should be able to carry all that is necessary with us for twelve days. Mutton we could always get on a campaign, for the enemy's flocks are at our disposal; and it must be a bare place, indeed, where we could not find enough meat to keep us going. It is against our religion to eat beef, but few of us would hesitate to do so, on a campaign; and oxen are even more common than sheep.

"It is very little baggage we should have to take with us, then. Twenty ponies would carry sufficient for the regiment; and if government did but buy us good mules, we could always rely upon getting them into camp before dark. See what an advantage that would be! Ten men would do for the escort; whereas, at present, a hundred is not sufficient."

"Well, I wish it could be so," Lisle said. "But although some articles of food might be compressed, I don't think we should ever be able to compress rice or ghee. A handful of rice, when it is boiled, makes enough for a meal; and I don't imagine that it could possibly be condensed more than that."

"Well, it is getting late, and we march at daylight. Fortunately we have not to undress, but have only to turn in as we are."

Chapter 4: In The Passes

The march after leaving Dahimol was a short one. Here they were met by the governor of the upper parts of the valley, and he gave them very useful details of the state of parties in Chitral, and of the roads they would have to follow. He accompanied the force on the next day's march, and billeted all the troops in the villages; for which they were thankful enough, for they were now getting pretty high up in the hills, and the nights were decidedly cold.

They were now crossing a serious pass, and had reached the snow line; and the troops put on the goggles they had brought with them to protect their eyes from the dazzling glare of the snow. At two o'clock they reached the post at Ghizr, which was held by a body of Kashmir sappers and miners. The place had been fortified, and surrounded by a strong zereba. The troops were billeted in the neighbouring houses, and they halted for a day, in order to allow the second detachment of the Pioneers and the guns to come up. Here, also, they were joined by a hundred men of the native levies.

When they prepared for the start, the next morning, they found that a hundred of the coolies had bolted during the night. Two officers were despatched to find and fetch them back. Fifty were fortunately discovered, in a village not far off, and with these and some country ponies the force started. They passed up the valley and came upon a narrow plain. Here the snow was waist deep, and the men were forced to move in single file, the leaders changing places every hundred yards or so.

At last they came to a stop. The gun mules sank to their girths in the snow and, even then, were unable to obtain a footing. Men were sent out to try the depth of the snow on both sides of the valley, but they found no improvement. Obviously it was absolutely impossible for the mules and ponies to get farther over the snow, in its present state. It was already three o'clock in the afternoon, and only eight miles had been covered. The force therefore retired to the last village in the valley. Two hundred Pioneers under Borradaile, the sappers, and the Hunza levies were left here, with all the coolie transport.

Borradaile's orders were to force his way across the pass, next day; and entrench himself at Laspur, the first village on the other side. He was then to send back the coolies, in order that the remainder of the force might follow. With immense trouble and difficulty, the kits of the party that were to proceed were sorted out from the rest, the ammunition was divided and, at seven o'clock, the troops who were to return to Ghizr started on their cold march. They reached their destination after having been on foot some fifteen hours.

Lisle was with the advance party. They were all told off to houses in the little village. Fires were lighted and the weary men cooked their food and, huddling close together, and keeping the fires alight, slept in some sort of comfort. Next morning at daybreak they turned out and found, to their disgust, that the snow was coming down heavily, and that the difficulties would be even greater than on the previous day. Borradaile therefore sent back one of the levies, with a letter saying that it was impossible to advance; but that if the sky cleared, he would start on the following morning.

The Kashmir troops at Ghizr volunteered to go forward, and make a rush through the snow; and Stewart and his lieutenant, Gough, set out with fifty of them, taking with them half a dozen sledges that had been made out of boxes. On arriving at Tern, Stewart found fodder enough for the mules, and begged that the guns might be sent up. Borradaile had started early; and Stewart with the fifty Kashmir troops followed, staggering along dragging the guns and ammunition. The snow had ceased, but there was a bitter wind, and the glare from the newly-fallen snow was terrible.

The guns, wheels, and ammunition had been told off to different squads, who were relieved every fifty yards. In spite of the cold, the men were pouring with perspiration. At one point in the march a stream had to be crossed. This was done only with great difficulty, and the rear guard did not reach the camping ground, at the mouth of the Shandur Pass, until eleven at night; and even then the guns had to be left a mile behind. Then the weary men had to cut fuel to light fires. Many of them were too exhausted to attempt to cook food, and at once went to sleep round the fires.

Early the next morning, the Pioneers and levies started to cross the pass. The Kashmir men brought up the guns into camp but, though the distance was short, the work took them the best part of the day. The march was not more than ten miles; but Borradaile's party, though they left Langar at daylight, did not reach Laspur till seven o'clock at night. The slope over the pass was a gradual one, and it was the depth of the snow, alone, that caused so much delay. The men suffered greatly from thirst, but refused to eat the snow, having a fixed belief that, if they did so, it would bring on violent illness.

On arriving at the top of the pass, the Hunza levies skirmished ahead. So unexpected was their arrival that the inhabitants of the village were all caught and, naturally, they expressed their extreme delight at this visit, and said that they would be glad to help us in any way. They were taken at their word, and sent back to bring up the guns. Their surprise was not feigned, for the Chitralis were convinced that it would be impossible to cross the pass, and letters were found stating that the British force was lying at Ghizr.

The feat, indeed, was a splendid one. Some two hundred and fifty men, Hindoos and Mussulmans had, at the worst time of the year, brought two mountain guns, with their carriages and ammunition, across a pass which was blocked for some twenty miles by deep, soft snow; at the same time carrying their own rifles, eighty rounds of ammunition, and heavy sheepskin coats. They had slept for two nights on the snow and, from dawn till dark, had been at work to the waist at every step, suffering acutely from the blinding glare and the bitter wind. Stewart and Gough had both taken their turns in carrying the guns, and both gave their snow glasses to sepoys who were without them.

Borradaile's first step was to put the place in a state of defence, and collect supplies and coolies. In the evening the guns were brought in by the Kashmir troops, who were loudly cheered by the Pioneers.

Lisle had borne his share in the hardships and had done so bravely, making light of the difficulties and cheering his comrades by his jokes. He had escaped the thirst which had been felt by so many, and was one of those who volunteered to assist in erecting defences, on the evening of their arrival at Laspur.

At two o'clock the next day, the rest of the force came into camp. A reconnoitring party went out and, three miles ahead, came upon the campfires of the enemy. They were seen, three miles farther down the valley, engaged in building sangars; but as the force consisted of only one hundred and fifty men, it was not thought advisable to attack, and the troops consequently returned to camp.

The next day was spent in making all the arrangements for the advance. Messengers were sent out to all the villages, calling on the men to come in and make their submission. This they did, at the same time bringing in supplies and, by night, a sufficient number of native coolies had been secured to carry all the baggage, including ammunition and guns.

A native chief came in with a levy of ninety native coolies. These were found most valuable, both in the work and in obtaining information. From their knowledge of the habits of the people, they were able to discover where the natives had hidden their supplies; which was generally in the most unlikely places.

The reconnoitring party had found that, some six miles on, the snow ceased; and all looked forward with delight to the change. A small garrison of about a hundred, principally levies, were left at Laspur; with instructions to come on when the second party arrived. The main force started at nine o'clock.

At Rahman the snow was left behind. Here they learned that the enemy would certainly fight, between the next village and Mastuj. Lieutenant Beynon went on with a party of levies and gained a hill, from which he could view the whole of the enemy's position. Here he could, with the aid of his glasses, count the men in each sangar, and make out the paths leading up the cliffs from the river. When he had concluded his observations, he returned and reported to Colonel Kelly; and orders were issued for the attack, the next day.

The levies were expected to join the next morning. They were to advance with a guide, and turn out the enemy from the top of a dangerous shoot; from which they would be enabled to hurl down rocks upon the main body, as it advanced. Beynon was to start, at six, to work through the hills to the right rear of the enemy's position. The main body were to move forward at nine o'clock.

Beynon encountered enormous difficulties and, in many places, he and his men had to go on all fours to get along. He succeeded, however, in driving off the enemy; who occupied a number of sangars on the hills, and who could have greatly harassed the main body by rolling down rocks upon them.

The enemy's principal position consisted of sangars blocking the roads to the river, up to a fan-shaped alluvial piece of ground. The road led across this ground to the foot of a steep shoot, within five hundred yards of sangars on the opposite side of the river and, as it was totally devoid of any sort of shelter, it could be swept by avalanches of stones, by a few men placed on the heights for the purpose.

When the troops arrived within eight hundred yards, volley firing was opened; and the guns threw shells on the sangar on the extreme right of the enemy's position. The enemy were soon seen leaving it, and the fire was then directed on the next place, with the same result. Meanwhile Beynon had driven down those of the enemy who were posted on the hill; and general panic set in, the guns pouring shrapnel into them until they were beyond range.

The action was over in an hour after the firing of the first shot. The losses on our side were only one man severely, and three slightly wounded. After a short rest, the force again proceeded, and halted at a small village a mile and a half in advance. A ford was found, and the column again started. Presently they met a portion of the garrison who, finding the besieging force moving away, came out to see the reason.

In the meantime, the baggage column was being fiercely attacked; and an officer rode up, with the order that the 4th company were to go back to their assistance. The company was standing in reserve, eager to go forward to join in the fight and, without delay, they now went off at the double.

They were badly wanted. The baggage was struggling up the last kotal that the troops had passed, and the rear guard were engaged in a fierce fight with a great number of the enemy; some of whom were posted on a rise, while others came down so boldly that the struggle was sometimes hand to hand. When the 4th company reached the scene, they were at once scattered along the line of baggage.

For a time the enemy fell back but, seeing that the reinforcement was not a strong one, they were emboldened to attack again. Their assaults were repulsed with loss, but the column suffered severely from the fire on the heights.

"We must stop here," the officer in command said, "or we shall not get the baggage through before nightfall; and then they would have us pretty well at their mercy. The Punjabis must go up and clear the enemy off the hill, till the baggage has got through."

The Punjabis were soon gathered and, led by an English officer, they advanced up the hill at a running pace, until they came to a point so precipitous that they were sheltered from the enemy's fire. Here they were halted for a couple of minutes to gain breath, and then the order was given to climb the precipitous hill, which was some seventy feet high.

It was desperate work, for there were points so steep that the men were obliged to help each other up. Happily they were in shelter until they got to within twenty feet of its summit, the intervening distance being a steep slope. At this point they waited until the whole party had come up; and then, with a cheer, dashed up the slope.

The effect was instantaneous. The enemy, though outnumbering them by five to one, could not for a moment withstand the line of glittering bayonets; and fled precipitately, receiving volley after volley from the Pioneers. As the situation was commanded by still higher slopes, the men were at once ordered to form a breastwork, from the stones that were lying about thickly. After a quarter of an hour's severe work, this was raised to a height of three feet, which was sufficient to enable the men to lie down in safety.

By the time the work was done, the enemy were again firing heavily, at a distance of four hundred yards, their bullets pattering against the stones. The Punjabis, however, did not return the fire but, turning round, directed their attention to the enemy on the other side of the valley, who were also in considerable force.

"Here!" the officer said to Lisle, "do you think you can pick off that fellow in the white burnoose? He is evidently an important leader, and it is through his efforts that the enemy continues to make such fierce attacks."

"I will try, sir," Lisle replied in Punjabi; "but I take it that the range must be from nine hundred to a thousand yards, which is a long distance for a shot at a single man."

Lying down at full length, he carefully aimed and fired. The officer was watching through his field glass.

"That was a good shot," he said. "You missed the man, but you killed a fellow closely following him. Lower your back sight a trifle, and try again."

The next shot also missed, but the third was correctly aimed, and the Pathan dropped to the ground. Some of his men at once carried off his body. His fall created much dismay; and as, at that moment, the whole of the Punjabis began to pepper his followers with volley firing, they lost heart and quickly retired up the hill.

"Put up your sights to twelve hundred yards," the officer said. "You must drive them higher up, if you can; for they do us as much harm, firing from there, as they would lower down. Fire independently. Don't hurry, but take good aim.

"That was a fine shot of yours, Mutteh Ghar," he said to Lisle, by whose side he was still standing; for they had gone so far down the slope that they were sheltered from the fire behind. "But for his fall, the baggage guard would have had to fight hard, for he was evidently inciting his men to make a combined rush. His fall, however, took the steam out of them altogether. How came you to be such a good shot?"

"My father was fond of shooting," Lisle said, "and I used often to go out with him."

"Well, you benefited by his teaching, anyhow," the officer said. "I doubt if there is any man in the regiment who could have picked off that fellow, at such a distance, in three shots. That has really been the turning point of the day.

"See, the baggage is moving on again. In another hour they will be all through.

"Now, lads, turn your attention to those fellows on the hill behind. As we have not been firing at them for some time, they will probably think we are short of ammunition. Let us show them that our pouches are still pretty full! We must drive them farther away for, if we do not, we shall get it hot when we go down to join the rear guard. Begin with a volley, and then continue with independent firing, at four hundred yards."

The tribesmen were standing up against the skyline.

"Now, be careful. At this distance, everyone ought to bring down his man."

Although that was not accomplished, a number of men were seen to fall, and the rest retired out of sight. Presently heads appeared, as the more resolute crawled back to the edge of the crest; and a regular duel now ensued. Four hundred yards is a short range with a Martini rifle, and it was not long before the Punjabis proved that they were at least as good shots as the tribesmen. They had the advantage, too, of the breastwork behind which to load, and had only to lift their heads to fire; whereas the Pathans were obliged to load as they lay.

Presently the firing ceased, but the many black heads dotting the edge of the crest testified to the accurate aim of the troops. The tribesmen, seeing that their friends on the other side of the valley had withdrawn, and finding that their own fire did not avail to drive their assailants back, had at last moved off.

For half an hour the Pioneers lay, watching the progress of the baggage and, when the last animal was seen to pass, they retired, taking up their position behind the rear guard. The column arrived in camp just as night fell.

"That young Bullen can shoot," the officer who commanded the company said, that evening, as the officers gathered round their fire. "When, as I told you, we had driven off the fellows on the right of the valley, things were looking bad on the left, where a chief in a white burnoose was working up a strong force to make a rush. I put young Bullen on to pick him off. The range was about nine hundred and fifty yards. His first shot went behind the chief. I did not see where the next shot struck, but I have no doubt it was close to him. Anyhow, the third rolled him over. I call that splendid shooting, especially as it was from a height, which makes it much more difficult to judge distance.

"The chief's fall took all the pluck out of the tribesmen and, as we opened upon them in volleys, they soon went to the right about. We peppered them all the way up the hill and, as I could see from my glasses, killed a good many of them. However, it took all the fight out of them, and they made no fresh attempt to harass the column."

"The young fellow was a first-rate shot," the colonel said. "If you remember he carried off several prizes, and certainly shot better than most of us; though there were one or two of the men who were his match. You did not speak to him in English, I hope, Villiers?"

"No, no, colonel. You said that he was to go on as if we did not know him, till we reached Chitral; and of course spoke to him in Punjabi.

"One thing is certain: if he had not brought down that chief, the enemy would have been among the baggage in a minute or two; so his shot was really the turning point of the fight."

"I will make him a present of twenty rupees, in the morning," the colonel said. "That is what I should have given to any sepoy who made so useful a shot, and it will be rather fun to see how he takes it."

"You will see he will take it without winking," the major said. "He will know very well that any hesitation would be noticed, and he will take it as calmly as if he were a native."

Accordingly the next morning, as the regiment fell in, the colonel called Lisle out from the ranks.

"Mutteh Ghar," he said, "Lieutenant Villiers reports that you did great service, yesterday, in picking off the leader of the Pathans who were attacking the column from the left. Here are twenty rupees, as a token of my satisfaction."

Lisle did not hesitate for a moment, but took off his turban, and held it out for the colonel to drop the money into it; murmuring his thanks as he did so. Then he put on his turban again, saluted, and retired.

"I told you he would not hesitate, colonel," the major laughed. "The young beggar was as cool as a cucumber, and I doubt if we should catch him napping, however much we tried."

"He is a fine young fellow, major, and will make a splendid officer. I shall be disappointed, indeed, if I fail to get him a commission."

"I don't think you are likely to fail, colonel. The young fellow has really distinguished himself greatly. Even without that, the fact that he enlisted to go through the campaign, and took his share with the troops both in their fighting and their hardships, would show that he really deserved a commission; even putting aside the fact of his father's death. It would be a thousand pities if such a promising young fellow should have to waste the next three years of his life, cramming up classics and mathematics. It would be like putting a young thoroughbred into a cart."

"That is so," the colonel said; "but there is no answering for the War Office, or saying what view they may take of any given subject. However, if we get first to Chitral, as I feel sure we shall do, I suppose I shall be in high favour; and they won't like to refuse so small a request, backed as it is by the facts of the case."

At half-past five the force marched into Mastuj, and found the garrison comfortably settled there, and well fed. The fort was a square building, with a tower at each corner and at the gateway. Late in the evening the baggage came in. The enemy had made no serious attack upon the place; and Moberley, who was in command, had even been able to send a force to Buni, whence they brought off Jones and the survivors of Ross's force.

The next day a fatigue party were sent out to destroy the enemy's sangars and, on the same day, the remaining half of the Pioneers came up. The day was spent by those in the fort in examining the state of supplies; and despatching messengers to all the villages round ordering them to send in supplies, and coolies to carry the baggage.

On the morning of the 1st of April, Beynon was sent on to reconnoitre the enemy's position; and returned with the report that it was a strong one. They had got very close to it, and had a fair view of the position. Next morning the force started, the levies being ahead. It was a fine, bright morning. They crossed the river on a bridge built by the sappers.

Whe they reached the maidan, they found that it was a gentle, grassy slope. The levies were in advance, with two companies in the firing line, two in support, and the Kashmir company in reserve In this order they pushed on, until they came under the fire of the sangars. Stewart brought his guns into action. After a time, the fire of the levies drove the enemy from the nearest sangar; while three of the Pioneer companies paid attention to another sangar.

Beynon was sent on, to find some way down into the valley. He found no path leading to the nullah. The drop from the edge was sheer, for some seventy feet; then came a ledge from which he thought they could scramble down to the edge of the stream, and thence to the opposite side, where he noticed a track. With this information, he went back to report to Colonel Kelly.

The sappers were brought up and, also, a reserve company of Kashmir troops. When Beynon got back to the nullah, he found the Pioneers extended along the edge, and Oldham's sappers already at work. These, aided by ropes and scaling ladders, got down to the ledge; and from this point they and Oldham slung themselves down to the bed of the stream, by the same means. A few sappers had followed, when a box of dynamite exploded with a violent detonation, and the rest of the company were called back.

Lisle happened to be stationed at the point where the descent was made, and when the explosion took place he seized the rope and, sliding down, joined the two officers and the eleven sappers who had passed. They scrambled to the opposite side, and saw that the Pioneers were moving down the nullah towards the river, while the levies were nearing the sangars. The enemy were seen bolting, and the little party opened fire upon them. The sappers were armed only with carbines, which were uncertain at so long a range; but Lisle, with his rifle, brought down an enemy at every shot.

"That is a good one," he muttered, as a mounted officer at whom he had aimed fell from his horse.

He was startled when the man behind him said:

"Hillo, young fellow, who on earth are you?

"I will tell you after it is done, sir," Lisle said. "But I hope you will keep my secret."

Some of the levies and a few Pioneers now came up, and they learned what had been the cause of the explosion. The Kashmir company had not followed and, as the sappers were at work, they had laid down cakes of dynamite at the head of the pass. One of the enemy's bullets striking these had ignited them, and the troops there were called upon to retire. The enemy, seeing our men falling back, rushed out of their sangars and opened fire; but were speedily driven in again by volleys from the Pioneers. Just then the levies showed on the ridge, and the Pioneers moved down the nullah, by a goat track they had found.

The battle was now over, and a company of Pioneers were sent ahead to the next village, while the rest of the force encamped. When all were settled down, Lisle saw Lieutenant Moberley walking along the lines of the regiment, and evidently looking for someone. Lisle hesitated a minute. If he remained quiet he might not be recognized by the officer, but in that case the latter might report what he had heard, and an investigation might be made. He therefore went forward to the officer.

"Ah!" the latter said, "you are the man I heard speak in English."

"It was very foolish, sir, but I had no idea that I should be overheard."

"Well, who are you, and how in the world is it that you are a private in the Pioneers?"

"My father was Captain Bullen, who was killed in a native raid. I remained with the regiment for a time, because there was no opportunity of my being sent home. I wanted to see the campaign, so I took the place of a sepoy who had died and, as I speak the language perfectly, it has never been suspected that I was anything but what I seem."

"Well, lad, I will keep your secret for a time, but when we get to Chitral I think it will be my duty to tell the colonel; especially as I shall report that you were with me, and behaved with the greatest coolness, accounting for at least eight of the enemy. The campaign will be over, then, for we know that the Peshawar column are also near Chitral, so that there will be no chance of further fighting.

"I don't suppose you will be sent home. You have shown yourself a man, and I have no doubt that Colonel Kelly will make some mention in his report of your conduct, and strongly recommend you for a commission. In the circumstances, I should think it would be granted."

"Thank you indeed, sir! I am very comfortable as I am."

"How old are you?

"I am nearly sixteen, sir."

"Well, it won't be necessary to report that, for the people at home would consider you too young. I am sure you deserve a commission for the pluck you showed, in taking your place as a private among the natives. Your knowledge of the language, too, will be an argument in your favour.

"How was it that you joined our little party?"

"I acted on the impulse of the moment. I happened to be at the spot when your party were going down, and I saw that you would soon be in the thick of it, while we were only firing. I was just thinking about it, when there was a great burst of flame behind me. I did not know what it was, but that decided me. I caught hold of the rope and slipped down.

"Thank you very much for your promise, sir," and, saluting, Lisle drew back to his comrades.

"What was he saying to you?" one asked.

"He was asking how it was that I came to be among his party; and when I explained how it was that I left my place, he seemed perfectly satisfied; so I don't expect I shall hear anything more about it."

On the first day's march they came upon a deserted fort, where enough grain was discovered to last the force for months. Enough flour was also found to give a shovelful to each of the coolies; who were highly gratified, for most of them were altogether without food. The remainder of the flour was distributed among the sepoys, and as much grain was taken as carriage could be found for.

The next day's march was through a cultivated country. Six more marches took them to Chitral. They met with no opposition whatever, and their greatest trouble was in crossing rivers, the bridges having been destroyed.

When within a day's march from Chitral, they met a man bearing letters from the town. It was from Mr. Robertson, saying that Sher Afzul had fled on the night of the 18th of April; and that on that night the siege was raised. It also contained a list of the casualties, to be forwarded to England; the number being a hundred and four killed and wounded, out of one thousand and seventy combatants.

The force marched in at noon, the next day; and were received with great joy by the garrison. They bivouacked round the castle and, on the following day, the Kashmir garrison came out and camped with them; rejoicing much at the change from the poisoned atmosphere of the fort. They were mere walking skeletons.

Some days later the 3rd Brigade under General Gatacre arrived, followed by General Low and the headquarter staff.

The day after their arrival at Chitral, one of Kelly's orderlies came into the line and enquired for Mutteh Ghar. A short time before, Lisle had noticed Gholam Singh leave the colonel's tent; and guessed that he had been sharply questioned, by the colonel, as to the name he had gone under in the regiment. He at once followed the orderly to the tent.

"This is a nice trick you have played us, Lisle," the colonel said, as he entered. "To think that while we all thought you on your way down to Calcutta, you were acting as a private in the regiment! It was very wrong of Gholam Singh to consent to your doing so; but I was so pleased to know that you were here that I could not bring it in my heart to blow him up as he deserved. Unquestionably, he acted from the respect and affection that he felt for your father.

"What put the idea into your head?"

"I had quite made up my mind to go with the regiment, sir; and should have come as a mule driver or a coolie, if I had not got into the ranks."

"Well, it is done and cannot be undone. Lieutenant Moberley has reported most favourably of your conduct in the last fight, and Gholam Singh says that your conduct as a private has been excellent. You have become a great favourite with the men, by the cheerfulness with which you bore the hardships of the march; and kept up the spirits of the men by your jokes and example.

"But of course, this cannot go on. You must again become one of us and, on the march down, do officer's duty. I shall not fail to report the matter, and shall recommend you for a commission. I feel sure that, as the son of Captain Bullen, and for the services you have rendered during the campaign, together with your knowledge of the language, my recommendation will be effective.

"But I don't know what we can do about clothes. We are all practically in rags, and have only the things that we stand in."

"I have brought a suit with me in my kit, sir; and as we have had no inspection of kits, since we marched, they have not been noticed."

"Very well, lad. Put them on, and come back again in an hour. I will have the other officers of the regiment here. They will, I am sure, all be heartily glad to see you again.

"I suppose that stain won't get off you, for some time?"

"I don't think it will last over a week, sir; for I have had no chance of renewing it since our last fight. It is not so dark as it was, by a good bit; and I had intended to steal away, today, and renew it."

"We are all so sun burnt, or rather so snow burnt, that you are not much darker than the rest of us. Well, then, I shall expect you in an hour. You will, of course, hand over your uniform, rifle, and accoutrements to the quartermaster sergeant."

"Yes, sir."

Lisle went back to the lines and, taking his kit, went some little distance out of camp. Here he took off his uniform and put on the clothes he had worn before starting. He folded the uniform up and placed it, with his rifle and accoutrements, in a little heap.

Then he went to the tent where Robah's master lived. He had often spoken to Robah during the march and, waiting till he could catch his eye, he beckoned to him to come to him. Robah was immensely surprised at seeing him in his civilian dress, and hurried up to him.

"I have been found out, Robah, and am to join the officers on the march down. I am at present a young gentleman at large. You see that tree up there? At the foot you will find my uniform, rifle, and accoutrements. I want you to carry them to the quartermaster sergeant, and tell him to put them in store, as Mutteh Ghar has left the regiment. Of course, the story will soon be known, but I don't wish it to get about till I have seen the colonel again. I am glad to say that he is not angry with me; and has not reprimanded Gholam Singh, very severely, for aiding me in the matter."

Robah at once started on his mission, and Lisle then went into the camp, and strolled about until it was time to repair to the colonel's tent. He found the eight officers of the regiment gathered there.

"We were not mistaken, gentlemen," the colonel said. "This young scamp, instead of going down to Calcutta, left the convoy after it had marched a mile or two. Gholam Singh was in the secret, and had furnished him with the uniform and rifle of a man who had died, the day before. He put this on and marched boldly in. The other native officers of the company were in the secret, and gave out to the men that this was a new recruit, a cousin of the man we had just lost.

"Under that title he has passed through the campaign; living with the soldiers, sharing all their hardships; and being, for a time at least, altogether unsuspected of being aught but what he appeared. Gholam Singh said that his conduct was excellent; that he was a great favourite, with the men, for the good humour with which he bore the hardships. He was with Beynon and Moberley, and showed great pluck and steadiness in picking off several of the enemy, as they fled.

"Fortunately, Moberley overheard him mutter to himself in English, and so the matter came out. Moberley promised to keep silence till we got here and, this morning, he told the whole story. Of course, we could not have poor Bullen's son remaining a private in the Pioneers, and he has joined us under the old conditions. I have given him the rank of lieutenant, and shall recommend him for a commission; which I have no doubt he will get, not only as the son of an officer who had done excellent service, but for the pluck and enterprise he has shown. His perfect knowledge of Punjabi will also, of course, count in his favour."

The officers all shook hands cordially with him, and congratulated him on the manner in which he had carried out his disguise; and he was at once made a member of the mess. Afterwards, two or three of them walked with him down to the lines of his company. The men regarded them with interest, and then burst into a loud cheer.

"That is good," the officer said. "It shows that you like him. Henceforth he will rank as one of the officers; and I hope you will all like him, in that capacity, as well as you did when he was one of yourselves."

They then walked off, leaving the company in a state of excitement.

In the afternoon, at mess, Lisle learned the whole details of the siege, which had been gathered from the officers of the garrison. On March 2nd, Mr. Robertson received information that Sher Afzul had arrived in the valley and, the next day, news came that he was, with a large following, at a small house in a ravine, about a mile and a quarter from the fort. Captain Campbell, with two hundred of the Kashmir Rifles, was sent out to make a reconnaissance. He was accompanied by Captains Townshend and Baird, and by Surgeon Captain Whitchurch and Lieutenant Gurdon. The rest were left in the bazaar, to hold the road.

The enemy, one hundred and fifty strong, were seen on the bare spur which forms the right bank of the ravine. To test whether or not they were hostile, a single shot was fired over them. They at once opened a heavy fire on the party and, at the same time, Captain Townshend became engaged with some of the enemy who were in hiding among rocks--evidently in considerable strength. It was subsequently discovered that, very shortly after Captain Campbell's party left the fort, and before hostilities began, the enemy had opened fire on the fort, and had crossed the river.

Captain Baird now advanced across the mouth of the ravine, and charged up the spur; the enemy retreating before them, firing as they went. Captain Baird fell, mortally wounded; and Lieutenant Gurdon, who had carried a message to him, was left in command. The enemy descended into the ravine and, crossing to the left bank, took Gurdon in rear.

In the meantime, affairs had not been going well with Captain Townshend's party. He had advanced within two hundred yards of the hamlet, keeping his men as well as he could under shelter, and firing in volleys. The enemy, however, kept on advancing, and overlapping his force on both flanks. They were well armed and skilful marksmen, and took shelter in such a marvellous way that there was nothing for our men to fire at, except a few puffs of smoke.

Captain Campbell then ordered a charge with the bayonet, to clear the hamlet. It was gallantly led, by Captain Townshend and two native officers. The ground being perfectly open, and the fire of the enemy being steady and continuous, the two native officers and four sepoys were killed at once.

When they got within forty yards of the village, which was concealed in a grove of trees, they found that it was a large place; with a wall, three hundred feet in length, behind which the enemy were posted in perfect cover. There was nothing for it but to retreat. Captain Campbell was, at this moment, shot in the knee; and Captain Townshend assumed the command. Captain Campbell was carried to the rear, and the force retired in alternate parties.

The retreat, however, was conducted slowly and deliberately; though the enemy, who came running out, soon overlapped the little column--some even getting behind it, while groups of fanatic swordsmen, from time to time, charged furiously down upon it. From all the hamlets they passed through, a fire was opened upon them by the Chitralis, those who were supposed to be friendly having gone over to the other side. So heavy was the fire that, at last, Townshend ordered his men to double. This they did with great steadiness; and he was able to rally them, without difficulty, at a small hamlet, where he found Mr. Robertson encouraging the men he had brought out. A message was sent to the fort for reinforcements, and Lieutenant Harley led out fifty of the Sikhs, and covered the retreat to the fort.

In the meantime Gurdon, with his detachment and Captain Baird, were still far away on the steep side of the ravine. Dr. Whitchurch, who had dressed Baird's wound, was sent to take him to the rear; and it was then that Townshend's party began to retreat and, after fierce fighting, arrived at the fort, where they found that Whitchurch had not arrived.

The doctor had with him a handful of sepoys and Kashmir Rifles, and some stretcher bearers, under the command of a native officer. Matters had developed so rapidly that, in a very short time, they were behind Townshend's retreating parties, round which the enemy were swarming; and when the retirement became a rapid retreat, they dropped farther behind. Small detached parties soon became aware of their position, and attacked them. Three men, who were carrying the stretcher, were killed by successive shots and, when the fourth was hit, the stretcher could be no longer carried; so Captain Baird was partly carried, and partly dragged along the ground.

The enemy's fire became so hot that the party were compelled to make for the river bank. They had to charge, and carry, two or three stone walls. Once they were completely surrounded, but the gallant Kashmirs charged the enemy so furiously with rifle and bayonet that, at last, they made a way through them and reached the fort, where they had been given up for lost. Thirteen men, in all, came in; but only seven of these had fought their way through with Whitchurch; the other sis being fugitives, who had joined him just before he had reached the fort. Half of Whitchurch's little party were killed, and Baird had been, again, twice wounded. Whitchurch, himself, marvellously escaped without a wound. No finer action was ever performed than that by this little body.

The total casualties of the day were very heavy. Of the hundred and fifty men actually engaged, twenty non-commissioned officers and men were killed, and twenty-eight wounded. Of the officers, Captain Campbell was badly wounded, and Captain Baird died on the following morning. The two native officers were killed.

The enemy's strength was computed to be from a thousand to twelve hundred men. Of these, five hundred were Umra Khan's men, who were armed with Martinis. Many of the others carried Sniders.

The whole of the Chitralis had now joined Sher Afzul, most of them doubtless being forced to do so, by fear of the consequences that would ensue should they refuse. The little fort thus stood isolated, in the midst of a powerful enemy and a hostile population. The villages stood on higher ground than the fort and, from all of them, a constant fusillade was kept up on the garrison, while they were engaged in the difficult work of putting the fort into a better condition of defence.

The first thing to be done was, of course, to take stock of the stores; and the next to estimate how many days it would last. Everyone was put upon half rations, and it was calculated that they could hold out two and a half months. It was found that they had two hundred and eighty rounds per man, besides Snider ammunition for the Kashmir Rifles, and three hundred rounds of Martini ammunition for the Sikhs.

When the fort was first occupied, it was found that there was an exposed approach to the river from the water tower, about thirty yards in width; and a covered way was at once built, going right down into the water. All through the siege this covered way was the main object of the enemy's attack; for they knew that, if they could cut off the water, they could easily reduce the garrison.

An abutment in the south wall of the fort, overlooking the garden, had been converted into a little bastion. The worst feature of the fort, however, was the large number of little buildings immediately outside the walls. These and the walls of the garden were demolished by moonlight. The stables, which were on the river face near the water tower, were loopholed; and efforts were made to loophole the basement walls of the tower, but these had to be abandoned, as there was a danger of disturbing the foundations.

Among the various ingenious plans hit upon by the besieged, one proved particularly useful. Loopholes were made in the gun tower; a wall was built up in the face of the water gate; and fireplaces were constructed by which the wood, being laid on a slab of stone, was pushed out some feet from the wall, and could be drawn into the fort when it was necessary to replenish the fire, without those attending it being exposed. These fires proved invaluable, when attacks were made upon dark nights. Projecting, as they did, seven feet from the wall, they threw it into shadow, so that the enemy could not see what to fire at; and, at the same time, they lit up the ground in front brilliantly, so that the defenders could make out their assailants, and fire with accuracy.

The fort was eighty yards in length. The walls were twenty-five feet in height, and the five towers fifty feet. It lay in a hollow in the lowest part of the valley, and was commanded on all sides by hills, on which the enemy erected numerous sangars. As, from these, the men moving about inside the fort were clearly visible to the enemy, barricades of stones had to be erected, along the sides of the yards, to afford cover to the men as they went to and from their posts.

On March 5th a letter was received from Umra Khan, stating that the British troops must leave Chitral at once, and that he would guarantee them a safe conduct. The offer was, naturally, refused. Next night the enemy, about two hundred strong, made a determined effort to fire the water tower. They brought faggots with them and, in spite of the heavy volleys poured upon them managed, under cover of the darkness, to creep into the tunnel leading to the water, and to light a large fire underneath the tower. They were, however, driven out; and three water carriers went into the tunnel, and put out the fire. They were just in time, for the flames had taken a firm hold of the wooden beams.

After this, twenty-five men were always stationed in the tower and, at night, another picket of twenty-five men were placed in the covered way leading to the water. The entrance to this, at the water side, was exposed to the enemy's fire; but a barricade of stones, with interstices to allow the water to go through, was built into the river, and formed an efficient screen to the water bearers.

On the night of the 14th, the enemy again made an attack on the water bearers, but were repulsed with loss. The water way was, indeed, a source of constant anxiety. Between it, and the trees at the northwest corner of the fort, there was a stretch of seventy yards of sandy beach; lying underneath an overhanging bank, which entirely covered it from the fire of the fort, so that the enemy were able to get right up to the water tunnel without exposing themselves.

On the 15th, Sher Afzul sent in a messenger, to say that a party of sepoys had been defeated at Reshun, and that an officer was captive in his camp. The next day a letter was received from Lieutenant Edwardes. A truce was made for three days and, afterwards, extended to six; but this came to an end on the 23rd of March, and hostilities again began.

The prospect was gloomy. The men were beginning to suffer ni health from their long confinement, the paucity of their rations, and the terribly insanitary condition of the fort; and they had not heard of the approach of either Colonel Kelly's force or that under Sir Robert Low.

During the truce, a union jack had been made, and this was now hoisted on the flag tower, as a symbol of defiance. This cheered the spirits of the men and depressed those of the enemy, who began to see that the task before them was far more serious than they had hitherto supposed.

Gradually the attacks of the enemy became more feeble and, although the firing was almost continuous, it seemed as if the assailants trusted rather to famine, to reduce the fort, than to any exertion on their part. On April 6th they were very active, making two large sangars close to the main gate. Near these, and only fifty yards away from the gun tower, they were also hard at work, all day, in the summer house to the east of the fort.

The garrison, however, now received the news that a relief force had already arrived at Mastuj; in consequence of which they were saved from a further diminution of their scanty rations, which was already under discussion. The officers were comparatively well off, as they had plenty of horse flesh; but this the sepoys would not eat. The supply of ghee, which forms so prominent a part in the diet of the natives, had already given out; and the sepoys had nothing but a scanty allowance of flour to maintain life.

The news that the relief party had arrived at Mastuj greatly cheered the garrison. That relief would come, sooner or later, they had no doubt; but they had not even hoped that it could be so near. While, however, the news thus raised the spirits of the defenders, it at the same time showed their assailants that, unless they obtained a speedy success, the game would be altogether up.

Before daybreak on the morning of the 7th, a terrific fire was opened upon the walls. The enemy were evidently in great strength. In an instant everyone was at his post, and steady volleys were poured into the darkness, on the garden side of the fort, whence the chief attack seemed to be coming. Suddenly a strong light was seen near the gun tower, and it was found that the enemy had heaped faggots against the walls. These, being constructed partly of wood, gradually caught fire.

Mr. Robertson, with some of the levies, horse keepers, and servants, at once set to work to extinguish the flames; but the conflagration was too much for them. The troops in reserve were then sent to aid them. The work was dangerous and difficult, the flames raged fiercely, and the enemy kept up a tremendous fire from behind the walls of the summer house. Nevertheless the men worked their hardest, throwing down earth and water on the fire.

Many were wounded at the work. The fire was so fierce that large holes had to be knocked through the lower stories of the tower, through which to attack the flames; and it was not until ten o'clock that the efforts of the besieged were crowned with success, and all was again quiet. Nothing could have exceeded the bravery and devotion shown by the native levies, the non-combatants, officers' servants, water carriers, syces, and even the Chitralis.

Great precautions were taken to prevent similar attempts to fire any of the towers. Earth was brought up, and water stored. The water carriers slept with the great leathern bags which they carried, full; and a special fire picket was organized. When, on the evening of the 15th, the enemy again tried to fire the gun tower, they were repulsed without difficulty. On the following night a determined attack in force was made, on all sides of the fort; but was defeated with much loss.

The enemy now began to make a great noise, with drums and pipes, in the summer house. This lasted continuously for several days, and one of the natives, who was aware that the enemy had started tunnelling, guessed that this stir might possibly be made to drown the noise of the mining. Men were put on to listen and, at midnight, the sentry in the gun tower reported that he heard the noise and, next morning, the sound was distinctly audible within a few feet of the tower.

It was evident that there was no time to be lost and, at four o'clock in the afternoon, Lieutenant Harley and a hundred men issued from the fort, at the garden gate, and rushed at the summer house. It was held by forty of the enemy, who fired a volley, and fled after some sharp hand-to-hand fighting. The head of the mine was found to be in the summer house, and the tunnel was full of Chitralis.

Harley stationed his men in the summer house to repel any attack and, with five sepoys, jumped down into the mine. The Chitralis, about thirty in number, came swarming out but, after a fierce fight, they were bayoneted. The mine was then cleared, and gunpowder placed in position.

Two Chitralis, who had lain quiet at the other end of the tunnel, tried to make their escape in the turmoil. One of the sepoys fired, and must have hit a bag of gunpowder; for immediately there was a violent explosion, and the mine was blown up, from end to end. Harley was knocked over, and the Sikhs who were with him had their hair and clothes singed; but none of the party were otherwise hurt.

All this time, the sepoys in the summer house had been subject to a heavy fusillade from a breastwork, close by, and from the loopholed walls in the garden; while from all the distant sangars and hills a continuous fire was opened, the natives evidently believing that the garrison were making a last and desperate sortie.

The work done, Harley and his men hurried back to the fort, having been out of it an hour and ten minutes. Of the hundred that went out twenty-two were hit, nine mortally. In and around the summer house, thirty-five of the enemy were bayoneted, and a dozen more shot. That evening the garrison began to drive a couple of counter mines, to intercept any other mines that the enemy might attempt to make.

On the 18th the enemy were very quiet and, in the middle of the night, a man approached the fort and called out that Sher Afzul had fled, and that the relieving force was near at hand. Lieutenant Gurdon was sent out to reconnoitre, and he found that the whole place was deserted. The next afternoon, Colonel Kelly's force arrived.

Chapter 5: Promoted.

As he was not now in uniform, Lisle kept carefully out of sight when General Gatacre's force marched in, which it did very shortly after Colonel Kelly's arrival. This was probably unnecessary caution for, in addition to Mr. Robertson, there were two or three other civilians in the garrison; but he was desirous of escaping observation until General Low, who would arrive next day, should have heard of his escapade.

At mess, however, several officers of General Gatacre's force dined with the regiment; who had exerted themselves to the utmost to provide a banquet for their guests. Most of these had, at one time or other, been cantoned with the Pioneers. Two or three of the junior officers were introduced to the newcomers, among them Lisle.

"This gentleman," the colonel said, "is Mr. Lisle Bullen, son of the late Captain Bullen; who you have doubtless heard was killed, some little time ago, while storming a hill fort. He is at present acting as temporary lieutenant of my regiment."

The officers looked with some surprise at Lisle's still darkened face.

"I see you are surprised, gentlemen," the colonel said, "but there is a tale that hangs to that colour. I will relate it to you after dinner; but I may say that Bullen is not a half caste, as you might think, but of pure English blood."

At this moment dinner was announced. A temporary mess tent had been erected. It was open at the sides, and composed of many-coloured cloths. The party sat down under this. There was no cloth, and the dinner was served on a miscellaneous variety of dishes, for the most part of tin. Each guest brought his own knife, fork, and stool. It was a merry party and, after the table had been cleared, the colonel said:

"In the first place, Maneisty, you must give us the story of your doings; of which we have, at the present, heard only the barest outline."

"It is rather a long story, colonel."

"We have nothing else to talk about, here. We have seen no newspapers for a long time, and know nothing of what is going on outside; and therefore can't argue about it, or express opinions as to whether or not the government have, as usual, blundered. Therefore, the more detail you tell us, the better pleased we shall be."

"As you know, the first army corps, fourteen thousand strong, were ordered early in March to concentrate; so that when the news came that the garrison of Chitral were in serious danger, the manoeuvres were being carried out, but it was not until late in the day that the troops were able to move forward. The brigade marched to Jellala without tents, taking with them supplies sufficient for twenty days. The next morning the 2nd and 3rd Brigade went on to Dargai. The weather was cold and wet, and the roads soft.

"It had been given out that the 1st Brigade were to go by the Shakot Pass. This was only a ruse to deceive the enemy, and keep them from concentrating on the Malakand. Subsequently an officer rode up the Shakot Pass, and found it to be much more difficult than the Malakand, and more strongly fortified. Orders were sent, in the middle of the night, for the 1st Brigade to proceed at once to Dargai. Early in the morning a reconnaissance was made by General Blood, and a large body of the enemy were seen. It was evident that the passage of the pass was to be disputed.

"Starting from Dargai, the pass went through a gradually narrowing valley for about two miles; then bending to the northeast for a mile and a half, the hills on the west rising precipitously to a great height. On reaching the bend, the pass was strongly held on the west side.

"The 4th Sikhs went out on the flank. The Guides Infantry were directed to ascend the highest point of the western hill and, from this, to enfilade the enemy. It was a most arduous task, as they had to ascend the highest peak of the range, some fifteen hundred feet. Here several sangars had been erected by the enemy, who hurled down rocks and stones.

"In the meantime the main force advanced, and could make out the general position of the enemy. They occupied the whole of the crest of the western hill, having constructed numerous sangars down its side, each commanding the one below it. The greater part of their force was more than halfway down the hill, at the point where it descended precipitously into the valley. It was only at this point that the western side of the pass was held.

"Three batteries were sent up on this side. These attacked position after position on the eastern slope, and their fire was so accurate that it effectually prevented the enemy on the eastern side from concentrating.

"When the advance began, it was evident that little could be done until the Guides had secured the position they had been ordered to take. It was soon seen that they were very seriously outnumbered. The Gordon Highlanders had moved up the crest of the western hill, at the point where it touched the valley. The Scottish Borderers had hastened up the centre spur; the 60th Rifles were ordered up the slope, farther back in the line; while the Bedfordshire and 37th Dogras rounded the point on which the Gordon Highlanders began the ascent and, turning to the left, climbed the hill from the northern side. The 15th Sikhs were held in reserve.

"The brunt of the fighting fell upon the Gordon Highlanders and the Borderers. Making as they did a direct attack, they met with a sturdy resistance. Several of the sangars were carried by hand-to-hand fighting; indeed, had the advance not been so well covered by the fire of our guns, it is doubtful whether the position could have been captured.

"It was one of the finest scenes I ever saw. The hillside was literally covered with fire. We could see the two Scotch regiments pushing on, and attacking the sangars by rushes; while above them the shells from the guns and fire from the Maxims prevented the holders of the upper sangars from coming down to the assistance of those below. The moment the attacking troops reached the top, the enemy fled down the western slopes. The action began at 8:30 A.M., and concluded at 2 P.M. The enemy's loss was admitted, by themselves, to be about five hundred; ours was only eleven killed, and eight officers and thirty-nine men wounded.

"The 1st Brigade remained at the top of the pass, while its baggage mules moved up. The path was so bad that only a few mules reached the top that night. It was afterwards found that, if we had taken the path, we should have suffered most severely; as it was discovered that the walls of the sangars had been perforated with lateral slits, commanding every turn.

"On the following day the 1st Brigade descended into the Swat Valley. Its place on the pass was taken by the 2nd. As soon as the 1st Brigade got free of the pass, they were fired upon by the enemy, who had taken up a position on the Amandarra.

"The mountain battery was at once brought into action, and began shelling the sangars. Under its cover the Bedfordshires moved forward, and drove the enemy from their position. Here they fought with extreme obstinacy. The 37th Dogras carried a spur to the left, and sent back news that a great body of the enemy were advancing. A squadron of the Guides cavalry charged them, killing about thirty, and putting the rest to flight.

"The transport was now being gradually pushed up, and the brigade encamped at Khar, at half-past seven. As the enemy were in great force on the surrounding hills, a night attack was expected, and the troops lay down with fixed bayonets.

"The capture of these passes spread great consternation through the Swat valleys, as the tribes had always believed that they were impregnable, and boasted that an enemy had never entered their territory. They had fought with desperate bravery to defeat us; although we had no quarrel with them, and merely wished to get through their country to reach Chitral. Curiously enough, they had a strong belief in our magnanimity, and several of their wounded actually came into camp to be attended to by our surgeons.

"On the 5th of April the 1st Brigade remained all day in camp, the 2nd Brigade going on seven or eight miles farther. Early on the morning of the 7th, a party went down the river to make a bridge. A heavy fire was opened upon them, and the whole of the 2nd Brigade and the 15th Sikhs from the 1st Brigade went out in support.

"While the 11th Bengal Lancers were searching for a ford, they came under a heavy fire from a village at the foot of a knoll, 600 yards from the river. A mountain battery quickly silenced this fire, and two squadrons of Bengal Lancers and one of the Guides, crossing the ford, pursued the enemy five or six miles, and cut off about a hundred of them. Opposite the village they discovered another ford, where two could pass at once and, the next day, the rest of the brigade followed them. The people of the Swat Valley speedily accommodated themselves to the situation, and brought in sheep, fowls, and other things for sale.

"On the 9th, headquarters joined the 2nd Brigade at Chakdara, and the 3rd Brigade encamped on the south side of the river. On the 11th the headquarters and the 2nd Brigade arrived at the Panjkora River. A bridge had to be built across this but, on the 13th, just as it was finished, a flood came down and washed it away.

"A party were sent across at daybreak to burn the villages; which had, during the night, been firing on the advance guard of the 2nd Brigade. They accomplished their work but, while engaged upon it, were attacked by a very large force. The carrying away of the bridge rendered the position extremely dangerous, and the force was ordered, by signal, to fall back upon the river; while the Brigade covered their retreat from the opposite bank. The retreating column was sorely pressed, although the Maxim guns and the mountain battery opened fire upon the enemy. Colonel Battye was mortally wounded, and so hotly did the Afridis follow up their attack that a company of the Guides fixed bayonets, and charged them.

"As, however, the enemy still persisted in their attack, the force set to work to entrench themselves. This they managed to do, with the aid of a Maxim gun of the 11th; which had crossed one of the branches of the river, and got into a position flanking the entrenchments. All night the enemy kept up a heavy fire. In the morning the force were still unable to pass. However, during the day the 4th Sikhs came across on rafts, and passed the night with them. The force was much exhausted, for they had been more than forty-eight hours without a meal.

"Working day and night, in forty-eight hours another bridge was constructed, on the suspension system, with telegraph wires. Until it was finished, communication was maintained with the other bank by means of a skin raft, handled by two active boatmen.

"We had only one more fight, and that was a slight one. Then the news reached us that the position of Chitral was serious, and General Gatacre was hurried forward with our force."

"You had some tough fighting," the colonel said, "but the number of your casualties would seem to show that ours was the stiffer task. At the same time we must admit that, if you hadn't been detained for six or seven days at that river, you would have beaten us in the race."

"Yes, we were all mad, as you may well imagine, at being detained so long there. Our only hope was that your small force would not be able to fight its way through, until our advance took the spirit out of the natives. Certainly they fought very pluckily, in their attacks upon the force that had crossed; and that action came very close to being a serious disaster.

"The flood that washed away our bridge upset all our calculations. I almost wonder that the natives, when they found that we could not cross the river, did not hurry up to the assistance of the force that was opposing you. If they had done so, it would have been very awkward."

"It would have gone very hard with us, for they are splendid skirmishers and, if we had not had guns with us to effectually prevent them from concentrating anywhere, and had had to depend upon rifle fire alone, I have some doubts whether our little force would have been able to make its way through the defiles."

"Well, it has been a good undertaking, altogether; and I hope that the punishment that has been inflicted will keep the tribes quiet for some years."

"They will probably be quiet," the officer said, "till trouble breaks out in some other quarter, and then they will be swarming out like bees."

"It is their nature to be troublesome," the colonel said. "They are born fighters, and there is no doubt that the fact that most of them have got rifles has puffed them up with the idea that, while they could before hold their passes against all intruders, it would be now quite impossible for us to force our way in, when they could pick us off at twelve hundred paces.

"I wish we could get hold of some of the rascally traders who supply them with rifles of this kind. I would hang them without mercy. Of course, a few of the rifles have been stolen; but that would not account in any way for the numbers they have in their hands. A law ought to be passed, making it punishable by death for any trader to sell a musket to a native; not only on the frontier, but throughout India. The custom-house officers should be forced to search for them in every ship that arrives; the arms and ammunition should be confiscated; and the people to whom they are consigned should be fined ten pounds on every rifle, unless it could be proved that the consignment was made to some of the native princes, who had desired them for the troops raised as subsidiary forces to our own."

The colonel then related Lisle's story in the campaign, which created unbounded surprise among the guests.

"It was a marvellous undertaking for a young fellow to plan and carry out," one of them said. "There are few men who could have kept up the character; fewer still who would have attempted it, even to take part in a campaign. I am sure, colonel, that we all hope your application for a commission for him will be granted; for he certainly deserves it, if ever a fellow did."

There was a general murmur of assent and, shortly afterwards, the meeting broke up; for it was already a very late hour.

The rest of the campaign was uneventful. Lisle speedily fell back into the life he had led before the campaign began, except that he now acted as an officer. He already knew so much of the work that he had no difficulty, whatever, in picking up the rest of his duties. He was greatly pleased that the colonel said nothing more to Gholam Singh, and the native officers of his company and, by the time the regiment marched back to Peshawar, he was as efficient as other officers of his rank.

He had, after his father's death, written down to his agents at Calcutta; and had received a thousand rupees of the sum standing to his account, in their hands. He was therefore able to pay his share of the mess expenses; which were indeed very small for, with the exception of fowls and milk, it was impossible to buy anything to add to the rations given to them.

The march down was a pleasant one. There was no longer any occasion for speed. The snow had melted in the passes, the men were in high spirits at the success that had attended their advance, and the fact that they had been the first to arrive to the rescue of the garrison of Chitral.

A month after they reached Peshawar, Lisle was sent for by Colonel Kelly.

"I am pleased, indeed, to be able to inform you that my urgent recommendation of you has received attention, and that you have been gazetted as lieutenant, dating from the day of our arrival at Chitral. I congratulate you most heartily."

"I am indeed most delighted, sir. I certainly owe my promotion entirely to your kindness."

"Certainly not, Lisle; you well deserve it. I am sorry to say that you will have to leave us; for you are gazetted to the 103rd Punjabi Regiment, who are stationed at Rawalpindi."

"I am sorry indeed to hear that, sir; though of course, I could hardly have expected to remain with you. I shall be awfully sorry to leave. You have all been so kind to me, and I have known you all so long. Still, it is splendid that I have got my commission. I might have waited three or four years, in England; and then been spun at the examination."

Lisle marched down with the regiment to Peshawar. Here he had his uniforms made, laid in a stock of requisites, and then, after a hearty farewell from his friends, proceeded to join his regiment, which was lying at Rawalpindi. He took with him Robah, whom the major relinquished in his favour.

On his arrival at the station, he at once reported himself to the colonel.

"Ah! I saw your name in the gazette, a short time since. You must have lost no time in coming out from England."

"I was in India when I was gazetted, sir."

"Well, I am glad that you have joined so speedily; for I am short of officers, at present. There is a spare tent, which my orderly will show you. We shall have tiffin in half an hour, when I can introduce you to the other officers."

When Lisle entered the mess tent, he was introduced to the other officers, one of whom asked him when he had arrived from England.

"I have never been to England. I was born out here. My father was a captain in the 32nd Punjabis, and was killed in an attack on a hill fort. That was some months ago, and I remained with the regiment, whose quarters had always been my home, until there should be an opportunity for my being sent down to Calcutta."

"Well, it is very decent of the War Office to give you a commission; though, of course, it is the right thing to do--but it is not often that they do the right thing. Your regiment did some sharp fighting on their way up to Chitral, but of course you saw nothing of that."

"Yes; I accompanied the regiment."

"The deuce you did!" the colonel said. "I wonder you managed to get up with it, or that Colonel Kelly gave you leave. I certainly should not, myself, have dreamed of taking a civilian with me on such an expedition."

Lisle nodded.

"The colonel did not give me leave, sir. With the aid of one of the native officers, with whom my father was a favourite, I obtained a native uniform; and went through the campaign as a private."

The officers all looked upon him with astonishment.

"Do you mean to say that you cooked with them, fought with them, and lived with them, as one of themselves?"

"That was so, sir; and it was only at the last fight that the truth came out, for then one of the officers heard me make a remark to myself, in English. Fortunately, the native officers gave a very good account of my conduct. I was one of a small party that descended a cliff with ropes, and did a good deal towards driving the Chitralis out of their position."

"But how was it that you were not recognized by the soldiers?"

"I speak the language as well as I speak my own," Lisle said quietly. "Having lived with the regiment all my life, I learned to speak it like a native."

"Well," the colonel said, "it was a plucky thing for you to do. The idea of disguising yourself in that way was a very happy one; but not many officers would like to go through such a campaign as a private in the Pioneers, or any other Indian regiment.

"Well, I congratulate myself in having acquired an officer who must, at any rate, understand a great deal of his work, and who can talk to the men in their own language; instead of, as I expected, a raw lad.

"How old are you, Mr. Bullen? You look very young."

"I am only a little past sixteen," Lisle said, with a laugh; "but I don't suppose the War Office knew that. Colonel Kelly was kind enough to send in a strong recommendation on my behalf; stating, I believe, the fact, that I had disguised myself as a private in order to go to Chitral with the regiment, and that, as he was pleased to say, I distinguished myself. He at once appointed me, temporarily, as an officer; and as such I remained with the corps, until their return to Peshawar. He also, of course, mentioned the fact that I am the son of Captain Bullen, who lost his life in bravely attacking a hill fort. I don't think he thought it necessary to mention my age."

"Well, you have certainly managed very cleverly, Mr. Bullen. I am sure you will be an acquisition to the regiment. I think we can say safely that you are the youngest officer in the service.

"Gentlemen, will you drink to the health of our new comrade, who has already shown that he is of the right sort, and of whom we may be proud?"

The next day the colonel received a letter from Colonel Kelly. It ought to have arrived before Lisle himself, but had been delayed by the post. It spoke in very high terms of his conduct, and then said that he was a general favourite in the regiment, and that he was sure that he would do credit to the corps he had joined.

The next year and a half passed quietly. Lisle was soon as much liked, in his new regiment, as he had been by the Pioneers. The men would have done anything for him, for he was always ready to chat with them, to enter into their little grievances, and to do many a kind action.

Chapter 6: Unfair Play.

Five or six of the officers were married men, and had their wives with them. These, when they learned that the young subaltern had disguised himself, and enlisted in the Pioneers in order to go up with them to the front, took a lively interest in him, and made quite a pet of him. Two other regiments were at the station at the time and, consequently, there was a good deal of gaiety in the way of lawn tennis and croquet parties, small dinners and dances and, after mess, billiards and whist. Lisle soon became an expert in the former games, but he never touched either a billiard cue or a card, though he was an interested spectator when others were playing.

Baccarat was very popular with the faster set. At this game play sometimes ran high, and there was a captain in one of the other regiments who scarcely ever sat down without winning. At the beginning of the evening, when play was low, he generally lost; but was certain to get back his losings, and sometimes a considerable sum over, as the stakes rose higher. One of the lieutenants who was a chum of Lisle's was particularly unlucky. He was of an excitable disposition, and played high as the evening went on. Lisle noticed that he often paid in chits, instead of money. This was not an unusual custom, as officers are often short of cash, and settle up when they receive their month's pay. Lisle frequently remonstrated with his friend on the folly of his proceedings, and the young fellow declared that he would retire from the table, if luck went against him. But the mania was too strong for him.

"It is extraordinary what bad luck I have," he said, one day. "I almost always win at the beginning of the evening; and then, when I get thoroughly set, my winnings are swept away."

"Why don't you get up when you are a winner?"

"That would be very bad form, Bullen; a fellow who did that would be considered a cad."

"I should strongly advise you to give it up, altogether."

Lisle observed with regret that his friend's spirits fell, and that he became moody and irritable. One day, when he went into his quarters, he found him sitting with a look of misery upon his face.

"What is it, Gordon?" he asked. "I hope I am not in the way?"

"Well, it has come to this," the young officer said. "I am at the end of my tether. I shall have to leave the regiment."

"Nonsense!" Lisle replied.

"It is true. I owe a lot of money to that fellow Sanders. He has bought up all my chits, and this is a note from him, saying that he has waited two or three months, but must now request me to pay up without further delay. Besides my pay, I have only eighteen hundred pounds, that was left me by an old aunt; but that will barely cover what I owe. Of course I can hold on on my pay; but the loss of so much money will make a lot of difference, and I fear I shall have to transfer. It is hard lines, because I am now pretty high on the list of lieutenants; and shall, of course, have to go to the bottom of the list.

"The only alternative would be to enlist in some white regiment that has lately come out. There are plenty of gentlemen in the ranks. I certainly see no other way."

"I had no idea it was so bad as that, Gordon. Surely there must be some other way out of the difficulty. I could lend you a couple of hundred pounds."

"Thank you, old fellow! But I am so deeply in debt that that would make no difference."

"I am not sure that there is not something else to be done," said Lisle. "While I sit watching the play, I can see more than the players can; and since I have noticed that Sanders persistently wins, directly the stakes get high, I have watched him very closely, and am convinced that he does not play fair. It has struck me that he withdraws the money on his cards when he sees that the dealer has a strong hand, and adds to his stake when he considers that the dealer is weak.

"Now my testimony as a youngster would go a very little way, if unsupported against his; but if you will give me a solemn promise that you will never play baccarat again, I will get two or three fellows to watch him. Then, if we can prove that he plays unfairly, of course you will be able to repudiate payment of the money he has won of you."

"Good heaven! It would be the saving of me, and I will willingly give you the promise you want. But you must surely be mistaken! Sanders certainly has had wonderful luck, but I have never heard a suggestion that he does not play fair. I only know that there is a good deal of shyness about playing with him. You see, it is a frightful thing to accuse a man of cheating."

"I admit that it is not pleasant; but if a man cheats, and is found out, it is the duty of every honest man to denounce him, if they detect him.

"Well, if you don't mind, I will take Lindsay, Holmes, and Tritton into my confidence. They all play occasionally, and you must let me mention that you are altogether in his power; and that, unless he is detected, you will have to leave the regiment. Mind, don't you watch him yourself. Play even more recklessly than usual; that will make him a bit careless."

"Well, there is a possibility that you are right, Bullen, and if you can but detect him, you will save me from frightful disgrace."

"I will try, anyhow."

Bullen sent a note to the officers he had mentioned, asking them to come to his quarters, as he particularly wished to speak to them. In a quarter of an hour they joined him.

"Well, what is up, Bullen?" Tritton said. "What do you want with us?"

"It is a serious business, Tritton. That fellow Sanders owns chits of Gordon's to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds."

An exclamation of dismay broke from his hearers.

"Good heavens!" Tritton exclaimed, "how could he possibly have lost so much as that? I know that the play has been high; but still, even with the worst luck, a man could hardly lose so much as that."

"I fancy that, after the party in the mess room has broken up, several of them used to adjourn to Sanders' quarters; and it was there that the great bulk of the money was lost."

"What a fool Gordon has been!" Lindsay said. "What a madman! Such a good fellow, too!

"Well, of course, nothing can be done. If it were only a hundred or two, the money would be subscribed at once; but fifteen hundred is utterly beyond us. What is he thinking of doing?"

"Well, he has eighteen hundred pounds, and he talked of drawing out the amount and paying up, and then exchanging into some other regiment. The question, however, is, whether he ought to pay."

The others looked up at him in surprise.

"Why, of course he must pay," Tritton said; "at least he must pay, or quit the service, a disgraced man."

"I think there is an alternative," Lisle said, "and that is why I have sent for you."

"What alternative can there be?"

"Well, you know I don't play; but I like sitting watching the game, and I am quite convinced that Sanders doesn't play fair."

"You don't say so!" Tritton said. "That is a very serious accusation to make, you know, Bullen!"

"I am perfectly aware of that, and I feel that it would be mad for me to make an unsupported accusation against Sanders. But I want you three fellows to join me in watching Sanders play. My word, unsupported, would be of no avail; but if four of us swore that we saw him cheating, there could be no doubt about the result.

"For one thing, Sanders would have to leave the army. That would be no loss to the service, for he is an overbearing brute; to say nothing of the fact that several young officers have had to leave the service, owing to their losses at play with him."

"I know of two cases," Lindsay said. "There was a very strong feeling against him, but no one suspected him of unfair play. It was he who introduced baccarat here, when his regiment first came up. It had never been played here before, and you may notice that very few of his fellow officers ever take a hand.

"Well, there will be no harm in our watching. It is a thing that one doesn't like doing but, when it comes to a fellow officer being swindled, it is clearly our duty to expose the man who is doing it."

"Very well, then, this evening two of us will take our stand behind Gordon, and the other two behind Sanders."

"But how did he cheat? It seems a fair game enough."

"He does it in this way. He puts five sovereigns under his hand. That is the limit, you know. Then he looks at his card, and pushes it out. With his hand still touching it, he watches the dealer and, if he can see by his face that his card is a good one--and you can generally tell that--he withdraws his hand with four of the sovereigns, leaving only one on the card. If, on the other hand, he thinks it is a bad one, he leaves the whole five there. He does the trick cleverly enough; but I am certain that I have, four or five times, seen him do it.

"Keep your eyes on his hand. You will see that he takes up five sovereigns from the heap before him, and that he has them in his hand when he pushes the card out. You will notice how he fixes his eye upon the dealer, and that he leaves either one or five, as I have said. He does it, at times, all through the evening, especially when Gordon is dealing; for I can tell, myself, by Gordon's face whether he has a good or a bad card. Of course, he can see it, too.

"I want you all to nod to me, when you see it done. We shall let him do it two or three times, so that we can all swear to it."

All agreed to do so, and Lisle then went to Gordon's quarter's.

"Tritton, Lindsay, and Holmes are going to watch with me tonight. I think the best thing will be for you to answer Sanders' note, and tell him that you will require time to draw your money from England to pay him; but that you will play again tonight, to see if luck turns."

That evening the four young officers took their places, as arranged. Now that their attention had been directed to it, they saw that several times Sanders, although he took up five pounds, only left one on the card; and that he kept his hand upon it, up to the last moment. Each in turn nodded to Lisle.

All noticed how intently Sanders watched the dealer. Generally he left two sovereigns on the card, apparently when the dealer had a moderate card; but when he had a very low or a very high one, the trick was played. After fully satisfying himself that he had good proofs, just as Sanders was again withdrawing his hand with four sovereigns in it, Lisle threw himself forward, jerked the hand upwards, and showed the four sovereigns lying under it.

"I accuse Captain Sanders of cheating. I have seen him do this trick half a dozen times."

Sanders shook himself free, and aimed a heavy blow at Lisle; who, however, stepped aside and, before he could repeat it, he was seized by the officers standing round. A tremendous hubbub arose, in the midst of which the colonel entered the room.

"What is all this about?" he enquired.

The din subsided at once, and two or three officers said:

"Bullen accused Captain Sanders of cheating."

"This is a very serious accusation, Bullen," the colonel said sternly, "and unless you can substantiate it, may be of very serious consequences to yourself. Will you tell me what you saw?"

Lisle related the circumstances, and how the fraud was accomplished.

"You mean to say that, by watching the dealer's eye, Captain Sanders leaves one pound or five on his card?"

"That is what I said, sir. I have seen him do it on several nights. Tonight I determined to expose him, and Tritton, Lindsay, and Holmes have been watching him with me. I was induced to do so by the fact that the man has rooked Lieutenant Gordon of something like fifteen hundred pounds, for which he holds his chits."

"Mr. Tritton, you hear what Mr. Bullen says. Have you also observed the act of cheating of which he accuses Captain Sanders?"

"Yes, sir; I have seen him do it several times this evening. I believe he has done it more, but I am prepared to swear to seven times."

The colonel looked at Lindsay, who said:

"I have seen suspicious movements eleven times, but I should not like to swear to more than four."

"And you, Mr. Holmes?"

"I can swear to five times, but I believe he did it much oftener than that."

"What have you to say, Captain Sanders?"

"I say it is a conspiracy on the part of these four young officers to ruin me. It is a lie from beginning to end."

"I am afraid, Captain Sanders, that you will find it very difficult to persuade anyone that four officers, who as far as I know have no ill feeling against you, should conspire to bring such a charge. However, I shall report the matter to your colonel, tomorrow, with a written statement from these four officers of what they saw. He will, of course, take such steps in the matter as he thinks fit."

Without a word, Sanders turned on his heel and left the room, followed by the angry glances of all who were present.

"Mr. Bullen, you have behaved with great discretion," the colonel said, "in not making a charge on your first impression, but getting three other officers to watch that man's behaviour. Tomorrow I shall hold a court of enquiry, at which the major, the adjutant, and two other officers will sit with me. You will all, of course, be called, and will have to repeat your story in full.

"Lieutenant Gordon, I am shocked to hear that an officer of my regiment should gamble to such an extent as you have done. You will, of course, be called tomorrow. I think that, at the best, you will be advised to change into another regiment. I need not say that, after this exposure, the chits that you have given to Captain Sanders become null and void.

"This room will be closed for the rest of the evening."

The officers, however, gathered in the room below, and talked the matter over. There was not a whisper of regret at the disgrace that had fallen upon Sanders. His reputation was a bad one. Since his regiment had been in India one young officer had shot himself, and three had been obliged to leave the army, and in all cases it was known that these had lost large sums to him; but the matter had been hushed up, as such scandals generally are in the army. Still, the truth had been whispered about, and it was because none of the officers in his regiment would play with him that he had come habitually to the mess of the Pioneers; by which, his own regiment having been quartered in southern India until six months previously, nothing was known of his antecedents.

"We shall all have to be very careful, when you are looking on at our play, Bullen," one said, laughing. "I hadn't given you credit for having such sharp eyes; and certainly Sanders did not, either, or he would never have tried his games on, while you were standing watching him."

"I was not playing, you see," Lisle said, "and the players do not trouble about onlookers, but keep their attention directed to the dealer. Standing there evening after evening, it was really easy to see what he was doing; for he, too, kept his attention fixed on the dealer, and paid no heed to us who were looking on. He occasionally did look up at us, but evidently he concluded that we were only innocent spectators. When my suspicions were aroused, there was really no difficulty in detecting him."

"How was it that you did not interfere before?"

"Because it was only my word against that of Sanders, and it was only after Gordon told me how much he was in debt to the man; and that the latter had, that morning, written to him calling upon him to pay up, that I saw that something must be done. So I asked Tritton, Lindsay, and Holmes to watch him closely this evening, along with me."

"Well, I hope Gordon won't have to go," the other said. "He is an awfully good fellow, though he has made an abject ass of himself."

"Don't you think, Prosser, that if we were all to sign a petition to the colonel, to ask him to overlook the matter, as Gordon has received a lesson that will certainly last his lifetime, he might do so."

"It depends upon how much the matter becomes public. Of course, there must be a court of enquiry in the other regiment; and if, as is certain, a report is sent to the commander-in-chief, Sanders will be cashiered; and I should fancy that Gordon would be called upon to resign. Of course, you four and Gordon will have to give evidence before the commission. It depends, of course, how his colonel takes it; but it is certain that Sanders will have to go, and I fear Gordon will, too. I expect our colonel will get a wigging for allowing high play; though, as you say, the greater part of the money was lost in private play, in Sanders' room.

"Anyhow, it will be a somewhat ugly thing for the regiment in general, and we shall get the nickname of 'the gamblers' throughout the army."

The next morning, at eight o'clock, the little committee met. The four young officers gave their evidence, which was put on paper in duplicate and signed by them, a copy being sent to the colonel of Sanders' regiment. In a short time that officer was seen to go into the colonel's tent and, half an hour later, he came out again and went away. A few minutes after he had left, the four officers were summoned.

"I hope," the colonel said, "that we have heard the last of this most unpleasant business. His colonel tells me that this morning, as soon as he turned out, Sanders called upon him and said that he had to go to England, on urgent family business; and that, on his arrival there, he should send in his papers and retire. He gave him leave to go at once, and Sanders disposed of his horse and traps, and started by the eight o'clock train for Calcutta. In these circumstances we have decided, for the credit of both regiments, that the matter shall be held over. If, as is morally certain, he leaves the army, nothing more need be said about it. Of course, if he should return, it will be brought up.

"I should say, however, that there is no chance whatever of that. I beg of you to impress upon the officers of the regiment; which, indeed, I shall myself do at mess, to make no allusion whatever, outside the regiment, to what has occurred. The less said about it, the better. If it were at all known, and got to the ears of the commander-in-chief--and you know how gossip of this kind spreads--both his colonel and myself would get a severe wigging, for not sending in a report of it. In that case a committee would be appointed to go into the whole matter and, as a result, the regiment would probably be sent to the worst possible cantonment they could find for us, and Gordon would be called upon to retire. I will therefore ask you to give me your word that the matter shall not be alluded to, outside the regiment. There is no fear of any of Sanders' regiment hearing anything about it, as none of them were present last night.

"Upon further consideration, I think that it would be better to summon all the officers of the regiment, at once, and to impress upon them the necessity for keeping silence on the matter."

Five minutes later the officers' call sounded and, when all were assembled in the anteroom, the colonel repeated to them what he had said to Lisle and his companions; and obtained an undertaking from them, individually, that they would maintain an absolute silence on the matter.

The affair greatly added to the estimation in which Lisle was held in the regiment. His quickness in detecting the swindle, and the steps he had taken to obtain proof of his suspicions, showed that he possessed other qualities besides pluck and determination.

It is to be feared that some, at least, of the married officers either did not regard the promise of silence as affecting their wives, or had told them what had taken place before they were requested to abstain from alluding to it; for three or four of the ladies made sly allusions, when talking to Lisle, which showed that they were cognizant of what had taken place.

"Well, Mr. Bullen," one of them said, "I have up till now regarded you as little more than a boy, in spite of your pluck in going up as a native soldier to Chitral. Now I shall hold you in much higher respect, and shall regard you as a young man with an exceptionally sharp eye, and exceptionally keen discernment."

"I don't think I quite understand you, Mrs. Merritt," Lisle said innocently.

"It is all very well for you to put on that air of ignorance. You don't suppose that married men can keep matters like this from their wives? I can tell you we all admire, very much, the manner in which you saved Lieutenant Gordon from having to leave the service. He is a favourite with us all and, though he seems to have made a great fool of himself, we should all be sorry if he had had to leave us."

"Well, you see, Mrs. Merritt, I am not a married man--"

"I should think not," the lady laughed.

"And do not know how much married men feel themselves bound to keep secrets from their wives; and I can therefore neither confess nor deny that I took any part in the incident to which you are referring."

"You silly boy! Don't you see that I know all about it, and that it is ridiculous for you to pretend to misunderstand me?"

"I do not pretend, Mrs. Merritt. I only know that I have given my promise that I will keep absolute silence on the matter, and that no exception was made as to the ladies of the regiment. That, of course, lies between them and their husbands."

"Well, whether that is so or not, Mr. Bullen, I can tell you that the affair has very greatly raised you in our esteem. We all liked you before; but we really did regard you only as a young officer who had proved that he possessed an uncommon amount of pluck and determination. In future, we shall regard you as a gentleman who was ready to take no inconsiderable risk on behalf of a fellow officer."

"Thank you, Mrs. Merritt! I can assure you that I do not feel a bit more of a man than I did before; but I feel happy in having gained the good opinion of the ladies of the regiment."

After this, Lisle came to be regarded as the special pet of the ladies of the regiment. Among the officers he became a very general favourite, and his popularity was increased by the fact that he was not only one of the best shots, but one of their best cricketers; and several times did efficient service, by his bowling, in the matches between the regiment and the others cantoned with them.

Then came the news that the tribes had risen, that the Malakand had been attacked, that Chakdara, the fortified post on the Swat river, was invested, and that the tribes on this side of the Panjkora were in revolt. This, however, was soon followed by a report that the post had been relieved, that heavy losses had been inflicted upon the tribesmen, and that the trouble was over.

For some time the frontier had been in a state of tension. The Mullahs, or priests, had been inciting the tribesmen to insurrection; and one especially, who was called the Mad Mullah, had gone about from tribe to tribe, stirring the people up. He professed to be a successor of the great Akhund of Swat, and to have inherited his powers. He claimed to be able to work miracles. The Heavenly host were, he said, on his side.

His excited appeals, to the fanaticism which exists in every Pathan, were responded to in a marvellous manner. The villagers flew to arms. Still, it was thought and hoped that, when the first excitement caused by his appeals had died away, matters would calm down again. The hope, however, was short lived for, before long, the startling news came that the Mohmunds, a tribe whose territory lay near Peshawar, were in revolt; and that Shabkadr, a village within our frontier, had been raided and destroyed.

Within the next few days the Samana was invested, and the Khyber Pass was in the hands of the Afridis. The Peshawar movable column, of four guns, two squadrons of native horse, and the 20th Punjabi regiment, with a few companies of the Somersets, were sent out to Shabkadr. On arriving there they found that the bazaar had been burnt, and that the enemy had taken up a position facing the fort, about a mile and a half distant.

The cavalry skirted the cultivated ground between the force and the plateau, and pushed the enemy backward, with severe loss, into the low hills that skirt the border. Next morning the enemy were seen in possession of the lower hill, and the force moved out to attack them. They were found to be in great strength, numbering nearly seven thousand. Leaving a strong force to face the column, flanking parties came down concealed by the low hills.

The infantry retired in two sections, but the artillery came into action. The cavalry made their way up one of the ravines and, when they got within charging distance, they went at the enemy at a gallop. Taking the entire length of the plateau, about a mile and a half, they charged the attacking force from end to end; and drove them, demoralized, into the hills. The severity of the morning's fighting may be judged from the fact that sixty percent of the force engaged suffered casualties.

From that time, until it was determined to send an expedition into the Mohmund country, the force remained as a corps of observation. A force drawn chiefly from the Peshawar garrison was speedily got together and, on 11th September, had concentrated at or about Shabkadr fort; a general advance having been arranged for, on the 15th of the month.

In the meantime, more serious troubles had arisen with the Zakka-Khels. This tribe was the most powerful of the Pathans. They were at all times troublesome, and frequently made raids across the frontier, carrying off large quantities of cattle; and living, indeed, entirely upon plunder. The Zakhels and the Kukukbels had joined them, as well as several other smaller tribes. They believed that they could do this with impunity, for no Englishman had ever visited their wild country, with its tremendous gorges and passes. A large proportion of them were furnished with Martini and Lee-Metford rifles, and many of the others carried Sniders.

To operate against such formidable enemies, possessing almost impregnable positions, a large force was needed; and time was required to collect the troops. Still more, an enormous train of baggage animals would be required, and a vast amount of stores of all kinds.

It was clear that the time that would be occupied in the preparations of the campaign would be very considerable; but, while these were being made, it was determined that the expedition from Peshawar should move, at once, into the Mohmund country, and finish with that tribe before the main operation began; and that the Malakand division, and the Mohmund field force should carry out the work of punishment, in the stretch of country lying between Lalpura and the Swat River.

It was known that Chakdara was holding out, but that it was hardly pressed, and the first step was to relieve the garrison. Colonel Meiklejohn pushed forward, with a comparatively small force, and arrived at the Malakand on the 1st of August. The reinforcement that had reached that garrison had enabled them to take the offensive, and orders were issued for a strong cavalry reconnaissance to the Amandara valley, five miles away. They found the enemy in such force that the cavalry were obliged to retire, and they effected their retreat with great difficulty, under a very heavy fire. As the path was narrow, cavalry could only proceed in single file, exposed the while to the fire of the enemy.

Sir Bindon Blood arrived, that evening, to take the command. The main body were to move down the road; while a force under Colonel Goldney advanced up the hill to the right, and turned the enemy's flank. Colonel Goldney's attack was perfectly successful. The enemy were taken completely unawares, and entirely routed. The march of the main column, therefore, met with no opposition for some distance; then the enemy opened fire, from among the rocks on the hills.

A party of the Guides and the 45th Sikhs were ordered to take the position, at the point of the bayonet. The enemy, however, stuck to their position until they were bayoneted, or driven over the rocks. The 34th and 55th Sikhs stormed some sangars on the left and, pushing their way pluckily up the steep slopes, slowly gained the heights, step by step and, in spite of the hot fire and the showers of rocks and stones, drove the enemy out of their strongholds. On this the tribesmen lost heart and fled, hotly pursued by the cavalry, who cut them up in great numbers.

During the fighting at the Malakand, previous to the arrival of the relief, our casualties were one hundred and seventy-three killed and wounded, including thirteen British officers and seven natives. The siege of the small fort of Chakdara had been a severe one. The garrison consisted of two companies of the 45th Sikhs, with cavalry. On the evening of the 26th they were attacked, but repulsed their assailants with loss. Next morning Captain Wright, with a company of forty troopers, arrived from the Malakand, having run the gauntlet of large parties of the enemy. The whole of the day was spent in repelling rushes of the enemy and, for the next few days, Wright's garrison were unable to leave their posts.

On the 29th the enemy attacked the tower and endeavoured to burn it down; but were again repulsed, with heavy loss.

Chapter 7: Tales Of War.

As soon as it became evident that the Afridis were up, and that there would be stern fighting, the conversation in the mess room naturally turned on past expeditions against the wild tribesmen. Two or three of the officers had exchanged into the regiment, when their own went home. Having been two or three years on the frontier, they had many tales of hill fighting to tell; and these were eagerly listened to by all the younger officers, as they felt certain that they too would, ere long, be taking part in such struggles.

"A fine instance of defence," one of the junior captains said, "was that of Thobal in 1891. As you all know, I am a ranker, and I received my commission for that business. I was with a mere handful of men, thirty Ghoorkhas and fifty rifles of the 12th Burmah Infantry. We were commanded by Lieutenant Grant. I was with him as quartermaster sergeant, and general assistant. The Ghoorkhas had sixty rounds per man for their Martini rifles, the Burmah men one hundred and sixty rounds per man for their Sniders. They were a pretty rough lot, only twenty of them being old soldiers, the rest recruits.

"One morning we received news that Mr. Quintin with four civil officers, and an escort of seven British officers and four hundred and fifty-four Ghoorkhas, who had gone up to Manipur, had been massacred. Happily the news was exaggerated, but a treacherous attack was made upon the party, and Mr. Quintin and many others killed. Grant thought that this was probably the case, and determined to push on with his little force, in the hope of rescuing some survivors.

"The distance from Tamu to Manipur is about fifty-five miles. We started at half-past five, on the morning of the 28th. The difficulties were so great that we only moved at the rate of a mile an hour. At two in the morning we started again, and marched about ten miles; in the course of which we were occasionally fired at by the enemy. The moon rose at eleven, and the advance was continued.

"The resistance now became severe. The telegraph wires had been cut, taken down from the poles, and twisted about the road; and trees had also been felled across it. While we were endeavouring to clear away the obstacles, a heavy fire was poured into us. Small parties were therefore sent out to disperse the enemy, and this they did most successfully, capturing three guns and a good deal of ammunition.

"Pushing on, we issued, at six in the morning, on the hills. Before us was the village of Palel, which was garrisoned by two hundred Manipur soldiers. You must remember that Manipur had been a sort of subsidiary state, and had a regular army, drilled by Europeans. However, Grant attacked them at once, and drove them out with loss.

"After halting at Palel for some hours a start was made, at eleven o'clock at night; and at daybreak we came upon some villages, each house in which was standing alone in a large enclosure, surrounded by a wall, ditch, and hedge. We went at them and carried them, one by one, without any great loss to ourselves. Issuing on the other side, we came upon a plain about a thousand yards across. Beyond this was a bridge, on fire. The enemy were strongly posted in trenches and behind hedges.

"Grant decided to attack, and to try and save the bridge. He advanced across the plain with two sections of ten men each, supported by another section of the same strength. The rest of his force, consisting of forty men, he kept in reserve.

"I own that it seemed to me a desperately risky thing; for, from what we could see, we judged that the enemy were about a thousand strong. Grant himself led the party, and he put me in charge of the reserve. A very heavy fire was opened by the enemy; but Grant and his men steadily advanced, and succeeded in getting within a hundred yards of the enemy. Here I came up with him; and we dashed into the river, carried the enemy's trenches at the point of the bayonet, and hunted them out, from enclosure to enclosure, till they all drew off.

"By the side of the bridge was the village of Thobal; and as, with so small a force, it was impossible to advance against the overwhelming numbers that would meet us before we got to Manipur, fifteen miles away, Grant determined to hold Thobal; where he could, he thought, defend himself, and afford refuge to any who had escaped the massacre. As soon as the enemy had retired, we all set to work to prepare a defensive position; by setting fire to the crops, so as to prevent the enemy from creeping up unseen, and by making an abattis.

"The night passed off quietly. At six in the morning the enemy were seen advancing in force, but Lieutenant Grant sent out thirty men to the farthest wall of the village, some four hundred yards in advance of the enclosure; and their fire checked the enemy, and forced them to retire. At three in the afternoon the enemy advanced in great force, their line being over a mile long. Grant again occupied the front wall, and held his fire till the enemy reached a point which had been carefully marked as being six hundred yards away. Fire was then opened, the muskets being sighted for this known range. The tribesmen fell in great numbers, and drew back under the protection of their artillery, who now opened fire at a range of about a thousand yards. In half an hour they were completely silenced.

"They then withdrew to another hill, five hundred yards farther off but, even at this range, we got at them with our Martinis, and they soon began firing wildly. The infantry advanced several times, but were always driven back as soon as they reached the six-hundred-yards limit.

"It was now becoming dark, and the enemy were working round on our flank. We therefore fell back on the entrenched position and, though the enemy kept up a heavy fire till two in the morning, ammunition was too scanty to allow us to waste a cartridge, and no reply was made. At three we set to work to strengthen the defences, using baskets filled with earth and sacks filled with sand, as well as adding to the abattis.

"In the course of the day the enemy sent in a flag of truce, offering to allow us to retreat. This Grant refused to do, till all prisoners still in the hands of the Manipuris were delivered over to him. In order to deceive the enemy as to his strength, Grant put on a colonel's badge and uniform and, in his communications with the enemy, spoke and behaved as if he had the whole regiment under his command in the village. The enemy were undoubtedly misled, and wasted three days in negotiations.

"Then fighting recommenced and, at daybreak, the enemy made a determined attack upon the advance, with artillery. By eight o'clock they had pushed the attack home, and passed the line of walls and hedges a hundred yards from our position. The situation was growing serious when, leaving me in command, Grant went out with ten Ghoorkhas, crept along unobserved to the end of one of the walls and, turning this, made a sudden attack upon the enemy from behind. Taken wholly by surprise they fled, leaving six or seven dead behind them.

"At eleven o'clock they were again pressing hotly and, encouraged by the success of his first sortie, Grant determined to make another. This time he took me with him. With six Ghoorkhas he had driven the enemy from one hedge, when he discovered a party of about sixty men behind a wall, twenty yards distant.

"'Now, my lads,' he said, 'we have got to run the gauntlet, but you need not be afraid of their fire. Seeing us so close to them, it is sure to be wild.'

"Then, with a cheer, we dashed across the open. The enemy blazed at us, but their fire was wild and confused; and we were among them before they could reload, killing a dozen, and sending the rest to the right about, many of them wounded.

"On returning to the camp, we found that there were only fifty rounds left for the Snider rifles, and thirty rounds each for the Martinis. Strict orders were therefore given that no one was to fire till the enemy were within close range. However, there was no doubt that the fight was all taken out of them, by the spirit with which those two little sorties had been made. They kept up a steady fire till nightfall, but took good care not to show themselves; and they retired, as soon as they could do so, in the darkness.

"That was really the end of the fighting. Three days passed, and then a letter arrived from the officer in command of the expedition, ordering him to fall back to Tamu, whence a detachment had been despatched to meet him. This order had fallen into the hands of the enemy. They no doubt informed themselves of its contents, and were so utterly glad to get rid of us, without further loss, that they gladly sent it in to us. That night there was a heavy thunderstorm, with a tremendous downpour of rain, and under cover of it we withdrew quietly, and before long were met by the relieving force."

"That was a splendid resistance."

"Magnificent! You certainly earned your commission well, Towers.

"Now, Major, let us hear the story of the battle of Ahmed Kheyl, where you met the fanatics in force. I doubt whether the Afridis will fight in the same way; but they may and, at any rate, the story will be instructive."

"Well, it is seventeen years ago, now," the major said, "and I was a junior lieutenant. I was, as you all know, marching from Kandahar to Kabul under Sir Donald Stewart; and at Ahmed Kheyl, twenty-three miles south of Ghuzni, we met the Afghans in force, estimated at fifteen thousand foot and a thousand horse. For several days we had known that they were in the neighbourhood. Their cavalry scouts could be seen marching parallel to us, about eight miles away, on the right flank.

"On the 19th of April we marched at daybreak. The advance guard consisted of seven hundred rifles, seven hundred and fifty cavalry, and six guns; the main body of somewhat over a thousand rifles, three hundred and forty-nine sabres, and ten guns; then came the trains and hospitals, guarded by strong detachments on each flank; while the rear guard was fourteen hundred infantry, three hundred and sixteen cavalry, and six mountain guns. The length of the column was about six miles.

"Its head had marched about seven miles, when the cavalry in advance caught sight of the enemy, in position, three miles ahead. Preparations were made for receiving an attack and, at eight o'clock, the march was resumed. Half a squadron of Bengal Lancers were sent to cover the left front of the infantry brigade, which was now close to a range of low hills that ran parallel to the line of march for some distance, then made a bend to the east. The enemy were seen in position, covering the point of passage through the hills, and also upon the hills flanking the road by which the division would advance.

"When within a mile and a half of the enemy, two batteries moved out and took up positions to shell them in front; while the infantry deployed, the line on the left facing the enemy on the hills. The 2nd Punjab Cavalry were on the right of the guns, whose escort consisted of a squadron of 19th Bengal Lancers, and a company of Punjab Infantry.

"It was the general's intention to advance to the attack but, at nine o'clock, before his dispositions were completed, the whole crest of the hills held by the enemy seemed to be swarming with men. Scarcely had the guns opened fire, when the enemy swept down from the hills, in successive lines of swordsmen, stretching out far beyond either flank of our force. At the same time a large body of horse rode along the hills, threatening the left flank.

"As the swordsmen swept down on the infantry and guns, the Afghan horse came out of two ravines, and charged the Bengal Lancers before they could acquire sufficient speed to meet them fairly. The Lancers were forced back, disorganizing the 3rd Ghoorkhas, who composed the left battalion of the line. The colonel of the Ghoorkhas threw his men into company squares, and they stood their ground; but the Lancers could not be rallied until they had swept along almost the whole rear of the infantry.

"In the meantime the swordsmen on foot swept down with fanatical fury, and it became necessary to bring up the whole reserve into the fighting line. The two batteries of artillery on the right were now firing grape shot, at close range, into the mass of Afghans; but neither this, nor the fire of the infantry supporting them, could check the advance of the enemy. The batteries, having used up all their case shot, were compelled to retire two hundred yards; and the right of the infantry line was also forced back.

"The situation at this moment was horribly critical: both our flanks were turned, and the troops were a good deal shaken by the suddenness and fierceness of the attack. The enemy's horsemen, however, pushing round to the left flank, were checked by the firmness of the 3rd Ghoorkhas--who stood their ground bravely--and by the fire of the batteries on that flank. On the right the 2nd Punjab Cavalry charged and drove back the enemy, thus giving time for the two batteries to take up their fresh position, and again come into action.

"The infantry on the right also recovered from the confusion into which they had been temporarily thrown, and poured a withering fire into the Afghans. In the centre the 2nd Sikhs maintained, through out the fight, a steady and unyielding front. The steady and well-directed fire of the whole line, aided by the batteries, was creating terrible havoc among the enemy and, after an hour's gallant and strenuous exertion on both our flanks, their efforts began to slacken and, before long, the whole of them were in flight, leaving a thousand dead and wounded on the ground.

"It was calculated that they had at least two thousand casualties, while our own loss amounted to only one hundred and forty-one. They were not pursued, as the cavalry were required to guard the baggage."

"It was a grand fight, Major," the colonel said; "but you were at Maiwand also, were you not?"

"Yes; and it would be hard to find a greater contrast to the fight I have just described. The two British forces were attacked under almost precisely similar circumstances. One was splendidly commanded; and the other, it must be confessed, was badly led.

"There was a good deal against us. The day was in July, and terribly hot and, at every step the troops took, they found the power of the sun increasing, until the heat became intense. A solitary traveller, in such circumstances, would make but poor travelling; and of course it was vastly worse for troops, advancing heavily laden and formed in column. The 66th Foot had had tea, and a light breakfast before starting; but the native troops had had nothing to eat since the night before. One regiment, indeed, had no water; but the others had managed to fill their canteens during the halt at half-past nine.

"The brigade, at the end of the march, were again ordered to change front. The Grenadiers, which was a pivot regiment, did not slacken their pace and, consequently, the centre were greatly exhausted in trying to keep up with it, and were certainly in no condition to take part in the battle at midday.

"The whole thing was a hideous mistake. General Burrows had brought his line into such a position that behind him lay a great nullah and, during the course of the battle, the enemy were enabled to bring guns up to within five hundred yards on front and flank. It was a ghastly day. Both flanks were driven back, and the line became bent into the form of a horseshoe. The two cavalry regiments, whose support should have been invaluable, behaved badly and, early in the fight, left the field.

"After the first line gave way, everything went badly. Some of the troops stood and died on the ground they held, others soon became a mob of fugitives. The loss, as long as they held their positions, was comparatively slight; but the grand total mounted up, during the retreat.

"It was a hideous business, and one that I do not like to recall. Men staggered along, overpowered by heat and thirst; falling, in many cases without resistance, under the sabre of the pursuing enemy. Had these fought properly, it is probable that not a single man, except the cowardly cavalry, would have reached Kandahar to tell the tale."

"Thank you, Major. You were also, I believe, in two or three dashing affairs before Maiwand?"

"Yes, Colonel. Certainly one of the most successful was that which Cavagnari, who was afterwards murdered at Kabul, made. It was not much of an affair, but it shows what can be done with dash.

"In 1877 we were making a canal, to tap the Swat river at a point where it enters British territory. Naturally, the Swat villagers on the other side of the frontier considered that the operation was a deep-laid plot for injuring them; and it was at the village of Sappri that the chief went down, with a number of desperate men, and murdered all the coolies engaged in the work. Cavagnari issued orders that the chief must pay a heavy fine, in money and cattle; and that the actual murderers must be tried for their crime. The Khan, however, took no notice of the demand.

"Forty miles southeast of Sappri was the British cantonment of Murdan, where the corps of Guides is permanently quartered. The greater portion of these were, however, absent on another expedition; and there remained available a few squadrons of cavalry, and eleven companies of infantry.

"Cavagnari kept his plans a profound secret. He did not even give the slightest hint of his intentions to their commanding officer, Captain Wigram Battye. So well, indeed, was the secret kept, that the officers were playing a game at racket when they were called upon to start. The first intimation that the men had of the movement was the serving out of ball cartridge, when the gates of the fort were closed in the evening. The old soldiers were well aware that this meant that fighting was at hand; and they gave a great shout, which was the first intimation to the officers that something was on foot. We were as glad as the men.

"Mules had been got in readiness, and the small detachment set off on its long night march. The mules were picked animals and in good condition, and were able to keep up with the men. After covering thirty-two miles in seven hours, we halted at the frontier fort of Abazai, seven miles south of Sappri.

"Beyond this point the country was impracticable for cavalry; and the force, now consisting of two hundred and twelve men, dismounted and marched forward on foot. After seven miles of severe toil, they arrived in the vicinity of the hostile village; and Captain Battye placed his men on the surrounding high ground, so as to completely command the place, and cut off all retreat. His disposition had been completed without arousing the enemy and, in a short time, day broke.

"Cavagnari immediately sent in a demand, to the Khan, to surrender the outlaws and pay the fine. The Khan refused to comply with the terms. There was a short but desperate fight, in which the Guides were victorious, the Khan and many of his leading men were killed, and the village captured. The fine was then exacted, and the troops marched back to Fort Abazai.

"This was a fine example of a punitive expedition thoroughly well managed. The movements were made with secrecy and rapidity. Horses, men, and mules were all in readiness. The cavalry were, on an emergency, prepared to perform the role of infantry; while the little party of infantry were ready to ride thirty miles, on mules, with the cavalry. In this raid the Guides covered forty-eight miles, without a halt; but the perfect success that attended the expedition is not often attained, especially when, as in this case, the force is unprovided with guns. Two or three little mountain guns make all the difference in expeditions of this kind for, though the Afridis will stand musketry fire pluckily enough, they begin to flinch as soon as guns, however small, open upon them.

"There is no more awkward business than an attack upon hill forts that are well held, for some of them are really formidable. I was present at the storming of Nilt fort, and the fight near Chillas--both of them awkward affairs--and in the fight at Malandrai. There had, for some time, been a state of hostilities between Malandrai, two miles across the border, and Rustam on our side of it. Information was received that several of the most important of the enemy's raiders, and a considerable number of cattle would, on a certain night, be at Malandrai; and it was arranged that two companies of Guides should start in the afternoon for Rustam, twenty-five miles distant, which they would reach after dark. At this place they were to take a short rest, and were then to follow the difficult tracks through the hills, and appear on a commanding spur in the rear of the village, at dawn. The frontal attack was to be made by six companies, who were to arrive before the bridge in the small hours of the morning. A squadron of Bengal cavalry were to move independently, and to cut off any of the enemy who might escape from the frontal attack.

"The turning party arrived after a march of eighteen hours, through a terribly rough country. The main body, unfortunately, miscalculated their distance and, instead of halting in the gorge leading to the village, in which it was known that pickets had been placed, they came suddenly upon the enemy's outposts. These fired a volley, killing the colonel and some of the men. The surprise, therefore, as a surprise failed; but an attack was made in the morning, the village taken, and the turning party extricated from its dangerous position. That is a good example of the difficulty of attacking a hill fort.

"Another instance is the attack upon Nilt fort. The place was one of great natural strength; the fort, which was a large one, faced the junction of three precipitous cliffs, several hundred feet high, where a great ravine runs into the Hunza river. Owing to the nature of the ground, the fort could not be seen till the force was within three hundred yards of it; and fire could not be properly opened upon it until within two hundred and fifty yards.

"The walls of the fort were of solid stone, cemented by mud, and strengthened by strong timbers. They were fourteen feet in height, and eight feet in thickness; and were surmounted by flanking towers and battlements, which afforded the defenders a perfect cover. In front of the main gate was a loopholed wall, completely hiding the gateway; and in front of this again was a very deep ditch, filled with abattis; while a broad band of abattis filled the space between the ditch, and a precipitous spur from the adjacent mountain. This spur was, unfortunately, inaccessible for guns and, though our infantry mounted it, their fire had no effect upon the enemy, sheltered as they were behind their battlements.

"It was therefore necessary to make a direct attack, and storm the fort on a front of only sixty yards. After a vain attempt to make some impression on the forts with mountain guns, the order was given to advance; and the Ghoorkhas, two hundred strong, and a company of sappers dashed forward into the ravine facing the west wall. A few of them managed to force their way into a weak point of the abattis, under a heavy fire from the fort; and worked round to a gateway. This was soon hacked down, and then they burst into the courtyard.

"Captain Aylmer, R.E., set to work to place a charge of gun cotton against the main entrenchment of the fort. After repeated failures, the fuse was lighted and the gate blown in. Captain Aylmer was severely wounded, in three places; and several of the men killed.

"So far the attack had been so astonishingly bold and quick that the main body were unaware of the success; and Colonel Duran, thinking the explosion was caused by the bursting of one of the enemy's guns, continued steadily firing at the fort. The position of the twenty men and three officers was precarious, indeed, as they were thus exposed to a heavy fire from behind, as well as in front. With splendid heroism, however, they held on to the advantage they had gained till some reinforcements came up; and then, pressing on through the shattered gate, they captured the fort.

"For a fortnight after this the force remained inactive, for no way of ascending the great ravine was known. At last, however, an enterprising sepoy discovered a way, and on the 19th of December a hundred men, under two lieutenants, were ordered to leave Nilt fort under cover of darkness, drop silently down into the bed of the ravine, and there await daylight.

"The portion of the enemy's position that had been selected for attack was on the extreme left, on the crest of a cliff which rose, without a break, fifteen hundred feet from the bed of the ravine. Another force, a hundred and thirty-five men and six British officers, with two guns, was to cover the advance of the storming party. At eight o'clock in the morning, fire was opened upon the enemy, as it was anticipated that the storming party were well up the cliff by this time; but unfortunately, after ascending the precipice halfway, they reached a point where the cliff was absolutely impracticable, and were obliged to descend again into the ravine.

"At two o'clock, having discovered a more practicable way, they ascended again, foot by foot; their commander working his way up with admirable judgment, moving from point to point, as opportunity offered, between the showers of stones. The enemy were now fully aware that the precipice was being scaled, and it was only the well-directed fire of the covering party that prevented them from issuing from their defences, and annihilating the party with rocks and boulders.

"The summit was reached at half-past eleven, and the first of the enemy's works captured. They rushed sangar after sangar, taking them in rear and driving out the enemy pell mell, killing many and capturing a large number of prisoners. At last the passage of the great ravine was gained, and the British force enabled to move forward again.

"The greatest credit was due to Lieutenant Manners-Smith; whose conduct, in storming the height in broad daylight, was simply magnificent; and the result showed the manner in which even young officers can distinguish themselves, and how the native troops will follow them, unhesitatingly, through dangers which would well appal even the bravest.

"It is possible, however, to demand too much from our troops; as was shown in the defence of Chillas. The post was held, in '93, by three hundred men of the Kashmir Maharajah's bodyguard, under the command of two British officers, Major Daniels and Lieutenant Moberley. For some time, Daniels had been warned that he might be attacked on the night of a Mohammedan feast. It was understood that this was on the 3rd of March and, when the night passed quietly, it was considered that the alarm had been a false one. During the next night, however, a determined attack was made, by about a thousand men; but was repulsed by steady volleys.

"Major Daniels then determined to take the offensive and attack the enemy, who were swarming in great numbers into a neighbouring village. At half-past three Moberley, with thirty-five men, went out to attack the village. After severe fighting, and some loss, he effected a lodgment in an outer line of houses; but being himself badly wounded, and finding the village too strongly held for a small party to make any further progress, he retired with his detachment to the fort.

"The enemy continued a heavy fire until half-past eight, when Major Daniels determined to attack them again; although their numbers were now swollen to between four thousand and five thousand men. He had with him only a hundred and forty available men, a number being required to garrison the fort. Dividing his little force, however, he attacked the village on two sides. The fight went on for two hours, during which one of the two attacking parties gained a partial footing in the village; but wounded men began to struggle back to the fort, and reported that Major Daniels and many men had been killed; and the remnants of the attacking party were brought back, by a native officer, at half-past eleven. The casualties in killed and wounded were very heavy, including the two British officers, four native officers, and forty-six rank and file. Fortunately the natives; believing, no doubt, that reinforcements would arrive, scattered to their homes without further action.

"Here was a case in which the native troops were ordered to perform what verged on the impossible. The houses in these native villages are almost always fortified; and to take a hundred and fifty men, to attack a place held by five thousand, was asking more than the best British soldiers could be expected to achieve.

"At any rate, the stories I have told you will give you some idea of the work we have before us. We may quite assume that such a force as is now being collected can be trusted to defeat the Afridis, if they venture to meet us in open fight; but if they resort solely to harassing tactics, we shall have our work cut out for us. It must be remembered, too, that the Afridis are far better fighters, more warlike, and of far better physique than the men engaged in the fights that I have been speaking of. They are splendid shots, and are almost all armed with breech-loading rifles, Sniders and Martinis. Their country is tremendously hilly and, although it is wholly unknown to us, we do know that there are ravines to be passed where a handful of men could keep an army at bay."

"I was with the Sikhim expedition, in '88," one of the captains said. "At that time I was in the Derbyshires. In this case it was the wildness of the country, rather than the stoutness of the defence of the Thibetans, that caused our difficulty. The force consisted of a mountain battery of four guns, two hundred men of our regiment, four hundred of the Bengal Infantry, and seven hundred men of the 32nd Pioneers. The men were all picked and of good physique, as it was known that the campaign would be a most arduous one. In addition to the usual entrenching tools, a hundred and twenty short swords were issued to each regiment, and fifty per cent of the followers were also supplied. These swords were to be used for clearing away jungle. The country was very rugged, and the work had to be done at the altitude of twelve thousand feet, where the mountains are mostly covered with forest trees and undergrowth.

"The base from which we started was thirty miles northeast of Darjeeling, and the first objective of the expedition was the fort of Lingtu, forty miles distant. The advance was made in two columns; the first consisting of two mountain guns, a hundred men of the Derbyshires, and three hundred of the 32nd Pioneers, which were to make for Lingtu; while the rest were to operate towards Intchi, where the Rajah of Sikhim resided, and thus prevent reinforcements from being sent to Lingtu.

"The latter column met with no opposition and, after accomplishing their work, retired. The first column came across the enemy at Jeluk, five miles short of Lingtu. Here the Thibetans had erected a strong stockade, at the top of a very steep ascent; and had barricaded the road with stone breastworks.

"The position was attacked, at seven in the morning, by a hundred men of the 32nd Pioneers; supported by seventy-eight men of my regiment. The guns had had to be left behind. The advance was slow and, owing to the dense bamboo jungle through which we had to pass, and the steepness of the road, great caution was necessary.

"When we had reached a spot within a few hundred yards of the stockade, fire was suddenly opened on the Pioneers. These, however, moved on steadily, without replying till, having worked their way close up to the stockade, they fired a volley; and then, with a loud cheer, charged with bayonets fixed. The Derbyshire detachment moved up into support, and the position was captured after a sharp struggle.

"A small turning party, under Captain Lumsden, had been detached to the left but, after proceeding a short distance, they found that the road had been cleared to where it passed round a precipice; and that it was defended by a party of the enemy, behind a stone breastwork, at ten yards' range. Captain Lumsden and several of his men were knocked over, and the party were brought to a complete stand. So thick was the jungle that they did not know what was going on, on either side; and the first intimation they received, of the capture of the fort, was the descent of a party of Derbyshires in the rear of the breastworks.

"The stockade, when it was examined, turned out to be a most formidable one; about two hundred yards long, both flanks resting on impassable precipices. It was constructed of logs laid horizontally, with a thick abattis of twelve trees.

"Next morning the advance on Lingtu was continued, in a dense mist. Information was obtained, from a prisoner, that they would have to cross a spot where there was a stone shoot, down which an avalanche of rocks could be hurled by the defenders. They therefore advanced with great caution, while a party of the Pioneers crept along the crest of the ridge, and attacked from the rear the party gathered at the head of the stone shoot. The road was steep and broken, and the partially-melted snow lay two feet deep on it. The Pioneers captured the stone shoot without loss, and then pushed on over the hills and, without firing a shot, charged straight at the fort; and burst their way through the main gate, before the astonished Thibetans had realized what was happening.

"Of course, as it was against an enemy of such poor fighting quality as the Thibetans, this little affair affords no idea of the resistance that we can expect in the Tirah; but it does show what can be accomplished by our men, in the face of immense natural difficulties."

Chapter 8: The Dargai Pass.

There was the greatest joy among the Pioneers, when they received instructions to prepare for an advance to Khusalghar. Officers and men alike were in the highest spirits, and not the least pleased was Lisle, who had begun to tire of the monotony of camp life. The mention of the place at which they were to assemble put an end to the discussion, that had long taken place, as to route to be followed. Six days' easy march along a good road would take them to Shinawari and, in three or four days more, they would get into the heart of the Tirah.

Much would depend on the conduct of the Orakzais, a powerful tribe whose country lay between Kenmora and that of the Zakka-Khels. The latter had indeed declared against us, but they were known to be very half hearted; for they felt that, lying as they did close to the British frontier, they would be sure to suffer most if we obtained the upper hand. It was hoped therefore that, after making a show of resistance, they would try to come to terms with us.

The regiment was told that it would have to provide its own carriage, and two or three days were spent in buying up all the ponies and mules in the neighbourhood. All the heavy baggage was packed up and left in store, and the regiment marched from the town in light order, with their drums and fifes playing a merry march, and the men in high spirits.

"It is worth two years in a dull cantonment, Bullen," one of the lieutenants remarked to Lisle.

"It is glorious," Lisle said, "though I expect we shall have some hard fighting; for they say that the Zakka-Khels and their allies can place fifty thousand in the fighting line and, as our column is reported to be twenty thousand strong, we shall all have our work to do. In the open they would, of course, have no chance with us but, as the fighting will be done in guerrilla fashion, from hills and precipices, our task will be no easy one. The guarding of the tremendous convoy we must take with us will, in itself, be extremely difficult."

"Yes, I expect we shall get it hot. The loss is almost sure to be heavy, but that will not prevent us from turning them out of their fastnesses."

"I wish they would let us all carry rifles, instead of swords," Lisle said. "It will be beastly having nothing to do but wave one's sword, while they are potting at us. I don't think I should mind the heaviest fire, if I could reply to it; but to be compelled to stand by idly, while the men are blazing away, would be enough to drive me mad."

"I dare say when the fighting begins, Bullen, you will soon find that there are plenty of rifles disengaged; and I don't see any reason why an officer should not pick up one of them, and take his share in firing, till he has to lead the men on to an attack."

Lisle was now nearly eighteen, of medium height, with light active figure, and likely to be able to undergo any hardships.

On their arrival at Khusalghar, they found that several regiments were already there, with an enormous amount of stores and baggage. The officers lost no time in examining the fort, that had been so nobly held by a party of Sikhs who, having for a long time held the enemy in check, had fought to the last when they burst in. One by one the noble fellows fell. One wounded man, lying on a pallet, shot three of the enemy before he was killed; and the last survivor of the little force shut himself up in a little chamber, and killed twenty of his assailants before he was overcome. Not a single man escaped, and their defence of the little fort is a splendid example of the fidelity and bravery of our Sikh soldiers.

After a few days' stay at this place, the regiment marched on to Shinawari; and here remained for some little time, until the column was made up. It was known that the Zakka-Khels and their allies had marched down and taken up their position near the Dargai hill; and that the Orakzais had, in spite of the pressure brought to bear upon them by the other tribes, determined to remain neutral. This Dargai hill must not be confused with the hill, of the same name, at which fierce fighting took place in the expedition to Chitral, two years before.

At last the welcome news came that the advance was about to take place. General Lockhart, with another column, was at Fort Lockhart, some thirty miles away; but the intermediate ground was so broken, and the force of the enemy watching him so strong, that no assistance could be obtained from him. The force assembled at Shinawari was a strong one. The King's Own Scottish Borderers, a battery of Royal Artillery, the 1st Battalion of Gordons, 1st Dorsets with a mountain battery, the Yorkshire Regiment, the Royal West Surrey, and a company of the 4th Ghoorkhas were all there. The 3rd Sikhs, with two guns, moved to the left in the Khuram Valley.

Altogether, something like fifty thousand transport animals accompanied them, with sixty thousand camp followers. The transport presented an extraordinary appearance. It included every class of bullock vehicle, lines of ill-fed camels, mules, ponies, and even tiny donkeys.

On October 17th orders were received, from General Lockhart, that the division at Shinawari was to make a reconnaissance in force towards the Khanki Valley, as the enemy had been seen moving about on the hills. A force consisting of the 3rd and 4th Brigades moved forward. The object of the reconnaissance was the summit of the hill, directly overlooking Shinawari, and over two thousand feet high. From the plain the ascent appeared to be simple but, when they started to climb, they found that it was rugged and almost impassable. There was no semblance of road, and the men had to toil up the goat paths and sheep tracks.

The Dargai ridge was from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet above the spot from which they started. On the near side it was almost a sheer precipice, and the only means of access to the top was up three steep waterways, which converged to the left of the position. It was only two hundred and fifty yards' range from the summit but, as soon as it was crossed, the steepness of the cliff afforded the assailants shelter from the enemy's fire. From this point the path zigzags up, until men in single file can reach the summit. The ridge then dips into the hollow plateau where the village lies, and then runs up two hundred feet to the cliff, making a descent of the better part of a mile. On the far side the hill slopes away to the Khanki Valley.

"We are going to begin with a sharpish climb," Lisle said to another officer. "If those fellows on the top of the cliff stick to their work, we shall have a very hot time of it."

"I expect the guns will clear them off," the other said.

"They may do that for a moment but, as we get up to the top, they will rush forward again; if they have the same pluck as the fellows I fought against, before."

As soon as the advance began, the enemy came into action; but the two batteries opened upon them, and their fire slackened somewhat. The climb was a severe one, indeed; the road became worse and worse as they advanced and, at one place, a ridge between two spurs had to be crossed with barely a foot of purchase way, and a sheer drop on both sides. When they were within two hundred yards from the summit, they had to cross an open space. The Borderers and Ghoorkhas were in front; and the latter were ordered to carry the position, while the Borderers covered their advance.

The Ghoorkhas advanced in a couple of rushes and, as they neared the summit, the enemy bolted. The Goorkhas pursued; but they did not go far, as the general, who had been with the advance guard throughout, recalled them. It was found that a village lay in the hollow of the plateau, and that sangars had been built all along the summit, and high up on the hill which covered the crest.

General Westmacott waited for two hours on the summit and, supposing that General Kempster could not make his way up, was about to withdraw his men; as large bodies of the enemy were seen, moving in a direction which threatened the left rear. As they did so, General Kempster arrived. He had experienced considerable resistance, and had lost two officers.

"That has been hard work, Lisle," his companion said, as they returned to camp.

"Yes, but the hardness consisted more in the climbing than in the fighting. I wonder we are brought back again. We shall probably have a great deal harder work, next time; for all the enemy in the Khanki Valley will no doubt be up there, waiting for us."

That evening, there was much discussion at the mess upon the expediency of evacuating the pass, when it had once been occupied. The general opinion, however, was that it was necessary.

General Lockhart was at the fort bearing his name, with a regiment of the 4th Brigade. The 2nd Battalion had remained in camp at Shinawari, and the 1st Division was still on the march to that place. It was General Lockhart's intention to divide the great force known to be in the Khanki Valley. The reconnaissance had been ordered to ascertain if a road really existed, and if it was passable for baggage. The reasons for the retirement were that a complete brigade would have been required to take the place, that the picketing of the road would have taken half a brigade, and that no commissariat arrangements had been made for the supply of a force on the plateau. Further, not a drop of water was available; and lastly, if Dargai had been held, the enemy would have massed their whole force against it; whereas, when the force withdrew, the tribesmen would be compelled to divide their force in order to watch the other road.

The conclusion arrived at, by the members of the mess, was that the retirement was probably necessary; but that the next advance would assuredly meet with much greater opposition than the first.

Three days passed; and then, at half-past four in the morning, the advance guard of General Yeatman-Biggs' column left the camp, under General Kempster, and proceeded up the Chagru Pass. It was a long, weary pull up the hill. The sappers had been working hard on the road, for the past ten days; but it was still very narrow for a whole division, and three mountain batteries. At half-past eight the force reached the summit, and the advance guard sent back news that the crest of the Dargai was held, by the enemy, in force. The enemy could be plainly made out. They had with them a black banner, which showed that they were Kambar Khels. On the far side of the opposite range could be seen great masses of tribesmen, with a dozen standards.

The 1st and 2nd Ghoorkhas, the Dorsets, and the Derbys were sent on; while the Gordons took up a position to cover the advance, with long-range volleys. As the regiments climbed up, three mountain guns massed on the Chagru Kotal; and another one, which had come in with the Northampton from Fort Lockhart, opened fire. The enemy replied, at long range, upon the advance guard of the Ghoorkhas, as they went up the centre nullah. The little Ghoorkhas came steadily on and, at six hundred yards, opened fire in volleys. This and the fire of the guns was too much for the tribesmen, who ceased to show themselves. The Dorsets had now joined the Ghoorkhas and, after a halt, again made a rush across the open to reach the cover, the Derbys firing heavily to assist them.

Until our men showed in the open, they had no knowledge in what force the position was held. Three companies of Ghoorkhas managed to reach cover beneath the cliff, but the path was strewn with the dead and dying. Captain Robinson, after getting across with his men, tried to rejoin the main body, but fell. Then the Dorsets endeavoured to join the three gallant companies of Ghoorkhas. Rush after rush was made, but the head of each melted away, as soon as the fatal spot was reached. At last, after three fruitless attempts, the helio flashed back to the general that the position was impregnable, and that further attempts would be but a useless waste of life.

Matters were looking serious. It was twelve o'clock, and the enemy still held their position. General Yeatman-Biggs realized that a check would seriously alter the course of the campaign, and he told General Kempster that the summit must be taken, at any cost. The latter started at once, taking with him the Gordons and 3rd Sikhs. It took the fresh troops the best part of an hour to climb up; and when the five regiments of infantry, the Highlanders, English, Sikhs, and Ghoorkhas, stood massed in the nullah, General Kempster helioed to the guns, asking three minutes' concentrated fire on the summit.

There were two ways to reach the cover where the company of Ghoorkhas had been lying, for three hours. The top ridge had been proved to be absolutely a death passage, but there was another path, by which General Westmacott had forced his way up, three days before, and which was shorter across the open zone of fire. A fresh regiment was to take the lead.

The colonel collected his men at the edge of the nullah, and said:

"Gordons, the general says that the position must be taken, at all costs. The Gordons are to do it!"

The signal was given, the batteries at once opened fire, and the cliff was crowned with a circle of bursting shrapnel. Then the officers of the Gordons dashed over the nullah, the pipes rolled out the charge and, with clenched teeth, the Highlanders burst into the open. The length of the exposed zone was swept with the leaden stream. The head of the upper column melted away; but a few struggled on, and others took the places of the fallen. The Sikhs, Derbys, and Ghoorkhas followed in rushes, as the firing slackened, and the cover halfway was won. A moment was allowed for breath, and then the men were up again; another terrible rush, another terrible slaughter, and the three companies of Ghoorkhas were reached.

When the enemy saw that the space was crossed, they left their sangars and streamed down the reverse slope of the hill. They could not face the men who had passed that terrible passage. Forming at the bend of the perpendicular rock, they waited till they had recovered their breath, and then proceeded up the zigzag path leading to the summit of the hill.

The fighting was over, but the loss had been great. Four officers had been killed and ten wounded, one of them mortally. The total casualties were a hundred and ninety-four killed and wounded. Of these thirty were Gordons, and the majority of the remainder were Dorsets and Ghoorkhas. Few of those who fell wounded escaped with their lives. Their comrades made desperate efforts to carry them off; but the storm of bullets, fired at so short a range, rendered it impossible; while the wounded who attempted to rise and return were riddled with bullets, as soon as they moved. When the fight was over, the whole force encamped on the Chagru Kotal.

The assailants were unable to make out why the enemy did not defend the zigzag path. Only two men could climb it abreast, and the advancing files could have been destroyed by a dozen marksmen with breech loaders. The only reasonable supposition was that, having been engaged for five hours, their ammunition was practically exhausted.

Several acts of heroism were performed in the battle. One of the pipers, Lance Corporal Milne, was shot through both legs; but still continued to play his pipes, in a sitting position. Four other pipers played right across the fatal passage, three of them being wounded. Lieutenant Tillard was the first man across. He was a fast runner, but he stopped to encourage his men, midway.

By the 25th, the whole of the two divisions were encamped on the two low hills at the mouth of the Kapagh Pass; while the stream of transport came gradually up. By that day six thousand four hundred British troops, eleven thousand two hundred and eighty native troops, seventeen thousand followers, and two thousand four hundred camels were gathered there.

In the morning a foraging party went out and, when they were returning to camp with supplies, and also with a hundred head of cattle, the enemy lined the neighbouring heights. The mountain battery came into action, and the rearmost regiment covered the retreat by volleys; but the tribesmen had all the advantage of position and, with the utmost determination, they followed. They even opened fire on the camp, causing several casualties, the total losses being over thirty.

By this time the troops were all convinced that the campaign would be a most serious one. Before them lay a country of which they were absolutely ignorant, into which no Englishman had ever penetrated; and defended by an enemy who were, for the most part, armed with first-class rifles, and were marvellous skirmishers. If the tribesmen kept to guerrilla warfare, there was no saying how long the campaign would last.

Lisle had passed through the fight unhurt. He had been almost bewildered as he crossed the fatal path, running at top speed, with men falling thickly around him. Halfway across Lieutenant Blunt, who was one of his great chums, and had joined just before him, fell. Lisle sheathed his sword and threw himself down beside him, pressing him to the ground to prevent him from moving; while he himself remained perfectly still. When the next rush of men came along, he lifted his wounded friend with great effort on to his back, and then ran on. Blunt was again twice hit; but Lisle escaped, almost by a miracle, and arrived at the foot of the precipice a minute after the last man got in. He was loudly cheered, by the men, as he did so.

He had the satisfaction of knowing that Blunt's wounds, although serious, were not considered mortal. When the regiment halted on the plateau, Lisle was warmly congratulated by the colonel and officers on the feat he had performed; but he disclaimed any particular merit.

"When Blunt fell," he said, "it was the most natural thing in the world that I should go and pick him up; and I did so almost mechanically. Luckily he was a light man but, even if he had been a heavy one, I don't think I should have felt his weight. I was scarcely conscious of the bullets whistling round me. When he fell, I knew that the tribesmen would shoot any wounded man who tried to rise, and that the only chance was to lie perfectly still, until another batch of men came along."

"You showed no end of coolness," the colonel said, "and the idea of pressing him down, and yourself lying quietly beside him showed that, in spite of confusion, your brain was clear, and that you had all your senses about you. It was a gallant action, which I shall not forget to mention when I send in my report. You deserve the V.C., but I don't suppose you will get it; so many gallant deeds were done that only a few can get the cross."

The two divisions marched on the morning of the 28th. The Northamptons and 36th Sikhs had been detached to an extremely high hill, to cover the advance. It had already been found that, although the Afridis could fight well, so long as they had the advantage of position, they were nevertheless extremely careful of their skins. After the heavy firing into camp, on the night of the return of the reconnaissance, the place had been greatly strengthened; and the positions were changed every night, a fact which so entirely surprised the enemy that, for a time, night attacks ceased altogether.

General Westmacott's brigade advanced up the Khanki nullah to the foot of the Sampagha Pass. General Gazelee's division moved along the hills, and halted at the village of Ghandaki. In the afternoon a reconnaissance pushed forward, and returned with the news that the pass appeared to be simple, and the road a good one. Tribesmen were seen upon nearly every crest. They were apparently building sangars upon the roadway.

General Gazelee was to make his attack next morning. General Westmacott, General Kempster, and General Hart, with the batteries of both divisions, were to occupy a knoll at the foot of the pass, to support the advance. The troops moved forward in the following order: the Queens, the 2nd and 4th Ghoorkhas, Yorks, and 3rd Sikhs were first; and they were followed by the 30th Sikhs, the Scottish Borderers, and the Northamptons.

In the dim light of the early morning, the distant crests were marked by the fires of the enemy. Some delay was caused by the batteries missing the tracks, but by daybreak they advanced. At half-past six the enemy fired the first shot, and then fell rapidly back. The regiments in the first line moved steadily on and, at half-past seven, the guns opened. A few shells were sufficient for the enemy's advance party, and they scuttled back. When the Ghoorkhas and Queens reached the first ridge in the pass, the enemy opened fire; but they could not stand the accurate fire of the six batteries.

A mountain battery pushed up the pass, and came into action on the enemy's first position. The pass widened out from this point, and the two leading regiments moved forward to the sloping crest of the third position. The Queens had advanced on the right, with the Ghoorkhas on their flank. The pathway was covered by the fire of the enemy, hidden behind rocks; and this was so accurate that men could hardly show themselves on the path, without being immediately shot down. The Sikhs and Borderers, however, pushed up the hill and drove the enemy out.

The defence of the pass was not so determined as had been expected, after the stand shown at Dargai. The reason, no doubt, was that though they were good skirmishers, the enemy did not care to expose themselves, either to artillery fire or close-quarter fighting. When the last crest had been gained, the force proceeded down into the Mastura Valley. The tribesmen had deserted, and set fire to, their homesteads. The villages were only a few hundred yards apart, and were well built. The valley contained many beautiful groves. There was little food in the camp, and the Ghoorkhas set to work to make chupatties, with coarse flour found in the villages.

There had been very few casualties during the day, and the men began to hope that, after the lesson taught the enemy at Dargai, no other resolute stand would be made. After a day of rest in the valley, orders were issued for the 3rd and 4th Brigades to move, at daybreak. The 2nd Brigade was to follow, the 1st being left to garrison the camp. The path was across a low ridge connecting higher ones, and offered no great facilities for resistance, and was overcome with the exchange of a few shots, only.

From the top of the Karanghur Pass was seen the valley of Maidan, the spot which the Afridis were wont to boast no infidel had ever gazed upon. The view was magnificent. From the foot of the slope stretched a valley, broken here and there by ravines and nullahs. Every inch of it seemed to be cultivated; and it was one wide expanse of terraced fields, sprinkled with groves and dotted with countless habitations. There was scarce an acre which had not a fortified block house, as each family built a homestead for itself, and fortified itself against all comers.

As the column entered the valley, they found that their arrival had not been expected. The livestock had been removed, but every house in the valley was stocked with supplies. Indian corn, wheat, barley, and other grain were found in abundance; and there was an ample stock of honey, potatoes, walnuts, and onions.

Bagh was the tribal centre, the Afridi parliament ground. Its mosque was situated about four miles farther up the valley. It was at this spot that orders were issued to make war upon the British. It was an insignificant building, with a mud roof supported by twenty-one pillars. The mosque was not interfered with.

It was thought that, as such little opposition was offered in the last pass, the enemy had lost all heart; but a foraging party, the next day, found the tribesmen in great force at the other end of the valley, and were compelled to retire. Another party of the enemy attempted to rush a picket of the 36th Sikhs; and a strong force pounced upon the baggage train, and killed several of the drivers; then, retiring till the main guard had passed, dashed out again and killed three of the guards, and wounded several others.

For the present, no damage was done to the homesteads; as it was hoped that the Afridis would come in and surrender. Next day a foraging party was hotly attacked and, at night, there was severe fighting round the camp. A party of elders came in, to ask what terms would be given; and were told that the tribesmen would have to deliver up their rifles, and pay a heavy fine. It was evident, from their manner, that although they would be ready to pay a fine, they would certainly not deliver up their rifles.

The troops had now settled down comfortably. They had ten days' rations in camp, and the camel convoys were coming in daily. The weather was delightful, and the nightly firing into the camp, alone, disturbed them.

A small party of foragers was, a few days later, fiercely attacked. Captain Rowcroft, who was in command, had with him only a subadar and half a dozen sepoys, when a heavy fire was opened upon him. The party could have retired, but one of the men was shot through the thigh, and it took three others to carry him. He was presently left behind, and Rowcroft went back to the body, to assure himself that the man was dead. This pause gave the enemy time to close up, and the subadar was shot, as well as the man tending him.

A mule was luckily found, and the subadar was sent to the rear. After this two men were hit, one for the second time and, as it was impossible for the four sound men to carry off their wounded, and face the enemy as well, Rowcroft chose the best spot, and determined to halt and wait for help. The Afridis could not bring themselves to rush the little party, but confined themselves to keeping up a heavy fire. Another Sikh was wounded; and the dust caused by the bullets almost blinded the others, who could scarcely see to reply. At last, just in the nick of time, a relieving party arrived and carried them off.

On the 8th General Westmacott started, with his brigade, to punish the Zakka-Khels for the continued night firing which, our commander had learned from prisoners, was kept up by that tribe. The brigade did its work thoroughly and, by evening, the whole of the eastern valley was in flames. That same evening, however, Captain Watson, a commissariat officer, was shot dead, as he stood at his own door. A curious fatality seemed to accompany this night firing. Out of the many thousands in camp, four officers only had been hit. Captain Sullivan, of the 36th Sikhs, was shot ten minutes after he had arrived in camp, having travelled post haste from England.

On the 9th a reconnaissance was ordered to Saransur, a lofty peak to the east of the Maidan valley. Across this is a pass, on one of the roads to Peshawar. General Westmacott, who was in command, took with him four regiments--two British and two Sikhs--two batteries, and a company of Madras Sappers. The foot of the hill to be scaled was less than three miles from camp, but the intervening ground was extraordinarily broken. It was, in fact, a series of hummocks from seventy to a hundred feet high; which were covered with boulders, and intersected by a river. This main nullah was also broken, on both sides, by smaller nullahs almost every hundred yards. Beyond this rugged ground there was a severe ascent. The hill had two spurs; one wooded, especially towards the summit, the other bare. The path wound up the latter, then crossed a ridge beyond, and yet another ridge behind that, with a sheer summit very like the Dargai cliff.

The force left camp at half-past seven. When they had gone about a mile, desultory shots were fired at them, from a series of well-built sangars facing the termination of the nullah. On reaching the foot of the hillside, General Westmacott was much concerned about the Dorsets on the left; who were engaged in desultory firing, and were making little progress up the nullah. Staff officer after staff officer was despatched, to direct the Dorsets to the intended line.

A little before ten the Northamptons, and Sikhs covering them in the rear, began the ascent. It was a stiff climb of a thousand feet. When the first brow was reached General Westmacott called a halt, in order that the men might get their breath and fix bayonets. Then they climbed to the next top cover, and rushed forward. The enemy evidently knew its range, and advance companies found themselves under magazine fire. Nevertheless they pushed on. An open kotal had to be passed. The men crossed it at the double and, although a heavy fire was kept up again, there was no casualty.

The advance guard was now at the foot of the sheer cliff. No news had been received of the Dorsets, who were in a very rough country, wooded almost to the summit; and the general could only hope that they were working up through this. The force pushed on and, a few minutes past eleven, the whole summit was in our possession, and the last of the visible enemy put to flight.

The intelligence officers busied themselves sketching the country. It was evident that the Saransur was the retreat of the Maidan Zakka-Khels, for all round were evidences of encampments: fire-stained walls, caves, and bags of grain. It was deserted by the tribesmen, who had been taken by surprise, and had left hurriedly. General Westmacott was anxious to be off, as it was probable that the fighting men of the enemy had merely hurried off to place their families under cover, and would return as soon as they had done so.

At two o'clock the return march began. A company of the Northamptons were placed within range of the wooded slope, which should have been covered by the Dorsets, had they come up. They were suddenly fired upon, and the men fell fast. Another company came up to help them. The enemy could not be seen, but volleys were fired into the wood. The 36th Sikhs went back to reinforce them, and the whole force were withdrawn without further casualty.

As the Northamptons were retiring across the wooded zone, the first four companies were allowed to pass unmolested; but when the fifth reached the clear ground, they were greeted with a blaze of fire. The carriage of the wounded delayed the retirement, and it was not until dusk that the foot of the hill was reached.

The enemy had taken every advantage that their knowledge of the country gave them. They had now begun to creep up the ravines, and their number increased every minute. Men were falling fast. Each man carrying a wounded comrade became a target. The Dorsets also were severely engaged. The Northamptons stuck to their work, and slowly withdrew their wounded; but the number of casualties increased alarmingly.

Then an unfortunate occurrence took place. A party of Northamptons, under Lieutenant Macintyre and Lieutenant Sergeant Luckin, turning a corner, were cut off. It appeared that they sacrificed themselves to their wounded comrades. One of the party was despatched for help, and evidently came across a small group of Dorsets. The story was, that the party were surrounded at short range when he left; for, had they left their wounded and followed him, they might have saved themselves. Next morning their bodies were found. In every case they had been wounded by bullets, before the Pathans came up and gashed them; which showed that they had fought till the last man dropped.

Lisle was not one of those who returned to camp and, in the confusion that occurred as the result of the late arrival of the troops, his absence was not discovered until the next morning. On enquiries being made, it was found that he was last seen high up in the mountains. He had been sent down, with eight men, to request the guns to direct their fire against the enemy, who were pressing the regiment during the retreat; but as he had not arrived at the guns, a strong party was at once sent out, to search for his body and those of the men with him.

Lisle had, in fact, pushed down halfway to the spot where the guns were placed, and had dismounted at the top of a nullah; when a large party of the enemy opened fire upon him. One of the sepoys at once fell dead, and another was wounded. It was impossible for him to fight his way through this force. Twilight was already falling and, owing to the rugged nature of the ground, he was by no means sure of his position.

While the men returned the enemy's fire, he looked round for some vantage ground. Fifty yards away there was a small blockhouse and, when he saw this, he at once determined to shelter in it. He and one of the men therefore lifted their wounded comrade, and Lisle shouted to the others:

"Use your magazines, and then make a rush for the hut, keeping well together."

The little party charged, meanwhile keeping up so heavy a fire, with their magazines, that the Afridis who stood between them and the house cleared off, leaving a dozen of their dead on the ground. Before they reached the block house, two more of the men were wounded but, fortunately, not severely enough to prevent them from keeping up with the others. The place was untenanted, and they rushed in and at once began to pile its contents against the door.

Lisle ordered the unwounded men to take their places at the loopholes, which served for windows in the Afridi buildings, while he himself attended to the wounds of the others. He warned the men who were firing to withdraw quickly after every shot, for the Afridis were such admirable marksmen that their bullets frequently entered the loopholes.

Chapter 9: Captured.

When he had completed the dressing of the wounds, Lisle mounted to the upper story, which was a feature of every house in the valley. While the lower part was of stone; the upper one was built of wicker work, thickly plastered with mud, and quite useless as a protection against rifle bullets. He set to work to cut a dozen small loopholes, a few inches above the floor. From these he commanded a view all round. Then he called up the two wounded men, who were still able to use their rifles, and ordered them to lie down, one at each of the side walls; while he himself took his place over the doorway, with the rifle of the disabled man.

From here he picked off several of the enemy. His fire was returned but, as he took care to lie well back, the bullets all went over his head.

When darkness fell, he went down and directed the sepoys to man only the loopholes in the front wall. This released three men, whom he brought upstairs and posted above the door.

The Afridis continued to riddle the upper wall and the door with bullets. Several times they attempted a rush, but were unable to withstand the heavy magazine fire which met them, when within twenty yards of the house. Twice they attempted to pile faggots at the side of the door, but the defence was so strong that many of the bearers were killed, and the survivors fled.

Knowing that the Afridis were in the habit of hiding their store of grain, Lisle prodded the floor in all directions with his bayonet and, at last, found a good supply in one corner of the room. Unfortunately, however, there was only one vessel, half full of water. It would not have done to light a fire to cook the grain, as any illumination within the house would have shown the exact place of the loopholes to the enemy. Lisle therefore served out some grain to each of the soldiers, to eat raw. He gave some of the water to the three wounded men, and served out a mouthful to each of the others; telling them that they might not be relieved for some time, and that the little supply must be made to last as long as possible.

The enemy still kept up a heavy fire but, after the lessons they had received, there was but small chance that they would attempt another hand-to-hand attack. Lisle therefore told all the men to lie down and sleep, while he himself took up his place at the loophole nearest the door, and kept watch.

No attempt was made until daybreak was approaching; when, with wild yells, the Afridis again rushed forward. The men were instantly on their feet, and eight rifles flashed out.

"Magazine firing!" Lisle shouted, "but don't fire unless you see a man, and make sure of bringing him down. We must husband our ammunition."

Quietly and steadily, the men kept up their fire. This time the enemy reached the door, and Lisle was compelled to call down the two men from above. The Afridis gathered thickly round the door, tried to push it in with their heavy knives, and battered it with the butt ends of their rifles. Gradually, in spite of the fire of the defenders, they splintered it; but the barricade behind still held and, from this, the besieged poured through the broken door so galling a fire--one half emptying their magazines, and then falling back to reload while the others took their places--till at last, after suffering a loss of some thirty men, the enemy retired again, and were soon hidden in the darkness. As soon as they had gone, the garrison brought down all available material from the upper floor to strengthen the barricade.

"I don't think they will try again, lads," Lisle said.

The numbers of the besieged were, unfortunately, dwindling. One had been shot through the head, two others had been wounded, and Lisle himself had received a bullet in his shoulder. There were now but two unwounded men; but the other four were all capable of using their rifles, at a pinch. It was a relief, indeed, when day fairly broke; for then they could see their foes at a distance and, by a steady fire, force them to take to shelter. When they got into cover, the tribesmen continued to fire upon the block house; but the besieged did not reply, for they had only twenty rounds per man left.

Another mouthful of water was now served to all and, the two unwounded men having been placed in the upper story to keep watch, the others sat down under the loopholes, in readiness to leap to their feet and fire, if an alarm was given.

At length, about eleven o'clock, the fire of the enemy suddenly ceased and, a few minutes later, a relief party marched up. The men cheered lustily as the barricade was removed, and Lisle and the six men came out. The officers ran forward and warmly greeted Lisle, shaking hands with him and the men of his little party.

"Thank God we have found you alive, Bullen! We hadn't even a hope that you had survived; for we found poor Macintyre and his party, all killed and cut up. We started this morning, as soon as your absence was discovered, and have been searching ever since; but I doubt if we should ever have found you, had we not heard firing going on up here. I don't think men were ever so pleased as ours, when we heard it; for it showed that you, or some of your party, were still holding out.

"You must have had desperate fighting, for there are some forty bodies lying near the door; and we know that the enemy always carry off their dead, when they can. You must have accounted for a good many more, who have been taken away in the darkness."

"We have done our best, you may be sure," Lisle said. "We have lost two men killed, and four out of the others are wounded. I myself have got a rifle ball in my shoulder; at least, it is not there now, for it went right through. Fortunately it missed the bone, so I shall be all right again, in a day or two."

"How many were you attacked by?"

"I should say there must have been two hundred. That was about the number, when they first attacked."

"You must have been exposed to a tremendous fire. The walls are everywhere pitted with bullet marks, and the upper story seems perfectly riddled with balls; but of course none of you were up there."

"Yes, we used it as a lookout. As you see, I made four loopholes in each side and, as we lay well back, their bullets passed over our heads.

"What we want now is water. We drank the last drop, when we saw you coming. We had scarcely a mouthful each, and we have not had much more during the siege."

Flasks were instantly produced, and each man drank his fill.

"And now we had better be off," the officer in command of the relief party said. "Likely enough the Afridis will be down upon us, as soon as we move."

They were, indeed, several times fired at, as they made their way down to the camp, and at one time the resistance was formidable; but they were presently joined by another party from the camp, and the Afridis therefore drew off.

Lisle received many hearty congratulations on his return, and many officers of other regiments came in to shake his hand.

"I shall send in your name again, Mr. Bullen," his colonel said, after Lisle had made his report. "It was a most gallant action, to defend yourself so long, with only seven men, against a couple of hundred of the enemy; and the loss you inflicted upon them has been very severe, for forty fell close to the house, so that their bodies could not be carried off. I certainly should reckon that you must have killed or wounded a good many more."

"I don't think so, Colonel. No doubt we killed some more but, as it was dark for the greater part of the time, we could only fire at the flashes of their rifles. Certainly I saw twelve or fourteen fall, before it became quite dark and, as they several times tried to rush us, others might have fallen far enough from the house to be carried off by their friends."

That day General Lockhart placed, in the order of the day, the names of Lisle and his little party as having shown conspicuous gallantry, in defending themselves against a vastly superior force.

Two days later General Lockhart, himself, went out with a strong force to the top of Saransur; but met with little resistance, and the force returned at a much earlier hour than on the previous occasion, and reached camp before nightfall.

In warfare of this kind, it is the wounded who are the cause of disaster. A wounded man means six men out of the fighting line--four to carry him, and one to take charge of their rifles. A few casualties greatly reduce the fighting strength of the party. In European warfare this would not take place, as the wounded would be left behind, and would be cared for by the enemy.

The next day representatives of all the Orakzai tribes came in, and asked for terms. They were told that they must restore all stolen property, give up five hundred rifles, and pay a fine of thirty thousand rupees, and the cost of rebuilding the post they had destroyed. Representatives of three other tribes also came in, and similar terms were imposed upon them. Two of these, the Kambar-Khels and the Malikdins, were in the habit of migrating to British territory in cold weather; but the Kuki-Khels sent their families and goods, in winter quarters, to the Bara valley. The other Maidan tribes would probably have come in at the same time, but for their fear of the Zakka-Khels.

There was trouble the next day in the Mastura valley, where two officers and four men were wounded. The following night the camp was fired into, by an enemy who had crept within a hundred and fifty yards of it. News came that General Kempster, with his detached brigade, had met with little opposition; and his search over the hills showed that the Zakka-Khels, in that direction, were severely punished.

On the 13th, the 3rd Brigade left the camp to cross the Kotal towards Saransur. Except for a few long-range shots, there was no opposition. Next day a Mullah's house was destroyed, documents found there showing that he had taken a vigorous part in the rising.

Two days later the brigade started on their return march. The 1st and 3rd Ghoorkhas were to cover the retirement, and the 15th Sikhs to hold the Kotal. The baggage train reached the Kotal by twelve o'clock, and the camp at three. The Ghoorkhas, however, had to fight hard; and were so done up that, instead of continuing to cover the retirement they passed on, leaving the Sikhs to cover.

The enemy, thinking that only a small rear guard had been left, came down in great force; but the fire was so heavy that they fell back, leaving the ground strewn with their dead. The action, however, now became general, all along the hill. Ammunition was running short, and Captain Abbott felt that, in the face of so large a force, and with fifteen or sixteen wounded, he could not retire down the ravine or valley without support. He therefore signalled for assistance; and the 46th, and two companies of the Dorsets, were detached for that purpose.

Colonel Houghton of the 36th, who was now in command, retiring steadily, found himself hampered with wounded in the rough country; while the enemy were surrounding him in increasing numbers. He was suffering heavily from the fire of the enemy posted in a small village; and he determined to seize it, and hold it for the night. Three companies of the 15th and two of the 36th therefore rushed up the hill, and were into the buildings before the Pathans were aware that they were moving against them. Those that delayed were bayoneted, the rest fled precipitately into the darkness. Their fire, however, had cost us an officer and five men killed.

Major Des Voeux on the right, having rushed a clump of buildings opposite to him, made for a second one on the far side of the nullah, in which was a small square building. The roof of the house had been burnt, and the charred beams were lying on the ground. The men rolled these, and what litter they could find into the gaps of the building; but the breastwork was barely two feet high. When the enemy returned to the attack they rushed right up to the house but, luckily, they fired high in their excitement, and the Sikhs swept them back again. The breastwork was then completed, a sentry was placed at each side of the house, and the rest lay down.

Colonel Houghton's post, which was a strong one, was not much troubled. A disaster, however, occurred to a half company, under two officers, who tried to push their way back to camp. Their bodies were found in a nullah, in the morning.

The next morning the parties were relieved by a force from camp.

On the same day General Westmacott, with the 4th Brigade, marched out. For the past three days the Malikdins and Kambar-Khels had shown a disposition to be friendly, and had made some attempt to open a grain traffic. Major Sullivan, with three other officers, pushed forward to prospect a site for a camp. Some apparently friendly and unarmed tribesmen approached them; but Major Sullivan's suspicions were excited when he saw that, instead of coming down direct, they were making a sweep that would cut off his little party. He therefore whistled for the others to join him.

When the tribesmen saw that the game was up, they poured in two volleys. Luckily the shots went high, and the four officers gained the cover of a house, and were soon joined by a Ghoorkha company. There was no doubt that the enemy had played the game of friendlies for the purpose of obtaining four officers, alive, to use as hostages.

The force then retired, bringing in the baggage animals, loaded with forage. The return was now decided upon. It was considered by the authorities that it would be less expensive to organize another expedition in the spring, when the sowing had begun; than to maintain a large force in the Tirah during the winter. The Afridis would not come down, and orders were therefore issued for destroying all the villages. These were burned, and the axe laid to the roots of the beautiful groves.

The tribal representatives of the Kambar-Khels, Alla-Khels, Malikdin-Khels, and Kuki-Khels came in. They were ordered to send in eight hundred serviceable rifles, fifty thousand rupees in cash, and all property that had been stolen.

When the force arrived at Bagh there was a sharp action, and the casualties amounted to twenty-two wounded and seven killed. The Ghoorkhas reported that they had found the enemy in great force, in the valley.

On the 22nd of November, Sir William Lockhart made a reconnaissance to Dwatoi and the Bara valley. He took with him a strong brigade, under General Westmacott. Every precaution was taken in entering this unknown country, as the road led down a defile commanded by high peaks. The Yorkshire Regiment was told off to hold the right of the advance, the 1st and 2nd Ghoorkhas were to do the same work on the left. The column was headed by the 3rd Ghoorkhas; followed by the 28th Bombay Volunteers, two companies of the Sappers and Miners, the Borderers, and the baggage; the rear guard being furnished by the 36th Sikhs.

Within a mile of camp, the Ghoorkhas were engaged with stray riflemen. A mile farther they were met by the main body, and were unable to proceed farther without support. The flanking regiments, however, presently came up, and the advance continued. The road lay in the river bed, and the men were plodding, waist deep, in water. The passage became narrower and narrower, and so rapid was the decline that the river bed became impassable, and the men made their way along by its side. The road was almost dark, so high were the cliffs and so narrow the passage between them.

Here the resistance became very formidable. The Ghoorkhas were all engaged in clearing the ridges, and the Bombay Pioneers pushed forward an advance guard, the Borderers moving up to their support. The deepest gorge was enfiladed by a party of tribesmen, with Martinis. One man fell with a broken leg. The man helping him was shot a moment later and, when a stretcher was brought back, two more of the Borderers were hit. A section of the 3rd Sikhs was detached to turn the enemy out, and then the ravine was rushed by all the rest. There was another gorge to be passed, and the enemy were pressing on both sides; but a battery was now brought into action, and soon drove them off.

Thus Dwatoi was reached, where the force encamped. It was but a small open plain, some five hundred yards across. Three miles away a gorge opened into the Rajgul valley, and it appeared that, beyond this, lay Wira valley.

All the summits were strongly picketed. Night fell, and there was no sign of the baggage. The troops were wet to the waist, there were seventeen degrees of frost, and the men had neither blankets nor food.

When morning broke there were still no signs of baggage, but at eleven it began to appear. At noon fighting began again, and the rest of the train did not arrive till about five o'clock. Fighting had been incessant the whole day. It was so severe that Sir William Lockhart determined to return to Bagh, the following day.

The arrangements were admirable. The baggage was loaded up before daybreak. The Ghoorkhas were to ascend the hills flanking the village, three companies of the Borderers were to form the advance guard, the wounded on stretchers were to follow, and the mountain battery was to take up a position to cover the retirement. By eight o'clock the last of the baggage was near the nullah. The helio then flashed to the pickets. They came in and joined the rear guard of the Sikhs, and were well in the nullah before a shot was fired.

When the Afridis fairly took the offensive they attacked with fury, and the Sikhs were obliged to signal for help. They were joined by a company of the Borderers. A party of Pathans dashed forward to seize the baggage; they had not, however, seen the few files that formed the rearmost guard, and were therefore caught between two bodies of troops, and almost annihilated. This sudden reversal of the situation seemed to paralyse the tribesmen, and the rest of the gorge was safely passed. Though the natives followed up the rear guard to within two miles of the camp, they never made another determined attack. The force lost, in all, five officers wounded, and a hundred men killed and wounded, from the 36th.

During the course of the reconnaissance Lisle had been with the rear guard, and had fallen in the torrent with a rifle ball through his leg. As every man was engaged in fighting, the fall was unnoticed and, as he could not recover his footing, he was washed helplessly down to the mouth of the defile. As he managed to reach the shore, a party of Afridis rushed down upon him with drawn tulwars; but a man who was evidently their leader stopped them, as they were about to fall upon him.

"He is an officer," he said. "We must keep him for a hostage. It will be better, so, than killing him."

Accordingly he was carried back to a village which the troops had left that evening. Here some women were told to attend to his wound, and the party who captured him went off to join in the attack on the British rear guard.

In the evening, the man who had saved his life returned. He was, it seemed, the headman of the village; and had been with his force in the Bara valley, where the natives of the village had retired on the approach of the British force. There Lisle lay for ten days, by which time the inflammation from the wound had begun to subside. The bullet had luckily grazed, and not broken the bone. At the end of that time, some of the principal men came to him and, by signs, directed him to write a letter to the British commander, saying that he was a prisoner, that he was held as a hostage against any further attempt to penetrate into the valley; and that, in the event of another British force approaching, he would be at once put to death.

Four of the Afridis always sat at the entrance to the house, which was one of the largest in the valley. He was served regularly with food; of which, as the valley had not been entered, there was, of course, abundance. The women in the house seldom came in to see him, except when they brought him his meals; and then it was evident, from their surly manner, that they strongly objected to his presence.

As he lay on his rough pallet, he resolved to maintain the appearance of being unable to walk, as long as possible. He knew very well that, if General Lockhart had to make another movement against the Bara valley, he could not be averted from his purpose by the fact that the Afridis held one officer prisoner, though he would assuredly revenge his murder, by destroying every house in the valley; and that he must accordingly trust only to himself to make his escape. To do this, it would be absolutely necessary to procure a disguise; and this, at present, he did not see his way to accomplish.

The guards below were relieved every few hours, and kept up their watch every day. Still, as they watched only the door, it might be possible for him to let himself down from the window at the back of the house.

On the tenth day he found himself really able to walk, without very great difficulty. Looking out of the window, one morning, he saw that the women of the house were all gathered round the guards, and talking excitedly. Evidently some messenger had come in with news from the Tirah valley. He knew, by this time, how many there were in the house, and was satisfied that they were all there.

He at once made his way down to the floor below; feeling confident that, for the moment, he would not be disturbed. Hanging against the wall were several men's dresses and clothes. He hastily took down sufficient for a disguise. They were summer clothes--for the Afridis, when leaving to act against our troops in the mountains, wear sheepskin garments. At any rate, there was little fear that their loss would be discovered until the men returned from the front.

He took the clothes up to his room, and hid them under the pallet. Then, having ascertained that the women were still engaged in talking, he took off his boots and made his way down to the lowest story, which was principally used as a storehouse. Here, among bags of corn and other stores, he saw a coil of rope. This he carried upstairs and, having hidden it, lay down again.

The rest of the day passed quietly. It was apparent that the clothes had not been missed and, with a strong feeling of hopefulness, he awaited the night. When the house was quiet he looked out. Four men were sitting, as usual, at the front of the door. Then he took off his uniform and put on his disguise, fastened one end of the rope securely, and slid down noiselessly to the ground.

Keeping the house between him and the guard, he started. Making a detour, he got free of the village, and then turned to the upper end of the valley. Half an hour's walking took him to where the force had encamped, and he soon reached the mouth of the gorge.

Here he plunged into the river. His leg hurt him a good deal, but he waded on and, after great exertions, reached the head of the gorge. His leg was now hurting him so much that he could proceed no farther so, turning off, he mounted the hills and lay down among the rocks, where there was little chance of his being discovered.

Here he dozed till morning. When he took the rope, he had thrust several handfuls of grain into his pocket; and this he had tied up in the skirt of his garment, when he started. He now munched some of it, and lay, watching the mouth of the gorge below.

Two hours after daybreak, he saw a small party of tribesmen come hurrying up through the gorge. They did not stop, but kept on their course, evidently supposing that he had pushed on to join the British camp. All day he lay hidden and, before dark, he saw the men come back again. They had evidently given up the chase and, as he had seen no searchers upon the hills, the idea that he was hiding had evidently not occurred to them.

He felt, however, that he must give his leg another day's rest before proceeding. On the following day he suffered a good deal from thirst, and dared not venture down to the river. When it was dark, however, he continued his way.

Presently he saw something white, huddled up behind a rock and, climbing up, he found that it was the dead body of an Afridi, who had fallen in the fight. Beside him lay his Lee-Metford rifle. This was indeed a find. In the scanty garments that he had alone dared to take, he would be known at once by anyone who happened to pass near him. He now set to work, and dressed himself in the dead warrior's garments; and took up his rifle and pouch of ammunition.

"Now," he said, "I only want something to stain my face and hands, and I shall be able to pass anywhere, if it does not come to talking."

He kept his eyes about him, and presently saw the plant which he knew Robah had used in preparing the dye for him. Pulling all the leaves off, he pounded them with the stock of his rifle, and rubbed his face with juice from the leaves. There was sufficient to stain both his face and hands.

By nightfall he entered the Maidan. Here he saw many natives gathered round the ruined houses. As he approached it, he saw that heavy firing was going on round the camp. It was greatly reduced in extent, and he guessed that a considerable proportion of the force had moved off on some punitive expedition. Between him and it, he could see many of the Afridis crouched among the rocks, ready to attack any small parties that might issue out.

He saw at once that it would be impossible to reach the camp without being questioned, and he therefore determined to fall in with the column that had gone out. For this purpose, he made a wide detour until he came upon a track where there were innumerable signs that a column had recently passed. Crushed shrubs would, in themselves, have been a sufficient guide; but there were many other tokens of the path of the army: grain dropped from a hole in a sack, scratches on the rock by the shod feet of the transport animals, an empty cartridge case, and a broken earthenware pot.

He pushed on rapidly, keeping a sharp lookout for the enemy. Some of them, passing along the hill, shouted to him to join them; but with a wave of his rifle and a gesture, showing that he intended to keep to the track, he went on.

Late in the afternoon, on mounting a high pass, he could distinctly hear firing in the distance; and his heart beat at the thought that he was near his friends. Still, between him and them the Afridis might be swarming. The risk, however, must be run.

Ascending the slope of the hill, he obtained a view of the conflict. A body of British troops was firing steadily, and another regiment was coming up to their assistance. The Afridis were swarming round in great numbers, and keeping up a continuous fire. Waiting until he saw where the Afridis were thickest, he made his way down to the firing line, and took up his position behind a rock; there being none of the natives within fifty yards of him. He now began to fire, taking pains to see that his bullets went far over the heads of the British. This he continued until nightfall, by which time the conflict had come to an end, and the British regiments, with the convoy which they were protecting, had reached camp.

Chapter 10: Through The Mohmund Country.

For a time the firing ceased entirely but, soon after nightfall, a scattered fire opened round the camp. Lisle now made his way down fearlessly, until within four hundred yards of the camp. He was able to make out the white dresses of the Afridis, lying crouched behind rocks. No one paid any attention to him and, as soon as he had passed them, he dropped on his hands and knees and began crawling forward; keeping himself carefully behind cover for, at any moment, the pickets might open fire. When he approached the British lines, he stopped behind a rock and shouted:

"Don't fire! I am a friend."

"Come on, friend, and let us have a look at you," the officer in charge of the picket answered.

Rising, he ran forward.

"Who on earth are you?" the officer asked when he came up. "You look like one of the Afridis, but your tongue is English."

"I am Lieutenant Bullen," he said; and a burst of cheering rose from the men, who belonged to his own regiment.

"Why, we all thought you were killed, in that fight in the torrent!"

"No; I was hit, and my leg so disabled that I was washed down by the torrent; and the men were, I suppose, too much occupied in keeping the Afridis at bay to notice me. On getting to the other side of the pass I crawled ashore, and was made prisoner. No doubt the Afridis thought that, as I was an officer, they would hold me as a hostage, and so make better terms.

"I was put into the upper story of one of their houses but, after ten days, my wounds healed sufficiently to allow me to walk; and I have got here without any serious adventure."

"Well, I must congratulate you heartily. I will send two of the men into camp with you, for otherwise you would have a good chance of being shot down."

On arriving at the spot where the officers of the regiment were sitting round a campfire, his escort left him. As he came into the light of the fire, several of the officers jumped up, with their hands on their revolvers.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Lisle exclaimed, with a laugh. "I can assure you that I am perfectly harmless."

"It is Bullen's voice," one of them exclaimed, and all crowded round him, and wrung his hands and patted him on the back.

"This is the second time, Bullen, that you have come back to us from the dead; and this time, like Hamlet's father, you have come back with very questionable disguise. Now, sit down and take a cup of tea, which is all we have to offer you."

"I will," Lisle said, "and I shall be glad of some cold meat; for I have been living, for the past three days, on uncooked grain."

The meat was brought, and Lisle ate it ravenously, declining to answer any questions until he had finished.

"Now," he said, "I will tell you a plain, unvarnished tale;" and he gave them, in full detail, the adventure he had gone through.

"Upon my word, Lisle, you are as full of resources as an egg is full of meat. Your pluck, in going down to the lower story of that house while the women were chatting outside, was wonderful. It was, of course, sheer luck that you found that dead Pathan, and so got suitable clothes; but how you dyed your face that colour, I cannot understand."

Lisle explained how he had found a plant which was, as he knew, used for that purpose; and how he had extracted the colouring matter from it.

"You had wonderful luck in making your way through the Pathans, without being questioned; but, as we know, fortune favours the brave. Well, I shall have another yarn to tell General Lockhart, in the morning; but how we are to rig you out, I don't know."

Several of the officers, however, had managed to carry one or two spare garments in their kits. These were produced; and Lisle, with great satisfaction, threw off the dirt-stained Pathan garments, and arrayed himself in uniform.

Pleased as all the others were at his return, no one was so delighted as Robah, who fairly cried over his master, whom he had believed to be lost for ever.

"We shall not be uneasy about you again, Bullen," the colonel said, as they lay down for the night. "Whenever we miss you we shall know that, sooner or later, you will turn up, like a bad penny. If you hadn't got that wound in the leg--which, by the way, the surgeon had better dress and examine in the morning--I should have said that you were invulnerable to Afridi bullets. The next time there is some desperate service to be done, I shall certainly appoint you to undertake it; feeling convinced that, whatever it might be, and however great the risk, you will return unscathed. You don't carry a charm about with you, do you?"

"No," Lisle laughed, "I wish I did; but anything I carry would not be respected by a Pathan bullet."

Next morning the colonel reported Lisle's return, and Sir William Lockhart sent for him and obtained, from his lips, the story of the adventure.

"You managed excellently, sir," the general said, when he had finished. "Of course, I cannot report your adventure in full, but can merely say that Lieutenant Bullen, whom I had reported killed, was wounded and taken prisoner by the Pathans; and has managed, with great resource, to make his escape and rejoin the force. Your last adventure, sir, showed remarkable courage; and this time you have proved that you possess an equal amount of calmness and judgment. If you go on as you have begun, sir, you will make a very distinguished officer."

During the day Lisle had to repeat his story, again and again, to the officers of other regiments; who came in to congratulate him on making his escape, and to learn the particulars.

"I shall have," he said, laughing, "to get the printing officer to strike off a number of copies of my statement, and to issue one to each regiment. There, I think I would rather go through the adventure again, than have to keep on repeating it."

He had received a hearty cheer, from the regiment, when he appeared upon parade that morning; a reception that showed that he was a general favourite, and that sincere pleasure was felt at his return.

Lisle had been known among the men as 'the boy' when he first joined, but he was a boy no longer. He was now eighteen; and had, from the experiences he had gone through, a much older appearance. He learned, on the evening of his return, that he was now a full lieutenant; for there had been several changes in the regiment. When in cantonments other officers had joined, junior to himself; and four or five had been killed during the fighting.

"If this goes on much longer, Mr. Bullen, you will be a captain before we get back to India," one of the officers said.

"I am sure I hope not," he replied. "I don't wish to gain steps by the death of my friends. However, I hope that there is no chance of it coming to that."

After the visit of the commander to the Mohmund hill force, the troops under General Lockhart learned the history of the operations of that force, of which they had hitherto been in complete ignorance. On the 28th of August the force was concentrated. It consisted of the troops which, under Sir Bindon Blood, had just pacified the Upper Swat Valley; with a brigade, under Brigadier General Jeffreys and General Wodehouse, mobilized near Malakand. On the 6th of September orders were issued to march to Banjour, through the Mohmund country to Shabkadr, near Peshawar, and operate with a force under Major General Ellis. A force had already been despatched, under General Wodehouse, to seize the bridge over the Panjkora. This was successfully accomplished, the force arriving just in time, as a large body of the enemy came up only a few hours later.

General Meiklejohn was in command of the line of communication, and the 2nd and 3rd Brigades crossed the Panjkora without opposition. On the 13th of September the Rambuck Pass was reconnoitred, and the two brigades arrived at Nawagai. General Jeffreys encamped near the foot of the Ramjak Pass; and part of his force was detached, to prepare the road for the passage of the expedition, and to bivouac there for the night. The road was partially made, and the brigade would have passed over but, about eight o'clock in the evening, the camp at the foot of the pass was suddenly attacked. All lights were at once extinguished, and the men fell in rapidly; the trenches opening fire on the unseen enemy, who moved gradually round to the other side of the camp. It was pitch dark, for the moon had not yet risen; and the enemy poured in a murderous fire, but did not attempt to rush the camp. The troops were firing almost at random for, in spite of star shells being fired, very few of the enemy could be made out.

The fire was hottest from the side occupied by the 38th Dogras, who determined to make a sortie, for the purpose of clearing the enemy away from that flank. In spite of the fact that the ground was swept by bullets, several volunteered for the sortie. The fire, however, was too hot. Captain Tomkins and Lieutenant Bailey fell, almost the instant they rose to their feet. Lieutenant Harrington received a mortal wound, and several men were also killed and wounded, and the sortie was given up.

All night a heavy fire was kept up by the enemy, but they moved off in the morning. The camp presented a sad sight, when day broke; dead horses and mules were lying about among the tents and shelters, which had been hurriedly thrown down at the first attack. When it was learned that the assailants belonged to the Banjour tribes, living in the Mohmund Valley, a squadron of Bengal Lancers were sent off in pursuit and, overtaking them in a village at the entrance of their valley, killed many, pursuing them for four or five miles. When they returned to the village, they were joined by the Guides Infantry and a mountain battery. This was too small a force to follow the enemy into their hills, but they destroyed the fortifications of several small villages and, before night, General Jeffreys, with the rest of the brigade, arrived.

Night passed without interruption and, in the morning, the force marched in three columns; the centre keeping straight up the valley, while the other two were to destroy the villages on each side. When the centre column had advanced six miles up the valley, they saw the enemy in a village on the hill; and a detachment of the Buffs went out to dislodge them. The remainder of the column pushed on.

Two companies of the 35th Sikhs, who were in advance, went too far; and were suddenly attacked by a great number of the enemy. Fighting sturdily they fell back but, being hampered by their wounded, many of the men were unable to return the fire of the tribesmen; who formed round them, keeping up a heavy fire at close quarters. The Ghazis, seeing their opportunity, came closer and closer; their swordsmen charging in and cutting down the Sikhs in the ranks. Seventeen were thus killed or wounded. Presently, however, the Buffs arrived in support, and a squadron of the 11th Bengal Lancers charged the Ghazis, and speared many of them before they could reach the shelter of the hills; and the Buffs soon drove them away, with heavy loss.

While this was going on the third detachment, which had destroyed many of the numerous villages, was called in to join the main body. The guns had been doing good work among the flying tribesmen. A company and a half of the 35th Sikhs were told to take post, on a high hill, to cover the guns. This force, when the troops returned, diverged somewhat from the line of march which the main body were following. It was hard pressed by the tribesmen, hampered by the wounded, and was running short of ammunition; and was obliged to send for help. The general ordered the Guides to go to their assistance but, fortunately, a half company of that regiment with some ammunition had already reached them, and the party could be seen fighting their way up a steep rocky spur.

The tribesmen, confident that they could cut off the small band from the main force, rushed at them with their swords. Both the officers were severely wounded. When, however, the rest of the Guides arrived on the hill, they poured several volleys into the enemy, and so checked their advance. A Havildar then volunteered to mount the hill with ammunition. He reached the party with seventy cartridges, and carried back a wounded native officer. Other Guides followed his example, and all reached the valley as evening was closing in.

The Ghazis crept up the ravine, and maintained a hot fire upon them. It soon became pitch dark, and the difficulty of the march was increased by a heavy storm. The force lost the line of retreat and, but for the vivid lightning, would have found it impossible to make their way across the deep ravine. At ten o'clock they reached the camp.

Here they found that General Jeffreys, with part of his brigade, had not yet returned. At dawn, however, the general appeared, with his mountain battery and a small escort. They had become separated from the remainder of the brigade, and the general decided to bivouac in a village. Defences were at once formed. The trenching tools were with the main body, but the sappers used their bayonets to make a hasty shelter.

The enemy took possession of the unoccupied part of the village, and opened fire on the trenches. This grew so hot that it became absolutely necessary to clear the village. Three attempts were made, but failed; the handful of available men being altogether insufficient for the purpose.

The enemy now tried to rush the troops, and a continuous fire was poured into a small enclosure, packed with men and mules. The casualties were frequent, but the men now threw up a fresh defensive work, with mule saddles and ammunition boxes. The fury of the storm, which came on at nine o'clock, somewhat checked the ardour of the assailants; and the water was invaluable to the wounded.

At midnight four companies, who had gone out in search of the general, arrived and cleared the enemy out of the village. The casualties had been heavy, two officers and thirty-six men having been killed, and five officers and a hundred and two men wounded.

Next day the force started on their way up the valley. Their object was to attack a strongly-fortified village on the eastern side of the valley, about six miles distant from the camp. When they were within two thousand yards of the enemy's position, the tribesmen could be seen, making their disposition for the attack.

The Sikhs, Dogras, and Buffs stormed the heights on either side; but the enemy made no attempt to stand. The Guides advanced straight on the village, which was destroyed without loss. The grain found there was carried into camp. Several other villages were captured and, though the enemy were several times gathered in force, the appearance of a squadron of Bengal Lancers, in every case, put them to flight.

In the meantime, the 3rd Brigade were encamped at Nawagai. The news of the attack on General Jeffreys' column had upset the arrangements. It was of the utmost importance to hold Nawagai, which separated the country of the Hadda Mullah and the Mamunds. As the whole country was hostile, and would rise at the first opportunity, the force was not strong enough to march against the Hadda Mullah, and leave a sufficient body to guard the camp. It was therefore decided to wait, until they were joined by General Ellis' force.

Skirmishing went on daily. On the 17th, heliographic communication was opened with General Ellis. On the following day an order was flashed to them, to join General Jeffreys in the Mamund valley. This was impracticable, however, until General Ellis should arrive.

Next night a couple of hundred swordsmen crept up to a ravine, within fifty yards of the camp, and suddenly fell upon the West Surrey regiment. They were met by such a hail of bullets that most of them dropped, and of the remainder not a man reached Hallal.

On the following day a messenger arrived, from General Ellis, asking Sir Bindon Blood to meet him ten miles away. That afternoon a reconnaissance was made, as news had been received that large reinforcements had been received by Hadda Mullah. The enemy showed themselves in great force, but kept out of range of the guns though, during the return march, they followed the troops and, when darkness set in, were but two miles from camp.

At nine in the evening the enemy, who had crept silently up, attempted to rush the camp on three sides. The troops were well prepared, and maintained a steady fire; although the enemy's swordsmen hurled themselves against our entrenchments in great numbers. The star shells were fired by the mountain battery, and their reflection enabled the infantry to pour deadly volleys into the midst of the enemy, who were but a few yards distant. The tribesmen, however, completely surrounded the camp, their riflemen keeping up a heavy fire, and their swordsmen making repeated rushes.

The tents had all been struck, and the troops lay flat on the ground while the enemy's bullets swept the camp. This was kept up till two o'clock in the morning, the fire never slackening for a minute; and the monotony of the struggle was only broken by an occasional mad, fanatical rush of the Ghazis. The entrenchments were so well made that only thirty-two casualties occurred, but a hundred and fifteen horses and transport animals were killed.

The effect of this decisive repulse, of an attack which the enemy thought would certainly be successful, was shown by the complete dispersal of the enemy. Their losses had been terrible. It was ascertained that, in the surrounding villages alone, three hundred and thirty had been killed; while a great number of dead and wounded had been carried away over the passes.

On the following day General Ellis arrived. It was arranged that the 3rd Brigade should join his command. Thus reinforced, he could deal with the Hadda Mullah, and General Blood would be at liberty to join the 2nd Brigade in the Mamund Valley.

General Ellis took up a position, with the two brigades at his disposal, at the mouth of the Bedmanai Pass; and sniping went on all night. Next morning the troops moved forward to the attack. Covered by the rest of the force, the 20th Punjabis, with the 3rd Ghoorkhas in support, were ordered to make the assault, and to secure the hills commanding the pass. The enemy fought stubbornly, but were gradually driven back; their numbers being greatly reduced by deserters, after the attack on the camp. The Hadda Mullah had fled, directly the fight began; but the Suffi Mullah was seen constantly rallying his followers.

On the following morning, General Westmacott's brigade marched to a village situated at the mouth of the Jarobi gorge--a terrible defile, with precipitous cliffs on either side, the crests of which were well wooded. The resistance, however, was slight, and the force pushed through and burned the houses, towers, and forts of the Hadda Mullah. They were harassed, however, on their return to camp.

In the meantime, Sir Bindon Blood had joined General Jeffreys' brigade, which was still engaged in operations against the Mamunds. Several villages were burned, and large supplies of game and fodder carried off. The Mamunds at last sent in a party to negotiate; but it soon appeared that they had no intention of surrendering, for they had been joined by a considerable number of Afghans, and were ready for a fresh campaign. The Afghan borderers were in a good position, and were able to bring their forces to the assistance of the Mamunds with the assurance that, if they were repulsed, they could return to their homes.

General Jeffreys therefore recommenced operations, by an attack upon two fortified villages. These were situated on the lower slope of a steep and ragged hill, near enough to give support to each other, and protected by rocky spurs. The inhabitants sallied out to attack, but were checked by the appearance of our cavalry. The force then pressed forward to the high jungle.

It was evident that the spurs on either side must be captured, before the village could be stormed. The Guides were ordered to clear the spur to the left, the 31st Punjab Infantry and the Dogras the centre ridge between the two hills, while the West Kents advanced straight up the hill.

The Guides dashed up the hill with a wild yell. This so intimidated the tribesmen that, after firing a volley so wild that not a single man was wounded in the attacking column, they fled in a panic.

The Punjabis, on the other hill, were stubbornly fighting their way. The ground consisted, for the most part, of terraced fields, commanded by strongly-built sangars. Colonel O'Brien was killed, while gallantly leading his men on to the assault; but the Punjabis persisted, under the covering fire of the mountain battery, and dropped shell after shell into the Mamunds; who, however, although losing heavily, stuck manfully to their rocks and boulders, and finally were only driven out at the point of the bayonet.

The 31st were now joined by the West Kent, who came down from a spur on the west, and were able to drive the enemy out of several strong positions above the other village. On their way a half company, on reaching a sangar, were suddenly charged by a body of Ghazis. From the melee which ensued, many of the West Kents were killed and wounded, among them the officer in command.

As it was now late, it was decided to return to camp for the night. This was done steadily and deliberately, although the enemy kept up a heavy fire. The casualties of the day were sixty-one, no fewer than eight British officers being killed or wounded.

Two days' rest was given the troops, and then they marched against Badelai. The attack was almost unopposed. The tribesmen imagined that we were again going to attack their former position, and they were unable to return in time to defend the village. Their loss, however, was severe, as they came down to the open ground, and were swept by the guns of the mountain battery.

A few days afterwards the campaign was brought to an end, the enemy coming in and offering a general surrender. The expedition had been very successful, twenty-six villages having been destroyed, and all the hoards of grain having been carried off.

On the 13th of October the Mamund valley was evacuated, and the force moved into Matassa. The inhabitants here were perfectly peaceable and, beyond the blowing up of the fort of a chief, who had continued hostile, there was no fighting. The force then returned to Malakand, where it remained for two months.

Two tribes yet remained to be dealt with, namely the Bulas and Chamlas. Both refused to comply with the reasonable terms imposed upon them, by the government, for their complicity in the rebellion.

The force selected for their punishment consisted of two brigades, under General Meiklejohn and General Jeffreys. These advanced to the assault on the Tangi Pass. The Guides, 31st Punjabis, three squadrons of the Bengal Lancers, and two squadrons of the Guide cavalry were sent to Rustam, a place which threatened three passes leading into Buner. The enemy, being thus compelled to watch all three routes, were prevented from assembling in any force.

Sir Bindon Blood encamped the two brigades on Thursday, the 6th of January, at the mouth of the Tangi Pass. The detached column was to protect an entrance over the Pirsai Pass. The assault was made by the column under General Meiklejohn, and so well was the force distributed--the hills on either side being captured, while three batteries opened fire on the hill with shrapnel--that the tribesmen were unable to maintain their position. The pass was captured with only one casualty, and the troops marched triumphantly down into Buner, the first British troops who had ever entered the country.

They halted at the first village. As this place was plentifully stocked with goats and chickens, they found abundance of food.

The detached column were equally successful in their attack on the Pirsai Pass, for they met with scarcely any resistance. Our success, in capturing the two passes hitherto deemed impregnable, brought about a complete collapse of the enemy. Deputations came in from all the surrounding villages, and the tribesmen complied with the terms imposed upon them.

Chapter 11: An Arduous March.

Lisle had heard of the operations that had been carried on by the brigade under General Gazelee, under the general supervision of Sir William Lockhart. The object was to cross by the Zolaznu Pass, to punish two of the hostile tribes on the other side; to effect a meeting with the Khuram column; and to concentrate and operate against the Chamkannis, a tribe of inveterate robbers. On the 26th General Gazelee started, and the newly-arrived wing of the Scottish Fusiliers, and two companies of the Yorkshires was to follow, on the 28th.

The approach to the pass, which was four miles to the left, was across a very rough country; and as, after advancing four and a half miles, a severe opposition was met with, most of the day was spent in dislodging the tribesmen from the villages, and turning them out of the spurs which covered the approach to the pass. Finding it impossible to make the summit that night, they encamped and, although they were fired into heavily, but little damage was done.

At dawn the expedition started again but, by accident, they ascended another pass parallel with the Lozacca. At nine o'clock the Ghoorkhas and Sikhs arrived at the top of the pass. It was very difficult and, as the baggage animals gave great trouble on the ascent, and were unable to go farther, the party camped on the top of the pass.

General Lockhart left the camp early that morning, but was also opposed so vigorously that he was obliged to encamp, three miles from the top of the pass, after having burnt all the villages from which he had been fired upon. In the morning he joined the advance party, and went ten miles down the pass. On arriving there, he found that the Queen's and the 3rd Sikhs had pushed on farther to Dargai. This was not the place previously visited of this name, which appears to be a common one in the Tirah. Plenty of hay and straw stores were found, and the troops were vastly more comfortable than on the previous night.

It was here that Lisle had overtaken the column.

Next day the whole force was encamped at Dargai, where they were received in a friendly manner by the villagers; who expressed themselves willing to pay their share of the fines imposed, and also to picket the hills. The rear guard, of two companies of Ghoorkhas and two companies of Scottish Fusiliers, arrived late in the day. They had met with great opposition. The tribesmen would, indeed, have succeeded in carrying off the guns, had not a company of the Ghoorkhas come up and, fighting stubbornly, driven them off.

Next morning the headmen of the village were summoned, to explain why they had failed to pay the number of rifles they had promised; and fire was applied to one of their houses. This had an instantaneous effect and, in a quarter of an hour, the rifles were forthcoming and the fine paid.

The force then moved on to Esor, where helio communication with the Khuram column had been effected and, that day, Sir William Lockhart and Colonel Hill--who commanded it--met. The country traversed was a beautiful one. It was admirably cultivated, and the houses were substantially built.

That day two columns went out: one under General Gazelee, to collect the fines from one of the tribes; the other commanded by Colonel Hill, to punish the Chamkannis. This was a small, but extremely warlike and hardy tribe. A short time before, they had raided a thousand head of cattle from across our border, and got clear away with them.

A portion of the force was told off, to work its way into the valley by the river gorge, while the main body ascended the path over the Kotal. They reached this at a quarter-past ten and, while they were waiting for the head of the column that had gone up the gorge to appear, fire was opened upon them. This, however, was kept down by the guns. It was an hour before the column appeared, but the whole force was not through the defile until it was too late to carry out the destruction of the villages. The column therefore retired, severely harassed, the while, by the enemy.

Next day Colonel Hill was again sent forward, with the Border Scouts, the 4th and 5th Ghoorkhas, part of the Queen's, and the Khoat Battery. They were over the Kotal at nine o'clock, and the 5th Ghoorkhas and the scouts were sent to hold the hills on the left. The Chamkannis had anticipated a sudden visit, and were in force on the left, where they had erected several sangars.

The little body of scouts, eighty men strong, fought their way up the hill; and waited there for the leading company of the 5th. Lieutenant Lucas, who commanded them, told off half his company to sweep the sangar, and then the remainder dashed at it.

The Chamkannis stood more firmly than any of the tribesmen had hitherto done. They met the charge with a volley, and then drew their knives to receive it. The fire of the covering party destroyed their composure and, when the scouts were within thirty yards, they bolted for the next sangar.

Lucas carried three of these defences, one after another, and drove the enemy off the hill. The Ghoorkhas scouts, who had been engaged thirty-six times during the campaign, had killed more than their own strength of the enemy, and had lost but one man killed and two wounded; and this without taking count of the many nights they had spent in driving off prowlers round the camp.

The work of destruction now began. Over sixty villages were destroyed in the valley and, on the following day, the expedition started to withdraw. The lesson had been so severe that no attempt was made, by the tribesmen, to harass the movement.

The column marched down to the camp in the Maidan--the Adam Khels, through whose country they passed, paying the fine, and so picketing many of the adjacent heights as to guard the camp from the attacks of hostile tribesmen. When they reached Bara they decided to rejoin the Peshawar column, without delay, as the outlook was not promising. The evacuation began on the 7th of December, but the rear guard did not leave till the 9th. It was divided into two divisions in order, as much as possible, to avoid the delay caused by the large baggage column. The 1st Division was to march down on the Mastura Valley, while General Lockhart's 2nd Division would again face the Dwatoi defile. Both the forces were due to join the Peshawar column, on or about the 14th.

General Symonds, with the 1st Division, was unmolested by the way. It was very different, however, with Lockhart.

The movement was not made a day too soon. Clouds were gathering, the wind was blowing from the north, and there was every prospect of a fall of snow, which would have rendered the passage of the Bara Pass impossible. The 3rd Ghoorkhas led the way, followed by the Borderers, with the half battalion of the Scottish Regiment and the Dorsets. Behind them came the baggage of the brigade and headquarters, the rear of the leading column being brought up by the 36th Sikhs. General Kempster's Brigade followed, in as close order as possible; having detached portions of the 1st and 2nd Ghoorkhas, and the 2nd Punjab Infantry, to flank the whole force.

The Malikdin Khels were staunch to their word, and not a single shot was fired till the force had passed through the defile. The difficulties, however, were great, for the troops, baggage, and followers had to wade through the torrent, two-thirds of the way. The flanking had used up all the Ghoorkhas, and the Borderers now became the advance guard.

Everything seemed peaceful, and the regiment was halfway across the small valley, when a heavy fire was opened on the opposite hill. General Westmacott was in command of the brigade. The Borderers were to take and hold the opposite hill, supported by a company of Dorsets and of Scottish Fusiliers. The battery opened fire, while a party turned the nearest sangars on the right flank. By three o'clock the whole of the crests were held, and the baggage streamed into camp. Fighting continued, however, on the peaks, far into the night.

No explanations were forthcoming why the enemy should have allowed the force to pass through the defile, without obstruction, when a determined body of riflemen could have kept the whole of them at bay; for the artillery could not have been brought into position, as the defile was the most difficult, of its kind, that a British division had ever crossed.

The day following the withdrawal of the rear guard, it rained in the Bara Valley, which meant snow in the Maidan. The pickets on the heights had a bad time of it that night, as some of them were constantly attacked; and it was not till three in the morning that the baggage came in, the rear guard arriving in camp about ten.

The camp presented a wonderful sight that day, crowded as it was with men and animals. The weather was bitterly cold, and the men were busy gathering wood to make fires. On the hills all round, the Sikhs could be seen engaged with the enemy, the guns aiding them with their work. The 36th Sikhs, as soon as they arrived, were sent off to occupy a peak, two miles distant, which covered the advance into the Rajgul defile. The enemy mustered strong, but were turned out of the position.

The next morning the villages were white with snow. A party was sent on into the Rajgul valley, where they destroyed a big village.

Immediately after leaving Dwatoi, the valley broadened out till it was nearly a mile wide. On the right it was commanded by steep hills; on the left it was, to some extent, cultivated. The 4th Brigade this time led the way, the 3rd bringing up the rear.

From the moment when the troops fell in on the 10th, till they reached Barkai on the 14th, there was a general action from front to rear. The advance guard marched at half-past seven. At eight o'clock flanking parties were engaged with the enemy in the hills and spurs. Serious opposition, however, did not take place until five and a half miles of the valley had been passed.

Here the river turned to the right, and the front of the advance was exposed to the fire of a strongly-fortified village, nestling on the lower slope of a hill, on a terrace plateau. The village was furnished with no fewer than ten towers, and from these a very heavy fire was kept up.

The battery shelled the spur; while the Sikhs, in open order, skirmished up the terraces to the plateau and, after a brisk fusillade, took the village and burnt it.

A mile farther, the head of the column reached the camping place, which was a strong village built into the river cleft. On the left the 36th Sikhs and part of the Ghoorkhas cleared the way; while the Bombay Pioneers, and the rest of the Ghoorkhas, became heavily engaged with the enemy in some villages on the right. All along the line a brisk engagement went on. The camp pickets took up their positions early in the afternoon, and a foraging party went out and brought in supplies, after some fighting.

Kempster's Brigade had not been able to reach the camp, and settled itself for the night three miles farther up the valley. It, too, had its share of fighting.

All night it rained heavily, and the morning of the 11th broke cold and miserable. It was freezing hard; the hilltops, a hundred feet above the camp, were wrapped in snow; and the river had swollen greatly. The advance guard waded out into the river bed, and the whole of the brigade followed, the Ghoorkhas clearing the sides of the valley. In a short time they passed into the Zakka-Khel section of the Bara Valley.

Curiously enough, the opposition ceased here. It may be that the enemy feared to show themselves on the snow on the hilltops; or that, being short of ammunition, they decided to reserve themselves for an attack upon the other brigade. Scarcely a shot was fired until the valley broadened out into the Akerkhel, where some small opposition was offered by villagers on either bank. This, however, was easily brushed aside.

The advance guard of the 3rd Brigade almost caught up the rear guard of the 4th and, by four in the afternoon, its baggage was coming along nicely, so that all would be in before nightfall. The rear guard of the brigade, consisting of the Gordons, Ghoorkhas, and 2nd Punjab Infantry, had been harassed as soon as they started and, as the day wore on, the enemy increased greatly in numbers. As the flanking parties fell back to join the rear guard, they were so pressed that it was as much as they could do to keep them at bay.

When about three miles from camp, the baggage took a wrong road. In trying a piece of level ground, they became helplessly mixed up in swampy rice fields. The enemy, seeing the opportunity they had waited for, outflanked the rear guard, and began pouring a heavy fire into the baggage. The flanking parties were weak, for the strain had been so severe that many men from the hospital escort and baggage guard had been withdrawn, to dislodge the enemy from the surrounding spurs.

The Pathans were almost among the baggage, when a panic seized the followers. As night began to fall, the officer commanding the Gordons, with two weak companies of his regiment, two companies of the Ghoorkhas, and a company of the 2nd Punjab Infantry and some Ghoorkhas, found himself in a most serious position. The guns had limbered up and pushed on, and the rear guard remained, surrounded by the enemy, hampered with its wounded, and stranded with doolies. As the native bearers had fled these doolies were, in many cases, being carried by the native officers.

The enemy grew more and more daring, and a few yards, only, divided the combatants. Captain Uniacke, retiring with a few of the Gordons, saw that there was only one course left: they must entrench for the night. He was in advance of the actual rear guard, attempting to hold a house against the fire of quite a hundred tribesmen.

Collecting four men of his regiment, and shouting wildly, he rushed at the doorway. In the dusk the enemy were uncertain of the number of their assailants and, in their horror of the bayonet, they fired one wild volley and fled. To continue the ruse, Captain Uniacke climbed to the roof, shouting words of command, as if he had a company behind him. Then he blew his whistle, to attract the rear guard as it passed, in the dark.

The whistle was heard and, in little groups, they fell back with the wounded to the house. It was a poor place, but capable of defence; and the Pathans drew off, knowing that there was loot in abundance to be gained down by the river.

As night wore on the greatest anxiety prevailed, when transport officers and small parties straggled in, and reported that tribesmen were looting and cutting up followers, within a mile of camp; and that they had no news to give of the men who composed the rear guard. So anxious were the headquarter staff that a company of the Borderers were sent out, to do what they could.

Lieutenant Macalister took them out and, going a mile up the river, was able to collect many followers and baggage animals, but could find no signs of the rear guard. Early in the morning a company of the 2nd Punjab Infantry went out, as a search party, and got into communication with the rear guard. They were safe in the house; but could not move, as they were hampered with the wounded, and were surrounded by the enemy. Two regiments and a mountain battery therefore went out and rescued them from their awkward predicament, bringing them into camp, with as much baggage as could be found.

The casualties of the day amounted to a hundred and fifty animals, and a hundred followers killed. Of the combatants two officers were wounded, and fourteen Gordons were wounded, and four killed.

Owing to the necessity of sending out part of the 4th Brigade, to support the cut-off rear of the 3rd Brigade, it was impossible to continue the march that day. Next morning, the order of the brigade was changed. The 23rd was to lead, handing over a battery of artillery to the 4th, for service in the rear guard. It was also ordered that flanking parties were to remain in position, until the baggage had passed. The advance guard consisted of the 2nd Punjab Infantry, and the 1st and 2nd Ghoorkhas. The others were told off to burn and destroy all villages on either side of the nullah. The baggage of the whole division followed the main guard.

Directly the camp was left, the sides of the nullah enlarged and, for half a mile, the road lay through a narrow ravine. The drop was rapid; for the river, swollen by the fallen snow, had become literally a torrent; and the scene with the baggage was one of extreme confusion. The recent disaster had given a frenzied impulse to the generally calm followers, and all felt anxiety to press forward, with an impetus almost impossible to control. The mass of baggage became mixed in the ravine, but at last was cleared off and, when the valley opened, they moved forward at their greatest speed, but now under perfect control.

After this the opposition became less, and the village of Gulikhel was reached by the 3rd Brigade. The village stands on the left bank of the Bara. Immediately below it a nullah becomes a narrow gorge, almost impassable in the present state of the river. It is several miles long. There was, however, a road over a neighbouring saddle. The path up from the river was narrow, but sufficient to allow two loaded mules to pass abreast. It wound for some seven miles, over a low hill, until the river bed was again reached.

The next ford was Barkhe. The advance guard was well up in the hills by midday, when it met the Oxfordshire Regiment, which had come out seven miles to meet the force; but the baggage of a division, filing out of the river bed in pairs, is a serious matter, and there was necessarily a block in the rear.

General Westmacott moved as soon as the baggage was off but, long before it was through the first defile, his pickets were engaged, and a general action followed. The enemy, fighting with extraordinary boldness, kept within a few yards of the pickets. Followers with baggage animals were constantly hit, as they came up but, at half-past ten, the rear guard regiments marched out of camp, under cover of artillery fire.

The fighting was so severe that, within an hour, the ammunition of the 3rd Ghoorkhas was expended and, shortly afterwards, the two regiments of the rear guard were forced to call up their first reserve ammunition mules. The march was continued at a rapid pace, until they reached the block caused by the narrowness of the path. Here the whole river reach became choked with animals and doolies. The wounded were coming in fast, when the Pathans, taking advantage of the block, attacked in great force, hoping to compel the retreating force to make their way down the long river defile.

General Westmacott, however, defended his right with energy; the rear-guard regiments supporting each other, while the batteries were in continual action. The Borderers, Sikhs, and Ghoorkhas stood well to their task, till the last of the baggage animals were got out of the river bed.

The country now had become a rolling plateau, intersected by ravines and thickly covered with low jungle, in which the enemy could creep up to within three or four yards of the fighting line. Progress was, consequently, very slow. To be benighted in such a country would have meant disaster, so General Westmacott selected a ridge, which he determined to hold for the night. The wearied men were just filing up, when a tremendous rush was made by the Afridis. For a moment, it seemed as if they would all be enveloped and swept away; but the officers threw themselves into the ranks, magazines were worked freely, and the very bushes seemed to melt away before the hail of shot. The tribesmen were swept back in the darkness, and they never tried a second rush. Their firing also slackened very much, and this permitted the men to form a camp, and see to the wounded.

That day the rear guard lost one officer killed and three wounded, eighteen men killed, eighty-three wounded, and six missing. The night in camp was a terrible experience. The troops had been fighting since early morning, the frost was bitter, and they had neither water, food, nor blankets. General Westmacott passed the night with the sentry line.

Early in the morning the action recommenced and, stubbornly contesting each foot, at times almost in hand-to-hand conflict with tribesmen in the bushes, the rear guard fell back. The summit of the Kotal was passed; but the enemy continued to harass their retirement down to the river, where the picket post of the 9th Ghoorkhas was reached. The retirement from the Tirah had cost a hundred and sixty-four killed and wounded. As a military achievement, this march of Lockhart's 2nd Division should have a prominent place in the history of the British army.

After a quiet day, the force marched into Swaikot. Next morning the troops in camp there gathered on each side of the road, cheering their battle-grimed comrades, and bringing down hot cakes to them. It was a depressing sight. The men were all pinched and dishevelled, and bore on their faces marks of the terrible ordeal through which they had just passed.

The advance guard were followed by the wounded. The 4th Brigade followed. They were even more marked by hardship and strife than those who had preceded them. Then the rear guard marched in, and the first phase of the Tirah expedition was at an end.

The expedition had carried out its object successfully. The Afridis had been severely punished, and had been taught what they had hitherto believed impossible, that their defiles were not impregnable, and that the long arm of the British Government could reach them in their recesses. The lesson had been a very severe one, but it had been attained at a terrible cost. It is to be hoped that it will never have to be repeated.

But while the regiment were resting quietly in their cantonment, there had been serious fighting on the road to Chitral. After some hesitation, the government had decided that this post should remain in our hands, and a strong force was therefore stationed at the Malakand. This, after clearing the country, remained quietly at the station; until news was received of the attack on our fort at Shabkadr, near Peshawar, by the Mohmunds and, two days later, news came that a large council had been held by the fanatics of various tribes, at which they decided to join the tribes in the Upper Valley of Swat.

On the 14th of August the force set out from Thana, under Sir Bindon Blood, on their march for the Upper Swat. The 11th Bengal Lancers were sent forward in order to reconnoitre the country. The enemy were found in force near Jelala, at the entrance to the Upper Swat river, their advance post being established in some Buddhist ruins on a ridge. The Royal West Kent, however, advanced and drove them off.

Then news came that several thousand of the enemy occupied a front, of some two miles, along the height; their right flank resting on the steep cliffs, and their left reaching to the top of the higher hills. The battery opened fire upon them; and the infantry, coming into action at nine o'clock in the morning, did much execution among the crowded Ghazis.

The 31st and 24th Punjab Infantry, under General Meiklejohn, had a long and arduous march on the enemy's left. The movement was successfully carried out; and the enemy, knowing that their line of retreat towards the Morah Pass was threatened, broke up, a large portion streaming away to their left. The remainder soon lost heart and, although a desperate charge by a handful of Ghazis took place, these only sacrificed their lives, without altering the course of events.

The enemy gathered on a ridge in the rear but, by eleven, the heights commanding the road were in the hands of our troops, and the Guides cavalry began to file past. When they got into the pass behind the ridge, the enemy were more than a mile away; and could be seen in great numbers, separated by several ravines.

Captain Palmer, who had pushed forward in pursuit, soon found himself ahead of his men. Near him were Lieutenant Greaves and, thirty yards behind, Colonel Adams and Lieutenant Norman. Seeing that the enemy were in considerable force, Colonel Adams directed the troop of cavalry who were coming up to hold a graveyard, through which they had passed, until the infantry could arrive. Owing, however, to the noise of the firing, Palmer and Greaves did not hear him; and charged up to the foot of the hill, hoping to cut off the tribesmen who were hurrying towards them. Palmer's horse was at once killed, and Greaves fell among the Pathans.

Adams and Fincastle, and two soldiers, galloped forward to their assistance, and were able to help Palmer back to the shelter of the graveyard. Meanwhile Fincastle, who had had his horse killed, tried to help Greaves on to Adams' horse. While doing so, Greaves was again shot through the body, and Adams' horse wounded. The two troopers came to their assistance; and Maclean, having first dismounted his squadron in the graveyard, pluckily rode out with four of his men. In this way the wounded were successfully brought in; but Maclean was shot through both thighs, and died almost instantly. The loss of the two officers, who were both extremely popular, was greatly felt by the force.

The infantry and guns now having arrived, the enemy retired to a village, two miles in the rear. Here they were attacked by a squadron of the Guides, who dispersed them and drove them up into the hills. In the meantime our camp had been attacked, but the guard repulsed the assailants, with some loss.

The enemy had lost so heavily that they scattered to the villages, and sent in to make their submission. This fight effectually cooled the courage of the natives, and the column marched through their country unopposed, and the tribesmen remained comparatively quiet during the after events.

Chapter 12: A Tribal Fight.

Two days after Lisle's return he was sent for by General Lockhart, who requested him to give him a full account of his capture and escape.

"This is the second time, Mr. Bullen, that your conduct has been brought before me. Your defence of that hut, when you were unable to make your retirement to the camp, with a handful of men, was a singularly gallant affair. I lost one of my aides-de-camp in the last fight, and I am pleased to offer you the vacancy. You may take possession of his horse until we return; when it will, of course, be sold. I shall be glad to have a young officer of so much courage and resource on my staff."

"Thank you, sir! I am extremely obliged to you for the offer, which I gladly accept; and feel it a very high honour, indeed, to be attached to your staff."

"Very well, Mr. Bullen, I will put you in orders, tomorrow morning."

On his return to the regiment, Lisle was warmly congratulated when they heard the honour that had been bestowed on him; but there were many expressions of regret at his leaving them.

"It will not be for long," he said, "for I suppose that, in another fortnight, we shall be across the frontier. If it had been at the beginning of the campaign, I should certainly have refused to accept the general's offer; for I should much rather have remained with the regiment. As it was, however, I could hardly refuse."

"Certainly not," said one. "It is always a pull having been on the staff, even for a short time. The staff always get their names in orders, and that gives a fellow much better chances in the future. Besides, in a campaign like this, where the division gets often broken up, there is plenty of work to do.

"Well, I hope you will soon be back with us again."

Next morning Lisle took up his new duties, and was soon fully occupied in carrying messages from and to headquarters. One day he received orders to accompany one of the senior members of the staff, to reconnoitre a pass two miles from camp. It was a level ride to the mouth of the gorge. They had scarcely entered it when, from behind a rock a hundred yards away, a heavy volley was fired. The colonel's horse was shot dead and he, himself, was shot through the leg. Lisle was unwounded, and leapt from his horse.

"Ride for your life, Bullen!" the colonel said. "I am shot through the leg."

"My horse must carry two, sir," Lisle replied, lifting the officer, who was not wholly disabled, and placing him in the saddle.

"Jump up!" the officer said.

But the tribesmen were now within twenty yards, and Lisle drew his sword and gave the animal a sharp prick. It was already frightened with the shouting of the tribesmen, and went off like an arrow. Lisle, seeing that resistance was absolutely useless, threw down his sword; and stood with his arms folded, facing the natives. An order was shouted by a man who was evidently their leader and, pausing, those who were armed with breech loaders fired after the flying horseman; totally disregarding Lisle, who had the satisfaction of finding that his sacrifice had been effectual, for the horse pursued its way without faltering.

When it was out of range, the chief turned to Lisle. The Afridis value courage above all things, and were filled with admiration at the manner in which this young officer sacrificed himself for his superior. He signalled to Lisle to accompany him and, surrounded by the tribesmen, he was taken back to the rock from which they had first fired. Then, guarded by four armed men, he was conducted to a little village standing high among the hills.

"This is just my luck," he said to himself, when he was taken to a room in the principal house. "Here I am a prisoner again, just as the troops are going to march away. It is awfully bad luck. Still, if I ever do get back, I suppose the fact that I have saved Colonel Houghton's life will count for something in my favour. It was unlucky that there was not time for me to jump up behind him, but my horse was in bad condition, and we should have been a good deal longer under fire.

"However, I ought not to grumble at my luck. I believe I am the only officer who has been taken prisoner and, as it looks as if I am to be kept as a hostage, my life would seem to be safe. I certainly expected nothing but instant death when they rushed down upon me. I have no doubt that, by this time, a messenger has reached camp saying that they have got me; and that, if there is any farther advance, they will put me to death. As I know that the general did not intend to go any farther, and that every day is of importance in getting the troops down before winter sets in in earnest, I have no doubt that he will send back a message saying that, if any harm comes to me, they will, in the spring, return and destroy every house belonging to the tribe.

"I think I may consider myself safe, and shall find plenty of employment in learning their language, which may be useful to me at some time or other. I expect that, as soon as we leave, the people here will go down into one of their valleys. The cold up here must be getting frightful and, as there is not a tree anywhere near, they would not be able even to keep up fires.

"As to escape, I fear that will be impossible. The passes will all be closed by snow, and I have no doubt that, until they are sure of that, they will keep a sharp lookout after me."

Later in the day the tribesmen returned. The chief came into the room and, by means of signs and the few words that Lisle had picked up, when he was before a prisoner, he signified to him that if he attempted to make his escape he would at once be killed; but otherwise he would be well treated. For four or five days a vigilant watch was kept over him. Then it was relaxed, and he felt sure that the army had marched away.

Then preparations for a move began. Lisle volunteered to assist, and aided to pack up the scanty belongings, and filled bags with corn. The chief was evidently pleased with his willingness and, several times, gave him a friendly nod. At last all was in readiness; and the occupants of the village, together with their animals--all heavily laden, even the women carrying heavy burdens--started on their way. It was five days' journey, and they halted at last at a small village--which was evidently private property--down in the plains at the foot of the mountains and, as Lisle judged, at no very great distance from the frontier line.

Lisle now mixed a good deal with the natives, and thus he began to pick up a good many words of their language. Now that they were down on the plains, two men with rifles were always on guard over him, but he was allowed to move freely about, as he liked.

A fortnight after they were established in their new quarters another party of natives arrived, and there was a long and angry talk. As far as Lisle could understand, these were the permanent occupants of that portion of the plain, and had been accustomed to receive a small tribute from the hill people who came down to them. It seemed that, on the present occasion, they demanded a largely increased sum in cattle and sheep; on the ground that so many of the hill tribesmen had come down that their land was eaten up by them. The amount now demanded was larger than the hill people could pay. They, therefore, flatly rejected the terms offered them; and the newcomers retired, with threats of exterminating them.

For the next few days, the tribesmen were busy in putting the village in a state of defence. A deep ditch was dug round it, and this was surmounted by an abattis of bushes. Fresh loopholes were pierced in the tower, and stones were gathered in the upper story, in readiness to throw down on any assailants.

As soon as the work was begun, Lisle signified to the chief that he was ready to take part in it, and to aid in the defence. The chief was pleased with his offer, and gladly accepted it. Lisle worked hard among them. He needed to give them no advice. Accustomed to tribal war, the men were perfectly competent to carry out the work. There were but three towers capable of defence, and in these the whole of the villagers were now gathered. Men and women alike worked at the defences. Their sheep and cattle were driven into the exterior line, and were only allowed to go out to graze under a strong guard.

A fortnight passed before there were any signs of the enemy, and then a dark mass was seen approachingg. The cattle were hastily driven in, and the men gathered behind the hedge. Lisle asked the chief for a rifle, but the latter shook his head.

"We have not enough for ourselves," he said. "Here is a pistol we took from you, and a sword. You must do the best you can with them. It is probable that, before the fight goes on long, there will be rifles without masters, and you will be able to find one. Are you a good shot?"

"Yes, a very good one."

"Very well, the first that becomes free you shall have."

The assailants halted five hundred yards from the village. Then one rode forward. When he came within a hundred yards he halted, and shouted:

"Are you ready to pay the tribute fixed upon?"

"We are not," the chief said. "If you took all we have it would not be sufficient and, without our animals, we should starve when we got back to the hills; but I will pay twice the amount previously demanded."

"Then we will come and take them all," the messenger said.

"Come and take them," the chief shouted, and the messenger retired to the main body; who at once broke up, when they learned the answer, and proceeded to surround the village.

"Do you think," the chief said to Lisle, "that you could hit that man who is directing them?"

"I don't know the exact distance," Lisle said, "but I think that, if I had two or three shots, I could certainly knock him over."

"Give me your rifle," the chief said, to one of the tribesmen standing near him.

"Now, sahib, let us see what you can do."

Lisle took the rifle, and examined it to see that it was all right; and then, leaning down on a small rise of ground that permitted him to see over the hedge, he took steady aim and fired. The man he aimed at fell, at once.

"Well done, indeed!" the chief exclaimed, "you are a good shot. I will lend you my rifle. It is one of the best; but I only got it a short time since, and am not accustomed to it."

"Thank you, chief! I will do my best." Then, waving his arm round, he said, "You will do more good by looking after your men."

The chief went up to his house, and returned with an old smooth-bore gun and a bag of slugs.

"I shall do better with this," he said, "when they get close."

A heavy fire was opened on both sides; but the defenders, lying behind the hedge, had a considerable advantage; which almost neutralized the great superiority in numbers of the assailants, who were in the open. Lisle, lying down behind the bank from which he had fired, and only lifting his head above the crest to take aim, occupied himself exclusively with the men who appeared to be the leaders of the attack, and brought down several of them. The assailants presently drew off, and gathered together.

It was evident to Lisle, from his lookout, that there was a considerable difference of opinion among them; but at last they scattered again round the village and, lying down and taking advantage of every tuft of grass, they began to crawl forward on their stomachs. Although, as the line closed in, several were killed, it was evident that they would soon get near enough to make a rush.

The chief was evidently of the same opinion, for he shouted an order, and the defenders all leapt to their feet and ran to the three fortified houses. There were only three-and-twenty of them, in all. Lisle saw with satisfaction that they had evidently received orders, beforehand, from the chief; for seven were running to the chief's house, making up its garrison, altogether, to nine men; and seven were running to each of the others.

As the enemy burst through the bushes, which were but some twenty-five yards from the houses, the defenders opened fire from every loophole. At so short a distance every shot told; and the assailants recoiled, leaving more than a dozen dead behind them, while several of the others were wounded.

They now took up their places in the ditch, and fired through the hedge. Lisle at once signed to the chief to order his men to cease firing, and to withdraw from the loopholes.

"It is no good to fire now," he said. "Let them waste their ammunition."

The chief at once shouted orders to his men to cease firing, and to take their place on the lower story; the walls of which, being strongly built of stone, were impenetrable by bullets; while these passed freely through the lightly-built story above. The enemy continued to fire rapidly for some time; and then, finding that no reply was made, gradually stopped. There was a long pause.

"I think they are waiting till it is dark," Lisle said. "Tell the men to make torches, and thrust them out through the loopholes when the enemy come."

The chief nodded, after Lisle had repeated the sentence in a dozen different ways. He at once ordered the men to bring up ropes, and to soak them with oil; and then in a low voice, so that the assailants should not hear, repeated the order to the men in the other houses.

The ropes were cut up into lengths of three feet, and then there was nothing to do but to wait. The attack had begun at three in the afternoon, and by six it was quite dark. A loud yell gave the signal, and the enemy rushed through the hedge and surrounded the three houses. All had walls round them and, while the assailants battered at the doors, which had been backed up with earth and stones, the defenders lighted their torches and thrust them out, through loopholes in the upper stories, and then retired again to the ground floor.

The doors soon gave way to the attacks upon them, and the assailants rushed in, in a crowd. As they did so, the defenders poured in a terrible fire from their magazine rifles. The heads of the columns melted away, and the assailants fell back, hastily.

"I do not think they will try again," Lisle said. "If they have lost as heavily, in the other two houses, as they have here, their loss must have been heavy, indeed."

The torches were kept burning all night, but there was no repetition of the attack and, in the morning, the assailants were seen gathered half a mile away. Presently a man was observed approaching, waving a green bough. He was met at the hedge by the chief. He brought an offer that, if the Afridis were allowed to carry off their dead and wounded, they would be content that the same tribute as of old should be paid; and to take oath that it should not, in the future, be increased. The chief agreed to the terms, on condition that only twenty men should be allowed to pass the hedge, and that they should there hand over the dead to their companions.

On returning to his house, he made Lisle understand that, after the heavy loss they had inflicted on their assailants, there would forever be a blood feud between them; and that, in future, they would have to retire for the winter to some valley far away, and keep a constant watch until spring came again. When Lisle had, with great difficulty, understood what the chief said, he nodded.

"I can understand that, chief," he said, "and I think you should keep a very strong guard, every night, till we move away."

"Good man," the chief said, "you have fought by our side, and are no longer a prisoner but a friend. When spring comes, you shall go back to your own people."

It took some hours to remove the dead, of whom there were forty-three; and the badly wounded, who numbered twenty-two--but there was no doubt that many more had managed to crawl away.

Lisle now set to work to learn the language, in earnest. A boy was told off by the chief to be his companion and, at the end of two months, Lisle was able to converse without difficulty. The chief had already told him that he could leave when he liked, but that it would be very dangerous for him to endeavour to make his way to the frontier, especially as the tribe they had fought against occupied the intervening country.

"When we get among the hills, I will give you four men to act as your escort down the passes; but you will have to go in disguise for, after the fighting that has taken place, and the destruction of the villages, even if peace is made it would not be safe for a white man to travel among the mountains. He would certainly be killed."

Every precaution was taken against attack, and six men were stationed at the hedge, all night. Two or three times noises were heard, which seemed to proceed from a considerable body of men. The guard fired, but nothing more was heard. Evidently a surprise had been intended but, directly it was found that the garrison were on watch, and prepared, the idea was abandoned; for the lesson had been so severe that even the hope of revenge was not sufficient to induce them to run the risk of its repetition.

Lisle did not fret at his enforced stay. He was very popular in the little village, and was quite at home with the chief's family. The choicest bits of meat were always sent to him; and he was treated as an honoured guest, in every way.

"When you return to your people," the chief said, one day, "please tell them that, henceforth, we shall regard them as friends; and that, if they choose to march through our country, we will do all we can to aid them, by every means in our power."

"I will certainly tell them so," Lisle replied, "and the kindness you have shown me will assuredly be rewarded."

"I regret that we fought against you," the chief said, "but we were misled. They will not take away our rifles from us, I hope; for without them we should be at the mercy of the other tribes. These may give up many rifles, but they are sure to retain some and, though there are other villages of our clan, we should be an easy prey, if it were known that we were unarmed."

"I think I can promise that, after your friendly conduct to me, you will not be required to make any payment, whatever; and indeed, for so small a matter as twenty rifles, your assurances, that these would never again be used against us, would be taken into consideration."

When Lisle had been in the village about three months, one of the men came up to him and spoke in Punjabi.

"Why, how did you learn Punjabi?" he said, in surprise; "and why did you not speak to me in it, before? It would have saved me an immense deal of trouble, when I first came."

"I am sorry," the man said, "but the thought that you could speak Punjabi did not enter my mind. I thought that you were a young white officer who had just come out from England. I learnt it because I served, for fifteen years, in the 32nd Punjabis."

"You did?" Lisle said; "why, the 32nd Punjabis was my father's regiment! How long have you left it?"

"Six years ago, sahib."

"Then you must remember my father, Captain Bullen."

"Truly I remember him," the man said. "He was one of our best and kindest officers. And he was your father?"

"Yes. You might remember me too, I must have been eleven or twelve years old."

The man looked hard at him.

"I think, sir, that I remember your face; but of course you have changed a good deal, since then. I remember you well, for you often came down our lines; and you could speak the language fluently, and were fond of talking to us.

"And your father, is he well?"

"He was killed, three years ago," Lisle said, "in an attack on a hill fort."

"I am sorry, very sorry. He was a good man. And so you are an officer in his regiment?"

"No," Lisle said, "I left the regiment in the march to the relief of Chitral. They wanted to send me home, so I darkened my skin and enlisted in the regiment, by the aid of Gholam Singh; and went through the campaign without even being suspected, till just at the end."

"You went as a soldier?" the man said, in surprise; "never before have I heard of a white sahib passing as a native, and enlisting in the ranks. You lived and fought with the men, without being discovered! Truly, it is wonderful."

"I did not manage quite so well as I ought to have done; for I found, afterwards, that I had been suspected before we got to Chitral. Then Colonel Kelly took me out of the ranks and made me a temporary officer, and afterwards got a commission for me."

"It is truly wonderful," the man repeated.

From that time the native took every pains to show him respect and liking for the son of his old officer; and the account he gave, to the others, of the affection with which the young sahib's father was regarded by the regiment, much increased the cordiality with which he was generally treated. Spring came at last, and the snow line gradually rose among the distant hills and, at last, the chief announced that they could now start for their summer home.

The news was received with general satisfaction, for the night watches and the constant expectation of attack weighed heavily upon them all. The decision was announced at dawn and, three hours afterwards, the animals were packed and they set out on the march. They had started a fortnight earlier than usual for, if they had waited till the usual time, their old enemies would probably have placed an ambush.

They travelled without a halt, until they were well among the hills. Then the wearied beasts were unladen, fires were lighted, and a meal cooked. But even yet they were not altogether safe from attack; and sentries were posted, some distance down the hill, to give notice of the approach of an enemy. The night, however, passed quietly; and the next evening they were high among the hills, and camped, for the first time for three months, with a sense of security.

It was determined to rest here for a few days, for they had almost reached the snow line. This was receding fast, under the hot rays of the sun, but it was certain that the gorges would be full of fierce torrents; and that, until these abated somewhat, they would be absolutely impassable. A week was extended into a fortnight. As the snow melted the grass grew, as if by magic; and the animals rapidly regained condition and strength. Then they started again and, after encountering no little difficulty and hardship, arrived at their mountain home.

"Now, sahib," the chief said the next morning, "I will keep my promise to you, and will send four of my men with you to Peshawar. The sun and the glare from the snow have browned you almost to our colour, so there will be no occasion for you to stain your face and, in Afghan costume, you could pass anywhere. Besides, you speak our language so well that, even if you were questioned, no one would suspect that you are not one of ourselves."

"How many days will it take, chief?"

"In five days you will be at Peshawar. I know not whether you will find an army assembled there, to march again into our country; but I hope that peace has been settled. It will take the tribes all the year to rebuild their houses. It will be years before their flocks and herds increase to what they were before and, now they have found that British troops can force their way through their strongest passes, that they can no longer defy white men to enter their lands, they will be very careful not to draw down the anger of the white man upon themselves. They will have a hard year of it to repair, in any way, the damages they have incurred; to say nothing of the loss of life that they have suffered. They have also had to give up great numbers of their rifles; and this, alone, will render them careful, at any rate until they replace them; so I do not think that there will be any chance of fighting this year, or for some years to come. I am sure I hope not."

"I hope not, also," Lisle said. "We too have lost heavily, and the expense has been immense. We shall be as glad as your people to live at peace. I think I may safely say that, if the country is quiet, a messenger will be sent up from Peshawar with the general's thanks for the way in which I have been treated; and with assurances that, whatever may happen, your village will be respected by any force that may march into the country. Probably such an assurance will be sent by the men who go with me."

Another fortnight was spent in the village, for the rivers were still filled to the brim; but as soon as the chief thought that the passes were practicable, Lisle, in Afridi costume, started with four of the men. All the village turned out to bid him goodbye; several of the women, and many of the children, crying at his departure.

The journey down was accomplished without adventure; the men giving out, at the villages at which they stopped, that they were on their way to Peshawar, to give assurances to the British there that they were ready to submit to terms. On nearing Peshawar, Lisle abandoned his Afridi costume and resumed his khaki uniform.

When he arrived at the town, he went at once to headquarters. The sentry at the door belonged to his own regiment; and he started, and his rifle almost fell from his hand, as his eye fell upon Lisle.

"I am not a ghost," Lisle laughed, "but am very much alive.

"I am glad to see you again, Wilkins," and he passed in at the door.

"Is the general engaged?" he asked the orderly who, like the soldier at the door, stood gazing at him stupidly.

"No, sir," the man gasped.

"Then I will go in unannounced."

General Lockhart looked up from the papers he was reading, and gave a sudden start.

"I have come to report myself ready for duty, sir," Lisle said, with a smile.

"Good heavens! Mr. Bullen, you have given me quite a turn! We had all regarded your death as certain; and your name appeared in the list of casualties, five months ago.

"I am truly glad to see you again," and he heartily shook Lisle's hand. "There is another in here who will be glad to see you."

He opened the door, and said:

"Colonel Houghton, will you step in here, for a moment?"

As the colonel entered the room, and his eye fell upon Lisle, he stood as if suddenly paralysed. The blood rushed from his cheeks.

"I am glad to see that you have recovered from your wound, sir," Lisle said.

The blood surged back into the colonel's face. He strode forward and, grasping both Lisle's hands in his own, said in broken accents:

"So it is really you, alive and well! This is indeed a load off my mind. I have always blamed myself for saving my life at the expense of your own. It would have embittered my life to the end of my days.

"And you are really alive! I thank God for it. I tried in vain to check my horse, but it got the bit between its teeth and, with my wounded leg, I had no power to turn him. As I rode, I pictured to myself your last defence; how you died fighting.

"How has this all come about?" and he looked at the general, as if expecting an answer.

"I know no more than yourself, Houghton. He had but just entered when I called you in."

"Now, Mr. Bullen, let us hear how it happened."

"It was very simple, sir. The Afridis were but twenty paces away, when I started the colonel's horse. I saw that fighting would be hopeless, so threw down my sword and pistol. I should have been cut up at once, had not their chief shouted to them to leave me alone, and to fire after Colonel Houghton. This they did and, I was happy to see, without success."

"Then the chief sent me off, under the guard of four men, to his village; with the intention, as I afterwards heard, of holding me as a hostage. A week later we moved down to the plain. When we had been settled in our winter quarters for about two months, we were attacked by a neighbouring tribe.

"By this time I had begun to pick up enough of the language to make myself understood. I volunteered to aid in the defence. The chief gave me his rifle, and I picked off a few of the leading assailants, and aided in the defence of the village. The enemy were beaten off with very heavy loss, and the chief was pleased to attribute their defeat to my advice.

"He at once declared that I was to regard myself no longer as a prisoner, but as a guest. I spent the next three months in getting up their language, which I can now speak fluently enough for all purposes.

"All this time, a vigilant watch had been kept against another attack and, as soon as the snow began to melt, we returned to the mountains. There we remained until the passes were open; and then the chief sent me down, with an escort of four, and I arrived here a quarter of an hour before I reported myself.

"I believe that I owe my life, in the first place, to the Afridi's surprise at my sending off Colonel Houghton on my horse."

"No wonder he was surprised, Mr. Bullen. It was a splendid action; and in reporting your death, I spoke of it in the warmest terms; and said that, had you returned alive, I should have recommended you for the V.C.

"I shall, of course renew the recommendation, now that you have returned."

Turning to Colonel Houghton, he said:

"You no doubt wish to have a further chat with Lieutenant Bullen and, as there is no special work here today, pray consider yourself at liberty to take him down to your quarters."

"Thank you, sir! I shall certainly be glad to learn further about the affair."

"If you please, General," Lisle said, "I have a message to give you, from the chief. He says that, henceforth, he will be friends with the British; and that if you ever enter his country again, he will do all in his power to aid you. He hopes that you will allow them to retain their rifles and, as they only amount to some three or four and twenty fighting men, I was tempted to promise him that you would."

"You were quite right, Mr. Bullen. I suppose the men who accompanied you are still here?"

"Yes."

"Tell them not to go away. I will myself send a message to their chief."

"We will write him a letter, Colonel Houghton, thanking him for his kindness to his prisoner; sending him a permit to retain his arms, and a present which will enable his tribe to increase their flocks and herds."

"Thank you very much, sir! I shall myself, of course, send a present of some sort, in return for his kindness."

"You talk the Pathan language with facility?"

"Yes, sir. I was five months with them, and devoted the chief part of my time to picking it up."

"You shall be examined at the first opportunity, Mr. Bullen; and the acquisition of their language, as well as your proficiency in Punjabi will, of course, greatly add to your claim to be placed on staff appointments; and will add somewhat to your income.

"I hope you will dine with me, this evening; when you can give me a full account of your life in the village, and of that fight you spoke of. It will be highly interesting to learn the details of one of these tribal fights."

Lisle accompanied Colonel Houghton to his quarters with a little reluctance, for he was anxious to rejoin his comrades in the regiment.

"Now, Bullen, tell me all about it," the colonel said. "I know that you lifted me on to your horse. I called to you to jump up behind, as the Afridis were close upon us; and I have never been able to make out why the horse should have gone off at a mad gallop, with me; but no doubt it was scared by the yells of the Afridis."

"When I lifted you up, sir, I certainly intended to get up behind you; but the Afridis were so close that I felt that it was impossible to do so, and that we should both be shot down before we got out of range; so I gave the horse a prod with my sword and, as I saw him go off at a gallop, I threw down my arms, as I told you."

"As it has turned out," the colonel said, "there is no doubt that the tribesmen, valiant fighters themselves, admire courage. If you had resisted, no doubt you would have been cut down; but your action must have appeared so extraordinary, to them, that they spared you.

"I have often bitterly reproached myself that I was unable to share your fate. You are still young, and I am old enough to be your father. I am unmarried, with no particular ties in the world. You have given me new interest in life. It will be a great pleasure for me to watch your career.

"If you have no objection I shall formally adopt you; and shall, tomorrow, draw out a will appointing you heir to all I possess--which I may tell you is something like fifteen thousand pounds--and shall make it my business to push you forward."

"It is too much altogether, Colonel."

"Not at all, Bullen; you saved my life, when certain death seemed to be staring you in the face; and it is a small thing, when I have no longer need of it, that you should inherit what I leave behind.

"In the meantime, I shall make you an allowance of a couple of hundred a year, as my adopted son. Say no more about it; you are not stepping into anyone else's shoes, for I have no near relation, no one who has a right to expect a penny at my death; and I have hitherto not even taken the trouble to make a will. You will, I hope, consider me, in the future, as standing in the place of the brave father you lost, some years ago."

Lisle remained chatting with the officer for an hour, and then the latter said:

"I won't keep you any longer, now. I am sure you must be wanting to see your friends in the camp."

As soon as Lisle neared the lines of the regiment, he saw the soldiers waiting about in groups. These closed up as he approached. The sentry to whom he had spoken had been relieved, and had told the news of his return to his comrades and, as he came along, the whole regiment gathered round Lisle, and cheer after cheer went up. He had gone but a few paces when he was seized and placed upon the shoulders of two of the men; and carried in triumph, surrounded by the other men, still cheering, to the front of the mess room. He was so affected, by the warmth of the greeting, that the tears were running down his cheeks when he was allowed to alight.

The officers, who had, of course, received the news, gathered at the mess room when he was seen approaching. Before going up to them Lisle turned and, raising his hand for silence, said:

"I thank you with all my heart, men, for the welcome you have given me; and the proof that you have afforded me of your liking for me. I thank you again and again, and shall never forget this reception."

There was a fresh outburst of cheering, and Lisle then turned, and ascended the four steps leading up to the mess room.

Chapter 13: The V.C.

The colonel was standing, surrounded by his officers.

"I welcome you back, Mr. Bullen," he said, as he shook the lad's hand heartily, "in the name of the officers of the regiment, and my own. We are proud of you, sir. How you escaped death, we know not; it is enough for us that you are back, and are safe and sound.

"Your deed, in saving Colonel Houghton's life at what seemed the sacrifice of your own, had been a sore trial and a grief to all of us. No doubt existed in our minds that you had been cut to pieces, and you seem to have almost come back from the dead."

The other officers then crowded round him, shaking his hand and congratulating him on his escape.

"Now, come in and tell us how this miracle has come about. We can understand that you have been held as a hostage, but how is it that you are here?

"Now, do you get up on a chair, and give us a true and faithful account of all that happened to you, and how it is that you effected your escape."

"I did not effect my escape at all," Lisle said, as he mounted the chair; "I was released without any terms being made and, for the past three months, have been treated as an honoured guest by the Afridi chief into whose hands I fell."

"Well, tell the story from the beginning," the colonel said; "what you have said only adds to our wonder."

Lisle modestly told the story, amid frequent cross questioning.

"Well, there is no doubt that you were lucky, Lisle," the colonel said, when he had brought his story to a conclusion. "The pluck of your action, in getting Colonel Houghton off and staying yourself, appealed strongly to the Afridis; and caused their chief to decide to retain you as a hostage, instead of killing you at once. I do not suppose that he really thought that he would gain much, by saving you; for he must have known that we are in a hurry to get down through the passes, and must consider it very doubtful whether we should ever return. Still, no doubt he would have detained you and, in the spring, sent down to say that you were in his hands; and in that way would have endeavoured to make terms for your release. But your assistance when he was attacked, and your readiness to take part with his people, entirely changed his attitude towards you.

"However, I don't suppose he will lose by it. The general is sure to send back a handsome present to him, for his conduct towards you.

"Have you seen Houghton yet?"

"Yes, sir; I have been with him for the past hour. He has been more than kind to me and, as he has no near relations, has been good enough to say that he will adopt me as his heir. So I have indeed been amply rewarded for the service I did him."

"I congratulate you most heartily," the colonel said; "you have well earned it, and I am sure that there is not a man in the army who will envy your good fortune. There is only one thing wanting to complete it, and that is the V.C.; which I have not the least doubt in the world will be awarded to you, and all my fellow officers will agree with me that never was it more nobly earned. You courted what seemed certain death.

"The greater portion of the crosses have been earned by men for carrying in wounded comrades, under a heavy fire; but that is nothing to your case. Those actions were done on the spur of the moment, and there was every probability that the men would get back unhurt. Yours was the facing of a certain death. I can assure you that it will be the occasion of rejoicings, on the part of the whole regiment, when you appear for the first time with a cross on your breast."

He rang the bell and, when one of the mess waiters appeared, told him to bring half a dozen bottles of champagne. Lisle's health was then drunk, with three hearty cheers. Lunch was on the table, and Lisle was heartily glad when the subject of his own deeds was dropped, and they started to discuss the meal.

"Now, Mr. Bullen," the colonel said, when the meal was finished, "I must carry you off to the ladies. They have all rejoined, and will be as anxious as we were to hear of your return."

"Must I go, Colonel?" Lisle asked shyly.

"Of course you must, Bullen. When a man performs brave deeds, he must be expected to be patted on the back--metaphorically, at any rate--by the ladies. So you have got to go through it all and, as I have sent word round that I shall bring you to my bungalow, you will be able to get it all over at once."

"Well, sir, I suppose I must do it, though I would much rather not. Still, as you say, it were best to get it all over at once."

Six ladies were gathered at the bungalow, as Lisle entered with the colonel. All rose as they entered, and pressed round him, shaking his hand.

"I have come to tell you how pleased we all were," the colonel's wife said, "to hear that you had returned, and how eager we have all been to learn how it has come about. We think it very unkind of you to stay so long in the mess room, when you must have known that we are all on thorns to hear about it. I can assure you that we have missed you terribly, since the regiment returned, and we are awfully glad to have you back again.

"Now, please tell us all about it. We know, of course, how you got Colonel Houghton off, and remained to die; and how proud all the regiment has been of your exploit; so you can start and tell us how it was that you escaped from being cut to mince-meat."

Lisle again went through the story.

"Why did you not return at once, when the chief who captured you said that you were his guest? Was there not some fair young Afridi, who held you in her chains?"

Lisle laughed.

"I can assure you that it was no feminine attractions that kept me. There were some fifteen or twenty girls and, like everyone else, they were very kind to me but, so far as I was able to judge, not one of them was prettier, or I should rather say less ugly, than the rest; although several of them had very good features, and were doubtless considered lovely by the men. Certainly there was none whom an Englishman would look at twice.

"Poor things, most of the work of the village is left to them. They went out to cut grass, fed the cattle, gathered firewood, and ground the corn; and I have no doubt that they are now all occupied with the work of tilling the little patches of fertile ground beyond the village.

"Besides, ladies, you must remember that I have a vivid recollection of you all; which would, alone, have guarded me against falling in love with any dusky maiden."

"I rather doubt your word, Mr. Bullen," the colonel's wife said; "you were always very ready to make yourself pleasant, and do our errands, and to make yourself generally useful and agreeable; but I do not remember that you ever ventured upon making a compliment before. You must have learnt the art somehow."

The lady laughed.

"I could hardly help comparing you with the women round me, but I really had a vivid remembrance of your kindness to me."

"In future, Mr. Bullen, we shall consider you as discharged from all duty. We have heard of other gallant deeds that you have done; and henceforth shall regard you, with a real respect, as an officer who has brought great credit upon the regiment. I am sure that, henceforth, you will lose your old nickname of 'the boy,' and be regarded as a hero."

"I hope not," Lisle said; "it has been very pleasant to be regarded as a boy, and therefore to act as a sort of general fag to you. I hope you will continue to regard me as so. I have always considered it a privilege to be able to make myself useful to you, and I should be very sorry to lose it.

"I can assure you that I still feel as a boy. I know nothing of the world; have passed my whole time, as far back as I can remember, in camp; and have thoroughly enjoyed my life. I suppose some day I shall lose the feeling that I am still a boy, but I shall certainly hold to it as long as I can."

"I suppose you had some difficulty in speaking with the natives?" the doctor's wife said.

"At first I had but, from continually talking with them, I got to know their language--I won't say as well as Punjabi, but certainly very well--and I shall pass in it at the next examination."

"I wish all subalterns were like you," the colonel's wife said. "Most of those who come out from England are puffed up with a sense of their own importance, and I often wish that I could take them by the shoulders, and shake them well. And what are you going to do now?"

"I am going off to find the four men who came down with me, see if they are comfortable, and tell them that the general will give them the message to their chief, tomorrow."

"What will be the next thing, Mr. Bullen?"

"The next thing will be to go to the bazaar, and choose some presents for the chief and his family."

"What do you mean to get?"

"I think a brace of revolvers, and a good store of ammunition for the chief. As to the women I must, I suppose, get something in the way of dress. For the other men I shall get commoner things. Everyone has been most kind to me, and I should certainly like them to have some remembrance of my stay.

"I suppose that there is five months' pay waiting for me in the paymaster's chest."

"I should doubt it extremely," the colonel said. "You will get it in time, but you will have to wait. You have been struck off the regimental pay list, ever since you were put down as dead; and I expect the paymaster will have to get a special authorization, before you can draw your back pay."

"I was only joking, Colonel. My agent at Calcutta has my money in his hands, and I have only to draw on him."

"So much the better, Bullen. It is always a nuisance getting into debt, even when you are certain that funds will be forthcoming which will enable you to repay what you owe. But have you enough to carry you on till you hear from your agent?"

"Plenty, sir; I left all the money I did not care to carry about with me in the regimental till."

"Then I expect you will find it there still. I know that nothing has been done with it. A short time since, the paymaster was speaking to me about it, and asking me if I knew the address of any of your relations, or who was your agent at Calcutta. He said to me:

"'I shall wait a bit longer. Mr. Bullen turned up quite unexpectedly, once before and, though I fear there is not a shadow of chance that he will do so again, I will hold the money for a time. It is just possible that he is held as a hostage, in which case we shall probably hear of him, when the passes are open.'"

Lisle went to the paymaster's at once and, finding that he had not parted with the money, drew fifty pounds. He had no difficulty in buying the revolvers and cartridges; but was so completely at a loss as to the female garments, and the price he ought to pay, that he went back to the cantonment and asked two of the ladies to accompany him shopping. This they at once consented to do and, with their aid, he laid in a stock of female garments: silk for the chief's wife; and simpler, but good and useful materials--for the most part of bright colour--for the other women. These were all parcelled up in various bundles, and a looking glass inserted in each parcel. For the men he bought bright waistbands and long knives; and gave, in addition, a present in money to the men who had come down with him.

It was evening before the work was finished, and he then returned to mess with the regiment.

"I suppose you don't know yet whether you are coming back to us, Bullen?" the major said.

"No, sir, the general did not say; but for myself, I would very much rather join the regiment. Staff appointment sounds tempting, but I must say that I should greatly prefer regimental work; especially as I should be very much junior to the other officers of the staff, and should feel myself out of place among them."

"I have no doubt that you are right, in that respect; but staff appointments lead to promotion."

"I have no ambition for promotion, for the present, Major. I am already five or six up among the senior lieutenants, which is quite high enough for one of my age."

"Well, perhaps you are right. It is not a good thing for a young officer to be pushed on too fast, and another two or three years of regimental work will certainly do you no harm."

"I have not yet asked, Major, whether we are going up into the Tirah again, this spring?"

"I fancy not. Already several deputations have come in from the tribesmen, some of them bringing in the fines imposed upon them; and all seem to say that there is a general desire among the Afridis for peace, and that deputations from other tribes will shortly follow them."

"I am glad to hear it, sir," Lisle said. "I think I have had quite enough of hill fighting."

"I think we are all of the same opinion, Bullen. It is no joke fighting an enemy hidden behind rocks, armed with Lee-Metford rifles, and trained to shoot as well as a British marksman.

"The marching was even worse than the fighting. Passing a night on the snow, any number of thousand feet above the sea, is worse than either of them. No, I would rather go through a campaign against the Russians, than have anything more to do with the Tirah; though I must admit that, if we were to begin at once, we should not have snow to contend with.

"I have been through several campaigns, but the last was infinitely the hardest, and I have not the least desire to repeat it. Whether all the tribes choose to send in and accept our terms, or not, makes no very great difference; they have had such a sharp lesson that it will certainly be some time before they rise again in revolt. There may be an occasional cattle-lifting raid across the frontier, but one can put up with that; and it would be infinitely cheaper for Government to compensate the victims, than for us to get an army in motion again, to punish the thieves.

"Moreover, having once taught them that we are stronger than they, it would be a pity to weaken them still further for, if a Russian army were to try and force its way into India, these fellows would make it very hot for them. They are full of fight and, although they are independent of Afghanistan, and have no particular patriotic feeling, the thirst for plunder would bring them like bees round an invading army.

"No, the thing has been well done, but the expense has been enormous and the losses serious; and I trust that, at any rate as long as we are stationed in Northern India, things will be quiet."

Next morning Lisle went, early, to headquarters. He had to wait a little time before he could see the general. When he went in, General Lockhart said:

"Now about yourself, Mr. Bullen. Your place has, of course, been filled up; but I shall be glad to appoint you as extra aide-de-camp, if you wish. Would you rather be on staff duty, or rejoin your regiment?"

"If you give me the choice, sir, I would rather rejoin the regiment. Staff duty in war time is extremely interesting; but in peace time, I would rather be at work with the regiment.

"You see, sir, I am very young, and much younger than any of the staff; and I am sure that I should feel very much out of place."

"I agree with you," the general said, with a smile. "I think that you are wise to prefer regimental duty. I have written home, giving my account of your gallant action; telling how you were not, as reported, killed; and recommending you, in the strongest possible terms, for the V.C."

"I am greatly indebted to you, sir. I do not feel that I have done anything at all out of the way, and acted only on the impulse of the moment."

"You could not have done better, had you thought of it for an hour," the general said; "but as I also reported your defence of that hut, I have little doubt that you will get the well-earned V.C."

There was great satisfaction among the officers and the regiment, when Lisle told them of his interview with the general.

It was soon evident, from the sale of the transport animals, that the war was over; and the regiment shortly afterwards returned to their old quarters, at Rawal Pindi, and fell into the old routine of drill.

In the middle of the following summer Lisle, while fielding at cricket in a match with another regiment, suddenly staggered and fell. The surgeon, running up from the pavilion, pronounced it as a case of sunstroke. It was some time before he was conscious again.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"You have had a bad sunstroke," the surgeon said, "and I am going to send you home, as soon as you are able to travel. I shall apply for at least a year's leave for you, and I hope that, by the end of that time, you will be perfectly fit for work again; but certainly a period of rest, and the return to a temperate climate, is absolutely necessary for you."

Long before this, a despatch had been received from England bestowing the Victoria Cross upon Lisle. General Lockhart himself came down from Peshawar and fixed it to his breast, in presence of the whole regiment, drawn up in parade order. The outburst of cheering from the men told unmistakably how popular he was with them, and how they approved of the honour bestowed upon him.

The general dined at mess, and was pleased to see how popular the young officer was with his men. He himself proposed Lisle's health, and the latter was obliged to return thanks.

When he sat down, the general said:

"It is clear, Mr. Bullen, that you have more presence of mind, when engaged with the enemy, than you have when surrounded with friends. It can hardly be said that eloquence is your forte."

"No, sir," Lisle said, wiping the perspiration from his face, "I would rather go through eleven battles, than have to make another speech."

The application for sick leave was granted at once and, a fortnight later, Lisle took his place in the train for Calcutta. All the officers and their wives assembled to see him off.

"I hope," said the colonel, "you will come back in the course of a year, thoroughly restored to health. It is all in your favour that you have not been a drinking man; and the surgeon told me that he is convinced that the brain has suffered no serious injury, and that you will be on your feet again, and fit for any work, after the twelve months' leave. But, moderate as you always are, I should advise you to eschew altogether alcoholic liquids. Men who have never had a touch of sunstroke can drink them with impunity but, to a man who has had sunstroke, they are worse than poison."

"All right, Colonel! Nothing stronger than lemonade shall pass my lips."

And so, with the good wishes of his friends, Lisle started for Calcutta. Here he drew from his agents a sum which, he calculated, would last him for a year at home. To his great pleasure, on entering the train he met his friend Colonel Houghton.

"I have been thinking for some time, lad," he said, "of applying for a year's leave; which I have earned by twelve years' service out here. I was with the general when your application for leave arrived, and made up my mind to go home with you. I therefore telegraphed to Simla, and got leave at once; so I shall be able to look after you, on the voyage."

"It is very kind of you," Lisle said. "It will be a comfort, indeed, having a friend on board. My brain seems to be all right now, but my memory is very shaky. However, I hope that will be all right, too, by the time we arrive in England."

The presence of the colonel was indeed a great comfort to Lisle. The latter looked after him as a father might have done, placed his chair in the coolest spot to be found and, by relating to the other passengers the service by which Lisle had won the V.C., ensured their sympathy and kindness.

By the time the voyage was over, Lisle felt himself again. His brain had gradually cleared, and he could again remember the events of his life. He stayed three or four days at the hotel in London where the colonel put up; and then went down into the country, in response to an invitation from his aunt, which had been sent off as soon as she received a letter from him, announcing his arrival in England. His uncle's place was a quiet parsonage in Somersetshire, and the rest and quiet did him an immense deal of good.

At the end of three months' stay there, he left to see something of London and England, and travelled about for some months.

When the year was nearly up, and he was making his preparations to return to India, he received a summons to attend at the War Office. Wondering greatly what its purport could be, he called upon the adjutant general.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Bullen?" the latter asked.

"Perfectly well, sir, as well as I ever felt in my life."

"We are sending a few officers to aid Colonel Willcocks in effecting the relief of the party now besieged in Coomassie. Your record is an excellent one and, if you are willing and able to go, we shall be glad to include you in the number."

"I should like it very much. There is no chance, whatever, of active service in India; and I should be glad, indeed, to be at the front again, in different circumstances."

"Very well, Mr. Bullen, then you will sail on Tuesday next, in the steamer that leaves Liverpool on that day. You will have the local rank of captain, and will be in command of a company of Hausas."

Lisle had but a few preparations to make. He ordered, at once, a khaki uniform and pith helmet, and a supply of light shirts and underclothing. Then he ran down to Somersetshire to say goodbye to his uncle and aunt, and arrived in Liverpool on the Monday evening. Sleeping at the hotel at the station, he went on board the next morning.

Here he found half a dozen other officers, also bound for the west coast of Africa, and soon got on friendly terms with them. He was, of course, obliged to tell how he had won the Victoria Cross; a recital which greatly raised him in their estimation.

They had fine weather throughout the voyage; and were glad, indeed, when the steamer anchored off Cape Coast. Although looking forward to their arrival at Cape Coast, the officers were not in their highest spirits. All of them had applied for service in South Africa, where the war was now raging but, to their disappointment, had been sent on this minor expedition. At any other time, they would have been delighted at the opportunity of taking part in it; but now, with a great war going on, it seemed to them a very petty affair, indeed.

They cheered themselves, however, by the assumption that there was sure to be hard fighting; and opportunities for distinguishing themselves at least as great as they would meet with at the Cape, where so vast a number of men were engaged that it would be difficult for one officer to distinguish himself beyond others.

Until he started, Lisle had scarcely more than heard the name of Ashanti; though he knew, of course, that two expeditions, those under Sir Garnet Wolseley and Sir Francis Scott, had reached the capital, the latter dethroning the king and carrying him away into captivity. Now, however, he gathered full details of the situation, from two officers belonging to the native troops, who had been hurriedly ordered to cut short their leave, and go back to take their places with the corps to which they were attached.

There was no doubt that the Ashantis were one of the most formidable tribes in Africa. Their territory extended from the river Prah to sixty miles north of Cape Coast. They were feared by all their neighbours, with whom they were frequently at war--not so much for the sake of extending their territory, as for the purpose of obtaining great numbers of men and women for their hideous sacrifices, at Coomassie. They were in close alliance with the tribes at Elmina, which place we had taken over from the Portuguese, some years before Sir Garnet Wolseley's expedition. This occupation was bitterly opposed by the Ashantis, who felt that it cut them off from free trade with the coast. In return, they intercepted all trade with the coast from the tribes behind them; and finally seized some white missionaries at their capital, and sent a defiant message down to Cape Coast.

The result was that Sir Garnet Wolseley was sent out to take command of an expedition and, with three white regiments, a small Naval Brigade, and the West African Regiment, completely defeated the Ashantis in two pitched battles, reached the capital, and burnt it. Unfortunately, owing to the want of carriers, and the small amount of supplies that were sent up, he was obliged to fall back again to the coast, after occupying the capital for only three days.

Had it been possible to leave a sufficient force there, the spirit of the Ashantis would have been broken. This, however, could not be done; and they gradually regained their arrogant spirit, carried out none of their obligations and, twenty-two years later, having quite forgotten their reverses, they resumed their raids across the Prah.

Sir Francis Scott's expedition was therefore organized, and marched to the capital. This time the former mistake was not committed. A small garrison was left to overawe its inhabitants, and the king was carried away a prisoner. The expedition had encountered no opposition. The reason for this was never satisfactorily ascertained, but it is probable that the Ashantis were taken by surprise, and thought it better to wait until they had obtained better arms. In this they were successful, for there are always rascally traders, ready to supply the enemies of their country with arms, on terms of immense profit.

The Ashantis were evidently kept well informed, by some of their tribesmen settled in the coast towns, of the state of affairs in Europe and, in the belief that England was fully occupied at the Cape, and that no white soldiers would be sent, they again rose in rebellion. They were ready to admit that the white soldiers were superior to themselves, but they entertained a profound contempt for our black troops, whom they were convinced they could defeat without difficulty.

Certainly, the force available at Cape Coast was altogether insufficient for the purpose; for it consisted only of a battalion of Hausa Constabulary, and two seven-pounder guns. Sierra Leone had a permanent garrison of one battalion of the West Indian Regiment, and a West African Regiment recruited on the spot; but few of these could be spared, for Sierra Leone had its own native troubles. The garrison of Lagos was similar to that of Cape Coast; but here, also, troubles were dreaded with their neighbours at Abeokuta. Southern Nigeria had their own regiment; while Northern Nigeria had the constabulary of the Royal Niger Company, and they had, at the time, just raised two battalions and three batteries. Fortunately, the recent dispute between the people and ourselves as to their respective boundaries had been temporarily arranged, and a portion of these troops could be utilized.

The two regiments were both numerically strong, each company amounting to a hundred and fifty men. They were armed with Martini-Metford carbines, and each company had a Vickers-Maxim gun. The batteries were provided with powerful guns, capable of throwing twelve-pound shells. The men were all Hausas and Yorubas, with the exception of one company of Neupas. This contingent were supplied with khaki, before starting; and the rest were in blue uniform, similar to that worn by the West Indian Regiments. There was, in addition, a small battalion of the Central African Regiment; with a detachment of Sikhs, who also supplied non-commissioned officers.

That the men would fight well, all believed; but the forces had been but recently organized, and it was questionable how they would behave without a backbone of white troops. The experiment was quite a novel one, as never before had a war been carried on, by us, with purely native troops.

The collection of the troops was a difficult matter, and cost no small time; especially from Northern Nigeria, which was to supply a much larger contingent than the others. These troops were scattered in small bodies over a large extent of country, for the most part hundreds of miles from the coast. There was a great paucity of officers, too; and of these, many were about to take their year's leave home, worn out and weakened by the unhealthy climate. By prodigious exertions, however, all were at last collected, and in readiness to proceed to the scene of operations.

Picking up troops at several points, the steamer at last arrived off Cape Coast; but not yet were they to land. A strong wind was blowing, and the surf beat with such violence, on the shore, that it was impossible even for the surf boat to come out. The officers had nothing to do but to watch the shore. Even this was only done under difficult circumstances, for the steamer was rolling rail under.

The prospect, however, was not unpleasing. From a projecting point stood the old Dutch castle, a massive-looking building. On its left was the town, on rising ground, with whitewashed buildings; and behind all, and in the town itself, rose palm trees, which made a dark fringe along the coast on either hand.

"It doesn't look such a bad sort of place," one of the officers said, "and certainly it ought to be healthy, if it were properly drained down to the sea. Yet it is a home of fever; one night ashore, in the bad season, is almost certain death for a white man. I believe that not half a dozen of the white inhabitants are hardened by repeated attacks of fever, to which at least three out of four newcomers succumb before they have been here many months. If this is the case, here, what must it be in the forest and swamps behind?"

All were greatly relieved when the wind abated, on the third day, and the surf boats were seen making their way out. The landing was exciting work. The surf was still very heavy, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that any boat could live through it. The native paddlers, however, were thoroughly used to the work. They ceased paddling when they reached the edge of the breakers, until a wave larger than usual came up behind them. Then, with a yell, they struck their paddles into the water, and worked for dear life. Higher and higher rose the wave behind them, till it seemed that they must be submerged by it. For a moment the boat stood almost upright. Then, when it rose to the crest of the wave, the boatmen paddled harder than ever, and they were swept forward with the swiftness of an arrow. Another wave overtook them and, carrying them on, dashed them high up on the beach.

The paddlers at once sprang out, and prevented the boat from being carried out by the receding wave. Then the officers, mounting the men's backs, were carried out; for the most part high and dry, although in some cases they were wet to the skin.

A few yards away was the entrance to the castle. Here everything was bustle. Troops were filing out, laden with casks and cases. Others were squatting in the paved court, ready to receive their burdens. All were laughing and chatting merrily. There were even troops of young girls, of from ten to fifteen years old, who were to carry parcels of less weight than their brothers.

Two officers were moving about, seeing that all went on regularly; and a number of men were bringing the burdens out from the storehouse, and ranging them in lines, ready for the women to take up.

The district commissioner, who was in charge of the old castle, received Lisle and his companions cordially; and invited them, when the day's work was over, to dine with him. Rooms were placed at their disposal.

As soon as this was done they went down to the beach, and superintended the landing of the men and stores, which was carried on until nightfall. Then, when the last boat load was landed, they came up to dinner.

After a hearty meal, one of them said:

"We shall be glad, sir, if you will tell us what has been happening here. All we know is that the fort of Coomassie is surrounded, and that we have come up to relieve it."

"It is difficult to give you anything like an accurate account," the officer said, "for so many lying rumours have come down, that one hardly knows what to believe. One day we hear that the place has been carried by storm, and that the garrison have been massacred. Then we are told that Sir Frederick Hodgson, with the survivors of the garrison, has burst his way through.

"It is certain that most of our forces are unable to push their way up, and that their posts are practically surrounded. Further, on the 18th of April the first news that the fort was being besieged reached Cambarga, three hundred and forty miles from Coomassie. Three days later three British officers, and a hundred and seventy men, with a Maxim and seven-pounder, marched under the command of Major Morris to the station of Kintanpo. After thirteen days' marching the force was increased to seven British officers, three hundred and thirty soldiers, and eighty-three native levies.

"Near N'Quanta they met with opposition and, two hours later, had a successful engagement, with only three casualties. On the 14th they fell into an ambush, and incurred twelve casualties. For two days after this they had more or less continuous fighting and, in charging a stockade, Major Morris was severely wounded. Captain Maguire then headed the charge, and succeeded in capturing the stockade.

"No further resistance was met with, though two more stockades were passed. This want of enterprise, on the part of the enemy, was due to a short armistice that had been arranged with the beleaguered garrison.

"Major Morris's force was the third reinforcement which had reached the garrison. The first to come up was a party of Gold Coasters from the south. This was the only contingent permitted by the Ashantis to enter Coomassie unopposed. The next was a detachment from Lagos, composed of two hundred and fifty men of that colony's Hausa force, with four British officers and a doctor, under the command of Captain Alpin. The Adansis, who occupy the country between the Prah and the recognized Ashanti boundary, had revolted; so that for part of the way they were unopposed but, as soon as they reached the first village in the Ashanti country, they were heavily attacked. After a couple of hours' fighting, however, the advance guard took the village, at the point of the bayonet.

"Next day they reached the Ordah River. Here the enemy made a determined stand, entrenched behind a stockade. The fight lasted for four hours, and then the situation became critical. The Maxim had jammed, the ammunition of the seven-pounder was exhausted, and a great proportion of the small-arm ammunition had been expended. Captain Cox and thirty men went into the bush, to turn the enemy's position. When they reached a point where they took the enemy in rear, they charged the stockade. The enemy fled, and were kept at a run until Coomassie was reached, before dark.

"The list of casualties showed how hard had been the fighting. All the white officers had been wounded, and there were a hundred and thirty casualties among the two hundred and fifty British soldiers. The garrison now consisted of seven hundred rank and file, and about a dozen British officers; two hundred and fifty native levies, and nearly four thousand Fanti and Hausa refugees.

"The next force to move forward was the first contingent from Northern Nigeria, consisting of two companies under the command of Captain Hall, with one gun. In traversing the Adansi country Captain Hall drew up a treaty, and got the Adansi king to sign it. Then he marched on to Bekwai, the chief town of a friendly tribe; and took up his quarters at Esumeja, a day's march from Coomassie. The border of Bekwai lay a short distance on one side, that of Kokofu was half a mile to the east.

"These were an Ashanti tribe, very fierce and warlike; and the occupation of Esumeja both kept them in check, and inspired the loyal Bekwais with confidence. Here Captain Hall was joined by a second contingent from Lagos, a hundred strong; and fifty men of the Sierra Leone frontier police. The force has got no farther, but its position on the main line of march is of vital service; as it overawes the Kokofu, and facilitates the advance of further relief.

"That, gentlemen, is the situation, at present. So far as I know, the garrison of Coomassie is amply sufficient to defend the fort; but we know that they are short of ammunition, and also of supplies to maintain the large number of people shut up there.

"I am expecting the vessel with the main Nigerian contingent tomorrow, or next day; and I hope that this reinforcement will enable an advance to be made."

"Thank you, sir! It is evident that we are in for some tough fighting, and shall have all our work cut out for us."

"There can be no doubt of that," the commissioner said, gravely. "The difficulties have been greatly increased by the erection of these stockades, a new feature in these Ashanti wars. When the Bekwais put themselves under our protection, instructions were given them in stockading, so that they might resist any force that the Ashantis might send against them and, doubtless, the latter inspected these defences and adopted the idea. The worst of it is that they are generally so covered, by the bush, that they are not seen by our troops till they arrive in front of them."

Chapter 14: Forest Fighting.

Early the next morning the transport with the Nigerian troops anchored off the town. The work of disembarkation began at once. Five of the newly-arrived officers were appointed to the commissariat transport service. The three others--of whom Lisle, to his great satisfaction, was one--were appointed to the command of companies in the Nigerian force. This distinction, the commissioner frankly informed him, was due to his being the possessor of the V.C.

Having nothing to do that day, Lisle strolled about the town. There were a few European houses, the property of the natives who formed the elite of the place; men for the most part possessing white blood in their veins, being the descendants of British merchants who, knowing that white women could not live in the place, had taken Negro wives. These men were distinguished by their hair, rather than by their more European features. Their colour was as dark as that of other natives. Lisle learned that such light-coloured children as were born of these mixed marriages uniformly died, but that the dark offspring generally lived.

All the small shops in the town were kept by this class. With the exception of the buildings belonging to them, the houses of the town were merely mud erections, with a door and a window or two. The roofs were flat, and composed of bamboos and other branches; overlaid by a thick mud which, Lisle learned, not unfrequently collapsed in the rainy season. Nothing could be done at that time to repair them, and their inhabitants took refuge in the houses of their friends, until the dry season permitted them to renew their own roofs.

The women were of very superior physique to the men. The latter considered that their only duty was to stroll about with a gun or a spear; and the whole work of cultivating the ground, and of carrying burdens, fell to the lot of the women. Many of these had splendid figures, which might have been the envy of an English belle. Their great defect is that their heels, instead of going straight to the leg, project an inch or more behind it. From their custom of always carrying their burdens on their heads, their carriage is as upright as a dart. Whether the load was a heavy barrel, or two or three bananas, Lisle noticed that they placed it on the head; and even tiny girls carried any small article of which they might become possessed in this manner.

Curiously enough, the men had no excuse for posing as warriors; for the Fantis were the only cowardly race on the coast, and had several times shown themselves worthless as fighters, when the Ashantis made their expeditions against them.

A narrow valley ran up from the sea, in one part of the town, and terminated in a swamp behind it. Here the refuse of the place was thrown, and the stench in itself was sufficient to account for the prevalence of fever. Here were the accumulations of centuries; for the Dutch governors, who were frequently relieved, had made no effort whatever towards draining the marsh, nor improving the sanitary condition of the place; nor had the British governors who followed them shown any more energy in that direction. Doubtless the means were wanting, for the revenue of the place was insufficient to pay for the expenses of the garrison; and so the town which, at a very moderate expenditure, might have been rendered comparatively healthy, remained a death trap.

As soon as the Nigerian troops had landed, Lisle reported himself to their commander. He was at once put in charge of a company, and began his duties. When, two days later, they marched up the country, he felt well pleased with his command; for the men were for the most part lithe, active fellows; very obedient to orders and ready for any work, and evidently very proud of their position as British soldiers. They had for the most part had very little practice in shooting; but this was of comparatively little consequence, as what fighting they would have to do would be in the forests, against a hidden enemy, where individual shooting would be next to impossible.

The Adansi had risen, three days after signing the treaty. Two Englishmen, going from Bekwai to Kwisa, on their way were fired upon, and the terror-stricken carriers fled. Their loads were lost, and they themselves just succeeded in escaping to Kwisa.

Captain Slater, who was in command there, was much surprised to hear of such hostility, so soon after the signing of the treaty; and he started with twenty-six men to investigate the cause. He was attacked at the same place--one soldier being killed and ten wounded, while two were missing--and he was obliged to retire to Kwisa. Sixty Englishmen of the Obuasi gold mines, on the western frontier of the Adansi, sent down for arms, and were supplied without any mishap.

Colonel Wilkinson telegraphed orders to a force, which had started two days before, to halt at Fumsu until he joined them with the newly-arrived contingents. Colonel Willcocks now had four hundred and fifty men, under Captain Hall, at Kwisa and Bekwai; Captain Slater a handful of men at Kwisa; Colonel Wilkinson a company at Fumsu; Colonel Carter the two hundred soldiers just landed on the line of march, and three hundred men from Northern Nigeria. Nine hundred reinforcements were known to be on their way. The force was scattered over a hundred and forty miles, and numerically only equal to the garrison they were going to relieve. The carriers were utterly insufficient for the transport.

The newly-arrived troops, with Colonel Willcocks and his staff in front, rode out of the town on the morning of the 5th of June. A drizzling rain was falling, but this soon ceased and the sun broke out. The road lay over low scrub-covered sand hills. It was a fair one, with the exception of bad bits, at intervals. The first day's march was a short one, as much time had been lost in getting the carriers together, and loading them up.

They halted that evening at Akroful. The place afforded but little accommodation. Five white officers slept together in one small room. There was a storm during the night, but the sky had cleared by the time the troops started in the morning.

They now entered a very different country. It was the belt of forest, three hundred miles wide, which ran across the whole country. Great as had been the heat, the day before, the gloom of the forest was more trying to the nerves. Except where the road had been cleared, the advance was impeded by the thick undergrowth of bush and small trees, through which it was impossible to pass without cutting a path with a sword. Above the bush towered the giants of the forest--great cotton trees, thirty or forty feet in circumference, and rising to the height of from two to three hundred feet. Round the tops of these many birds were flitting, but in the underbrush there was no sign or sound of life. Thorny creepers bound the trees together.

In the small clearings, where deserted and ruined villages stood, a few flowers were to be found. Here, also, great butterflies flew about.

The moist air, tainted with decaying vegetation; the entire absence of wind, or of movement among the leaves; the profound silence, broken only by the occasional dropping of water, weighed heavily on the spirits of the troops. Under foot the soil was converted into mire by the recent rains; and glad, indeed, were all, when they reached Mansu.

From this village, as had been the case at the previous halt, numbers of the carriers deserted. In order to get on, therefore, it was necessary to send out to the surrounding villages, to gather in men to take their places; and at the same time a telegram was sent down to Cape Coast, requesting the commandant there to arrest all the men who came in, and try to punish them as deserters. It was some satisfaction to know that they would be flogged, though this did not obviate the inconvenience caused by their desertion.

Mansu was a pleasanter halting place than the two preceding ones. It was surrounded by a clearing of considerable size; and contained two bungalows, which served as quarters for the officers. The soldiers got abundance of firewood from the forest, and the place presented a picturesque appearance, after nightfall, with its blazing fires and their reflection on the deep circle of foliage.

The march had been a depressing one, to the officers; but the native troops did not seem to find it so, and chattered, sang, and danced by their fires. Three of the officers found it difficult to swallow their food; but Lisle and another young officer, named Hallett, with whom he had been a special chum on board ship, made a hearty meal and, after it was finished, set out together for a tour round the camp, to assure themselves that everything was going on satisfactorily.

"This must be very different from your experience in the Tirah," Hallett said.

"Yes; to begin with, it was generally so cold at night, even in the valley, that we were glad of both our blankets and cloaks; while among the passes it was bitter, indeed. Then, too, the greater portion of the troops were white and, though they were cheerful enough, their spirits were nothing to the merriment of these natives. Then the camps were crowded with animals, while here there are only these wretched carriers; and almost every night we were saluted with bullets from the heights, and lay down in readiness to oppose any sudden attack.

"I suppose we shall have to do the same, when we get into the enemy's country, here. That is really the only similarity between the two expeditions. The country, too, was mountainous and, except in the valleys, there were few trees; while here we tramp along in single file, through what is little better than a swamp, and only get an occasional glimpse of the sky through the overhanging foliage. Of course it is hot in Northern India, very hot sometimes; but it is generally dry heat, quite different from the close, muggy heat of the forest. However, they say that when we have once ascended the Adansi hills, matters will be better."

"I hope so, Bullen. I found it so close today that I would gladly have got rid of all my clothes, which were so drenched with perspiration that I could have wrung them. We shall have other things to think about, however, when we get across the river; for you don't think of minor inconveniences when, at any moment, a volley may be poured into you from the bushes."

"Yes, the idea is rather creepy; but they say that the Ashantis always shoot high--the effect of the enormous charges they put into their muskets--so that the harm done bears no proportion, whatever, to the noise. I expect our Maxims will come in very useful for clearing out the bush; and I doubt if the Ashantis will be able to stand for a moment, against our bayonets, as they have no weapons of the sort."

"No, but a good many of them are armed with spears, which are a deal longer than our muskets and bayonets. They are not accustomed, however, to work together. Each man fights for himself, and I feel convinced that they would not stand a determined charge," Hallett said.

"It is all very well to talk about a charge; but how are you going to charge through the bush, where every step has to be cut? However, I suppose our fellows can get through as well as they can."

"It would be horrid work, Bullen, for some of these creepers are a mass of spikes, which would pretty nearly tear a man to pieces, as he was forcing his way past them in a hurry."

"Yes, that is not a pleasant idea; but I own that, if what they say about the stockades they have formed is true, they will be even more formidable than the bush; for our little guns will make no impression upon them. They say that these are constructed with two rows of timber, eight feet apart; the intervening space being filled up with earth and stones so that, if they are well defended, they ought to cost us a lot of men before we carry them."

"Well, tomorrow we shall be at Prahsu. They say it is a fine open camp, as it was completely cleared by Wolseley's expedition. Of course, bushes will have sprung up again but, fast as things grow in this climate, they can hardly have attained any great height; and we shall have no difficulty in clearing the place again. There is a good rest house at the place, I hear, and we sha'n't be pigged in, as we were at Akroful."

"Why should they build a better house there than at the other stations?"

"Because, when the river is full, there is no way of getting across; and one may have to wait there for a fortnight, before it falls."

On the afternoon of the next day Prahsu was reached, after a march of twenty miles. The greater part of the house was found to be occupied by offices and stores. Fortunately, however, two or three tents had been brought along. The troops soon ran up huts of bamboos and palm leaves and, as there was a small native village close by, all were soon able to sleep in shelter.

The Prah was found to be full of water. It was here about a hundred and fifty yards wide, and circled round three sides of the position. There was no bridge, but two old wooden pontoons were found, relics of the last expedition; and these, with the aid of two old native canoes, were the only means of crossing.

On the morning after their arrival a despatch, dated May 24, was received from Captain Hall. It gave the details of his attack on Kokofu. Some thousands of the enemy were round that place and, in his opinion, no advance could be made to Coomassie till this force was destroyed.

An hour or two later another runner came in, this time from Kwisa. The despatch he brought gave details of the fighting the force at this place had had, in trying to effect a junction with Captain Hall.

The column advanced rapidly. In any place where the bush was particularly thick, volleys were fired into the undergrowth by a few men of the advance guard; for it had been found by experience in Nigeria that, if fired upon, natives generally disclosed their presence by replying.

They went on, unmolested, until they neared the village of Dompoasi. The natives of this town had sworn a solemn oath, to prevent any reinforcements from going up to Coomassie; and they had erected a stockade, six feet high. This was built in zigzag shape, so that a flanking fire could be kept up from it. It was about four hundred yards long, with both ends doubled backwards, to prevent an enemy from turning the position. In the rear was a trench, in which they could load in perfect shelter. Seats had been prepared on the neighbouring trees, for riflemen; and the undergrowth was left untouched, so that there should be nothing to excite suspicion.

The stockade did not run across the road, but parallel to it, the distance varying from twenty to thirty yards. Thus, anybody coming along the path would notice nothing unusual, though he himself would be easily seen by the defenders. A road had been cut, at the back of the entrenchments, so as to give a line of retreat to the defenders. On the northern side of the village, a similar stockade had been constructed.

Captain Roupell--who commanded the advance--became aware, from the numerous tracks and footprints, that the enemy must be in force in the neighbourhood, and advanced cautiously. He did not observe the stockade, however, so well was it hidden among the bushes. Just as they reached the farther end of it, a tremendous fire was opened. Captain Roupell was wounded, and many of the men also killed or wounded.

For a moment the troops were paralysed by the hail of lead. Then they replied with their rifles, and two Maxims and an eleven pounder were got to work. Captain Roupell, in spite of his wound, worked one of the Maxims, Lieutenant O'Malley the other, and Lieutenant Edwardes the gun. Captain Roupell was again dangerously wounded, and Lieutenant O'Malley so severely wounded that he was forced to discontinue fire.

Lieutenant Edwardes, although he was hit early in the action, stuck to his gun. The gun team were all lying round, either killed or wounded, and he ran home the shells with a stick. He was, shortly afterwards, shot in the left arm. This incapacitated him from serving his gun; but he went and worked a Maxim, with his right arm, till a shot in the face compelled him to have his wounds dressed.

Colonel Carter was wounded in the head, and handed over the command to Colonel Wilkinson, who was himself slightly wounded at the back of the head. The men fell fast. The seven pounder and the other Maxim were completely isolated, some distance up the path. The existence of the stockade was only discovered as the undergrowth was cut away by the rain of bullets.

The officer commanding D company--which had been the rear guard all this time and, consequently, had not suffered--was in hammock with fever, and Colour Sergeant Mackenzie was in command. At this moment Mackenzie came up, and asked leave to charge the enemy. His proposal was at once sanctioned, and when half of his company had arrived they charged the stockade, other soldiers and officers near joining them. The enemy could not stand this determined attack, evacuated their position, and took to flight.

The force now prepared to retire, and this operation they performed in an orderly manner. Seven European officers had been wounded, and there were ninety casualties. Indeed, if the enemy had not fired too high, the column might have been annihilated.

Orders were sent, to Colonel Carter, telling him to remain where he was till reinforcements should arrive. A telegram was also sent to Captain Hall, instructing him to despatch a company to increase the garrison at Kwisa. In the meantime two companies of the troops on the Prah were ordered to proceed, instantly, to the relief of Kwisa, under the command of Captain Melliss and, to Lisle's satisfaction, some of his company were to form part of the force.

They started at two in the afternoon, but it was four before they got across the Prah; and they could only march ten miles that evening, which they did through a pouring rain. An early start was made, next morning. By eight o'clock they reached Fumsu, which was held by a company of soldiers under Quartermaster Sergeant Thomas; who informed them that all the troops ahead were perilously situated, short of food and ammunition, and crippled with casualties. He tried to dissuade them from going farther, saying:

"You are simply walking into a death trap. It is not fighting, it is murder. I am sure you will never get there, with only a hundred men and all these carriers."

However, orders had to be obeyed. The carriers were so limited in number that only a few days' food could be taken to the Kwisa garrison, if all the cartridges were to go on. A hundred extra rounds were served out to each man, in addition to the hundred he already had; so that there was no risk of running short, and the carriers would be relieved of much of the weight of the reserve, and could therefore carry up a larger amount of provisions. A hasty meal was eaten, and then they stepped forward for the twenty miles' march before them.

During the halt, they found out how the natives signalled. A gun was fired from the forest, the signal was repeated farther on, and continued to the next war camp. An estimate was given of the number and composition of an enemy by the number of guns fired. The force learned, afterwards, that their departure from Prahsu had been signalled in this way to the Adansis; and only the darkness and pouring rain, which delayed the enemy's movements, had saved the column from attack.

When the march was continued, therefore, the greatest precautions were taken against an ambush. A small party of twelve men marched ahead of the advance guard, and fired occasional volleys. Where the undergrowth was unusually thick, scouts moved abreast of them, cutting a way with their sword bayonets. The difficulties were so great that the column moved only three-quarters of a mile an hour. The carriers struggled on, carrying their burdens with surprising cheerfulness, staggering over the slippery mud, and frequently falling. The gun carriers had the worst time of all, for the parts into which these weapons divide are too heavy for single loads; and have to be carried, swung on bamboo poles, by four men--but often, at the acute bends in the path, the whole burden had to be supported by two.

Nevertheless, the column managed to advance. The river Fum was rising, but was still fordable, and they crossed it, with difficulty. It was now necessary to give up scouting, and depend entirely on the volleys of the men in front to discover ambuscades. One or two deserted or thinly populated villages were passed. Then, after two hours of this trying tramp, the advance guard came upon the Fum again; but at this point its volume and width were more than doubled. The river was rising rapidly, and there were no trees that could be cut down, with the sword bayonets, long enough to throw across.

At last, by good luck, at some distance farther down a native canoe was found, caught in the branches of a fallen tree. It was a clumsy craft, but it was better than nothing. Two native hammock boys and two soldiers took their places in it, and set out for the other side. When it reached the centre of the stream, however, an eddy caught it and, in an instant, it capsized.

Captain Melliss at once plunged into the river. He was a strong swimmer, and had gained the Royal Humane Society's medal for saving life at sea. His strength, however, had been taxed by the climate, and he had to call for aid. Luckily, no one was drowned. The intense chill, caused by the sudden immersion in almost ice-cold water; and the bites of the ants that swarmed over them, as they made their way back through the undergrowth from the spot where the canoe had been washed ashore, threatened an attack of fever; but this was averted by a change of clothing, a glass of neat spirits, and a dose of quinine.

It was now agreed that nothing could be done, and the force marched back to Fumsu. They recrossed the river, by means of a rope stretched from bank to bank, and arrived long after dark.

Next day it was determined to make another trial but, for a long time, no one was able to suggest where a crossing of the swollen river might be effected. It was clearly impossible to build a bridge but, after much discussion, it was agreed to make a raft. It consisted of a platform of planks, built across empty barrels; and was lashed together by the only rope at the station. A couple of natives took their places upon it, with long poles; but their efforts to push against the strong currents were quite unavailing. Then something went wrong with the rope and the raft gradually sank, the men swimming ashore.

On examination it was found that, not only were the leaking casks gone, but the rope that tied them together. The situation now appeared more hopeless than before.

It was Lisle who suggested a possible way out of the difficulty. He was wandering about the deserted native huts, when it struck him to see what the mud walls were composed of, and how the roofs were supported. Drawing his sword, he cut a large hole in one of the walls and, to his surprise, discovered that they were strengthened by lines of bamboos, which were afterwards plastered over. It seemed to him that these bamboos, which were extremely light as well as strong, would be very useful material for a raft, and he communicated the idea to Captain Melliss.

"You have solved the difficulty, Captain Bullen; there is no doubt that these will do admirably."

In a few minutes the whole of the little force, and carriers, were occupied in pulling down the huts. The question arose, how were the stakes to be tied together? While this matter was being discussed, Lisle said:

"Surely we can use some of the creepers. The natives tie up bundles with them."

The suggestion was at once adopted. Creepers were cut in the forest, and four bundles of bamboos were tied up, with cross pieces of the same material; so that they could be carried by four men, like a hammock. Four of the loads were similarly tied up. The telegraph wire was torn down from the trees, on the bank on which they were arrested; and the nearest insulator on the opposite side was broken by a shot, so that the wire hung down to the water in a gentle curve, the next insulator being fastened to a tree at a considerable distance. One end of the raft was then attached to this wire, by a noose that worked along it; and this contrivance enabled the swiftest streams to be triumphantly crossed, the loads of rice, meanwhile, being kept dry. The success of the experiment created a general feeling of relief.

On that day, an escort of fifty soldiers and some more ammunition came in, to reinforce the little garrison at Fumsu. The full number asked for could not be spared, as a rumour had arrived that the enemy would endeavour to cut off the carriers, who were making their way up from the coast.

Next morning a start was made at an early hour. Four rivers had been crossed, and five miles of the advance had been accomplished, without an enemy being seen; and the troops began to hope that they would reach Kwisa without further molestation. However, in mounting a steep rise, after crossing a river, a heavy fire was suddenly opened on them; and they had their first experience of the nature of the ground chosen by the enemy for an ambuscade.

The path zigzagged up the hill and, while the movements of the troops could be seen by the natives on its crest, dense foliage prevented the men toiling up it from obtaining even a glimpse of the enemy. Volleys were fired both to right and left. The enemy replied by firing volley after volley, and the shower of leaves showed that the bullets were flying high. It was difficult for the officers to control the extended line, and the scattered soldiers marching among the carriers were altogether out of hand, and fired recklessly.

At last, however, this was checked. The advance guard had suffered, but their fire had quelled that of the enemy. A rush was therefore made, the ambuscade carried, and the enemy put to flight.

Captain Wilson was, unfortunately, killed in the engagement. His body was put into a hammock and taken to Fumsu, a march of thirty-three miles. The force then returned to the Prah with the wounded, leaving only a small garrison of fifty men, under a British corporal.

It was a terrible march. The river had swollen, and the crossing took hours, many of the troops and carriers not arriving until the following day.

"Well, Bullen, how does this campaign compare with that in the Tirah?"

"It is infinitely worse," Lisle said. "We were only once or twice bothered by rivers, the country was open and, when the enemy crowning the hills were turned out, we were able to go through the passes without much opposition. We certainly often went to bed supperless, but on the whole we did not fare badly. At least we were generally dry and, though the cold was severe, it was not unbearable. At any rate, it was better than marching through these forests, in single file, with the mud often up to one's knees. Above all, the air was fresh and dry, and we had not this close atmosphere and this wet to struggle against.

"These fellows fight as well as the Afridis do, but are nothing like such good shots. If they had been, we should have been annihilated. I would rather go half a dozen times, through the Tirah, than once through this country.

"I think it is the darkness in the woods that is most trying. We are all bleached almost white; my uniform hangs about me loosely. I must have lost any amount of weight."

Both of the young officers had received wounds, but these were of so slight a nature that they had been able to keep their places.

"I wonder what the next move will be. At any rate, we shall be in clover at Prahsu, and be able to get into condition again by the time we make another move. Plenty of stores are sure to be lying there, while I expect that Hall and Wilkinson will be on pretty short commons."

"Well, I suppose it is all for the best."

One day they came upon a swollen river, which was so deep as to be unfordable, and the column were brought to a halt. The Pioneers, on being questioned, were of accord that it would take at least two days to build a bridge. There was a long consultation, and it was agreed that, unless something could be done, the column must retire for, by the time the bridge was built, the supply of food would be exhausted.

"If we could get a wire across," the engineer officer said, "we certainly could build the bridge in less time than I stated."

"I will try to carry it across, sir," Lisle said. "I am a strong swimmer, and I think I could do it."

"Yes, but the Ashantis are all on the opposite bank. You would be picked off before you got halfway across."

"I would try after dark. Once I got the wire across and fixed, enough men could cross, with its assistance, to clear the other bank of the enemy."

"You would find it very hard work tugging the wire across, Bullen. The stream would catch it and, as it is as much as you can do to swim the current without any drawback, it would certainly carry you down."

"Yes, sir; but if I asked for a volunteer, I should find one without difficulty."

"Well, Mr. Bullen, if you volunteer to try, I shall, of course, be very glad to accept the offer; especially as, if you keep tight hold of the wire, the stream will only send you back to this bank."

As soon as it was known that Lisle was about to attempt to swim the river, several volunteers came forward; and from these he selected one of the Sikh soldiers, not only because he was a tall and powerful man, but because he could give him orders in Punjabi. As soon as night came on, the preparations were completed. A length of wire, that would be sufficient to cross the river, was laid out on the bank from the spot that seemed to offer most advantages for a bridge. In this way, as they swam out the line would go with them, and they would be swept across the river by its pull, until they touched the bank opposite to where the other end of the line was secured.

Lisle took off his tunic, putties, and boots; and the Sikh also stripped himself to his loincloth, in which he placed his bayonet. Lisle unloaded his revolver and put it into his waistband, at the same time placing in his pocket a packet of twenty cartridges, in a waterproof box.

"You would swim better without those things, Bullen."

"No doubt, sir; but I want to have some means of defence, when I get across the stream. Some of the enemy may be lurking there, now."

"Before you start I will get the Maxim to work, and sweep the opposite bank. When you get ashore fasten the end of the wire to a tree, and then give a shout; we will stretch it tight on this side, and I will send a half company over, without delay. That ought to be enough to enable you to retain your footing, until we join you."

When all was ready, Lisle fastened the end of the wire round his body. The Sikh was to take hold a yard or two below him, and aid him as he swam. Then they stepped into the water, and struck out.

They had swum only twenty yards, when the Sikh cried out, "I have cramp, sahib! I can swim no longer!" and he let go his hold of the wire.

Rapidly, Lisle thought over the position. It was very important to get the wire across. Now that the Sikh had gone, he felt that it would pull him under; on the other hand, the brave fellow had volunteered to go with him, and he could not see him drown before his eyes. He accordingly slipped the loop of the wire over his head, and struck out with the stream.

So rapid had been the course of his thoughts that the man was still within some fifteen yards of him. He could see him faintly struggling and, swimming with long, steady strokes, soon overtook him.

"Put your arm on my shoulder," he said; "I will soon get you ashore."

The Sikh did as he was told, and Lisle turned to make for the shore they had left. To his dismay, however, he found that the centre current was carrying him to the opposite side. As soon as he found this to be the case, he ceased his efforts and allowed himself to float down. Doubtless the Ashantis would be on the watch, and any movement in the water would catch their eyes.

He could hear their voices on the bank and, occasionally, a shot was fired over his head. He felt sure, however, that he was still unseen; and determined to float quietly, till the course of the current changed, and brought him back to the side from which he started. He felt the Sikh's grasp relaxing, and threw his arms round the man's neck.

A quarter of an hour passed and then, to his dismay, he saw that he was close to the bush, on the wrong side of the river. He himself was getting rapidly weaker, and he felt that he could not support the weight of the soldier much farther. Accordingly he grasped a branch that overhung the river, pulled himself in to the shore, and there lay at the edge of the mud.

When he recovered his breath, he began to calculate his chances. The bush overhead seemed very thick, and he resolved to shelter there for a time. Occasionally he could hear the sound of voices close by, and was sure that the Ashantis were in force there.

His companions would, he was sure, regard him as dead when, on pulling on the wire, they found that it was loose; and after the failure of this attempt to establish a bridge, would probably start on their return march, without delay. He had, therefore, only himself to rely upon, beyond what assistance he could get from the Sikh, when the latter regained consciousness.

He poured a little spirits into the man's mouth, and presently had the satisfaction of seeing him move. Waiting until the movement became more decided, he said:

"You must lie still; we are across on the Ashanti side. They don't know we are here and, when you are able to move, we will crawl down some little distance and hide in the bushes. We must hide in the morning, for I am sure that I could not swim back to the other side, and certainly you could not do so. We are in a tight place, but I trust that we shall be able to get out of it."

"Do not encumber yourself with me," the Sikh said. "I know you have risked your life to save me, but you must not do so again. What is the life of a soldier to that of an officer?"

"I could not get across, even if I were alone. At any rate, I am not going to desert you, now. Let us keep quiet for an hour, then we shall be able to move on."

An hour passed silently, and then Lisle asked:

"How are you feeling, now?"

"I feel strong again, sahib."

"Very well then, let us crawl on."

Chapter 15: A Narrow Escape.

Keeping in the mud close to the bank, and feeling their way in the dense growth produced by the overhanging bushes, they crawled forward. Sometimes the water came up to the bank, and they had to swim; but as a rule they were able to keep on the mud, which was so deep that they sank far into it, their heads alone showing above it. In two hours they had gone a mile, and both were thoroughly exhausted.

"We will lie here till day breaks," Lisle said; "as soon as it is dawn, we will choose some spot where the bushes are thickest, and shelter there. I am in hopes, now, that we are beyond the Ashantis. I dare say that we shall be able to get a peep through the bushes and, if we find the coast clear, we will make our way into the forest. There we may be able to gather something to eat, which we shall want, tomorrow; and it will certainly be more comfortable than this bed of mud. We must get rid of some of that before we leave."

"It would be better to allow it to dry on you, sahib. Our white undergarments would betray us at once, if any Ashantis came upon us. For my part, my colour is not so very different from theirs."

"Yes, perhaps that would be better. I must rub some over my face, as well."

"I do not care, for myself, sahib; we Sikhs are not afraid to die; but after your goodness to me, I would do anything to save you."

"What is your name?"

"Pertab, sahib."

"Well, Pertab, I think that as we have proceeded so far, we shall pull through, somehow. You have your bayonet, and I have my revolver, which I will wash and load before we get out of this. We shall be a match, then, for any three or four men we may come across. At any rate, I shall shoot myself if I see that there is no other way of escape. It would be a thousand times better to die, than be taken captive and tortured to death."

"Good, sahib! I will use my bayonet, myself; but I don't think there will be any occasion for that."

"I shall certainly die fighting. I would rather not be taken alive, Pertab; and shall certainly fight till I am killed, or can take my own life."

"Do you think that the troops will be marched away, sahib?"

"I feel sure that they will. They have only got provisions enough to take them back to camp; and as, when they pull the wire in, they will find that we have gone, they will feel quite sure that we have been drowned.

"No; we must quite make up our minds that we have got to look after ourselves. Fortunately, the Ashantis will not be able to cross the river to harass them in their retreat; unless, indeed, they know of some ford by which they can get over."

As soon as daylight began, the Sikh went down into the water and washed the mud from himself, and Lisle cleaned and loaded his pistol. Then they waited until it was broad daylight and, as they heard no sounds to indicate that any Ashantis were near, Lisle climbed up as noiselessly as he could to the bushes, and looked cautiously round. There were none of the enemy in sight. He therefore called to the Sikh to join him and, together, they made their way into the forest behind.

"The first thing to ascertain," Lisle said, "is whether the enemy are still here, and to find out for certain whether our friends have left. If they stay where they were, we can swim the river and join them; if they have retreated, and the Ashantis are still here, we shall know that there is no ford. If, however, we find that the Ashantis have gone, we shall be sure that they crossed at some ford, and will be swarming round our men; in which case it will be impossible for us to join them, and we must make our way as best we can."

They kept close to the edge of the forest, the soldier occasionally using his bayonet to cut away the thorny creepers that blocked their course. After an hour's walking, Lisle said:

"That is the spot where the troops were, last night. I can see no signs of them now.

"Now for the Ashantis."

They took the greatest pains to avoid making a noise, until they stepped out opposite the point from which they had started, the evening before. They saw no signs of the enemy.

"This is bad," Lisle said. "I can have no doubt that they have crossed the river, somewhere, and are swarming in the forest opposite. However, now that we know that they have gone, we can look out for something to eat."

For three hours they wandered about, and were fortunate enough to find a deserted village, where they gathered some bananas and pineapples. Of these they made a hearty meal; and then, each carrying a few bananas, they returned to the river and swam across, finding no difficulty in doing so now that they were unencumbered by the wire. They had not been long across before they heard the sound of heavy firing, some two or three miles away.

"It is as I thought," Lisle said. "The Ashantis have crossed the river, somewhere, and are now attacking the convoy. They will not, of course, overpower it; but they will continue to follow it up till they get near camp, and there is little chance of our being able to rejoin them before that."

Travelling on, they more than once heard the sound of parties of the enemy, running forward at the top of their speed. Evidently news had been sent round, and the inhabitants of many villages now poured in, to share in the attack upon the white men.

"It is useless for us to think of going farther, at present," Lisle said. "They will be mustering thickly all round our force, and I expect we shall have some stiff fighting to do, before we get back to camp--I mean the column, of course; as for ourselves, the matter is quite uncertain. We may be sure, however, that they won't be making any search in the bush and, as even in the Ashanti country you cannot go through the bush, unless you cut a path, it will be sheer accident if they come across us. At any rate, we may as well move slowly on, doing a little cutting only when the path seems deserted. If we keep some forty or fifty yards from it, so as to be able to hear any parties going along, and to make sure that they are moving in our direction, that is all we can do.

"Of course, everything will depend upon the result of the fight with the column. There is no doubt that they are going to be attacked in great force; which, as far as it goes, is all the better for us. If it were only a question of sniping by a small body of men, the colonel would no doubt push steadily on, contenting himself with firing occasional volleys into the bush; but if he is attacked by so strong a body as there appears to be round him, he will halt and give them battle. If so, we may be pretty sure that he will send them flying into the bush; and they won't stop running till they get back to the river. In that case, when we have allowed them all to pass we can go boldly on, and overtake the column at their halting place, this evening.

"If, on the other hand, our fellows make a running fight of it, the enemy will follow them till they get near Coomassie, and we shall have to make a big detour to get in. That we shall be able to do so I have no doubt, but the serious part of the business is the question of food. However, we know that the natives can find food, and it is hard if we do not manage to get some.

"Making the necessary detour, and cutting our way a good deal through the bush, we can calculate upon getting there in less than four days' march. We have food enough for today, and a very little will enable us to hold on for the next four days."

They moved slowly on. The firing increased in violence, and it was evident that a very heavy engagement was going on. Two hours later they heard a sound of hurrying feet in the path and, peering through the bush, saw a crowd of the Ashantis running along, in single file, at the top of their speed.

"Hooray! It is evident that they have got a thorough licking," Lisle said. "They will soon be all past. Our greatest fear will then be that a few of the most plucky of them will rally in the bush, when they see that none of our troops come along. Our troops are not likely to follow them up, as they will be well content with the victory they have evidently gained, and resume their march."

They waited for an hour and, when they were on the point of getting up and making for the path, the Sikh said:

"Someone is coming in the bush."

In another minute, four natives came suddenly upon them; whether they came from the force that had been routed, or were newly arriving from some village behind, the two fugitives knew not; nor, indeed, had they any time to consider. They threw themselves, at once, into one of the divisions at the base of a giant cotton tree.

These divisions, of which there may be five or six round the tree, form solid buttresses four or five inches thick, projecting twenty or thirty feet from the front, and rising as many feet high; thus affording the tree an immense support, when assailed by tropical storms.

The natives, seeing that the two men were apparently unarmed, rushed forward, firing their guns as they did so. Two of them fell before Lisle's revolver. One of the natives rushed with clubbed musket at him but, as he delivered the blow, the butt end of the musket struck a bough overhead and flew out of the man's hand; and Lisle, putting his revolver to his head, shot him. The other man ran off.

Lisle had now time to look round and, to his dismay, the Sikh was leaning against the branch of a tree.

"Are you hit?" he asked.

"Yes, sahib, a ball has broken my right leg."

"That is a bad business, indeed," Lisle said, kneeling beside him.

"It cannot be helped, sahib. Our fate is meted out to us all, and it has come to me now. You could not drag me from here, or carry me; it would be impossible, for I weigh far more than you do."

Lisle was silent for a moment.

"I see," he said, "that the only thing I can do is to push on to camp, and bring out assistance. I will leave you my pistol, when I have recharged it; so that if the native who has run away should bring others down, you will be able to defend yourself. As, however, you remained on your feet, he will not know that you were wounded; and will probably suppose that we would at once push on to join our companions. Still, it will be well for you to have the weapon.

"Now, let me lower you down to the ground, and seat you as comfortably as I can. I will leave these bananas by you, and my flask of water. It is lucky, now, that I did not drink it all when I started to cross the river.

"I suppose they will have halted at the same camp as before. It was a long march, and we must still be ten or twelve miles away from it, so I fear it will be dark long before I get there."

"You are very good, sahib, but I think it will be of no use."

"Oh, I hope it will! So now, give me your turban. I will wrap it tightly round your leg, for the bleeding must be stopped. I see you have lost a great deal of blood, already."

He bandaged the wound as well as he could, and then he said:

"I will take your sword bayonet with me. It can be of no use to you and, if I do happen to meet a native upon the road, it may come in very handy."

"The blessing of the Great One be upon you, sahib, and take you safely to camp. As for myself, I think that my race is run."

"You must not think that," Lisle said, cheerily; "you must lie very quiet, and make up your mind that, as soon as it is possible, we shall be back here for you;" and then, without any more talk, he made his way to the edge of the path.

There he made a long gash on the bark of a tree and, fifty yards farther, he made two similar gashes. Then, certain that he could find the place on his return, he went off at a trot along the path.

It was eight o'clock in the evening before he reached camp. On the way, he had met with nothing that betokened danger; there had been no voices in the woods. When about halfway to camp, he came across a number of dead bodies on the path and, looking into the bush, found many more scattered about. It was evident that the little British force had turned upon their assailants, and had effected a crushing defeat upon them.

He was hailed by a sentry as he approached the camp but, upon his reply, was allowed to pass. As he came to the light of a fire, round which the white officers were sitting, there was a general shout of surprise and pleasure.

"Is it you or your ghost, Bullen?" the commanding officer exclaimed, as all leapt to their feet.

"I am a very solid person, Colonel; as you will see, if you offer me anything to eat or drink. I am pretty well exhausted now and, as I have got another twenty-mile tramp before I sleep, you may guess that I shall be glad of solid and liquid refreshment."

"You shall have both, my dear boy. We had all given you up for dead. When we saw you washed down, we were afraid that you were lost. The only hope was that the current might bring you over to our side again, and we went two or three miles down the stream to look for you. We hunted again still more carefully the next morning, and it was not until the afternoon that we moved.

"We encamped only three miles from the river, hoping still that you might come up before the morning. We started at daybreak this morning. We were harassed from the first, but the affair became so serious that we halted and faced about, left a handful of men to protect the coolies and carriers; and then sent two companies out into the bush on each side, and went at them. Fortunately they fought pluckily, and when at last they gave way they left, I should say, at least a third of their number behind them.

"We did not stop to count. I sent a small party at full speed along the path, so as to keep them on the run, and then marched on here without further molestation.

"And now, about yourself; how on earth have you managed to get in?"

"Well, sir, I can tell it in a few words. The current took us to the opposite shore. We lay concealed under the bushes overhanging the bank, and could hear the enemy talking behind the screen. On the following day the voices ceased, and we made our way up to the camp; and found, as we expected, that you had gone and, as we guessed, the Ashantis had set off in pursuit. We went on through the forest and, of course, heard the firing in the distance; and saw the enemy coming along the path, terror stricken. We were waiting for a bit, and felt sure that they had all passed; when a party of four men came from behind upon us. I don't think they belonged to the force you defeated. They were within twenty yards when they saw us.

"We jumped into one of the hollows at the foot of a cotton tree. The whole four fired at us and then, as they supposed that we were unarmed, made a rush. I shot two of them as they came on. One of the others aimed a blow at me, with the butt end of his gun. Fortunately the weapon caught one of the creepers, and flew out of his hand. My revolver had in some way stuck, but it all came right just at the moment, and I shot him. The fourth man bolted.

"When I looked round to see what the Sikh was doing, he was leaning against the tree, with the blood streaming from his leg; the bone having been broken by one of their balls. Well, sir, I bandaged it up as well as I could, and left him my revolver; so that he might shoot himself, if there was a likelihood of his being captured. I then set off, as hard as I could go, to fetch assistance for him."

"The troops have had a very heavy day, Bullen," the colonel said, gravely. "How far away is it that you left the man?"

"About ten miles, I should say."

"Well, they are all willing fellows, but it is a serious thing to ask them to start on another twenty miles' journey, within an hour or two of getting into camp."

"I think, sir, if you will allow me to go down to where the Sikhs are bivouacked, and I ask for volunteers to bring in their comrade, they will stand up, to a man."

Lisle's confidence in the Sikhs was not misplaced. As soon as they heard that a comrade, who they believed had been drowned while trying to get the wire across the river, was lying alone and wounded in the forest, all declared their willingness to start, at once.

"I will take twenty," Lisle said; "that will be ample. I have just come down the path myself, and I saw no signs, whatever, of the enemy; still, some of them may be making their way down, to carry off their dead. If they are, however, their astonishment at seeing us will be so great that they will bolt at the first volley."

"Are you going back with us, sahib?"

"Yes, I must do so, or you would never find the place where he is lying."

"We will take two stretchers," the sergeant--a splendid man; standing, like most of his companions, well over six feet--said, "and you shall walk as far as you are able, and then we will carry you. When will you march, sahib?"

"I am going to get something to eat and drink first and, if you will fall in, in half an hour I will be with you again."

"Where is Pertab wounded, sahib?"

"He is shot through the leg, three or four inches above the knee, and the bone is broken."

"Did the man get off, sahib?"

"I can't say for certain," Lisle said, with a smile. "Four men attacked us. They all four fired. I shot three of them with my revolver, and the fourth bolted. Whether he was the man who really shot your comrade, or not, I cannot say; but you see, the chances are that he was not."

The grim faces of the Sikhs lit up with a smile.

"You paid them out, anyhow," the sergeant said. "I don't think we are very deeply in their debt."

Lisle went back to the campfire. The best that could be found in camp was given to him, and the colonel handed him his own whisky flask. While he ate, he related the story in full.

"Well, it is a fine thing for you to have done," said the colonel; "a most creditable affair. I know that you are a pretty good marcher; but I hardly think that, after a long day's work, you can set out for a march of nearly double the length."

"I have no fear of the march, Colonel. The Sikhs have volunteered to carry a stretcher for me. I shall, of course, not get into it, unless I feel that I cannot go another foot farther; but the mere fact that it is there, and in readiness for me, will help me to keep on. The Sikhs have done just as long a march as I have, and I hope that I shall be able to hold on as long as they can. I should hate to be beaten by a native."

"Ah! But these Sikhs are wonderful fellows; they seem to be made of iron, and march along as erect and freely as they start, when even the Hausas and Yorubas are showing signs that they are almost at the end of their powers. I must say that I consider the Sikhs to be, all round, the best soldiers in the world. They cannot beat Tommy Atkins, when it comes to a charge; but in the matter of marching, and endurance, Tommy has to take a back seat. He will hold on till he fairly breaks down, rather than give in; but he himself, if he has ever campaigned with the Sikhs, would be the first to allow that they can march him off his feet.

"Have you got a spare pair of shoes in your kit, Bullen?"

"Yes."

"Then I should advise you to take those you have on, off; and put on a fresh pair."

"I will take your advice, sir; but I really think that it would be best to follow the custom of the native troops, and march barefooted."

"It would not do," the colonel said, decidedly. "The soles of their feet are like leather. You would get half a dozen thorns in your foot, before you had gone half a mile; and would stub your toes against every root that projected across the path. No, no; stick to your shoes."

Lisle changed his boots, and then went across to the Sikhs; who fell in as they saw him coming.

"You have got everything, sergeant?" he asked.

"Yes; a hundred and thirty rounds of ball cartridge, the two stretchers, and some food and drink for our comrade."

"You have got a good supply of torches, I hope. There may be some small risk in carrying them, but I am convinced that the Ashantis will not venture to return, tonight, whatever they may do tomorrow. With three torches--one at the head, one in the middle of the line, and one in the rear--we should be able to travel through the paths better than if we had to grope our way in the dark."

The little party at once moved off, many of the officers and men gathering round, to wish them good luck and a safe return. Four hours took them to the spot where Lisle had turned into the path. For the last mile he had had three torches burning in front, so that he should not overlook the signs he had made on the trees.

"There it is, sergeant," he said, at last, "two slashes; the other one is on the left, fifty yards on."

They turned off when they came to this.

"Here we are, all right, Pertab!" Lisle said, as they came to the tree.

"Allah be praised!" the man said, faintly. "I seem to have been hearing noises in the wood, for a long time; and when I heard you coming, I was by no means sure that it was not an illusion, like the others."

"Here are twenty of your comrades with me, Pertab, and we shall soon get you into camp."

"I didn't expect you till morning," the wounded man said. "I thought that you would be far too tired to come out and, without you, they could not have found me."

"They would have carried me, had it been necessary; but I managed to hold on pretty well.

"Now, my men, get him upon the stretcher, and let us be off. Pour the contents of that bottle down his throat; that will keep him up, till we get back."

For another four or five miles, Lisle kept along but, to his mortification, he was obliged at last to take to the stretcher. The four Sikhs who carried it made light of his weight. Once or twice, on the way, some dropping shots were fired at the party; but these were speedily silenced by a volley or two from the rifles.

It was four o'clock in the morning when they re-entered camp. The fires were already lighted and, as the party entered, the troops received them with loud cheering; which called all the white officers out from their shelters.

"You have done well, my fine fellows," the colonel said to the Sikhs. "Now, get some food at once, and then lie down for three or four hours' sleep. I shall leave two companies with you; I don't think that, after the thrashing we gave them yesterday, the enemy are likely to trouble us--at any rate, not before the afternoon, and by that time you will have rejoined us."

"We can march on now, sahib."

"No, no," the colonel said; "a thirty-six-mile march, through this bush, is a great deal more than a fair day's march for anyone; and I am not going to see such good men knocked up, by asking too much of them. So just go, and do as I order you. You may be sure that I shall put the deed you have accomplished in my orders of today.

"Well, Mr. Bullen," he said, as he came to the spot where Lisle was sitting, with his shoes and stockings off, rubbing his aching feet, "so you could not outmarch the Sikhs?"

"No, sir, and I did not expect to do so. I went at their head all the way there, and four or five miles back; but should have had to give up, even if I had been told that a big fortune awaited me, if I got in on foot. I should have had to say:

"'Well, then, somebody else may have it; I can go no farther.'"

"Well, you have done uncommonly well, anyhow; uncommonly well. I don't suppose there are five white men in camp who could have done so much. After this you may be sure that, if you have need of an expedition, the Sikhs would follow you through fire and water, if they were allowed to volunteer for the service.

"I should have been glad to recommend you for the Victoria Cross, for your conduct right through the affair; but you have got it. But I fear that, although you would get every credit for your doings, the authorities would consider that it did not come under the head of deeds for which the Victoria Cross is given."

"I am sure I have no desire for another V.C., even if two could be given."

No attack was made on the following day, and it was evident that the Ashantis had taken to heart the lesson that had been given them. Two days later the column marched into the fort, and Colonel Willcocks went out to meet it.

The colonel's reports had been sent in by a runner. As the Sikhs came along, the colonel ordered them to halt and, as Lisle marched up at the head of his company, he made a sign to him to come up.

"Captain Bullen," he said, "I have much pleasure in congratulating you on the manner in which you saved the life of the Sikh soldier, who volunteered to swim that river in flood in order to carry a wire across; and still more for the manner in which you made what I should say was a record march, in this country, to bring in a man who had been wounded, in a fight with a small party of the enemy."

Then he turned to the Sikhs.

"Soldiers," he said, "I cannot praise you too heartily for having volunteered, at the end of a long and exhausting march, to undertake another still longer and more fatiguing, in order to bring in a wounded comrade. It is an act of which you may be proud; but not altogether a surprising one, for we know well that we can depend upon the Sikhs, on all and every occasion."

Lisle had been carried into the fort. His feet were so tender and swollen that he could not possibly walk farther, and he was consequently taken down by the carriers, during the last two days' march. Hallett sauntered up, as soon as he was put into a hospital hut.

"Hillo, Bullen, so you have broken down! A nice example to set to your Hausas, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," Lisle laughed; "but the Hausas did not march as far as I did."

"No? What were you doing? Scouting half a mile ahead of them, on your own account?"

"Not exactly; I only went the width of a river, and yet, the result of that was that I had to do an extra march of some twenty miles."

"Now you are speaking in riddles, Lisle; and if there is one thing I hate, it is riddles. When a fellow begins to talk in that way, I always change the subject. Why a man should try to puzzle his brain, with such rigmarole things, is more than I can imagine."

"Well, Hallett, I really feel too tired to tell you about the matter. I can assure you that it is no joke, being carried down fifteen miles on a stretcher; so please go and ask somebody else, that's a good fellow."

In a quarter of an hour Hallett returned again, put his eyeglass in his eye, and stood for a couple of minutes without speaking, regarding Lisle furtively.

"Oh, don't be a duffer," the latter said, "and drop that eyeglass. You know perfectly well that you see better, without it, than with it."

"Well, you are a rum chap, Bullen. You are always doing something unexpected. I have been hearing how you and a Sikh started to swim the Ordah, when it was in flood, with a wire; how you were washed away; how you were given up for lost; how, two days later, you returned to camp and went straight out again, with a party of twenty Sikhs, took a little stroll for ten miles into the bush--and of course, as much back--to carry in the Sikh soldier you had had with you, but who had been wounded, and was unable to come with you. I don't know why such luck as this is always falling to your lot, while not a bit of it comes to me."

"It is pure accident, Hallett. You will get a chance, some day. I don't know that you would be good for a thirty-mile tramp, but it must be a consolation to you that, for the last five miles, I had to be carried."

"It is a mercy it is so," Hallett said, in an expression of deep thankfulness, "for there would have been no holding you, if you had come in on your feet."

Chapter 16: The Relief Of Coomassie.

"I Certainly should not have volunteered for this work, Bullen, if I had known what it was like. I was mad at not being able to go out to the Cape, and as my regiment was, like yours, stationed in India, there was no chance of getting away from there, if I had once returned. Of course, I knew all about the expeditions of Wolseley and Scott; but I forgot that these were carried on in the dry season, and that we should have to campaign in the wet season, which makes all the difference in the world. We are wet through, from morning till night--and all night, too--and at our camping places there is no shelter. The low-lying land is turned into deep swamps, the little streams become great unfordable torrents, and the ground under our feet turns into liquid mud. It is really horrible work, especially as we get very little food and less drink. It is not work for dogs."

"It is all very well for you to grumble, Hallett, but you know just as well as I do that, if the offer were made to you to go home, at once, you would treat it with scorn."

"Oh, of course I should! Still, one may be allowed to have one's grumble and, after all, I think we are pretty sure of some stiff fighting, which makes up for everything. I am not afraid of the enemy a bit, but I do funk fever."

"I don't think we are likely to get fever, so long as we are on the move; though I dare say a good many of us will go down with it, after the work is done. We have only to think of the starving soldiers and people, in Coomassie, to make us feel that, whatever the difficulties and dangers may be, we must get there in time. The great nuisance is, that we can get no news of what is doing there. We constantly hear that the governor, with a portion if not all of the force, has broken out, some days since; and we begin to look out for them; and then, after a time, comes the news that there has been no sortie whatever. It is really most annoying, and I am often kept awake at night, even after a day's fight, thinking of the position of the garrison."

"I don't think, if there were a hundred garrisons in danger," Hallett laughed, "it would affect my sleep in the slightest. I lie down as soon as I have eaten what there is to eat, which certainly is not likely to affect my digestion; and however rough the ground, I am dead asleep as soon as my head touches it, and I do not open an eye until the bugle sounds in the morning. Even then I have not had enough sleep, and I always indulge in bad language as I put on my belts, at the unearthly hour at which we are always called. I don't begin to feel half awake till we have gone some miles."

"You would wake up sharp enough, Hallett, at the sound of the first gun."

"Yes, that is all right enough; but unless that comes, there is nothing to wake one. The close air of the forest takes out what little starch you have in you, and I verily believe that I am very often asleep, as we march."

"It is monotonous, Hallett, but there is always something to see to; to keep the men from straggling, to give a little help, sometimes, to the wretched carriers."

"You are such a desperate enthusiast, Bullen. I cannot make out how you keep it up so well. I really envy you your good spirits."

"They are indeed a great blessing; I had plenty of occasion to make the most of them, when I was marching in the ranks of the 32nd Pioneers, on the way up to Chitral. Still, they came naturally enough, there; and I am bound to acknowledge that it is hard work, sometimes, to keep them up here."

"I think that it would really be a mercy, Bullen, if you were to pour a bucket of water over my head, when the bugle sounds. I have no doubt I should be furious with you, and should use the strongest of strong language; but still, that would not hurt you."

"Except when the carriers bring up our bundles of dry clothes, we lie down so soaked that you would scarcely feel the water poured over you. At any rate, if you really think that it would do you good, you had better order your servant to do it; that is to say, if you don't think you would slay him, the first morning."

"No, I suppose I must put up with it, as best I can; but really, sometimes I do envy the colonel's little terrier, which frisks along all day, making excursions occasionally into the bush, to look for rats or mongooses. He seems to be absolutely tireless, and always ready for anything.

"Well, I shall turn in, now, and try to dream that I am on a feather bed, and have had supper of all sorts of dainties."

"I would not do that, if I were you. It would be such a disappointment, when you woke up."

"Well, perhaps it might be," Hallett said, despondently. "I will try to dream that I am with you on that Chitral expedition, and am nearly frozen to death; then possibly, on waking, I might feel grateful that things are not so bad as I thought they were."

They spent a few pleasant days at Prahsu and, while there, received the news that a column had started, from Tientsin, for the relief of the Europeans collected in the various legations at Pekin, news which created general satisfaction.

"I have no doubt they will have some stiff fighting," Hallett said, as he and Lisle sat down to breakfast, after hearing the news. "One thing, however, is in their favour. As they will keep by the river all the way, they will never be short of water. The last news was that they were collecting a large flotilla of junks, for carrying up their provisions. Lucky beggars! Wouldn't I like to change places with one of them! I hope all the different troops will pull well together for, with a force of half a dozen nationalities, it is almost certain that there will be some squabbling."

"I should hardly think that there would be any trouble, Hallett. Of course, it was reported in the last mail that the Russians, French, and Germans were all behaving somewhat nastily; but as the Japs have the strongest force of all, and the Americans stick to us, I should think that things will go on well. It would be a disgraceful thing, indeed, if troops marching to the relief of their countrymen could not keep the peace among themselves. Of course, there may be fighting; but it is morally certain that the Chinese cannot stand against us, and I imagine that, in proportion to the numbers, their casualties will enormously exceed ours.

"Britain has her hands pretty full, at present, what with the big war in the Transvaal, and the little one here, and another in China. It is a good thing we thrashed the Afridis, two years ago. If we had not, you may be sure that there would be an even more formidable rising on our northern frontier than that we quelled. News travels marvellously fast, in India; the Afridis always seem to know what is going on elsewhere, and I am pretty sure that they would be up, all over the country, if they had not had to give up the greater portion of their rifles, and had not more than enough to do to rebuild their houses. So we have something to be thankful for."

"I am glad that Marchand business did not come off just at the present time," Hallett said. "You may be sure that we should have had a war with France; it was a mighty near thing, as it was."

"Yes; I think they would not have backed down, if we had been busy with Boers, Chinese, and black men. They were at fever heat as it was; and we could have done nothing, if we had had two hundred and fifty thousand men engaged at the Cape."

"It would have made no difference," Lisle said, scornfully, "we have plenty of soldiers at home. Every barrack was crowded with men, as we came away; and there were a great number of the militia and volunteers, to back them up. Above all there was our fleet which, however much the Frenchmen value their warships, would have knocked them into a cocked hat in no time.

"Well, I suppose it is time to go out and inspect our men."

"I suppose it is, Bullen," Hallett said despondently, as he stretched himself. "If there were no inspections and no parade, an officer's life would be really a pleasant one."

Lisle laughed.

"And if there were no inspections and parades there would be no soldiers, and if there were no soldiers there would be no need for officers."

"Well, I suppose that is so," Hallett said, as he buckled on his sword. "Now, just look at me; do I look like an officer and a gentleman? Nobody could tell what was the original colour of my khaki; it is simply one mass of mud stains."

"Well, I do think you hardly look like an officer and a gentleman--that is to say, you would hardly be taken for one at Aldershot. Fortunately, however, there are no English ladies here to look at you and, as the blacks don't know what an officer and a gentleman should be, it doesn't matter in the slightest."

While at Prahsu, there was nothing to do but to speculate as to what would be the next move. Colonel Willcocks kept his plan to himself, for information as to our movements reached the enemy in a most extraordinary manner.

It was a busy camp. Bamboo grass-covered sheds, for stores, were in course of construction. The engineers were employed in making a road, to take the stores and troops across the Prah.

Three of the wounded officers--Captain Roupell, Lieutenants Edwardes and O'Malley--were invalided, and left for home in a convoy with over a hundred wounded. This was necessary, owing to the fact that there was no Roentgen apparatus in the colony, and it was found impossible to discover and extract the slugs with which the great proportion were wounded.

It was unknown that four hundred men of the West African Regiment, with nearly twenty officers, and a company from Jebba were on their way to reinforce them. Three officers were away to raise native levies in Denkera and Akim, and there were rumours about more troops from other parts of the world. But the one thing certain was that some more troops were coming down from Northern Nigeria.

Colonel Burroughs arrived with a strong party, and Lisle and Hallett prepared to go up again. No resistance was met with, as far as Fumsu; but it was found that a foot bridge that had been thrown across the river was washed away, and communication with the other bank was thus cut off. To the disgust of the officers and men, they were called out to a false alarm and, when dismissed, went back to bed grumbling. When they rose again, the men cleaned their arms and received their pay and rations. The latter amounted to but a pound of rice a day, but this was subsequently increased. The officers were little better off, for there was, of course, nothing to buy.

Two companies had gone on in advance to open the main road, find out the ambushes and stockades, and to join Colonel Wilkinson at Bekwai. Those who remained in camp had little to do, and were therefore glad to spend their time on fatigue duty; the officers building shelters for themselves, while the men erected conical huts, until the station was covered with them.

A day or two after their arrival a letter, written in French on a scrap of paper, was brought down. It stated that the garrison could hold out until the 20th, a date that was already past. Supplies were urgently wanted. It also warned the relief column that there was a big stockade within an hour of the fort. Colonel Willcocks sent out a messenger at once, asking that every available man should join him; but the man never reached the coast, and no help came from there.

Sir Frederick Hodgson had then been out of Coomassie four days, and was making his way down to the coast through a friendly country; with an escort of six hundred soldiers, and all his officers but one, who had remained in the fort with a hundred men.

On the morning of the 27th Colonel Burroughs, with five hundred men, started on his journey north. Scouts flanked the advance guard, thereby preventing the chance of an ambuscade; but greatly delaying the column, as they had to cut their way through the bushes. They halted that night at Sheramasi. A detachment was left at a village at the foot of the hills. Just as the head of the troops arrived at the top, they were fired into from behind a fallen tree. A sharp fight took place for nearly an hour, until the enemy were turned out of their position, and pursued through the bush, by a company which had moved round their flank. Kwisa was reached after dark, when it was found that the place had been entirely destroyed by the enemy.

Next morning they moved forward with the greatest caution, fully expecting that there would be another terrific fight at Dompoasi. This place, though only four miles from Kwisa, was not reached till nightfall. Darkness set in with heavy rain, and the officers commanding the two leading companies held a council of war, and decided to call in the scouts--who were useless in the dusk--to make a dash for the village, and try to rush it before preparations could be made for its defence.

The terrible downpour of rain was all in their favour. The enemy's scouts, who had reported the advance upon Kwisa, had given up the idea of watching, that night; and they and the whole war camp were at their evening meal. The noise of the rain drowned the sounds of feet, and the troops were in the village before the enemy entertained a suspicion of their approach.

A scene of wild confusion then ensued. The enemy rushed wildly to and fro, while our men poured volley after volley into them. Savages have no idea of rallying, when thus taken by surprise. Many fell; some fled into the forest; others ran down the prepared pathway and manned the big stockade, but the troops rushed forward, and soon compelled them to quit it.

Half a company were sent into the bush, to follow up the flying foe. They remained out all night, and did much execution among the Adansis. This was the first real success gained over them.

Pickets and sentries were thrown out in a circle round the village. At midnight, the troops got a scratch meal under the protection of the huts. Many guns were captured, some Sniders, many cakes of powder, and much food which was cooking over the fires when the troops entered the village. Some of the rifles that had belonged to the men who had fallen in the unsuccessful attack were found, together with three thousand rounds of ammunition to fit them. All this was accomplished without any casualties to our troops.

The next day was spent in destroying the two great stockades, cutting down the bush round them, and blowing up the fetish tree; as well as burying the enemy's dead, thirty in number. On the evening of the next day, Bekwai was gained.

Colonel Burroughs determined, after this success, to get rid of the next danger by making another attack on the entrenchments and war camp at Kokofu and, with five hundred men and four Maxims, he started out for that place. But the task was too heavy for him, and the enemy were quite ready to receive our troops. They were in great force, and fought bravely for some hours. The turning movement which was attempted failed; and the colonel decided, at last, to retire to Bekwai. This the troops accomplished safely, although the enemy followed them till they reached the town. Lieutenant Brumlie was killed, six other officers were hit slightly; and one British non-commissioned officer and three soldiers were killed, and seventy-two men wounded.

After this, no fighting took place until Colonel Willcocks arrived to carry out the main object of the expedition. Convoys of stores, however, kept pouring in incessantly and, to Lisle's delight, a large box of provisions, which he had bought before starting from Cape Coast, arrived.

Then Colonel Neal arrived, with the Sappers. He and his men built a bridge across the Fum. It was twelve feet above the water, but within thirty-six hours it was swept away.

While the troops were waiting, a runner came in and reported that heavy firing had been heard round Coomassie. On the evening of the 30th of June, news came that Colonel Willcocks would start the next morning. He would have but a small escort of fighting men, but a very large number of carriers, to bring in the stores intended for Coomassie.

Colonel Willcocks reached Fum on the night after leaving the Prah. As the supplies were failing at Kwisa, and another post, Captain Melliss took down a convoy to them, with twenty days' rations, and succeeded in doing so without opposition.

Colonel Willcocks pressed on, leaving all baggage behind. The defeat of the Dompoasis had its effect, and the little column joined Colonel Burroughs's men unopposed. The combined force then pushed on, until they arrived at a town under the sway of the King of Bekwai.

Next morning they marched to Bekwai. Here it was decided to evacuate Kwisa, for a time, and bring up the garrison that had been left there.

The next march was laborious, and wet, as usual. The troops marched into the little village of Amoaful, where Sir Garnet Wolseley had fought the decisive battle of his campaign, and saw many relics of the fight. Signal guns were heard, at various times, acquainting the enemy of our advance. The column stayed here for three days, which both soldiers and carriers enjoyed greatly, for the fatigues of the march had fairly worn out even the sturdy and long-enduring British troops.

Colonel Willcocks went forward with his staff to Esumeja, where the three companies, of which the garrison was composed, had already suffered sixty casualties. The Pioneers, some carriers with hatchets, and some of the Esumeja were sent out, a hundred yards down the road to Kokofu, to cut the bush on each side and build two stockades. This was done to deceive the garrison, there, into the belief that we were about to advance on the place by that road.

The ruse succeeded admirably. The general there sent information to the commander-in-chief of the Ashanti army, and the latter at once despatched a considerable number of men to reinforce the garrison. Thus the resistance along the main road was greatly reduced; and the Kokofu, standing on the defensive, did not harass the force upon its march.

On the evening of the 11th, a starving soldier made his way down from the fort with this message:

"Governor broke out, seventeen days ago. Garrison rapidly diminishing by disease, can only last a few more days, on very reduced rations."

Six star shells were fired, that night, to let the garrison know that help was coming, but they never saw them.

At midnight, the last contingent from Northern Nigeria, the Kwisa garrison, and an escort of two companies of the West African contingent arrived. This brought the force up to the regulation strength of one battalion, on its war footing. At sunset the officers were called, and orders were given for the next day's work.

The direction of the march was, even at that moment, a profound secret. The column was to be kept as short as possible, and only two carriers allowed to each officer. Only half rations were to be issued.

At daybreak the advance sounded, and the force moved out. It consisted of a thousand rank and file, sixty white men, seventeen hundred carriers, six guns, and six Maxims. The rain fell in ceaseless torrents. The road was practically an unbroken swamp, and the fatigue and discomfort of the journey were consequently terrible. The Ordah river was in flood, and had to be crossed on a felled tree.

The distance to Pekki, the last Bekwai village, was fifteen miles. It did not lie upon the main road, but that route had been chosen because a shorter extent of hostile country would have to be traversed, and the march thence to Coomassie would be only eleven miles; but it took the relief force nineteen and a half hours to get in, and the rear guard some two hours longer. Darkness fell some hours before they reached their destination and, thence forward, the force struggled on, each holding a man in front of him.

Nothing broke the silence save the trickling of water from the trees overhead, and the squelch of the mud churned up by marching columns. At times they had to wade waist deep in water. The exhausted carriers fell out by dozens, but their loads were picked up and shouldered by soldiers, and not a single one was lost.

The men got what shelter they could in the huts of the village and, in spite of wet and sleeplessness, all turned out cheerfully in the morning. The start was made at eight o'clock, in order that the men might recover a little from the previous day's fatigue.

The enemy's scouts were encountered almost on the outskirts of the village and, in a short time, the advance guard neared the village of Treda. It was a large place, with a very holy fetish tree. It stood on the top of a slope and, long before the rear guard had fallen out at Pekki, it was carried by a brilliant bayonet charge, by the Yorubas and the Sierra Leone frontier police. The enemy fought stubbornly, in the village; but were driven out with only some half-dozen casualties on our part.

Thirty sheep were found in the village, and they were a Godsend, indeed, to the troops. As in every other place, too, numbers of Lee-Metfords, Martinis, and Sniders were found.

Treda was burnt by the rear guard. The Ju-ju house, which was the scene of the native incantations, was pulled down, and the sacred trees felled. The enemy, however, were not discouraged; but hung upon the rear, keeping up a constant fire. Some of them proceeded to attack the Pekki people.

Fighting went on at intervals throughout the day, and it was decided to spend the night in a village that had been taken, after some resistance. This place was less than halfway on the road from Pekki to Coomassie. During the night a tropical deluge fell, and the troops and carriers were, all the time, without shelter.

Late that evening Colonel Willcocks called the white officers together and, for the first time, told them of the plan formed for the advance. He said that, after marching for an hour and a half, they would reach a strong fetish stronghold, where a fierce resistance might be looked for; but the final battle would be fought at the stockades, two hundred yards from the fort. He intended to attack these without encumbrance. A halt would therefore be called, at a spot some distance from the stockades; which would be hastily fortified, with a zereba and a portion of the troops. Here all the carriers and stores would be placed. Then the fighting force would take the stockades, return for the transport, and enter Coomassie. By this means there would be no risk of losing the precious stores and ammunition.

So determined was Colonel Willcocks to reach the forts, at all costs, that he gave orders that, if necessary, all soldiers killed should be left where they fell.

At four o'clock next morning the bugle sounded and, at the first streak of dawn, the column moved off. The march was maintained under a heavy skirmishing fire but, to the general surprise, the fetish town of which Colonel Willcocks had spoken was found deserted. Night was approaching, so that the plan proposed overnight could not be carried out. The troops, therefore, went forward hampered by the whole of the carriers and baggage of the column.

At four o'clock action began, at the point where the Cape Coast and Pekki roads converged towards Coomassie. The Ashantis had taken up a position on slightly rising ground--a position which was favourable to the assailants, as it tended to increase the enemy's inclination to fire high. Each of the roads was barred with massive entrenchments, which stretched across them into the bush, and flanked with breastworks of timber. These obstacles had been originally intended to envelop the garrison. Consequently, the war camps were on the British side of the stockades.

The battle began by a heavy fire, from the bush, upon both flanks of the rear guard. The attack on the left was soon successfully repulsed. On the other side, however, the roar of musketry never ceased, the enemy moving along abreast of the column, protected by a stockade expressly prepared; until they approached the main stockade, where they joined their companions. About fifty yards from the stockades, which were still invisible, a fresh path diverged towards the left; and the officers commanding the scouts were discussing what had best be done, when the enemy poured in a terrific volley from their fortified position in front, slightly wounding one officer and four soldiers. The rest immediately took shelter behind a fallen tree, which was lying across the path.

Colonel Wilkinson, commanding the advance guard, ordered up the guns. These were massed in a semicircle behind the fallen trees, and opened fire on the unseen foe; while the Maxims poured their bullets into the adjacent bush. The reply of the enemy was unceasing and, for an hour and a half, the battle raged, the distance between the combatants being only forty yards. Then Colonel Willcocks gave the order to cease firing and, in a minute, a strange silence succeeded the terrible din. The Ashantis, too, stopped firing, in sheer surprise at the cessation of attack; but soon redoubled their fusillade.

The leading companies moved up and formed in line, to the front and rear flank. Then came the inspiring notes of the charge and, with a cheer, the whole of the advance guard sprang forward into the bush. The dense undergrowth checked the impetus, as the soldiers had to cut their way with their knives but, as they did so, they maintained their deep-toned war song. As they got more into the open, they rushed round and clambered over the stockade; and the enemy, unable to stand the fury of their charge, fled in panic.

As a prolonged pursuit was impossible in the bush, and as daylight was fading, the troops were recalled at once. The first thing to be done was to pull down the stockade along the fetish road, to enable the transport to pass. When this was done, Colonel Willcocks collected the troops nearest to him and moved forward, at their head, along the broad road.

Their delight, when they emerged into the open and saw Coomassie ahead of them, was unbounded. Keeping regular step, though each man was yearning to press forward, they advanced steadily. The silence weighed upon them; and a dread, lest they had arrived too late, chilled the sense of triumph with which they had marched off. At last, the faint notes of a distant bugle sounded the general salute, and a wild burst of cheering greeted the sound. The bugles returned the call with joyous notes. Then the gate opened, and Captain Bishop, Mr. Ralph, and Dr. Hay came out, followed by such few of the brave little garrison as still had strength to walk.

Just at this moment, a great glow was seen in the distance. The flying enemy had fired the Basel Mission. A company therefore started at once, at the double, to drive them off.

The relieving force had, indeed, arrived only just in time. The means of resistance had all been exhausted, and another day would have seen the end. The garrison had held out desperately, in the hope that Colonel Willcocks would be able to fulfil the promise he had sent in, that he would arrive to relieve them on the 15th of July; and he had nobly kept his word to an hour, at the cost of an amount of hard work, privation, hardship, and suffering such as has fallen to the lot of but few expeditions of the kind.

The Ashanti rising was the result of long premeditation and preparation. On the 13th of March, the governor of the Gold Coast, accompanied by Lady Hodgson, left Accra to make a tour of inspection. On his way up country he was received with great friendliness at all the villages and, when he arrived at Coomassie on the 25th, he found a large number of Ashanti kings, who turned out in state to meet him. A triumphal arch had been erected, and a gorgeous procession of kings and chiefs marched past. There was no sign of a cloud in the horizon.

Several days passed quietly, and Sir Frederick Hodgson had several meetings with the chiefs about state matters. Gradually the eyes of the governor's followers, accustomed as they were to savage ways, saw that all was not right; and a wire was despatched, asking for reinforcements of two hundred men. These arrived on the 18th of April.

Captains Armitage and Leggatt, with a small party of soldiers, went out to the neighbouring village to bring in the golden stool. This was regarded by the natives with considerable veneration, and was always used as the throne of the king, as the sign of supreme authority. When they reached the village the party were fired upon, the two officers being wounded; and had to retire without having accomplished their purpose.

It was clear now that rebellion was intended. The native kings were all sounded, and several of them decided to side with us, among them five important leaders. On the 25th the Basel Mission servants were set upon, and several of them killed. The Ashantis then attacked and captured the villages in which the friendly natives and traders lived, and set fire to these and to the cantonment. The refugees, to the number of three thousand five hundred, with two hundred children, crowded round the fort, imploring the mission to allow them to enter.

It was wholly beyond the capacity of the fort to accommodate a tenth of their number. Troops were therefore ordered down from the barracks, and formed a cordon round the fugitives. The fort gate was closed, and a rope ladder led down one of the bastions. In this way, only one individual could enter at a time, and the danger of a rush was obviated.

Close round the walls, huts were erected to shelter the fugitives, who were exposed to all the inclemency of the weather. Thus passed some wretched days and worse nights, sleep being constantly interrupted by alarms, due to the fact that the rebels were in possession of all the buildings in the place, except the fort, many of which they loopholed.

On the 29th a determined attack was made, the enemy advancing boldly across the open, and fighting long and obstinately. Captain Marshall, however, with his two hundred and fifty native troops and friendly levies, taught them such a lesson that they never again tried fighting in the open. A hundred and thirty corpses were found and buried, and many more were carried off, while the fighting was going on.

That evening Captain Apling came in with his little column, but without food and with little ammunition. Aided by these troops, the outlying official buildings were occupied; and the friendly natives lodged in huts a little farther from the fort.

Things remained quiet until the 15th of May, when Major Morris arrived with his force. He too was short of food and ammunition, and famine already began to stare the beleaguered garrison in the face. Meanwhile the enemy had been busy erecting stockades, to bar every outlet from Coomassie. Many attempts were made to take these entrenchments; but they always failed, as they could not be pushed home, owing to want of ammunition; and the troops became, to some extent, demoralized by want of success.

Although the food had been carefully husbanded, it was running perilously low. Rations consisted of one and a half biscuits, and five ounces of preserved meat, per day. Five ponies, brought up by Major Morris, and a few cows kept at the Residency were killed and eaten. A few luxuries could still be bought from the native traders, but at prodigious prices. A spoonful of whisky cost 2 shillings, a seven-pound tin of flour 6 shillings, a box of matches 2 shillings, and a small tin of beef 2 pounds, 16 shillings.

The refugees fared much worse. They had no reserve of food, and foraging was next to impossible. As a result, they died at the rate of thirty and forty a day.

When only three and a half days' rations were left, it was decided that something must be done, and a council of war was called. It was then agreed that those who could walk should make a dash for it; and that a garrison of three Europeans, and a hundred rank and file, should be left behind. For these twenty-three days' rations could be left.

Major Morris, as senior officer, was to command the sortie. The direct road down to the Cape was barred by a great force of the rebels, and he therefore chose the road that would lead to the Denkera country. If that could be reached, they would be in a friendly country. The line to be taken was kept a profound secret, and was not revealed until ten o'clock on the evening before starting. The force consisted of six hundred soldiers, with a hundred and fifty rounds of ammunition a man, seven hundred carriers, and about a thousand refugees.

There was a mist in the morning, and the garrison who were to remain made a feint, to direct the enemy's attention to the main road. The column was not engaged until it reached a strong breastwork, at Potasi. This was taken after a severe fight; and Captain Leggatt, who commanded the vanguard, was mortally wounded. Four men were also killed, and there were nine other casualties.

A part of the stockade was pulled away, and the force moved forward. It was constantly attacked on the way and, on one occasion, Captain Marshall was seriously wounded in the head. Numbers of soldiers, refugees, and carriers fell out from exhaustion, and had to be left behind. Nearly all the carriers threw away their loads, and the men who carried the hammocks of the two ladies found themselves unable to support the weight.

The night was spent at Terrabum, eighteen miles from Coomassie; some two thousand human beings being crowded into the village, in a deluge. The soldiers were posted round the camp, in the form of a square.

The second day was a repetition of the first--heavy rain, muddy roads; dying soldiers, carriers, and refugees; attacks by the enemy. Twelve miles farther were made that day.

Thus seven days were passed. Captains Marshall and Leggatt both died. The ladies bore their trials wonderfully, as they had to tramp with the rest, along the miry track. At last Ekwanter, in the friendly Denkera country, was reached, and the force rested for two days. They then set out again and, after a terrible march, in the course of which they had to cross many swollen rivers, they arrived, two weeks after they had left Coomassie, half starved and worn out, on the coast.

In the meantime the three white officers, Captain Bishop of the Gold Coast Constabulary, Assistant Inspector Ralph, Lagos Constabulary, and Doctor Hay, medical officer, remained behind, with a hundred and fifteen Hausas, few of whom were fit for the task of holding the fort. After the departure of the column, the Ashantis swarmed down on the fort, thinking that it was entirely evacuated. They were met, however, with a heavy fire from the Maxims, and soon withdrew.

The first duty of Captain Bishop was to tell off the men to their posts. The soldiers who were to man the guns were ordered to sleep beside them. The ammunition was examined, and found to amount to a hundred and seventy rounds a man. The rations were calculated, and divided up for the twenty-three days that they were intended to last.

Attempts were then made to burn the native shanties, for sanitary reasons. They were so soaked, however, with water, that all attempts to burn them failed; till June 27th, when a short break in the rain enabled them to be fired. When they were all burned down, the Residency windows on the windward side were opened, for the first time.

Sickness, unfortunately, broke out very soon; and three of the little band died on the first day. This rate mounted higher and higher, and at last smallpox broke out. So dismal was the prospect that the men sank into a dull despair.

A few women traders hawked their wares outside the fort. A little cocoa, worth a farthing, cost 15 shillings; plantains were 1 pound, 6 shillings each; and a small pineapple fetched 15 shillings. The men received 3 shillings daily, in place of half a biscuit, when biscuits ran short; and this ready cash was willingly bartered for anything eatable.

Three heart-breaking weeks passed thus. Two-thirds of the troops had been buried outside the fort, the remainder were almost too weak to stand. When the food was all gone, it was arranged that they should go out to forage in the darkness, each man for himself. The three white men, each with a dose of poison, always stuck together and, come what might, agreed not to fall alive into the hands of the enemy.

However, on 14th July reports were brought in that firing had been heard. The news seemed too good to be true, but an old native officer declared that he had heard distant volleys. It was not until four o'clock on the next day, however, that a continuous and tremendous roar of guns convinced them that a relief column was at hand. The three imprisoned officers opened their last comfort, a half bottle of champagne, and drank success to their comrades. Several of the troops died while the fighting was going on, the excitement being too much for their weakened frames.

At last the Ashantis were seen flying in terror. Then the two buglers blew out the general salute, time after time till, at six o'clock, the head of the relief column came in view. The gate was thrown open, and those of the little garrison who were able to stand went out, to welcome their rescuers.

Five star shells were fired, to tell those left behind at Ekwanter that the relief was accomplished. Then the outlying quarters were occupied, and all slept with the satisfaction that their struggles and efforts had not been in vain, and that they had succeeded in relieving Coomassie.

Chapter 17: Stockades And War Camps.

"Well, Hallett, here we are," Lisle said the next morning, "and thank God neither of us is touched, except perhaps by a few slugs. Of these, however, I dare say the surgeon will rid us this morning. It has been a big affair and, if we live to a hundred years, we are not likely to go through such another."

"I wish you would not be so confoundedly cheerful," Hallett said, gloomily; "we have got to go down again, and the Kokofu are to be dealt with. We shall probably have half a dozen more battles. The rain, too, shows no signs of giving up, and we shall have to tramp through swamps innumerable, ford countless rivers and, I dare say, be short of food again before we have done. As to going through such work again, my papers will be sent in at the first hint that I am likely to have to take part in it."

"All of which means, Hallett, that just at the present moment a reaction has set in; and I will guarantee that, if you had a thoroughly good breakfast, and finished it off with a pint of champagne, you would see matters in a different light, altogether."

"Don't talk of such things," Hallett said, feebly; "it is a dream, a mere fantasy. It doesn't seem to me, at present, a possibility that such a meal could fall to my lot.

"Look at me, look at my wasted figure! I weighed nearly fourteen stone, when we started; I doubt whether I weigh ten, now."

"All the better, Hallett. When I first saw you, on shore at Liverpool, I said to myself that you were as fat as a pig.

"'He would be a fine-looking young fellow,' I said, 'if he could get some of it off. I suppose it is good living and idleness that has done it.'"

Hallett laughed.

"Well, perhaps I need not grumble at that; but the worst of it is that I have always heard that, when a fellow loses on active service, he is sure to make it up again, and perhaps a stone more, after it is over."

"Yes, it is clear that you will have to diet, when you get home. No more savoury dishes, no more champagne suppers; just a cut of a joint, a few vegetables, and a ten-mile walk after."

"Don't talk of such things," Hallett said, impatiently; "rather than live as you say, I would put up with carrying sixteen stone about with me. What is the use of living, if you are to have no satisfaction out of life?"

"Well, Hallett, my advice to you in that case is, make love to some young lady, directly you reach England; and marry her in a month, before you have begun to assume elephantine proportions. Once hooked, you know, she cannot sue for divorce, on the ground that you have taken her in; and she will have to put up with you, whatever size you may attain."

"Look here, Bullen," Hallett said seriously, "I know you mean well, but the subject is a very sore one with me. However, seriously, I will try to keep my fat down. If I fail I fail, and shall of course send in my papers; for I don't care to be made a butt of, by young subalterns like yourself. The subaltern has no sense of what is decent and what is not, and he spares no one with his attempts at wit."

"Why, you are a subaltern yourself, Hallett!"

"I am within two of the top of the list, please to remember, and you have still four above you, and I am therefore your superior officer. I have put aside youthful folly, and have prepared myself for the position of captain of a company. I make great allowances for you. You will please to remember that you are five years my junior, and owe me a certain share of respect."

"Which I am afraid you will never get," Lisle said, laughingly. "I should as soon think of acting respectfully towards a Buddhist image, simply because it is two thousand years old. However, since the subject is so painful to you, I will try not to allude to it again.

"Is there anything you would wish me to do, sir? I have no doubt I shall have plenty of work to do, but I dare say I shall be able to find time to do anything my senior officer may require."

"Get out, you young scamp," Hallett growled, "or I shall throw--" and he looked round "--I don't see what there is to throw."

"Hallett, I am afraid that this rest is going to do you harm. I have found you a very companionable fellow, up to now; but it is clear that a night's rest and high living have done you more harm than good."

So saying, with a laugh, Lisle put on his helmet and went out.

There was, as he said, much to do. Everywhere there were proofs of the rigidness of the siege. Even in the houses in which they were quartered, which had been occupied by the enemy, the walls were pitted with bullets.

At eight o'clock a party of men went out, to destroy the stockades and burn the enemy's camps. In the one in which the Ashanti commander in chief had his headquarters were found over a thousand huts and bamboo camp beds.

The troops now saw the method of investment for the first time. It consisted in making large entrenchments, to barricade all the roads and tracks. In the bush between these were similar stockades, to complete the circle of fortifications and afford flank defences. All these were joined by a wide path; so that, as soon as one position was attacked, it was reinforced by those to right and left.

The remainder of the troops and carriers were engaged in trying to remedy the shockingly insanitary condition of the place. The staff were employed in examining the matter of stores and provisions, ammunition, and medical comforts; which were to be left behind for the relieving garrison. The labourers worked in relays, as did the rest of the soldiers.

High grass had grown almost up to the fort walls, and had to be cut down. While this was being done, skeletons and corpses in all states of decomposition were met with. Almost all had died of starvation. At first the bodies of those who died had been buried, but latterly their friends had become too weak to perform this office; and the poor wretches had crawled a few yards into the jungle, to die quietly. Such numbers of bodies were found that they had, at last, to be burned in heaps. Few, indeed, of the four thousand fugitives who had gathered round the fort, reached the coast with the force that had fought their way out.

The doctors were busy all day with the refugees, the old garrison, the thirty casualties from the fight of the day before, and several white men down with fever.

The Ashantis had burnt all the cantonments of friendly natives, but had left the old palace of Prempeh uninjured. This structure was burnt during the day.

The order for officers to assemble was sounded in the evening, and it was arranged that the return march was to start at four on the following morning. The coveted post of leading the column was given to a company of the West African Frontier Force.

They were a little sorry that they were so soon to leave the place. The fort itself was a handsome, square stone building, with towers at the four corners. The resident's quarters had a balcony, and excellent rooms. There was also, of course, barrack accommodation, store rooms, and a well. Quick-firing guns were mounted on the circular bastions. The surrounding buildings were bungalows, with broad verandahs; and the force would have been well pleased to remain for a few days, and enjoy the comforts provided for them.

The force to be left was under the command of Major Eden; and consisted of three officers, one doctor, three British non-commissioned officers, a hundred and fifty men of the West African Frontier Force, and a few Gold Coast Constabulary gunners; with fifty-four days' rations, and a plentiful supply of ammunition.

The column was a terribly long one, owing to the enormous number of invalids, wounded, women, and children. They halted for the night at the village halfway to Pekki. The villages on the road were all burnt down, to prevent opposition next time we passed; and all crops were destroyed. This work the soldiers quite enjoyed. Continued explosions occurred during the burning of the huts, showing how large an amount of ammunition the natives possessed.

Next night they arrived at Pekki. The king had prepared a market, so that the starving force got a more substantial supper than usual. Here the column was to divide. Colonel Willcocks was to go straight through to Bekwai; while the second portion, with the wounded and cripples, was to take two days.

They halted at Bekwai for two or three days, to give rest to the soldiers; a large proportion of whom were suffering from coughs, sore throats, and fever, the result of their hardships. Two thousand carriers were sent to fetch up more stores.

Preparations were then made for an attack on Kokofu, which was a serious menace to the troops going up or down. The column for this purpose, which was under General Moreland, consisted of six companies, which were to be brought up to eight. With three of the larger guns and two seven-pounders, they started for Esumeja on the 22nd. The force was a compact one, the only carriers allowed being one to each white man, to take up some food and a blanket. Major Melliss commanded the advance.

They marched rapidly, as it was all important to take the enemy by surprise. Some distance short of Kokofu, they stopped for breakfast. Then the officers were assembled and, when the plan of attack had been formed, the column moved cautiously on.

The place was only a mile away, so that an attack was momentarily expected. The troops entered a deserted village, and there halted. A few sentries were thrown out, and the colonel held a short council of war with Major Melliss and two of his other officers. After some discussion, it was decided that a Hausa company should go on, and rush the stockade with the bayonet, without firing. If they carried it, they were to proceed along the river bank beyond, and so place themselves as to cover the advance of the guns.

The scouts were called in; and the Hausa company set off, in fours, along the path. When they had marched a hundred yards, the little band that formed the advance signalled that they made out something ahead and, when they rounded the next sharp turn of the road they saw, not thirty yards away, a great six-foot stockade, extending far into the bush on either side. It lay halfway down a gentle slope, a situation which favoured the assailants for, naturally, the hill would increase the impetus of the charge.

The order was sent down in a whisper, "Stockade ahead, prepare to charge."

The men kept together as closely as possible. The buglers rang out the charge and, with a shout, the Hausas rushed at the stockade. In an instant the white leaders scaled the timbers, and the men followed at their heels.

To their astonishment, the place was empty. The surprise was complete. It was clear that the enemy had no information, whatever, of their approach; and the guard from the stockade had gone to feed, with their companions, in the war camp.

The bugle had told them what was coming and, with a roar, thousands of black figures dashed up towards the stockade. There was nothing for it but to charge and, with fixed bayonets, the Hausas dashed forward, regardless of the heavy fire with which they were met.

Enormously as they outnumbered their assailants, the sight of the glittering bayonets and the cheers of the Hausas were too much for the enemy. Those in front, after a few more shots, turned and fled; the Hausas following in hot pursuit. The river turned out to be of no depth; and it had not, as reported, a parapet for defending the passage. Hard as the Hausas tried to overtake the enemy, the Ashantis, being fleeter of foot, kept ahead but, though the shouting and running were beginning to tell on the pursuers, still they held on.

The path gradually became firmer; and suddenly, when they turned a corner, there was Kokofu in front of them. From almost every house, running for their lives, were naked Ashantis. The sight restored the men's strength; and they redoubled their efforts, with the result that they killed some thirty of the enemy.

The pursuit was maintained until they reached the other end of the town. Then the company was halted. The officers had difficulty in restraining their men, who implored them to press on in pursuit; but a general permission to do so could not be given. No one knew whether the main column had followed them; and it was possible, too, that the Ashantis might rally and return. Half the company, however, were permitted to continue the pursuit, and to keep the Ashantis on the run.

With shouts of delight, the men darted off in the darkness. In a short time they were recalled, and the company then marched back to the centre of the town. Here they found that the main body had come in. Two companies had been sent out, right and left into the bush, to keep down sniping fire, and hurry the enemy's retreat. Pickets and sentries had been thrown out round the town. Soldiers were eating the food that the enemy had cooked. Piles of loot were being dragged out of the houses; among which were quantities of loaded guns, rifles, and powder barrels. The native soldiers were almost mad with delight; and were dancing, singing, and carrying each other shoulder high, shouting songs of triumph.

But short time could be allowed for rejoicing. The various company calls were sounded and, when the men were gathered, the town was methodically razed, and a collection of over two hundred guns were burnt.

The troops, however, had reason for their joy. The Kokofu army of some six thousand men, who had repulsed two previous attacks, were a mass of fugitives. In the course of one week, the Ashantis had suffered two crushing defeats in their strongest positions.

As soon as the work was done, the force set out on their return march. Their appearance differed widely from that of the men who had silently, and in good order, advanced. Scarcely a man, white or black, was not loaded with some token of the victory. All were laughing, or talking, or singing victorious songs.

A halt was made, to destroy the stockade and the war camp. The former was found to be extremely strong and, had it been manned by the enemy, the work of capturing it would have been very serious, indeed.

When they arrived at Esumeja, the garrison there could scarcely believe that the success had been so complete, and so sudden. Bekwai was reached as twilight was beginning, and here the whole of the garrison, with Colonel Willcocks at its head, was drawn up to receive them. The men were heartily cheered; and the Hausa company, which had done such splendid service, were halted and congratulated by Colonel Willcocks. Then after three cheers the force, which had been on foot for sixteen hours, was dismissed, and returned to its quarters.

"Well, Hallett, how do you feel?"

"Better," Hallett said. "I felt tired enough, after the march there but, somehow, I forgot all about it directly the fight began. Everyone was so delighted and cheery that, really, I came in quite fresh."

"I knew it would be so," Lisle said. "It has been a glorious day and, if you had come in moping, I should have given you up as hopeless."

"And I give you up as hopeless, the other way," Hallett replied. "You always seem brimming over with fun; even when, as far as I can see, there is nothing to be funny about."

"Well, it really has been a glorious victory; and I only wish we had both been with the Hausa company who first attacked. They really won the game off their own bat, for we had nothing to do but to pick up the spoil.

"There was not much worth carrying away, but I am glad of some little memento of the fight. I got the chief's stool. I don't quite know what I am going to do with it, yet; but I shall try to get my servant to carry it along; and it will come in handy, to sit down upon, when we encamp in a swamp.

"What did you manage to get?"

"I picked up a small rifle, a very pretty weapon. Do you know, I quite approve of the regulation, in South Africa, that officers should carry rifles instead of swords. I have never been able to understand why we should drag about swords, which are of no use whatever while, with rifles, we could at least pot some of the enemy; instead of standing, looking like fools, while the men are doing all the work."

"I agree with you, there. In the Tirah campaign I, several times, got hold of the rifles of fallen men, and did a little shooting on my own account. Officers would all make themselves good shots, if they knew that shooting would be of some value; and even three officers, with a weak company, could do really valuable service. I certainly found it so, when I was with the Punjabis. Of course, I was not an officer; but I was a really good shot with a rifle, and succeeded in potting several Pathan chiefs."

"I suppose," Hallett said, mournfully, "that about the time when I leave the army as a general, common sense will prevail; and the sword will be done away with, except on state occasions."

"It is very good of you to look so far ahead, Hallett. It shows that you have abandoned the idea of leaving the army, even if you again put on flesh.

"I rather wonder that you should modestly confine yourself to retiring as a general. Why not strive for the position of a field marshal, who has the possibility of becoming commander in chief? It may be, old fellow that, if you shake yourself together, you may yet attain these dignities. You were always very jovial, on board ship; and I trust that, when we get out of this horrible country, you will regain your normal spirits."

"I am not so sure that I shall get out of the country; for I often feel disposed to brain you, when you won't let me alone; and I fear that, one of these days, I may give way to the impulse."

"You would have to catch me, first," Lisle laughed; "and as I believe that I could run three feet to your one, your chance of carrying out so diabolical an impulse would be very small.

"But here is the boy with our supper, which we have fairly earned, and to which I shall certainly do justice.

"What have you got, boy?"

"Half a tin of preserved meat, sah, done up with curry."

"Let us eat, with thankfulness.

"How much more curry have we got, boy?"

"Three bottles, sah."

"Thank goodness!" said Hallett, "that will last for some time; for really, tinned beef by itself, when a man is exhausted, is difficult to get down. I really think that we should address a round robin to the P.M.O., begging him to order additional medical comforts, every night."

"You are belying yourself, Hallett. You have taken things very well as they came, whatever they might be; save for a little grumbling, which does no harm to anyone and, I acknowledge, amuses me very much."

"I have no expectation or design," Hallett grumbled, "but it seems to amuse you. However, I suppose I must put up with it, till the end."

"I am afraid you will have to do so, Hallett. It is good for you, and stirs you up; and I shall risk that onslaught you spoke of, as we go down to the coast again."

"When will that be, Lisle?"

"I have not the smallest idea. I should imagine that we shall stay, and give these fellows thrashing after thrashing, until we have completely knocked the fight out of them. That won't be done in a day or two. Probably those we have defeated will gather again, in the course of a day or two; and we shall have to give them several lickings, before we dispose of them altogether."

The news of the victory at Kokofu spread fast, and the Denkeras poured in to join the native levies. There was now a pause, while preparations were made for a systematic punitive campaign. Captain Wright was sent down to Euarsi, where three thousand Denkera levies had been collected; and superintended the cutting down of the crops in the Adansi country, to the south and west. The Akim levies were to act similarly, in flank, under the command of Captains Willcocks and Benson; while a third body of levies, under Major Cramer, guarded the upper district. A company was sent to Kwisa to guard the main road, which was now reopened for traffic.

Convoys went up and down along the entire route, bringing up supplies of all sorts; but those going north of Fumsu still required strong escorts. Large parties went out foraging, almost daily, to villages and farms for miles round. These bodies were compact fighting forces, and took out considerable numbers of unladen carriers.

When a village was found the troops surrounded it, while the carriers searched it for hidden stores. Then they would march away to other villages, until every carrier had a load; when the force would return, and store the results of the raid.

The remnants of the reconcentrating Ashanti army were reported to be somewhere in the bush, east of Dompoasi. It was necessary to clear them out before the Adansi country could be subdued, and the line of communication be at all safe. Consequently a flying column--of four hundred of the West African Field Force, one large and one small gun of the West Indian Rifles, to be joined by the Kwisa company--was despatched, under the command of Major Beddoes, against the enemy. They had to strike out into the bush by almost unknown roads, and great difficulties were encountered. Fortunately, however, they captured a prisoner, who consented to lead them to the enemy's camp, on condition that his life would be spared.

Three days later, an advance was made on the camp. The column had hardly started when they were attacked. The enemy held a strong series of fortified positions; but these were captured, one after another.

A couple of miles farther, they again met with opposition. The enemy, this time, occupied the bank of a stream. The Maxims at once opened fire on them, and did such great execution that the Ashantis rapidly became demoralized, and fled. Close to the rear of this spot was found a newly-constructed stockade, some three hundred yards in length; but the fugitives continued their flight without stopping to man it.

When they advanced a little farther, the force was severely attacked on all sides. The enemy pushed up to within a few yards of our men. Once they even attempted to rush the seven pounder; but were repulsed by the heavy volleys of the West Indian Rifles, who were serving it. Lieutenant Phillips and Lieutenant Swabey were severely wounded, and two other officers slightly so. The Adansis made another desperate attempt to cover their camp, and they were not finally driven back until nearly dusk.

It was found that the rebels had discovered the advance of Major Cramer's levies while they were still a day's journey away. They were, therefore, not only anxious to repulse our force, so that they could fall upon the other one; but were fighting a splendid rear action, so as to cover the retreat of their women, children, and property, which had been gathered there under the belief that the existence of the camp was unknown to us.

Meanwhile, at Bekwai, the list of sick and invalids steadily increased; and every convoy that went down to the coast was accompanied by a number of white and black victims to the climate. The kits of the men who died realized enormous prices. A box that contained three cakes of soap fetched 27 shillings, and a box of twenty-five cheroots 2 pounds, 2 shillings.

On the 31st of July a runner arrived, from Pekki, stating that the town was going to be attacked in force, the next evening, as a punishment for the assistance it had rendered the white men. Major Melliss was accordingly ordered to proceed thither the following morning with two guns, a Hausa company with a Maxim, and a column of carriers. They were to remain there a day, and put the place in a state of defence; and then they would be joined by a force under Colonel Burroughs, which was to complete the relief of Coomassie, by doubling its garrison and supply of stores.

The little party started, and tramped along the intervening fifteen miles much more comfortably than usual; as the rains had temporarily ceased, and the track had been greatly improved by the kings of Bekwai and Pekki. There was great difficulty in crossing the bridge over the Ordah river, but the guns were at last taken over safely, and they arrived at Pekki at half-past four in the afternoon.

They were received with delight by the villagers, who had been in a state of terrible fear. The war chief put his house at the disposal of the officers. Fortunately, no attack was made by the Ashantis. Hasty fortifications were erected, and a rough bamboo barracks built for the force. Here, for the first time since the beginning of the campaign, the Hausas received a small issue of meat, and their delight was unbounded.

Some scouts, who had been sent out in the neighbourhood of the town, brought in a wounded Hausa who had been left behind in the governor's retreat and, for six weeks, had managed to hide himself in the bush, and live upon roots that he found at night.

On the afternoon of the 4th of August, Colonel Burroughs and his force arrived; bringing with him a fresh half battalion of the Central African Regiment, with two large guns and two seven-pounders. This raised the total strength to seven hundred and fifty. It was decided that it would be necessary to proceed without delay to Coomassie; for no signals had been received from the fort, for two successive Sundays, and there was a rumour that the Ashantis had again attacked it. The column therefore moved forward, next day.

The garrison, when they arrived, was to be brought up to three hundred soldiers and ten white men; the stockades round Coomassie were to be destroyed; and then the relief column were to fight their way down the main road, which had been hitherto closed for all traffic.

At first the column met with no opposition but, when they reached Treda, the people of that place fired heavily upon them. After driving these off the force proceeded, but were soon met by an Ashanti force. They attacked only the transport and hospital, and their tactics were clever. They had formed a series of ambushes, connected by a broad path. The head of the column was allowed to pass, unattacked; then the carriers were fired into heavily and, when the tail of the column passed, they ran along the path to the next ambush and renewed their tactics.

Their plan, however, was soon discovered and, in order to checkmate it, a gun was placed in the path, crammed with case shot, the infantry were got ready to fire in volleys, and a Maxim ranged for rapid fire. Presently the enemy were seen, hurrying along to occupy the next ambush; and the big gun poured its contents into their midst, while the troops fired well-directed volleys at them and, when they fled in confusion down the path, the Maxim swept numbers of them away. The attacks immediately ceased, and the column proceeded on its way; rejoicing that, for once, they had beaten the Ashantis at their own game.

They arrived at the fort at six o'clock in the evening; and found that, although the garrison had been harassed by sniping, no serious attack had been made upon them. It was known that there were still four stockades occupied by the Ashantis; and it was decided that two columns, each three hundred strong, should sally out the next morning, and each carry two of the fortifications. The companies under Lisle and Hallett formed part of the force under Major Melliss, which was to destroy the stockade on the Bantama road; while the other, under Major Cobbe, was to attack that near the Kimtampo road. After this had been done, arrangements were to be made for the attack on the other two stockades.

The start was made at ten o'clock. At first everything went well. The Basel Mission House was passed and, as they marched on without seeing any signs of life, it was believed that no opposition would be met with. They advanced, however, with great caution. Suddenly, news was sent back from the advance guard that the village of Bantama had been sighted, just ahead; and that the enemy were running out from it. The force advanced, and found the fires in the village still burning. At the other end the track through it divided; but the defiance signal, a large vulture lying spread-eagle fashion, showed the line the fugitives had pursued. This was followed and, in a short time, a stockade was seen at the foot of a slope, some eighty yards away.

How far it extended into the bush on either side, there was no means of knowing; nor could it be ascertained whether it was defended, for no signs of life were visible. The carriers were ordered to bring up the Maxim but, before they could get the parts of the gun off their heads, a deafening volley flashed out from the stockade. Several of the carriers fell, wounded by the slugs, and the rest fled.

The little weapon, however, was soon put together, and opened fire. But rifle bullets were useless against a six-foot tree trunk. The enemy, moreover, were firing on our flank, and it was thought that they might be working round to attack the rear. An effort was therefore made to cut a path through the bush, under the impression that it was not so thick inside. The jungle grass, however, prevented this from being carried out, and the heavy gun was therefore ordered up.

When it began to play upon the fort, as far as could be determined, the enemy's fire grew momentarily heavier. Then it was seen that a number of men were firing from a high tree, in the rear of the stockade. Colour Sergeant Foster turned a Maxim upon it. He was severely wounded on the left shoulder, but he said nothing about it, and poured such a shower of lead into the tree that it was, at once, deserted by the enemy.

The din was deafening. Every white man belonging to the leading company had been hit, and the ground near the gun and Maxim was strewn with the dead and dying.

Major Melliss gave the word:

"Mass the buglers, form up left company, and both charge!"

The buglers stood up, waiting for the word to blow. One of them was instantly wounded but, though the blood was streaming down his face, he stuck to his work. The word "Sound the way!" was given, and the Hausas sprang wildly forward and dashed down the slope, Major Melliss at their head.

Contrary to custom, the Ashantis were not terrified at the sight of the bayonets and, through their loopholes, kept up a heavy fire. The assailants, however, soon reached the stockade. Two white men scrambled up the timbers, which were slippery with blood; and jumped down, eight feet, on the other side, where they were soon joined by numbers of their men. The enemy, however, stood their ground bravely, and there was a fierce hand-to-hand fight. But the bayonet did its work; and the enemy, who were getting more and more outnumbered, at last turned and fled, hotly pursued by the victors.

A turn in the path revealed the war camp. It was an enormous one, but already the last of its garrison were disappearing in the forest, taking any path that afforded a chance of safety. The assembly sounded, and the pursuit was abandoned; as another company came forward, at a steady double, with orders to proceed up the road to the next village. This they were to burn, and then return to the war camp.

The work of destroying the war camp at once began. The troops lined its outskirts, while the carriers cut down and burnt the huts. Then a party set to work to pull down the stockades, which turned out to be nearly three hundred yards long, and crescent shaped--a fact that explained why we had suffered so severely from crossfire.

At last, sheets of flame showed that the work was accomplished, and the company that had gone on in advance returned, and reported the destruction of the village behind. The little force then gathered, and proceeded to Bantama, a sacred village at which human sacrifices had been perpetrated, for centuries. This place was razed to the ground.

On the left, the sound of continuous firing told that Major Cobbe was still heavily engaged. There was, however, no means of moving through the bush to his assistance. The force therefore returned to the fort.

It was late before the firing ceased, and Major Cobbe's column came in, with the wounded on hammocks and stretchers. The first two signal shots had slightly wounded Major Cobbe and a white colour sergeant. After a prolonged fight, the former had finally turned the right of the enemy's position, with two companies of the Central African Regiment; but lost heavily, owing to the thick grass and slow progress.

Meanwhile the West African company had engaged a stockade similar to the one we had rushed, but horseshoe in form. Thus our men had been almost completely surrounded by a circle of fire. When, however, the flanking movement had at last been completed, the enemy were charged simultaneously from the front and flank, whereupon they broke and fled. The large war camp behind had been looted and burnt, and the stockade pulled down. The guns had failed to penetrate this, and the defenders were only driven out at the point of the bayonet, after a fight of two hours' duration.

The loss had been heavy. Half a dozen white officers were wounded, and seventeen Sikhs had been killed or wounded, out of a total of fifty who had gone into action. The total casualties mounted up to seventy.

Chapter 18: A Night Surprise.

With the exception of replenishing the supplies of ammunition, cleaning rifles, and burying the dead, nothing further was done that afternoon. In the evening a consultation was held, in the fort, among the principal officers. The situation was a difficult one. An immense amount of ammunition had been expended, and it was decided that it was out of the question to draw upon the supplies that had been sent up for the garrison. There were still two strongly-entrenched positions, and strong opposition was anticipated to the clearing of the main road. Every round would, therefore, be required for this work. This seemed to preclude the idea of taking the other two stockades.

The choice therefore remained of making the assault upon these, and then returning through Pekki; or of leaving them and going back by the main road, the route laid down in their instructions. Neither of these plans was satisfactory, for each left half the programme undone.

It was suggested that a night attack might be attempted. In that case, not a shot must be fired, and the attack must be made by the bayonet alone. The moon rose early, and it was almost high at eight o'clock.

Of course, it was extremely risky to venture upon such a plan, with superstitious black troops. The object of assault, however, could be located the next day, and the danger of losing their way would thereby be reduced to a minimum. Further, it was decided that no dependence, whatever, be placed on any native guide. Finally, it would be eminently undesirable to leave Coomassie again in a state of siege.

It was clear that only one of the stockades could be carried in this manner, as the other would be placed on its guard. It was therefore decided that the one on the Accra-Coomassie road was the most suitable; first because it joined the main road to Cape Coast, and secondly because the capture of the stockade would isolate the remaining one on the Ejesu road, which the Ashantis would probably abandon, as both the adjacent camps had fallen into our hands.

As the result of this decision Captain Loch was sent out, at twelve o'clock on the following day, to reconnoitre the position. His men, by creeping through the tall grass and clambering among the tall trees, succeeded in reaching a large cotton tree within seventy yards of the enemy's entrenchment. Climbing this, they obtained a good view of the enemy's stockade and camp behind it.

At that moment a roar of voices was heard, and hostile scouts poured out from the camp. The object of the expedition, however, had been attained; and the soldiers retired rapidly, without casualties.

At five in the afternoon the officers assembled at Colonel Burroughs's quarters. Here the details of the work were explained to them. They were to fall in at eight o'clock, and deliver the attack between nine and ten. The Maxims were to follow in rear of the infantry, and no other guns were to be taken.

Only five hundred men were selected to go. Captain Loch's company were to take the lead, as a reward for the scouting they had done in the morning. Major Melliss' company was to follow. The companies in the rear were to move to the flanks, when the stockade had been taken, so as to guard against an attack from the other war camp.

An early meal was taken, and then the officers sallied out for a last inspection of the company; which was, by this time, assembling outside the fort gate. Silently the troops fell into their allotted position. Then the word was passed down the line that all was ready. The officers gave their final orders to the men--no smoking, no talking, no noise, no firing, bayonet only. As if nothing unusual was occurring, the bugle from the fort sounded the last post.

At the start the pace was for some time good but, after passing Prempeh's palace, the road became a tortuous track and, at every yard, the tall grass became thicker and, here and there, a fallen tree lay across the path. The dead silence that prevailed rendered every one nervous. At last they came in sight of the great cotton tree. Here all halted, and crouched down.

Two leading companies formed up and were awaiting orders when, suddenly, two signal guns were fired and, instantly, the line of timbers was lit up by a glare of fire, and a crashing volley of slugs was poured in. Lieutenant Greer, who was in front of the column, fell, seriously wounded. Then, with a shout of rage that almost drowned the order, "Charge!" they leapt to their feet and dashed forward.

Nothing could stop the impetuous charge and, when they reached the stockade, they scaled it and poured headlong over it. In front of them was the war camp, through which ran a road, now crowded with the panic-stricken defenders. As the enemy ran from their huts, they were cut down in numbers with swords and bayonets. The din was tremendous; yells, shouts, and groans rent the air. The path was strewn with corpses.

The headlong race continued. Three villages had been passed, but there was a fort behind. This also was carried. Then there was a halt, on account of the exhaustion caused by the speed with which all had run. There was no fear that the panic-stricken foe would rally; but there was the possibility of a counter attack, by the Ashantis from the war camp to the left; for it was not known that the panic had spread to these, also, and that they too had fled in disorder, never to return.

The four camps were burnt, one after another; the stockades pulled down; and the force, still half mad with the excitement of the fight, marched back to the fort. The number of casualties was very small. Hardly one, indeed, had taken place, except those caused by the first volley of the enemy.

In one of the houses they entered, a child was found asleep. It had been left behind, and had not been aroused by the noise. Terrified as it awoke, it clung to a white man for protection, and was taken by him to a place of safety.

The force reached camp at eleven o'clock, having accomplished their work with a success altogether beyond expectation. At eight o'clock next morning, the column paraded for its march down. All the wounded who were unfit for duty were left in the fort.

Not long after the start, the scouts sighted another stockade. The troops formed up for the attack; but they found, to their surprise, that it was deserted. Both the stockade and the war camp behind were destroyed, without opposition.

Pressing forward they passed entrenchment after entrenchment, but all were deserted. River after river was forded, breast high, but no enemy was met with; although some of the entrenchments were exceedingly formidable, and could not have been carried without very heavy loss.

The scouts captured a young girl, from whom valuable information was obtained. She had been sent out, like many of the other women, to get supplies for the army at Ejesu, where the queen mother was. It appeared that the queen had been greatly upset by the night attack, and the capture of all the entrenchments; and had collected all her chiefs to decide what had best be done, now that the siege of Coomassie had been raised. Then it was understood why the advance had not been opposed. But for this council, we should have found every stockade occupied in force.

The expedition pushed on, and arrived at Bekwai without having to fire a shot. The garrison there was formed up to receive and cheer them and, what was still more appreciated, a ration of fresh meat and another round of medical comforts were served out.

"Well, Bullen," Hallett said, the next morning, "here we are again. I wonder how long we shall get to rest our wearied bodies."

"For my part," said Lisle, "I sha'n't be sorry when we are afoot again. It has been hard work, and there has been some tough fighting; but anything is better than being stuck in one of these dreary towns. Fortunately we have both escaped bullets, and have merely had a slight peppering of slugs and, as we have both been put down in the reports as slightly wounded, on three occasions, we may feel grateful, as it always does a fellow good to be mentioned in the casualty list; and it should help you to attain that position we spoke of, the other day, of commander-in-chief."

"I renounce that dream utterly, and aspire to nothing higher than colonel. It must really be an awful bore to be commander-in-chief. Fancy having to go down to your office every morning, and go into all sorts of questions, and settle all sorts of business. No, I think that, when I get to be a colonel, my aspirations will be satisfied."

"I don't know that I should care even about being a colonel, Hallett. Long before I get to that rank, I am sure that I should have had quite enough of fighting to last for a lifetime, and would be quite content to settle down in some little place at home."

"And marry, of course. A fellow like you would be sure to be able to pick up a wife with money. My thoughts don't incline that way. I look forward to the Rag as the conclusion of my career. There you meet fellows you know, lie against each other about past campaigns, eat capital dinners, and have your rub of whist, regularly, of an evening."

"But, my dear Hallett, think how you would fatten out under such a regime!"

"Oh, hang the fat, Bullen; it would not matter one way or another, when you haven't got to do yourself up in uniform, and make tremendous marches, and so on. I should not want to walk, at all; I should have chambers somewhere close to the club, and could always charter a hansom, when I wanted to go anywhere. Besides, fat is eminently respectable, in an elderly man."

Lisle laughed merrily.

"My dear Hallett, it is useless to look forward so far into the future. Let us content ourselves with the evils of today. In spite of your grumbling, you know that you like the life and, if the bullets do but spare you, I have no doubt that you will be just as energetic a soldier as you have shown yourself in this campaign; although I must admit that you have sometimes taken it out in grumbling."

"Well, it is very difficult to be energetic in this country. I think I could be enthusiastic, in anything like a decent climate, but this takes all the spirit out of one.

"I think I could have struggled over the snow in the Tirah, as you did. I can conceive myself wearing the D.S.O. in European war. But how can a man keep his pecker up when he is wet through all day, continually fording rivers, and exposed all the time to a pelting rain and, worse than all, seeing his friends going down one after another with this beastly fever, and feeling sure that his own turn will come next?

"I should not mind so much if we always had a dry hut to sleep in, but as often as not we have to sleep on the drenched ground in the open and, consequently, get up in the morning more tired than when we lie down. I have no doubt that, after all this is over, I shall become a cripple from rheumatism, or be laid up with some other disorder."

"I don't suppose you will do anything of the sort, Hallett. Of course this fever is very trying but, although men are being constantly sent down to the coast, the number who die from it is not great. Only some six or seven have succumbed. I expect myself that we shall both return to our regiments in the pink of condition, with our medals on our breasts, and proud of the fact that we have gone through one of the most perilous expeditions ever achieved by British troops; and the more wonderful that, except for a handful of English officers and non-commissioned officers, it has been carried through successfully by a purely native army.

"I don't think we quite recognize, at present, what a big affair it has been. We have marched through almost impenetrable bush; we have suppressed a rebellion over a great extent of country, admirably adapted for the mode of warfare of our enemies; and we have smashed up an army of well-armed natives, in numbers ranging from six, to ten to one against us."

"Yes, yes, I know all that; and I don't say that it has not been a well-managed business; and I dare say I shall look back on it with pleasure, some day, when I have forgotten all the miseries we have suffered. Besides, though I do grumble, I hope we are not going to stick here long. I could do with a week of eating and drinking--that would be the outside. It is wretched enough tramping through swamps, but I think I should prefer that to a prolonged stay in this hole."

"For once I agree with you thoroughly, Hallett. It is bad enough to march in West Africa, but it is worse to sit still. It is only when you try to do that, that you find how much you are pulled down; and the longer you sit still, the less disposed you are to get up; whereas, on the march, you are so full of the idea that you may be ambushed, at any moment, that you have no time to think of your fatigues."

"Yes, there is no doubt of that, Bullen; so I mean to spend all the time I have to spare here on my back; and sleep, if I can, continuously."

"Don't flatter yourself that you will be allowed to do that. You may be sure that they will find ample work for lazy hands to do. Now it is time to buckle on our swords, and go out and inspect our fellows. I can see that they are mustering already."

"I wish those white non-commissioned officers would not be so disgustingly punctual," Hallett grumbled. "They are splendid when it comes to fighting, but they never seem to know that there is a time for work and a time for play--or, at any rate, they never let others play."

"They are splendid fellows," Lisle said. "I really do not know what we should have done without them. There would be no talking of lying down and going to sleep, if they were not there to look after the men."

"I don't think it would make any difference to you," Hallett said, "for it seems to me that you are always looking after your men."

"So are you, Hallett. You are just as keen about getting your company into order as I am, only you always try to look bored over it. It is a stupid plan, old man, for I don't think that you get the kudos that you deserve."

"My dear Bullen, you may argue forever, but if you think that you can transform me into a bustling, hustling fellow like yourself, I can tell you that you are mistaken. I know that I do what I have to do, and perhaps may not do it badly, but I don't go beyond that.

"When they say 'Do this,' I do it; when they don't say so, I don't do it; and I fancy it comes to about the same thing, in the end."

"I suppose it does," Lisle laughed, as they issued from their hut.

"These poor fellows look as if they wanted a rest more than we do, don't they?"

"They look horribly thin," Hallett said.

"Yes, it is well that the blacks have such good spirits, and are always ready to chatter and laugh when the day's work is over--that is, if it has not been an exceptionally hard one.

"Well, though I don't care about staying long here, myself, I do hope they will give the poor fellows time to get into condition again, before starting. I fear, however, that there is very little chance of that."

This, indeed, turned out to be the case. Two days later, reinforcements arrived from the coast, to increase the total strength available for punitive expeditions. Two strong parties then started, under Colonel Haverstock and Colonel Wilkinson. They were to travel by different routes, and to join hands in the neighbourhood of the sacred fetish lake, where large numbers of Ashantis and Kokofu were reported to have assembled. The Hausa companies did not accompany them, the columns being largely composed of the newly-arrived troops--who were, of course, eager to take their share of the fighting.

Lisle and Hallett did a little grumbling, but they really felt that they required a longer period of rest, and they could not help congratulating themselves when the columns returned, ten days after, without having exchanged more than a shot or two with the enemy.

They found that the country round the lake was thickly inhabited. Many of the villages had been burnt and, in all cases, the sacred trees had been cut down. It was quite clear that the spirit of the enemy was greatly broken, and that the end was approaching.

"We must certainly congratulate ourselves upon having a comfortable time of it, here," Lisle said, "instead of a ten days' tramp, without any great result. We can manage to keep ourselves dry in this hut, now that our men have covered it thickly with palm leaves; whereas they have had to sleep in the open, pretty nearly every night."

"It was good for them," Hallett said; "the fellows looked altogether too spick and span, when they marched in. It is just as well that they should get a little experience of the work we have been doing, for months. I saw them, as they marched in, look with astonishment at the state of our men's garments--or rather, I may say, their rags. They would have grown haughty, if they had not had a sample of the work; and their uniforms looked very different, when they came back, from what they were when they marched away. There is nothing like a fortnight's roughing it in the bush to take a man, whether white or black, a peg or two down in his own estimation.

"I was amused, the first day they arrived, when I saw their faces at the sight of their rations. It was quite a picture. Thank goodness we have had nothing to grumble about, in that way, since we got our box from the coast. Chocolate for breakfast, brandy and water at dinner, preserved meat, are quite a different thing from the stuff they manage to give us--two or three ounces of meat, about once a week. Those boxes of biscuits, too, have been invaluable. The ration biscuits were for the most part wet through, and there wasn't a wholesome crunch in a dozen of them. We have certainly improved a lot in appearance, during the last fortnight; and I believe that it is due to the feeding, more than the rest."

"It is due, no doubt, to both," Lisle said; "but certainly the feeding has had a good deal to do with it."

"Those tins of soup," said Hallett, "have been really splendid. I believe I have gained seven or eight pounds in weight, in spite of this sweltering heat."

"You have certainly filled out a bit. I was rather thinking of asking you to hand over all the soups to me, so that you should not gain weight so fast."

"That would have been a modest request, indeed, Bullen!"

"It was a case of true friendship," Lisle laughed. "I know how you have appreciated your loss of flesh."

"You be blowed!" Hallett said. "If they would run to half a dozen tins a day, I can tell you I would take them, whatever the consequences."

"Well, really, I do think, Hallett, those few cases have saved us from fever. I felt so utterly washed out, when we arrived here, that I began to think I was in for a bad attack."

"Same here, Bullen. I fought against the feeling because I dreaded that hospital tent and, still more, being carried down country."

"Yes; we certainly did a clever thing, when we bought up everything we could, that day we were in Cape Coast. Our servants, too, have turned out most satisfactory. Poor beggars! though the weather has been so bad, there has scarcely been a night when they have not managed to make a little fire, and boil water either to mix with our tot of rum, or to make a cup of tea."

"Yes, they have turned out uncommonly well. We must certainly make them a handsome present, when this is all over. It was awfully lucky we brought up a good supply of tea with us, and condensed milk. I am certain that the hot drink, at night, did wonders in the way of keeping off fevers."

"That is so, Lisle; there is nothing that will keep the wet out, or at least prevent it from doing harm, like a cup of hot tea with the allowance of rum in it. I am sure I don't know what we should have done, without it. That tea and milk were all that we could bring, especially as our carriers were cut down to one man, each."

"That was your idea, Lisle, and I agree that it has been the saving of us. I was rather in favour of bringing spirits, myself; but I quite admit, now, that it would have been a great mistake. Besides, half a dozen pounds of tea does not weigh more than a couple of bottles of spirits; which would have been gone in four or five days, while the tea has held out for months. I never was much of a tea drinker before. It is all very well to take a cup at an afternoon tea fight, but that was about the extent of my indulgence in the beverage. In future I shall become what is called a votary, and shall cut down my spirits to the narrowest limit."

"That would be running to the opposite extreme, Hallett. Too much tea is just as bad as too much spirits."

"Ah! Well, I can breakfast with coffee or cocoa. The next time I go on the march, I shall take two or three pounds of cocoa in my box. Many a time I have longed for a cup, when we have started at three o'clock in the morning, and have felt that it would be well worth a guinea a cup. Now I shall have the satisfaction of always starting with a good warm drink, which is as good for hunger as thirst. I have often wondered how I could have been fool enough not to bring a supply with me."

"Yes, it would have been very comforting," Lisle agreed; "we shall know better, another time."

"I trust that there will never be another time like this for me. I shall be ready to volunteer for service in any part of the world, bar Western Africa. They say that the troops at the Cape are going through a hard time, but I am convinced that it is child's play in comparison with our work here. Why, they have hours, and indeed days, sometimes, without rain. Just think of that, my dear fellow! Just think of it! And when the rain does fall, it soon sinks into the sandy soil and, if they lie down at night, they only get wet on one side, and have waterproof sheets to lie on. Just think of that! And yet, they actually consider that they are going through hardships!

"They say, too, that the commissariat arrangements are splendid. They get meat rations every day--every day, mind you--and I hear they even get jam. It is enough to fill one with envy. I remember I was always fond of jam, as a boy. I can tell you that, when I get back to civilization, one of my first cries will be for jam. Fancy jam spread thickly on new bread!

"And men who have all these luxuries think that they are roughing it! Certainly human ingratitude is appalling!"

Lisle laughed.

"But you must remember that there are compensations. We get a fight every two or three days, while they have often to tramp two or three hundred miles, without catching sight of an enemy at all."

"There is certainly something in that," Hallett said. "I must admit that that is a great consolation; and it is satisfactory, too, that when we do fight we are fired at principally with slugs; which we both know from experience are not pleasant customers, but at any rate are a great improvement upon rifle bullets, pom poms, and shells of all sizes.

"Yes, I don't even grudge them the jam, when I think how awful it must be to be kept, for months, at some miserable little station on the railway, guarding the roads. We get restless here at the end of three or four days, but fancy spending months at it!"

"Besides, Hallett, in such places they get their rations regularly, and have nothing to do but to eat and get fat. If you were living under such conditions, you would be something awful at the end of six months of it."

"There is a great deal in that," Hallett said, thoughtfully. "Yes; I don't know that, after all, the gains and advantages are not with us; and indeed, if we had our time to go over again, we could make ourselves fairly comfortable.

"In the first place, I should purchase a large ground sheet, which I might use as a tent. I would have a smaller one to lie upon, and the biggest mackintosh that money could buy. Then, as you say, with a good supply of tea and chocolate, I could make myself extremely happy.

"I cannot think why the authorities did not point out the necessity for these things, before we started. They must have known it was going to rain like old boots, all the time. I don't mean, of course, the authorities at Cape Coast, because I don't suppose any of these things could have been picked up there; but we should have been told, when we got our orders, that such things were essential. Really, the stupidity and thoughtlessness of the War Office are beyond belief."

"I should advise you to draw up a memorial to them, pointing out their want of thought and care; and suggesting that, in every room, there should be a printed reminder that mackintoshes and ground sheets are essential, in a campaign in Western Africa in the wet season."

"Yes, and cocoa and tea," Hallett said, with a laugh. "I should like to hear the remarks of the War Office, when my communication was read. It would flutter the dove cot, and the very next steamer would bring out an intimation that Lieutenant John Hallett's services were no longer required."

"No doubt that would be the case, Hallett; but think what an inestimable service you would have done, in campaigning out here!"

"That is all very well, Bullen, but I should recommend you to try your eloquence upon someone else. Perhaps you might find someone of a more self-sacrificing nature who would take the matter in hand."

"Perhaps I might, but I rather fancy that I should not. The only man who could do it is Willcocks. After the victories he has won, even the War Office could hardly have the face to retire him from the service for making such a suggestion. Besides, the public would never stand it; and he is just the sort of fellow to carry out the idea, if he took to it."

"I agree with you, Bullen, as in the end I almost always do, and should suggest most strongly that you lay the matter before him. No doubt, if he applied, the War Office would send out a hundred waterproofs and two hundred ground sheets, for the use of the officers, by the next ship sailing from England."

"I might do it," Lisle laughed, "if it were not that the rainy season will be at an end before the things arrive here."

"That is a very good excuse, Bullen; but I hope that, at any rate, you will carry out your idea before the next wet season begins--that is, if we are kept on here, as a punishment for our sins."

At this moment one of the non-commissioned officers came in with a letter, and Hallett opened it.

"Oh dear," he said, in a tone of deepest disgust, "we are off again!"

"Thank goodness!" Lisle said. "You know we were just agreeing that we have had enough of this place."

"I often say foolish things," Hallett said, "and must not be taken too literally. Here is an end to our meat rations, and to all our other little luxuries. Besides, I have been getting my tunic washed, and it will certainly take three or four days to dry in this steaming atmosphere."

"Well, my dear fellow, you can put it on wet, for it is certain to be wet before we have gone a quarter of an hour. My tunic has gone, too, but at any rate they will both look more respectable for the washing.

"Well, I suppose we had better go across to headquarters and find out what the route is, and who are going."

As they went out, they saw the return of the Central African Regiment. They had been more fortunate than the other regiments, having captured and razed Djarchi. They had taken the enemy by surprise, and run them right through the town, with only a single casualty. They had ascertained that the enemy had been commanded by the brother of the Ashanti commander-in-chief, and that he had been killed in the fight.

A very large amount of spoil had been captured, the first haul of any importance that had been made during the campaign. Among the loot were the king of the Kokofu's iron boxes, containing much official correspondence; union jacks, elephant tails, and other symbols of royalty, together with gold ornaments, gold dust, and two hundred pounds of English money; numbers of brass-nailed, vellum-backed chairs, part of the Ashanti chief's regalia; robes, guns, ammunition, drums, and horns, and also sheep and poultry.

A company was at once despatched to the Sacred Lake, to join Major Cramer's levies, which had been told off to act as locusts and eat up the country. Colonel Wilson was ordered to go to Accra, to reorganize and recruit the remnant of the Gold Coast Force; so that, when the campaign was over, they could again take over the military control of the colony. It was also decided that Bekwai could no longer be occupied, and that all the stores there should be removed to Esumeja, as the whole main road up to Coomassie would shortly be open.

At last all was in readiness for the general and final advance. All the Adansi country to the south, and Kokofu to the east had been conquered, and the roads cleared. The next step was to clear Northern Ashanti; neglecting altogether, for the present, the parties of the enemy between the southern boundaries of Ashanti territory and their capital.

It was therefore decided to move the whole of the headquarters staff and the advance base to Coomassie, Esumeja being selected as the point, between it and Kwisa, to be held in force. The general plan was to send up all the stores, carriers, and troops via Pekki, as had been done on both previous occasions. This would reduce the chance of attack and loss to a minimum while, simultaneously, a fighting column with the smallest possible transport would follow the road through Kokofu and take Ejesu, which was the residence of the queen mother, and the headquarters of the remnant of the Ashanti army.

The general opinion was that it would be the last fight of the year. Colonel Brake, who was the last arrival, having had no chance of a fight hitherto, was selected for the command. The whole force was to advance, and five thousand carriers were required to effect the movement.

There was general joy when it was known that Bekwai was to be evacuated. It was a dull, dirty place, surrounded by dense, dark forests, and was in a terribly insanitary state. Europeans were rapidly losing their strength, and an epidemic of smallpox was raging among the natives, of whom a dozen or more died daily.

On the 28th of August Colonel Burroughs left Bekwai, with seven hundred and fifty men, and three thousand carriers taking ammunition and baggage. The column was fully two miles long. They had an extremely heavy march, and did not arrive at their destination till night. The carriers returned to Bekwai the next day, so as to be ready to march out at daylight, on the 30th, with the second column.

The troops at Pekki being in enforced idleness, half of them marched out to attack the enemy's war camp, which had for so long threatened Pekki. The place was found to be evacuated, and it and the bush camps on the way were all burnt.

The second column had now well started. The downfall of rain continued without intermission, and the roads became worse than ever. The day after the first column left Pekki, Colonel Brake started with eight hundred men and two guns.

The news came in that the king of Akim had been asked, by a number of the Kokofu, to intercede on their behalf for peace; and a messenger with a flag of truce came in from the Djarchi district. The appearance of the messenger was singular. He was completely clad in white, even his skin being painted that colour, and he carried an enormous white flag. He was well received, but was sent back with a message that the chiefs must come in themselves.

On the 30th Colonel Willcocks arrived and, the next day, the whole force started in fighting formation for Coomassie, where they arrived after twelve hours' march. The distance was only twelve miles, so the condition of the roads may be well imagined by the time the column took to traverse them.

Chapter 19: Lost In The Forest.

On the way up, Lisle met with a very unpleasant adventure. He and Hallett had been sent out, with a small party of men, to enter the bush and drive out any of the enemy who might be lurking, for the purpose of attacking the carriers and rear guard. They went some distance into the bush but, though they came upon tracks that had recently been cut, they saw none of the enemy. Some men were planted on each of these paths; and the two officers, who had followed one a little distance farther into the bush, were on the point of turning, when they heard men cutting their way through the undergrowth behind them.

"Hide, Hallett!" Lisle exclaimed, "they must be enemies."

As noiselessly as they could they took refuge in the thick bush and, a minute later, saw a strong party of the enemy crossing the road that they had just passed along. There were several hundred of them. Some thirty or forty halted on the path. The others continued to cut a track through and, in five minutes, a scattered fire was opened, showing that they had come in contact with the troops. The fire was kept up for some time, and then died away; whether because the troops had retired, or because the natives had turned off and taken some other line, they could not be sure. Later they heard very heavy firing abreast of them, and guessed that the Ashantis had followed some other path, and come down on the convoy.

Peering through the bushes, from time to time, they found that those who had halted on the path were still there, probably in waiting for some chief or other who was to take command of them.

"We are in a nice mess, Bullen," said Hallett. "By the sound the convoy is still moving on, so how we are to rejoin them, I don't know."

"Yes, we are certainly in a hole and, if these fellows stop here till night, I see no chance of our being able to move. The slightest rustle in the bushes would bring them down upon us, in no time. The firing is getting more and more distant every moment and, no doubt, a big body of the enemy have engaged our fellows.

"I have been in a good many tight places, but I think this is the worst of them. Our only course, so far as I can see, is to wait till nightfall; and then, if these fellows still stick here, get into the path again, and follow it up till we come to some path going the other way. Then it will be a pure question of luck whether we hit upon the enemy, or not. If we do, of course we must fight till the last, keeping the last shot in our revolvers for ourselves. I have no intention of falling into their hands alive, and going through terrible tortures before I am put to death."

"That really seems to be the only thing to be done, Bullen. However, we must hope for the best."

When night fell, a fire was lit by the party on the path.

"The beggars evidently mean to stay here," Lisle said, "and even if they moved away we should be no better off for, as the column will be ten miles away by now, we should really have no chance of regaining it."

When night fell they crept out of the bush, taking the greatest care not to make any noise, for the natives were but thirty yards away. They crawled along for forty or fifty yards and then, a turn in the path hiding them from sight, they rose to their feet and pushed on.

They found, however, that it was no easy matter to make headway. It was pitch dark, owing to the canopy of leaves, and they had to feel their way at every step. The path, moreover, was constantly turning and twisting. After travelling for upwards of two hours, they came to a point where two paths met and, without knowing, they took the one that led off to the left. This they followed for some hours, and then lay down to rest. They awoke at daybreak.

"I wonder where we have got to," Hallett said.

"I am afraid somehow we have gone wrong," Lisle exclaimed, after looking round, "and the light seems to be coming from the wrong quarter, altogether. We must have turned off from the main path without knowing it, and tramped a long distance in the wrong direction."

"I believe you are right, Bullen. What on earth are we to do now? Retrace our steps, or push on and chance it?"

"We have the choice of two evils, Hallett, but I think it would be better to go on than to turn back. In the first place, however, we must search for something to eat. We crossed several little streams on our way, so I don't think we are likely to be hard up for water; but food we must have. The natives are always able to find food in the forest and, if we cannot do that, we may come upon some deserted village, and get some bananas. We might even steal some, at night, from a village that is not deserted. At any rate, it is useless to stay here."

They set out at once, moving cautiously, and stopping frequently to listen for the soft trail of naked feet. They came at last to the spot where they had left the other track. Here they held another council, and decided that there was too much risk in turning on to the main path again; as that was sure to be occupied by the enemy, who would be burying their dead, or examining any loot that they had captured from the carriers. After proceeding two or three miles, they came upon another path on the right.

"This path," said Lisle, "will take us in the proper direction."

"I doubt if we shall ever get there," Hallett said. "I am feeling as hungry as a rat, already; and we have seen nothing to put between our lips since we started out, yesterday morning."

"It is a little rough," Lisle said cheerfully, "but we must hit upon a village, presently."

"I should not mind, if the path went on straight," Hallett said, "but it zigzags so much that we can never feel certain that we are going in the right direction."

"Well, you see," said Lisle, "we have passed two tracks to the left, since we struck into this road. I cannot help thinking that these must lead to villages, and that the one we are following is a sort of connecting link between them. I vote that we stop at the next one we come to."

"All right, old man! It seems to me that it will make no great difference which way we go. Indeed, so far as I can make out, by the glimpses we get of the sun, the path has turned a great deal, and is now going right back to that from which it started."

"I am afraid you are right, Hallett. However, there is one thing certain. The Ashantis don't cut paths through their forests without some reason, and I should not be surprised if we come to some large village, not far ahead."

After walking for another half hour, they found the bush getting thinner, and they could soon see light ahead. They went very cautiously now and, at last, stood at the end of a large clearing, in which stood an Ashanti village.

"Thank God there is something to eat ahead!" said Hallett. "There are lots of bananas growing round the village and, when it gets dark, we will get two big bunches. That should last us some time."

Utterly exhausted, they both lay down just inside the bush. Many villagers were moving about and, twice, native runners came in. The afternoon passed very slowly; but at length the sun set, and darkness fell quickly. They waited a couple of hours, to allow the village to get comparatively quiet; then they crept forward, and cut two great bunches of bananas from the first tree they came to and, returning to the forest, sat down and ate a hearty meal.

"I feel very much better," Hallett said, when he had finished. "Now, let us talk over what we had better do next."

"I should say we had better keep along by the edge of the bush, and see if we can strike some other path. It would be useless to go back by this one, as it would simply take us to the place we started from."

Hallett readily agreed to this suggestion, and the two officers started and gradually worked round the village. Presently they struck another path. Turning up this they again pushed forward, each carrying his bunch of bananas. After walking two hours, they lay down. The darkness was so dense that their rate of progress was extremely slow.

In the morning they went on again but, after walking for some hours, they came suddenly upon four of the enemy. As soon as these saw them, they rushed on them with a yell, firing their guns as they did so. Both were struck with slugs; and Lisle was knocked down, but quickly jumped to his feet again, revolver in hand. The Ashantis charged with their spears, but the revolver bullets were too much for them and, one by one, they dropped, the last man being shot just as he reached them. Two were only wounded, but Lisle shot them both.

"It would never do," he said, "for any of them to get to a village, and bring all its occupants upon us. We are neither of us fit to do much running, and the beggars would be sure to overtake us."

"It is horrid," Hallett said, "though I admit that it is necessary."

For four days they wandered on. The path never seemed to run straight. Though they found a plentiful supply of bananas, their strength was gradually failing.

On the fourth day they came upon a sheet, doubtless a portion of some officer's baggage that had been looted. Hallett, who was walking fast, passed it contemptuously. Lisle, however, picked it up and wound it round his body.

"We can lay it over us, Hallett, at night. It will at least help to keep the damp off us."

"We sha'n't want it long," Hallett said; "I think the game is almost up."

"Not a bit of it," Lisle said, cheerfully. "In spite of the turns and twistings we have made, I think we cannot be far from Coomassie, now. I thought I heard the sound of guns this morning, and it could have been from nowhere else."

Late that afternoon they came suddenly upon a great war camp and, at once, sat down in the bushes.

"What is to be done now?" Hallett said. "We cannot go back again. We are neither of us fit to walk a couple of miles."

Lisle sat for some minutes without answering him, and then said suddenly:

"I have an idea. I will cut down a sapling, seven or eight feet long; and fasten the sheet to it, so as to make a flag of truce. Then we will walk boldly into the village, and summon it to surrender. It is a bold stroke, but it may succeed. We know that most of them are getting tired of the war. We can give out that we have lost our way in the bush and, if the fellows take it kindly, well and good; but if not, we shall have our revolvers, and shall, of course, use them on ourselves."

"I am game to carry it out, Bullen. Your idea is a splendid one. Anyhow, it is our last chance. I really don't think I could go a mile farther. We know enough of their language to make ourselves understood."

"Yes. What with our servants, the Hausas, and the carriers, we have both picked up a good deal of the language."

With renewed spirits they cut down a sapling, stripped it of all its leaves and branches and, fastening the sheet to it, walked straight down towards the camp. There was an immediate stir in the camp. Many of the Ashantis ran for their arms but, when they saw that the two officers were alone, they calmed down. Presently two chiefs advanced, followed by some twenty warriors.

"Now, Bullen, muster up your knowledge of the language, and address them. Lay it on pretty thick."

"Chiefs," Lisle said, "we are come to you from the governor of Coomassie. He says that it must be clear to you, now, that you cannot stand against the white man; and that you will only bring ruin upon yourselves, and your country, by further resistance. They have therefore sent us to say that, if you will surrender, a small fine only shall be imposed upon you; and that your soldiers may retire to their villages, after having laid down their arms. While you are talking about this, we shall be glad if you will give us some provisions; for we have lost our way in the bush, coming here, and need food."

"If you follow me into the village," one of the chiefs said, "provisions shall be served to you, while we talk over what you say. We shall be glad of peace; for we see that, however strongly we make our stockades, your soldiers always take them. Our men are beginning to long to return to their people, for they have fought many times, and already have begun to complain. Do you guarantee our safety, if we return with you to your fort?"

"I can promise that," Lisle said. "We respect brave men, and are anxious that there should be an end to this fighting. When it is over, you will again live under the protection of our government, and the past will be forgotten. You attacked us without reason, and have suffered heavily for it. This is the third time that we have had to come up, and we hope that it will never be necessary to do so, again. We recognize each other's valour; we have each made sacrifices; and we hope that, when this war is over, we shall live together in peace. Had we only been armed as you are, the fortunes of war might have gone differently; but we have rifles and guns, and these must always give us victory, in the long run."

"We will talk it over," the chief said. "While we do so, you shall have food."

So saying, he turned and led the way to a house in the village, where food and native spirit were set before them.

"Your dodge has succeeded admirably," Hallett said, as they were waiting for the meal. "I think they will surrender."

"I hope they will," Lisle said; "but at any rate, I think they will treat us as coming in under a flag of truce; and will perhaps send an escort with us back to the camp. However, they are preparing a meal for us and, if the worst comes to the worst, it is much better to die full than fasting."

In a quarter of an hour two women entered; one carrying a bowl with four chickens, and a quantity of rice; the other a large jug of water, and a smaller one of native spirit. Not a word was spoken, while the meal was being eaten. At the end, nothing but bones remained of the four chickens.

"Thank God for a good dinner!" Hallett said, after the meal was over. "I feel, at present, at peace with all men; and I can safely recommend the chiefs, when they arrive at Coomassie, as being first-rate fellows; while I am sure that the chief will be greatly pleased that we have secured the submission of their tribe. It will be a big feather in our caps. When I came in here, I thought I could not go another mile to save my life; now I feel perfectly game for a seven or eight mile march to Coomassie."

At this moment, they noticed that there was a great hubbub in the camp. Half an hour later, the chiefs entered.

"We accept the terms you bring," one of them said, "and will go with you on condition that, if the terms are not as you say, we shall be allowed to return here, unmolested."

"That I can promise you," Lisle said. "We have not come here without reason, and the terms we offer are those that you can accept without dishonour. I can assure you of as good treatment as you have given us; and permission to leave the fort, and return to your people, if you are dissatisfied with the terms."

A quarter of an hour later the party--consisting of the two chiefs, ten armed followers, and the two officers--set out. The camp was, they learned, about six miles from Coomassie. After a march of three hours, they emerged from the forest into the cleared space round the fort. When they reached the outlying sentries they were challenged, but a word from Lisle sufficed to pass them on.

As they approached the fort a number of soldiers gathered round them and, when they neared the entrance, Colonel Willcocks himself came out.

"You remain here with the chiefs, Bullen. I will go on, and explain matters to the chief."

Lisle nodded, and Hallett hurried forward, while the others halted.

"Why, Mr. Hallett," Colonel Willcocks said, "we had given you up for dead; you and Mr. Bullen, whom I see over there. Whatever have you been doing now?"

Hallett gave a brief account of their adventure.

"You will probably be annoyed at us for acting as your messengers but, as we have induced the two leaders of the large war camp to come in, I trust that we shall be forgiven. We have promised them permission for their force to return, unmolested, to their villages; and I may say, from the formidable stockades they have made there, this result could not have been achieved, otherwise, without very heavy loss.

"I wish to say that the idea was entirely Bullen's. It seemed to be the only chance of getting through; for we were both utterly exhausted, when we reached the village."

"I think you have done extremely well, Hallett. I was about to send a force to capture that camp; and I am glad, indeed, of being relieved of the necessity of doing so. It means, perhaps, the saving of a couple of hundred lives. Besides, we should probably not have caught quarter of them; and the rest would have taken to the bush, and continued to give us trouble.

"Tell me exactly what the terms are, upon which they are willing to surrender."

"Simply the lives and freedom of the chiefs; and permission to their men to retire, unmolested, to their villages."

"Those are exactly the terms I have offered to some of their chiefs, who had sent in to ask for terms. Now, I will speak to them myself."

He accordingly walked forward, with Hallett, to where the chiefs were standing.

"I am glad, indeed, chiefs," he said, "that you have decided to take no further part in the war. You will stay here with us, until I hear that your camp is broken up; and you will then be at liberty to return to your own grounds. I thank you for receiving my messengers so kindly; as a reward for which I shall, when you leave, present you each with five hundred dollars. Henceforth, I trust that you will always remain on good terms with us, do all you can to aid us by sending in carriers, and will accept our rule frankly and truly.

"Now, I will ask you to come into the fort; where you will be treated as guests, until I hear of the dispersal of your camps."

The chiefs were much gratified by their reception; and sent off the escort, at once, to order the camp to be abandoned and burnt, and the stockades to be pulled down. Then they followed Colonel Willcocks into the fort, where a room was assigned to them, and everything done for their comfort.

As soon as the governor had retired with them, the other officers flocked down round Hallett and Lisle, to learn their adventures. Both were warmly congratulated upon their safe return; and Lisle came in for a large share of their congratulations when, in spite of his protestations, Hallett insisted on giving him the largest share of credit for the manner in which he had suggested the scheme, and had unquestionably been the means of saving their lives.

"Hallett had everything to do with it, except that," he said; "and that was only an accidental idea. We mutually helped each other, during those long days of tramping; and it was most fortunate for me that he was with me for, had I been alone, I don't think I should have had the strength of mind or body to hold on, when the prospect seemed altogether hopeless."

As they went down to the lines of their company, they were surrounded by the delighted blacks; who continued to cheer so heartily that it was some time before they could get an opportunity to tell what had taken place. Cheers again broke out, when the stories were finished. The men insisted on shaking their hands, and then started a war dance to show their satisfaction.

Then both retired to a shelter erected for them and, lying down, slept for some hours. When they awoke they ate a hearty meal; after which they agreed that, in a day or two, they would be fit for duty again.

"I shall mention your conduct in my despatches," the colonel said, next day. "You have not only saved your own lives; but have rendered very important service, in inducing those two chiefs and their followers to submit. From the information that we have been able to get, their camp was very strongly fortified, and could only have been taken after hard fighting; and even then, as has happened on all previous occasions, the main body would have escaped, rallied again a short distance away, and given us all the trouble of dispersing them, once more. As it is, I have no doubt that the influence of their chiefs will keep them quiet and, indeed, scattered as they will be among their villages, it will be difficult to persuade them to take up arms again.

"On second thoughts, I allowed them to leave this morning, with a column that was starting to collect the arms of the garrison. They seemed quite in earnest; and will, I have no doubt, succeed in inducing their men to part with their arms, without a squabble."

The detachment, indeed, returned in the evening. The success of their mission had been complete; and the natives had handed over their arms, and started off with their chiefs into the forests, after burning the camp and razing the stockades. They all seemed highly pleased that they should not be called upon for more fighting, and had individually taken an oath that they would never again fight the white men.

Several other flags of truce came in, and many chiefs surrendered. The Queen Mother, the most important of the leaders, tendered her submission. Colonel Willcocks gave her four days in which to prove the truth of her submission by coming in, in person. Shortly, however, before the truce expired, she sent in an impudent message that she would fight till the end.

Some of the chiefs who had been foremost in their opposition, and who had personally taken part in the torture and death of those who fell into their hands, were tried by court martial; and either shot or hanged, it being necessary to prove to the natives that even their greatest chiefs were not spared, and that certain punishment would be dealt out to those who had taken part in the murder of soldiers, or carriers, who had fallen into their hands.

The greatest tragedy of this campaign became known, on the 8th of September, through a letter from a native clerk who was with the Akim levies, which were commanded by Captains Willcox and Benson. These levies had worked up on our right flank, as we advanced from the south, in the same way as the Denkeras had done on the west. They were as cowardly, and as terrified of the Ashantis, as all the other neighbouring races. In fact, the only work they were fit for was living in deserted villages, or cutting crops and eating up the produce.

Three thousand of these levies were ordered to cooperate with Colonel Brake's column. They were met by the Ashantis, and bolted as soon as the latter opened fire; and Captain Benson, deserted by his cowardly followers, fell. In a letter he had sent home, a few days before his death, he expressed in the strongest terms his opinion of the men under his command, saying:

"If it comes to a real show, after all, Heaven help us! Three-quarters of my protective army are arrant cowards, all undisciplined, and quite impossible to hold."

The native levies cannot be compared with the disciplined troops. They were simply a motley mob, armed with stray guns, arms, and powder, and their pay is what they can loot; whereas the African private's drill and duties are identical with those of the British private. His orders are given to him in English, and his knowledge of our language is probably superior to that of most Indian or Egyptian soldiers; while the British soldiers in West Africa are rarely able to understand the language of their men.

A column had started, at once, to Captain Willcox's assistance. They returned, however, in ten days, having been unable to come up to him, as he had retired fifty miles farther to the east. They had no fighting, the enemy having gone north; but they ascertained that all the country immediately to the south was free from rebels and desirous of peace. The spot where Captain Benson's action had been fought was strewn with dead bodies, baggage, and rifles; evidence of the disordered flight. It seemed that the levies bolted, as soon as they were fired on. Then, with a few trained volunteers, the white men hastily entrenched themselves; and held out till late in the afternoon when, their ammunition having run short, they were compelled to retire, which they did fighting. It was during the retreat that Captain Benson was shot.

Another column came in on the following day, after five days' reconnaissance. It had gone by the same road by which the governor had broken out, on the 23rd of June. The road was entirely deserted, the villages destroyed, and the crops burnt. They made no attempt to search the bush but, on the path, they found ninety-eight headless skeletons; a painful testimony of the number of soldiers and carriers who had died of privation, and hardship, during the retreat.

Information now came in that, to the north, the most reckless of the Ashantis had again concentrated, and were determined to make another stand. On the 16th there was a big review of the seventeen hundred troops and the nine guns of the garrison. The heavy guns were exercised on a stockade, similar to those of the enemy. Hitherto they had not been altogether successful; as it was found that, owing to the large bursting charge, the range had to be estimated at double its real distance. Six shots smashed a barricade which was six feet high by six feet thick.

Friendly chiefs, who were invited to witness the experiment, were profoundly impressed; and there can be no doubt that the feat was reported to the enemy in the field, for they raised no stockade in the future, and reverted to their old plan of bush fighting.

The heavy and continuous rains were now rapidly bringing on sickness, and the officers were attacked in forms that were quite novel to them.

"I don't know what is the matter with me," Lisle said, one morning, "but I am swollen all round the neck. I once had mumps, when I was a little boy and, if it were not so ridiculous, I should declare that I had got them again."

Hallett burst into a fit of laughter.

"I expect you are going to have all your old illnesses again--scarlet fever, measles, whooping cough, and the rest. We must see that the hut is fitted up for you, with something as much like a bed as possible, and a fire for making a posset, or whatever they give you."

"It is all very well for you to laugh, Hallett, but look at my neck."

"Well, it is swollen," Hallett agreed; "and I expect that you have caught a cold, when we were wandering about in the bush. Seriously, I should advise you to put a piece of warm flannel round your neck, or else go across and consult the doctor."

"I think I will do so, Hallett. It hurts a good deal, I can tell you and, as you see, I can hardly drink my tea."

After breakfast was over, he went to the tent of the principal doctor.

"I have come, sir," he said, "to ask you about my neck."

"You don't say so, Bullen! Why, yours is the third case I have seen this morning! Let me look at it.

"Yes, the symptoms are just the same as in the others. If this were England, I should say that an epidemic of mumps has broken out; but of course it cannot be that.

"Well, I have sent the other two into hospital, and you had better go there, too. Is it painful?"

"It is rather painful, and I can hardly swallow at all."

"Well, when I come across to the hospital, I will put you in with the others. I certainly cannot make out what it is, nor why it came on so suddenly. The only thing I can put it down to is the constant rains that we have been having, though I really don't see why wet weather should have that effect. I should advise you to keep on hot poultices."

In the evening another patient came in, and Lisle burst out laughing, when he saw that it was Hallett.

"Oh, you have come to the nursery, have you? I hope you have made up your mind to go through scarlet fever, or measles, Hallett?"

"Don't chaff. It is no laughing matter."

"No? I thought you took it quite in that light, this morning. Well, you see we have all got poultices on; and the orderly will make one for you, at once. My face is bigger than it was this morning, and what it is going to come to, I cannot imagine. Although the doctor said, frankly, that he did not understand it; he seemed to think that there was nothing very serious about it."

The next day the swelling had abated and, two days later, both of them were discharged from the hospital; to their great delight, for they heard that a column was just going to start, and that their companies were included in it.

On the following day the column started. It was nearly a thousand strong, with guns, and rations for twenty-eight days. This force was to penetrate into the northwestern country. The enemy here had sent an impudent message that they would not surrender; and that, if they were attacked, they intended to revert to their former tactics, and direct all their efforts to shooting down the officers and, when these were disposed of, they would have little difficulty in dealing with the native troops.

On the second day, when twenty-five miles from Coomassie, the enemy were met with in force; and it was found that the message they had sent was true, for there was no stockade, and the enemy resorted entirely to sniping. They were commanded by Kofia, one of the most turbulent and determined of their chiefs. The attack did not come as a surprise for, the day before, a number of Ashantis had been found in a village which was rushed. The active allies now searched the woods thoroughly, and succeeded in ascertaining the spot where the enemy had their war camp. They had been careful that the Ashantis had no notion of our approach, and a number of them were shot down by the Maxims and rifles.

The enemy, who held a strong position on the hilltop, rushed down and attacked our front and flank. Their number was estimated at four thousand. Three companies on each side entered the bush, and soon succeeded in pressing the enemy into a path; where they were fiercely charged by the West African Field Force, under Major Melliss. That officer was wounded; and Captain Stevenson, who was close to him, was shot in the chest.

For a moment the soldiers wavered but, almost immediately, dashed on again to avenge the loss of their officers. The charge was very effective. Those of the enemy who gradually assembled were bayoneted, and the rest fled.

Captain Stevenson's death was greatly regretted. He and Captain Wright, of another company, had asked for leave to accompany the force. As the one had no better claim than the other, Colonel Willcocks suggested that they should toss for it. They did so, and Captain Stevenson won; but what he deemed his good fortune cost him his life.

After the fight was over, there was a short pause to reorganize the force; and an advance was made to a village, three miles ahead, the intention being to attack the next morning. That evening, however, a flag came in, with an offer to surrender. Word was sent back that the offer would be accepted, if made unconditionally; and at seven o'clock in the evening a chief, a large number of men, four hundred guns, and some sheep arrived. They said that Kofia was holding a village, farther on; and would again give fight there. The force returned with them to Coomassie.

The next day, some scouts brought in the news that the enemy had again concentrated, and their numbers had been raised to four thousand by their junction with another fighting tribe. Kofia was in command, and a big war camp had been established some twelve miles away on the Berekum road. Berekum itself, which was a hundred and forty miles to the north, was reported to be invested, and had asked for help but, as so large an Ashanti force was near at hand, no men could be spared for the purpose.

A column twelve hundred strong, with five guns, and every available man in the garrison who could carry a gun, moved out early on the 29th, to give battle. It was followed by a supply column, and the bulk of the carriers.

Nine miles were accomplished without any opposition. Then a small Adansi outpost retired on their approach. The commandant decided to halt, for the night, at a deserted village. It was a miserable place. The huts had all been burnt by the rebels; so that the troops had to sleep in the open, in a steady downpour of rain. The Europeans tried to get rest in some hastily-constructed shelters, but a perfect tornado of wind was blowing, and swept the ground on which they were built.

Next day the troops marched, in their drenched clothes, through a heavy rain. Between seven and eight, however, this ceased and, almost at the same moment, a tremendous fire burst out upon them. The advance guard and support at once became engaged, but the enemy clung with such determination to their position, and contested every foot of the ground so stoutly, that two companies of reinforcements had to be called up.

Two companies were sent out into the bush, and eventually succeeded in getting partly behind the enemy, and forcing them to retreat. More troops were sent out on the left; and a company was instructed to move through the bush, on an extended line. In this way the enemy were driven out of the jungle, and forced to retire slowly up the hill.

Then the main column started, led by Major Melliss and headed by the Sikhs. The enemy, however, did not fly; and Major Melliss dashed into the thick of them, with the few men he could collect. An Ashanti fired at him, at close quarters; but a native soldier ran the man through. As they struggled on the ground, another Ashanti fired at Major Melliss, hitting him in the foot. He was practically unarmed, as he could use neither his sword nor his revolver; and would have been killed, had not another officer come up and shot the wounded Ashanti.

As the head of the column reached the spot, a heavy fire was directed upon the enemy, who were soon in headlong flight. The village in the rear of the position was taken, at the point of the bayonet. One hundred and fifty of their dead were found, lying on the battlefield; and it was learned, from prisoners, that over five hundred had been wounded.

The defeat was a crushing one. Several of their most determined chiefs were found among the dead. So hopelessly demoralized were the enemy that they never rallied again.

The victory had been achieved with very small loss, owing to the excellence of Colonel Willcocks' force. The casualties consisted only of two officers severely, and two slightly wounded; and twenty-six rank and file killed and wounded.

When the wounded had been dressed, and the scattered units collected, an advance was made to the next village; where the wearied troops slept, as it was still doubtful whether the rebels might not rally. Major Cobbe was sent on, next morning, with eight hundred men. He was to go as far as he could, but to return the next evening.

The march was a very trying one, the weather terrible. After going four miles they reached the bank of an unfordable river, some forty yards wide. The Pioneers, although they had no technical equipment, succeeded in making a rough bridge by the afternoon; and Major Cobbe decided to push on to Kofia. At ten o'clock they reached this place and, to the general relief, it was found to be deserted. The troops, therefore, marched in and turned into the huts, amid a howling tornado.

The return journey, next day, was even worse. The tracks, in many parts, were now covered with between two and three feet of water. The bridge, though submerged, had fortunately not been carried away; and the troops were able to cross, and march into camp the same evening, having carried out their orders without encountering the smallest opposition.

Chapter 20: At Home.

It was now found necessary to give the worn-out troops a long rest. They had been on constant service, for months; the stream of invalids that had been sent down to the coast daily increased, and the sick list had already reached an appalling length. The want of fresh rations was very much felt, and any large combination of troops not only caused great discomfort, but engendered various diseases, smallpox among them. In addition to this, as the black soldiers always go barefooted, their feet had got into a deplorable state.

The halt, however, had a good effect; and there was general satisfaction that it was unlikely that they would be called upon to make further efforts, as no news came of fresh gatherings of the enemy.

Colonel Willcocks now saw that the time was come to issue a proclamation promising, henceforward, to spare the lives of all rebels that surrendered. This was done, with the result that large numbers of the enemy came in. Almost all of them declared that they would have surrendered, long ago, had they not feared to do so.

On October 6th, the Commandant and British Resident held a state levee. It was attended by all the friendly and submitted kings. These vied with each other in their pomp; they were dressed in gorgeous robes and carried their state umbrellas, while their attendants danced round them, beating drums and blowing horns. After the palaver was over, target practice took place, with the guns. Canvas dummies were riddled with bullets by the Maxims; and stockades, specially constructed for the purpose, were demolished by the big guns. The natives retired, greatly impressed.

Two days later, Colonel Willcocks got up a rifle meeting for a cup; and he himself took his place among the competitors.

Five days later, news came that a fresh force of the enemy had gathered. Two columns were sent out--one of seven hundred and the other of five hundred men--but, though they traversed a wide stretch of country, they had no fighting. They received, however, the submission of a number of chiefs and villages.

The new commander of the Ashanti force was captured, tried, and hanged. The queen also was caught and, on the 24th of April, a telegram was sent home with the words:

"The campaign is at an end."

There can be no doubt that this expedition will lead to great results. The natives of Ashanti and the surrounding tribes have received a lesson that will not be forgotten for a great number of years and, long before that time, it may be hoped that civilization will have made such strides there that there will be no more chance of trouble. They have been taught that they are absolutely unable to stand against the white man; that neither distance, the thickness of their forests, stockades, nor weather can check the progress of British troops; and that resistance can only draw down upon them terrible loss, and the destruction of their villages and crops.

They had received no such lessons in the previous expeditions. That of Governor Sir Charles M'Carthy had been entirely defeated, and the governor himself killed. Another expedition, in 1867, met with a total failure. Sir Garnet Wolseley, in 1873, marched to Coomassie but, though he burnt the place, he had at once to fall back to the coast. In 1895 Sir Francis Scott led an expedition which, for some reason or other, met with no resistance.

Now Ashanti had been swept from end to end, and fire and sword had destroyed the major part of the villages. Garrisons were to be left, at Coomassie, strong enough to put down any local risings; and the natives had been taught that, small as our army might be in their country, it could at any time be largely augmented, at very short notice. Most of all, they had learned that, even without the assistance of white soldiers, the native troops--whom they had hitherto despised--were their superiors in every respect.

The completion of the railway to Coomassie has enabled troops to be sent up from the coast, in a few hours, to the heart of the country; and the numerous companies formed to work the gold mines will, in themselves, prove a great check to trouble as, no doubt, the miners will, in future, be well armed.

Colonel Willcocks left the headquarters staff a few days after the despatch of his telegram. He rode through a two-mile avenue of troops and friendly natives and, on arriving at Cape Coast, had a magnificent reception. Major C. Burroughs remained in command of Coomassie, with a strong garrison.

A few days later, the rest of the force moved down to the coast. Lisle and Hallett were carried down in hammocks, for both were completely worn out by the hardships of the campaign and, as there was no limit to the numbers of carriers that could be obtained, they gladly acquiesced in the decision of the medical officer that they ought to be carried. Both, indeed, had the seeds of fever in their system and, when they arrived at Cape Coast, were laid up with a sharp attack. As a result they were, like the great portion of the officers who had gone through the campaign, invalided home.

A day after his arrival in London, Lisle was visited by his friend Colonel Houghton, at whose house he had spent most of his leave when he was last in England.

"I saw your name in the paper, yesterday, as among the returned invalids; and thought that I should find you in the hotel where you stayed before."

"I wrote yesterday afternoon to you, sir."

"Ah! Of course, I have not got that letter. And now, how are you?"

"I am a little shaky, sir, but the voyage has done wonders for me. I have no doubt that I shall soon be myself, again."

"You have not seen the last gazette, I suppose?"

"No, sir."

"Well, there was a list of promotions, and I am happy to say that you have got the D.S.O. for your services. I dare say you know that you succeeded to your company, just six months ago?"

"No, I did not know that. I knew that I stood high among the lieutenants, and expected to get it before long; but I am proud, indeed, of the D.S.O."

"To have won the V.C. and the D.S.O. is to attain the two greatest distinctions a soldier can wear.

"Now, you had better come down with me to my place in the country; the air of London is not the best, for a man who has been suffering from African fever."

"I certainly want bracing air, and I shall be only too glad to go home with you; for I feel it is more my home than any other in England."

As soon as Lisle began to recover a little, Colonel Houghton introduced him to his neighbours, who made a good deal of the young soldier. Five years had elapsed, since he had started with the Pioneers for Chitral, and he was twenty-one.

Soon after he went to the colonel's, he was speaking to him of his friend and constant companion in the late campaign; and the colonel at once invited Hallett down. Hallett accepted the invitation, and soon joined them. He had pretty well recovered, and the campaign had knocked all his little laziness and selfishness out of him. He also had received the D.S.O.

"I am sure, Colonel Houghton," he said one day, "that I owe a tremendous lot to Lisle. He was always cheerful, and his unmerciful chaffing kept me alive. I am quite sure I should never have got through that time, when we were lost in the forest, if it hadn't been for him. I was a confirmed grumbler, too; but he never let me indulge my discontent. Altogether you have no idea, Colonel Houghton, how much he did for me."

"Well, you know, Captain Hallett, how much he did for me."

"No, sir," Hallett said, in surprise; "he has often spoken to me of you, and of your kindness to him; but he did not tell me about anything he had done for you."

"Well, he saved my life at the risk of his own. If he has not told you the story, I will."

And he related the manner in which Lisle had won his V.C.

"Why did you not tell me about it, Bullen? It was a splendid thing to do. You did tell me, I remember, how you got the V.C. by helping to get an officer out of the grasp of the Afridis, but you gave no details."

"There was nothing to tell about it, Hallett. I only did what I am sure you would have done, in my case."

"I am by no means sure of that," Hallett said. "I am always slow in making up my mind about anything; and should never have thought of putting a wounded officer on my horse, and sending him off, while I remained to be cut to pieces. I hope I should have stood by him, and been cut down with him; but I am certain that I should not have thought of the other thing, with the Afridis rushing down upon me, only thirty yards away.

"You ought to have let me know about it. You did bully me a great deal, you know; and though it was all for my good, still I think I should have put up with it better, if I had known that you had done such a thing as that."

"I think you put up with it very well, Hallett. Chaffing you, and getting you sometimes into a rage--which was pretended, rather than real--did me a lot of good. I am sure I should have given in, several times, had you not acted as a sort of tonic; and had I not been sure that it did you as much good as it did me."

A month after Hallett's arrival, the colonel said, one morning:

"Good morning, Lisle! I am going out with the hounds, tomorrow. They meet near here. As you are not great riders, I won't press you to go with me but, at least, you will ride with me to the meet. It is sure to be a good gathering, and you will probably meet some nice girls; who will, no doubt, have much greater attractions, for young fellows like you, than a gallop round the country."

"They have no particular attraction for me, sir," Lisle laughed. "It will be time enough for that, in another eight or ten years. It is more in Hallett's line."

"But we shall be chaffed, if we don't ride after the hounds, Colonel," Hallett said.

"Not at all," the colonel replied, "you have a first-rate excuse. You are only just recovering from fever. That would get you no end of commiseration and pity."

"In that case," Lisle said, "I think I should prefer staying at home. I don't feel that I need the least pity, and don't want to get it on false pretences."

"It won't be false pretences," the colonel said. "I have taken care that all the ladies I shall introduce you to should know what you did for me, and how you did it."

"I am sorry to hear it, Colonel. It is really hateful, being regarded as a man who has done something, especially at my age. However, I shall leave Hallett to bear the brunt of it. I know that he is on the lookout for a wife."

"I don't think you know anything of the sort, Lisle. It will be time for that when I get my majority."

"Ah! That is all very well, Hallett; I know you took a good half-hour dressing your hair, previous to that dinner party last week."

"It has to be brushed. It was nearly all cut off, when we were in Cape Coast, and one doesn't want to go out looking like a fretful porcupine."

So, laughing and joking, they started the next morning. There was, as the colonel had predicted, a large meet. Many ladies came on horseback, and others in carriages. The two young officers were soon engaged, chatting and laughing, with the latter.

"Do you mean to say that you are not going to ride, Captain Bullen?" one of the ladies on horseback said.

"In the first place, Miss Merton, I am an infantry officer and, except for a few weeks when I was on the staff of Colonel Lockhart, I have never done any riding. In the second place, I am forbidden to take horse exercise, at present. Moreover, although no doubt you will despise me for the confession, I dislike altogether the idea of a hundred men on horseback, and forty or fifty dogs, all chasing one unfortunate animal."

"But the unfortunate animal is a poacher of the worst kind."

"Very well, then, I should shoot him, as a poacher. Why should a hundred horsemen engage in hunting the poor brute down? Bad horseman as I am, I should not mind taking part in a cavalry charge; but hunting is not at all to my taste."

"You like shooting, Captain Bullen?"

"I like shooting, when there is something to be shot; in the first place, a dangerous animal, and in the second, an animal that is able to show fight. I have several times taken part in tiger hunts, and felt myself justified in doing so, because the animals had made themselves a scourge to unarmed villagers."

"I am afraid that you are a sort of Don Quixote," the girl laughed.

"Not quite that, Miss Merton; though I own I admire the good knight, greatly. We are going to move off, now, to the covert that has to be drawn; and I know I shall shock you, when I say that I sincerely hope that nothing will be found there."

The whole party then moved off, and the hounds were put into a covert. Five minutes later, a whimper was heard. It soon spread into a chorus, and then a fox dashed out from the opposite side; followed, in a couple of minutes, by the whole pack.

"Well, that is fun, is it not, Captain Bullen?" said a girl, to whom he was talking, in one of the carriages.

"It is a pretty sight," he said, "and if the fox always got away, I should like it. As it is, I say honestly that I don't."

The meet now broke up, and the carriages dispersed. Hallett and Lisle accepted an invitation to lunch with the ladies to whom they were talking. Two hours later, Lisle was on the point of leaving, when a groom rode up at full speed.

"Is Captain Bullen here?" he asked.

With a presentiment of evil, Lisle went out.

"The colonel has had a bad accident, sir. He was brought in, half an hour ago, by the servants. I understand that he asked for you; and three of us at once rode off, in different directions, to find you."

Lisle called Hallett and, in five minutes, they were mounted and dashed off. As they entered the house, they were met by the surgeon.

"Is he badly hurt'?" Lisle asked, anxiously.

"I fear that he is hurt to death, Captain Bullen. His horse slipped as it was taking a fence, and fell on the top of him. He has suffered severe internal injuries, and I greatly fear that there is not the least hope for him."

"Is he conscious?" Lisle asked, with deep emotion.

"Yes, he is conscious, and I believe he understands that his case is hopeless. He has asked for you, several times, since he was brought in; so you had better go to him, at once."

With a sinking heart, Lisle went upstairs. The colonel was lying on his bed.

"I am glad you have come in time, my dear boy," he said faintly, as Lisle entered. "I am afraid that I am done for, and it is a consolation for me to know that I have no near relatives who will regret my loss. I have had a good time of it, altogether; and would rather that, as I was not to die on the battlefield, death should come as it has. It is far better than if it came gradually.

"Sit by me, lad, till the end comes. I am sure it will not be long. I am suffering terribly, and the sooner it comes, the better."

The ashy gray of the colonel's face sufficed to tell Lisle that the end was, indeed, near at hand. The colonel only spoke two or three times and, at ten o'clock at night, passed away painlessly.

Upon Lisle devolved the sad work of arranging his funeral. He wrote to the colonel's lawyer, asking him to come down. Hallett had left the house at once, though Lisle earnestly begged him to stay till the funeral was over. The lawyer arrived on the morning of the funeral.

"I have taken upon myself, sir," Lisle said, "to make all the arrangements for the funeral, seeing that there was no one else to do it."

"You were the most proper person to do so," the lawyer said, gravely, "as you will see when the will is read, on our return from the grave."

When all was over, Lisle asked two or three of the colonel's most intimate friends to be present at the reading of the will. It was a very short one. The colonel made bequests to several military charities; and then appointed his adopted son, Lisle Bullen, Lieutenant in His Majesty's Rutlandshire regiment, the sole heir to all his property.

This came almost as a surprise to Lisle. The colonel had indeed told him that he had adopted him, and he was prepared to learn that he had left him a legacy; but he had no idea that he would be left sole heir.

"I congratulate you, sir," the lawyer said, when he folded up the paper. "Colonel Houghton stated to me, fully, his reasons for making such a disposition of his property and, as he had no near relations, I was able to approve of it heartily. I may say that he has left nearly sixteen thousand pounds. The other small legacies will take about a thousand, and you will therefore have some fifteen thousand pounds, which is all invested in first-rate securities."

"I feel my good fortune, sir," Lisle said quietly, "but I would that it had not come to me for many years, and not in such a manner."

The meeting soon after broke up, and Lisle went up to town and joined Hallett at the hotel they both used.

"Well, I congratulate you heartily," Hallett said, when he heard the contents of the will. "It is a good windfall, but not a bit more than you deserve."

"I would rather not have had it," Lisle said, sorrowfully. "I owe much to the colonel, who has for the past three years given me an allowance of two hundred pounds a year; and I would far rather have gone on with that, than come into a fortune in this manner."

"I can understand that," Hallett said; "the colonel was a first-rate old fellow, and his death will be an immense loss to you. Still, but for you it would have come three years ago and, after all, it is better to be killed hunting than to be shot to pieces by savages.

"Well, it will bring you in six or seven hundred pounds a year, a sum not to be despised. It will enable you to leave the army, if you like; though I should advise you to stick to it. Here are you a captain at twenty-one, a V. C. and D. S. O. man, with a big career before you and, no doubt, you will get a brevet majority before long."

"I have certainly not the least idea of leaving the army. I was born in it, and hope to remain in it as long as I can do good work."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I shall go down there again, in a fortnight or so."

"Would you be disposed to take me with you?"

"Certainly I shall, if you will go. I had not thought of asking you, because everything must go on quietly there, for a time; but really I should prize your company very much."

"Well, the fact is," Hallett said, rather shamefacedly, "I am rather smitten with Miss Merton, and I have some hopes that she is a little taken with me. I heard that she has money but, although that is satisfactory, I would take her, if she would have me, without a penny. You know I have three hundred pounds a year of my own; which is quite enough, with my pay, to enable us to get on comfortably. Still, I won't say that, if she has as much more, we could not do things better."

Lisle laughed.

"I thought you were not a marrying man, Hallett! In fact, you have more than once told me so."

"Well, I didn't think I was," Hallett admitted, "but you see, circumstances alter cases."

"They do, Hallett, and your case seems to be a bad one. However, old man, I wish you luck. She is an exceedingly nice girl and, if I were ten years older, I might have been smitten myself; and then, you know, your chance would have been nowhere."

"I quite feel that," Hallett said; "a V.C. is a thing no girl can stand against.

"If you will take me, I will go down with you and stay a little time, and then try my luck."

"That you certainly shall do. I can hardly do anything in the way of festivities, at present; but there is no reason why you should not enter into anything that is going on."

So they went down together. Ten days later, all the families round came to pay visits of condolence; and to each Lisle said that, although he himself could not think of going out, at present, his friend Hallett, who had come to stay with him for a month, would be glad to join in any quiet festivity. So Hallett was frequently invited out, Lisle accompanying him only to the very quietest of dinners.

One evening Hallett returned in the highest glee.

"Congratulate me, my dear fellow," he said. "Miss Merton has accepted me and, after she had done so, I had the inevitable talk with her father. He told me, frankly, that he had hoped that his daughter would make a better match. I of course agreed with him, heartily; but he went on to say that, after all, our happiness was the first consideration, and that he felt sure that it would be secured by her marriage with me. He said that he should allow her four hundred pounds a year, during his and her mother's lifetime. At their death there would be a small addition to her allowance, but naturally the bulk of his property would go to her brother. Of course, I expressed myself as infinitely grateful. I said that he had not enquired about my income, but that I had three hundred pounds a year, in addition to my pay; and should probably, some day, come into more. He expressed himself as content and, as I had expected, asked me whether I intended to leave the army. I said that that was a matter for his daughter to decide; but that, for my part, I should certainly prefer to remain in the service, for I really did not see what I should do with myself, if I left it. I said that I had been very fortunate in having, to some small extent, distinguished myself; but that if, after some experience of India, she did not care for the life, I would promise to retire."

"'I think you are right,' he said. 'It is a bad thing for a young man of seven or eight and twenty to be without employment. Your income would be insufficient to enable you to live, with comfort, as a country gentleman; and you would naturally find time lie heavy upon your hands, if you had nothing to do.'

"He was good enough to say that he thought his daughter's happiness would be safe in my hands and, as she would be able to have every luxury in India, he thought that the arrangement would be a very satisfactory one. It is awfully good of him, of course, for she could have made an infinitely better match."

"You have, of course, not settled anything about the date, Hallett?"

"No; I expect we shall settle about that when I see her, tomorrow. Of course, it must be pretty early, as we had letters, yesterday, to go up to town to be examined by the board; and we have both picked up so much that, I fancy, we shall be ordered back to our regiments pretty sharply. You see, every man is wanted at present and, as we both had a year's leave before we went out to West Africa, it is not unnatural that they should send us off again, as soon as they can. I dare say, however, they will give us a couple of months; and I suppose we shall want a month for our honeymoon, in which case we ought to be spliced in a month's time; if she can get ready in that time, which of course she can do, if she hurries up the milliners and other people."

"I have no doubt she could, in the circumstances," Lisle laughed. "Well, old man, I do congratulate you most heartily. She certainly is a very charming young woman. I expect I shall not get leave again, till the regiment comes back; which will be another five years yet, and perhaps two or three years longer, if there is any action going on anywhere. I can tell you I am not so hot about fighting as I used to be. The Tirah was sharp, but it was nothing to West Africa, which was enough to cure one of any desire to take part in fighting.

"If we are going to have a fight with Russia, I certainly should like to take part in that. That would be a tremendous affair, and I fancy that our Indian soldiers will give a good account of themselves. If it is to be, I do hope it will come before I leave the army. I am certainly in no hurry to do so."

"You would be a fool, if you were," Hallett said. "Thanks to your luck in getting a commission at sixteen, and to the loss of so many officers in the Tirah, you are now a captain at twenty-one, certainly the youngest captain in the service. Of course, if there is no war, you can't expect to continue going up at that pace; but you certainly ought to be a major at thirty, if not before. You may command a regiment within five or six years later, and be a brigadier soon after that, for you will have that by seniority. Of course, if you marry you will have to consider your wife's wishes; but she is not likely to object to your staying on, if you get to be a major, for a major's wife is by no means an unimportant item in a regiment."

"Ah! Well, we needn't think about that," Lisle laughed, "especially as, if there is war with Russia before we come home, a good many of us will certainly stay out permanently. Well, old man, I do congratulate you, most heartily."

Miss Merton, after some demur, agreed that it would be just possible for her to be ready at the end of a month. Three days later the two friends went up to town and, after undergoing a medical examination, were told that they must rejoin their regiments in a couple of months. As both regiments were in India, they decided to return in the same ship.

"I am not sorry that we are off," Lisle said, when they met on the deck of the P. and O. steamer. "I was getting desperately tired of doing nothing and, after you had gone off with your wife, on the afternoon of the marriage, I began to feel desperately lonely. Of course, I have always been accustomed to have a lot of friends round me; and I began to feel a longing to be with the regiment again and, if we had not agreed to go out together, I think I should have taken the next steamer."

Six weeks later Lisle rejoined his regiment, where he was heartily welcomed.

"Now you are a brevet major, Mr. Bullen, I am afraid that you will cease to be useful to us all; for of course we cannot be sending an officer of that exalted rank about to do our messages. However, several nice boys have joined, while you have been away."

"I shall always be happy to be employed," Lisle laughed, "and I dare say I am no older than many of the subalterns."

"I suppose you have had hard times?"

"Very hard. I thought that the Tirah business was about as hard as one would have to go through, in the course of one's soldiering; but I was greatly deceived. When I say that for six months I hardly ever had dry clothes on, and that I waded something like a hundred rivers, you may guess what it was like.

"And we had our full share of fighting, too. I was very fortunate in only getting hit three or four times, with slugs; but as we were for the most part fighting against men hidden in the bush, it was unsatisfactory work, though we always did lick them in the end. I can assure you that I do not wish for any more service of that kind.

"Have the tribes been quiet since I went away?"

"Quiet, as far as we were concerned. Of course, there have been a few trifling risings along the frontier but, as a whole, even the Zakka-Khels have been quiet. I don't think there will be any trouble, on a large scale, for some time to come."

"Then there is a prospect of a quiet time; that is to say, if the Russians will keep quiet."

"That is a very strong 'if,' Major Bullen; but I think that, if there is trouble, it will be in China."

"In that case, no doubt a good many regiments will be sent from here. I hope that it will be our good fortune to be among them."

"Well, in that case," the colonel said, with a laugh, "you will have to restrain your ardour, and give a chance to other men. You have got the V.C. and the D.S.O., which ought to satisfy you; to say nothing of having got your company, and brevet majority, at the age of twenty-one. You must be content with that, otherwise the regiment will rise against you."

"That would be very unpleasant," Lisle said, with a laugh. "I will try to suppress my zeal. I can assure you that I am perfectly conscious of the incongruity of being in such a position, at my age."

At present Lisle is with his regiment, and the prospect of a war with Russia is no nearer than it was.

Table of Contents

Tales of Daring and Danger

BEARS AND DACOITS.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

THE PATERNOSTERS.

A PIPE OF MYSTERY.

WHITE-FACED DICK,

A BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE,

Tales of Daring and Danger

BEARS AND DACOITS.

A TALE OF THE GHAUTS.

CHAPTER I.

merry party were sitting in the verandah of one of the largest and handsomest bungalows of Poonah. It belonged to Colonel Hastings, colonel of a native regiment stationed there, and at present, in virtue of seniority, commanding a brigade. Tiffin was on, and three or four officers and four ladies had taken their seats in the comfortable cane lounging chairs which form the invariable furniture of the verandah of a well-ordered bungalow. Permission had been duly asked, and granted by Mrs. Hastings, and the cheroots had just begun to draw, when Miss Hastings, a niece of the colonel, who had only arrived the previous week from England, said,—

"Uncle, I am quite disappointed. Mrs. Lyons showed me he bear she has got tied up in their compound, and it is the most wretched little thing, not bigger than Rover, papa's retriever, and it's full-grown. I thought bears were great fierce creatures, and this poor little thing seemed so restless and unhappy that I thought it quite a shame not to let it go."

Colonel Hastings smiled rather grimly.

"And yet, small and insignificant as that bear is, my dear, it is a question whether he is not as dangerous an animal to meddle with as a man-eating tiger."

"What, that wretched little bear, Uncle?"

"Yes, that wretched little bear. Any experienced sportsman will tell you that hunting those little bears is as dangerous a sport as tiger-hunting on foot, to say nothing of tiger-hunting from an elephant's back, in which there is scarcely any danger whatever. I can speak feelingly about it, for my career was pretty nearly brought to an end by a bear, just after I entered the army, some thirty years ago, at a spot within a few miles from here. I have got the scars on my shoulder and arm still."

"Oh, do tell me all about it," Miss Hastings said; and the request being seconded by the rest of the party, none of whom, with the exception of Mrs. Hastings, had ever heard the story before—for the colonel was somewhat chary of relating this special experience—he waited till they had all drawn up their chairs as close as possible, and then giving two or three vigorous puffs at his cheroot, began as follows:—

"Thirty years ago, in 1855, things were not so settled in the Deccan as they are now. There was no idea of insurrection on a large scale, but we were going through one of those outbreaks of Dacoity, which have several times proved so troublesome. Bands of marauders kept the country in confusion, pouring down on a village, now carrying off three or four of the Bombay money-lenders, who were then, as now, the curse of the country; sometimes making an onslaught upon a body of traders; and occasionally venturing to attack small detachments of troops or isolated parties of police. They were not very formidable, but they were very troublesome, and most difficult to catch, for the peasantry regarded them as patriots, and aided and shielded them in every way. The head-quarters of these gangs of Dacoits were the Ghauts. In the thick bush and deep valleys and gorges there they could always take refuge, while sometimes the more daring chiefs converted these detached peaks and masses of rock, numbers of which you can see as you come up the Ghaut by railway, into almost impregnable fortresses. Many of these masses of rock rise as sheer up from the hillside as walls of masonry, and look at a short distance like ruined castles. Some are absolutely inaccessible; others can only be scaled by experienced climbers; and, although possible for the natives with their bare feet, are impracticable to European troops. Many of these rock fortresses were at various times the head-quarters of famous Dacoit leaders, and unless the summits happened to be commanded from some higher ground within gunshot range they were all but impregnable except by starvation. When driven to bay, these fellows would fight well.

"Well, about the time I joined, the Dacoits were unusually troublesome; the police had a hard time of it, and almost lived in the saddle, and the cavalry were constantly called up to help them, while detachments of infantry from the station were under canvas at several places along the top of the Ghauts to cut the bands off from their strongholds, and to aid, if necessary, in turning them out of their rock fortresses. The natives in the valleys at the foot of the Ghauts, who have always been a semi-independent race, ready to rob whenever they saw a chance, were great friends with the Dacoits, and supplied them with provisions whenever the hunt on the Deccan was too hot for them to make raids in that direction.

"This is a long introduction, you will say, and does not seem to have much to do with bears; but it is really necessary, as you will see. I had joined about six months when three companies of the regiment were ordered to relieve a wing of the 15th, who had been under canvas at a village some four miles to the north of the point where the line crosses the top of the Ghauts. There were three white officers, and little enough to do, except when a party was sent off to assist the police. We had one or two brushes with the Dacoits, but I was not out on either occasion. However, there was plenty of shooting, and a good many pigs about, so we had very good fun. Of course, as a raw hand, I was very hot for it, and as the others had both passed the enthusiastic age, except for pig-sticking and big game, I could always get away. I was supposed not to go far from camp, because, in the first place, I might be wanted; and, in the second, because of the Dacoits; and Norworthy, who was in command, used to impress upon me that I ought not to go beyond the sound of a bugle. Of course we both knew that if I intended to get any sport I must go further afoot than this; but I merely used to say 'All right, sir, I will keep an ear to the camp,' and he on his part never considered it necessary to ask where the game which appeared on the table came from. But in point of fact, I never went very far, and my servant always had instructions which way to send for me if I was wanted; while as to the Dacoits I did not believe in their having the impudence to come in broad daylight within a mile or two of our camp. I did not often go down the face of the Ghauts. The shooting was good, and there were plenty of bears in those days, but it needed a long day for such an expedition, and in view of the Dacoits who might be scattered about, was not the sort of thing to be undertaken except with a strong party. Norworthy had not given any precise orders about it, but I must admit that he said one day:—

"'Of course you won't be fool enough to think of going down the Ghauts, Hastings?' But I did not look at that as equivalent to a direct order—whatever I should do now," the colonel put in, on seeing a furtive smile on the faces of his male listeners.

"However, I never meant to go down, though I used to stand on the edge and look longingly down into the bush and fancy I saw bears moving about in scores. But I don't think I should have gone into their country if they had not come into mine. One day the fellow who always carried my spare gun or flask, and who was a sort of shekarry in a small way, told me he had heard that a farmer, whose house stood near the edge of the Ghauts, some two miles away, had been seriously annoyed by his fruit and corn being stolen by bears.

"'I'll go and have a look at the place to-morrow,' I said, 'there is no parade, and I can start early. You may as well tell the mess cook to put up a basket with some tiffin and a bottle of claret, and get a boy to carry it over.'

"'The bears not come in day,' Rahman said.

"'Of course not,' I replied; 'still I may like to find out which way they come. Just do as you are told.'

"The next morning, at seven o'clock, I was at the farmer's spoken of, and there was no mistake as to the bears. A patch of Indian corn had been ruined by them, and two dogs had been killed. The native was in a terrible state of rage and alarm. He said that on moonlight nights he had seen eight of them, and they came and sniffed around the door of the cottage.

"'Why don't you fire through the window at them?' I asked scornfully, for I had seen a score of tame bears in captivity, and, like you, Mary, was inclined to despise them, though there was far less excuse for me; for I had heard stories which should have convinced me that, small as he is, the Indian bear is not a beast to be attacked with impunity. Upon walking to the edge of the Ghauts there was no difficulty in discovering the route by which the bears came up to the farm. For a mile to the right and left the ground fell away as if cut with a knife, leaving a precipice of over a hundred feet sheer down; but close by where I was standing was the head of a watercourse, which in time had gradually worn a sort of cleft in the wall, up or down which it was not difficult to make one's way. Further down this little gorge widened out and became a deep ravine, and further still a wide valley, where it opened upon the flats far below us. About half a mile down where the ravine was deepest and darkest was a thick clump of trees and jungle.

"'That's where the bears are?' I asked Rahman. He nodded. It seemed no distance. I could get down and back in time for tiffin, and perhaps bag a couple of bears. For a young sportsman the temptation was great. 'How long would it take us to go down and have a shot or two at them?'

"'No good go down. Master come here at night, shoot bears when they come up.'

"I had thought of that; but, in the first place, it did not seem much sport to shoot the beasts from cover when they were quietly eating, and, in the next place, I knew that Norworthy could not, even if he were willing, give me leave to go out of camp at night. I waited, hesitating for a few minutes, and then I said to myself, 'It is of no use waiting. I could go down and get a bear and be back again while I am thinking of it;' then to Rahman, 'No, come along; we will have a look through that wood anyhow.'

"Rahman evidently did not like it.

"'Not easy find bear, sahib. He very cunning.'

"'Well, very likely we sha'n't find them,' I said, 'but we can try anyhow. Bring that bottle with you; the tiffin basket can wait here till we come back.' In another five minutes I had begun to climb down the watercourse—the shekarry following me. I took the double-barrelled rifle and handed him the shot-gun, having first dropped a bullet down each barrel over the charge. The ravine was steep, but there were bushes to hold on by, and although it was hot work and took a good deal longer than I expected, we at last got down to the place which I had fixed upon as likely to be the bears' home.

"'Sahib, climb up top,' Rahman said; 'come down through wood; no good fire at bear when he above.'

"I had heard that before; but I was hot, the sun was pouring down, there was not a breath of wind, and it looked a long way up to the top of the wood.

"'Give me the claret. It would take too long to search the wood regularly. We will sit down here for a bit, and if we can see anything moving up in the wood, well and good; if not, we will come back again another day with some beaters and dogs.' So saying, I sat down with my back against a rock, at a spot where I could look up among the trees for a long way through a natural vista. I had a drink of claret, and then I sat and watched till gradually I dropped off to sleep. I don't know how long I slept, but it was some time, and I woke up with a sudden start. Rahman, who had, I fancy, been asleep too, also started up.

"The noise which had aroused us was made by a rolling stone striking a rock; and looking up I saw some fifty yards away, not in the wood, but on the rocky hillside on our side of the ravine, a bear standing, as though unconscious of our presence, snuffing the air. As was natural, I seized my rifle, cocked it, and took aim, unheeding a cry of 'No, no, sahib,' from Rahman. However, I was not going to miss such a chance as this, and I let fly. The beast had been standing sideways to me, and as I saw him fall I felt sure I had hit him in the heart. I gave a shout of triumph, and was about to climb up, when, from behind the rock on which the bear had stood, appeared another growling fiercely; on seeing me, it at once prepared to come down. Stupidly, being taken by surprise, and being new at it, I fired at once at its head. The bear gave a spring, and then—it seemed instantaneous—down it came at me. Whether it rolled down, or slipped down, or ran down, I don't know, but it came almost as if it had jumped straight at me.

"'My gun, Rahman,' I shouted, holding out my hand. There was no answer. I glanced round, and found that the scoundrel had bolted. I had time, and only just time, to take a step backwards, and to club my rifle, when the brute was upon me. I got one fair blow at the side of its head, a blow that would have smashed the skull of any civilized beast into pieces, and which did fortunately break the brute's jaw; then in an instant he was upon me, and I was fighting for life. My hunting-knife was out, and with my left hand I had the beast by the throat; while with my right I tried to drive my knife into its ribs. My bullet had gone through his chest. The impetus of his charge had knocked me over, and we rolled on the ground, he tearing with his claws at my shoulder and arm, I stabbing and struggling, my great effort being to keep my knees up so as to protect my body with them from his hind claws. After the first blow with his paw, which laid my shoulder open, I do not think I felt any special pain whatever. There was a strange faint sensation, and my whole energy seemed centered in the two ideas—to strike and to keep my knees up. I knew that I was getting faint, but I was dimly conscious that his efforts, too, were relaxing. His weight on me seemed to increase enormously, and the last idea that flashed across me was that it was a drawn fight.

"The next idea of which I was conscious was that I was being carried. I seemed to be swinging about, and I thought I was at sea. Then there was a little jolt and a sense of pain. 'A collision,' I muttered, and opened my eyes. Beyond the fact that I seemed in a yellow world—a bright orange-yellow—my eyes did not help me, and I lay vaguely wondering about it all, till the rocking ceased. There was another bump, and then the yellow world seemed to come to an end; and as the daylight streamed in upon me I fainted again. This time when I awoke to consciousness things were clearer. I was stretched by a little stream. A native woman was sprinkling my face and washing the blood from my wounds; while another, who had with my own knife cut off my coat and shirt, was tearing the latter into strips to bandage my wounds. The yellow world was explained. I was lying on the yellow robe of one of the women. They had tied the ends together, placed a long stick through them, and carried me in the bag-like hammock. They nodded to me when they saw I was conscious, and brought water in a large leaf, and poured it into my mouth. Then one went away for some time, and came back with some leaves and bark. These they chewed and put on my wounds, bound them up with strips of my shirt, and then again knotted the ends of the cloth, and lifting me up, went on as before.

"I was sure that we were much lower down the Ghaut than we had been when I was watching for the bears, and we were now going still lower. However, I knew very little Hindustani, nothing of the language the women spoke. I was too weak to stand, too weak even to think much; and I dozed and woke, and dozed again, until, after what seemed to me many hours of travel, we stopped again, this time before a tent. Two or three old women and four or five men came out, and there was great talking between them and the young women—for they were young—who had carried me down. Some of the party appeared angry; but at last things quieted down, and I was carried into the tent. I had fever, and was, I suppose, delirious for days. I afterwards found that for fully a fortnight I had lost all consciousness; but a good constitution and the nursing of the women pulled me round. When once the fever had gone, I began to mend rapidly. I tried to explain to the women that if they would go up to the camp and tell them where I was they would be well rewarded; but although I was sure they understood, they shook their heads, and by the fact that as I became stronger two or three armed men always hung about the tent, I came to the conclusion that I was a sort of prisoner. This was annoying, but did not seem serious. If these people were Dacoits, or, as was more likely, allies of the Dacoits, I could be kept only for ransom or exchange. Moreover, I felt sure of my ability to escape when I got strong, especially as I believed that in the young women who had saved my life, both by bringing me down and by their careful nursing, I should find friends."

"Were they pretty, uncle?" Mary Hastings broke in.

"Never mind whether they were pretty, Mary; they were better than pretty."

"No; but we like to know, uncle."

"Well, except for the soft, dark eyes, common to the race, and the good temper and lightheartedness, also so general among Hindu girls, and the tenderness which women feel towards a creature whose life they have saved, whether it is a wounded bird or a drowning puppy, I suppose they were nothing remarkable in the way of beauty, but at the time I know that I thought them charming.

CHAPTER II.

"Just as I was getting strong enough to walk, and was beginning to think of making my escape, a band of five or six fellows, armed to the teeth, came in, and made signs that I was to go with them. It was evidently an arranged thing, the girls only were surprised, but they were at once turned out, and as we started I could see two crouching figures in the shade with their cloths over their heads. I had a native garment thrown over my shoulders, and in five minutes after the arrival of the fellows found myself on my way. It took us some six hours before we reached our destination, which was one of those natural rock citadels. Had I been in my usual health I could have done the distance in an hour and a half, but I had to rest constantly, and was finally carried rather than helped up. I had gone not unwillingly, for the men were clearly, by their dress, Dacoits of the Deccan, and I had no doubt that it was intended either to ransom or exchange me.

"At the foot of this natural castle were some twenty or thirty more robbers, and I was led to a rough sort of arbour in which was lying, on a pile of maize straw, a man who was evidently their chief. He rose and we exchanged salaams.

"'What is your name, sahib?' he asked in Mahratta.

"'Hastings—Lieutenant Hastings,' I said. 'And yours?'

"'Sivajee Punt!' he said.

"This was bad. I had fallen into the hands of the most troublesome, most ruthless, and most famous of the Dacoit leaders. Over and over again he had been hotly chased, but had always managed to get away; and when I last heard anything of what was going on four or five troops of native police were scouring the country after him. He gave an order which I did not understand, and a wretched Bombay writer, I suppose a clerk of some money-lender, was dragged forward. Sivajee Punt spoke to him for some time, and the fellow then told me in English that I was to write at once to the officer commanding the troops, telling him that I was in his hands, and should be put to death directly he was attacked.

"'Ask him,' I said, 'if he will take any sum of money to let me go?'

"Sivajee shook his head very decidedly.

"A piece of paper was put before me, and a pen and ink, and I wrote as I had been ordered, adding, however, in French, that I had brought myself into my present position by my own folly, and would take my chance, for I well knew the importance which Government attached to Sivajee's capture. I read out loud all that I had written in English, and the interpreter translated it. Then the paper was folded and I addressed it, 'The Officer Commanding,' and I was given some chupattis and a drink of water, and allowed to sleep. The Dacoits had apparently no fear of any immediate attack.

"It was still dark, although morning was just breaking, when I was awakened, and was got up to the citadel. I was hoisted rather than climbed, two men standing above with a rope, tied round my body, so that I was half-hauled, half-pushed up the difficult places, which would have taxed all my climbing powers had I been in health.

"The height of this mass of rock was about a hundred feet; the top was fairly flat, with some depressions and risings, and about eighty feet long by fifty wide. It had evidently been used as a fortress in ages past. Along the side facing the hill were the remains of a rough wall. In the centre of a depression was a cistern, some four feet square, lined with stone-work, and in another depression a gallery had been cut, leading to a subterranean store-room or chamber. This natural fortress rose from the face of the hill at a distance of a thousand yards or so from the edge of the plateau, which was fully two hundred feet higher than the top of the rock. In the old days it would have been impregnable, and even at that time it was an awkward place to take, for the troops were armed only with Brown Bess, and rifled cannon were not thought of. Looking round, I could see that I was some four miles from the point where I had descended. The camp was gone; but running my eye along the edge of the plateau I could see the tops of tents a mile to my right, and again two miles to my left; turning round, and looking down into the wide valley, I saw a regimental camp.

"It was evident that a vigorous effort was being made to surround and capture the Dacoits, since troops had been brought up from Bombay. In addition to the troops above and below, there would probably be a strong police force, acting on the face of the hill. I did not see all these things at the time, for I was, as soon as I got to the top, ordered to sit down behind the parapet, a fellow armed to the teeth squatting down by me, and signifying that if I showed my head above the stones he would cut my throat without hesitation. There were, however, sufficient gaps between the stones to allow me to have a view of the crest of the Ghaut, while below my view extended down to the hills behind Bombay. It was evident to me now why the Dacoits did not climb up into the fortress. There were dozens of similar crags on the face of the Ghauts, and the troops did not as yet know their whereabouts. It was a sort of blockade of the whole face of the hills which was being kept up, and there were, probably enough, several other bands of Dacoits lurking in the jungle.

"There were only two guards and myself on the rock plateau. I discussed with myself the chances of my overpowering them and holding the top of the rock till help came; but I was greatly weakened, and was not a match for a boy, much less for the two stalwart Mahrattas; besides, I was by no means sure that the way I had been brought up was the only possible path to the top. The day passed off quietly. The heat on the bare rock was frightful, but one of the men, seeing how weak and ill I really was, fetched a thick rug from the storehouse, and with the aid of a stick made a sort of lean-to against the wall, under which I lay sheltered from the sun.

"Once or twice during the day I heard a few distant musket-shots, and once a sharp heavy outburst of firing. It must have been three or four miles away, but it was on the side of the Ghaut, and showed that the troops or police were at work. My guards looked anxiously in that direction, and uttered sundry curses. When it was dusk, Sivajee and eight of the Dacoits came up. From what they said, I gathered that the rest of the band had dispersed, trusting either to get through the line of their pursuers, or, if caught, to escape with slight punishment, the men who remained being too deeply concerned in murderous outrages to hope for mercy. Sivajee himself handed me a letter, which the man who had taken my note had brought back in reply. Major Knapp, the writer, who was the second in command, said that he could not engage the Government, but that if Lieutenant Hastings was given up the act would certainly dispose the Government to take the most merciful view possible; but that if, on the contrary, any harm was suffered by Lieutenant Hastings, every man taken would be at once hung. Sivajee did not appear put out about it. I do not think he expected any other answer, and imagine that his real object in writing was simply to let them know that I was a prisoner, and so enable him the better to paralyse the attack upon a position which he no doubt considered all but impregnable.

"I was given food, and was then allowed to walk as I chose upon the little plateau, two of the Dacoits taking post as sentries at the steepest part of the path, while the rest gathered, chatting and smoking, in the depression in front of the storehouse. It was still light enough for me to see for some distance down the face of the rock, and I strained my eyes to see if I could discern any other spot at which an ascent or descent was possible. The prospect was not encouraging. At some places the face fell sheer away from the edge, and so evident was the impracticability of escape that the only place which I glanced at twice was the western side, that is the one away from the hill. Here it sloped gradually for a few feet. I took off my shoes and went down to the edge. Below, some ten feet, was a ledge, on to which with care I could get down, but below that was a sheer fall of some fifty feet. As a means of escape it was hopeless, but it struck me that if an attack was made I might slip away and get on to the ledge. Once there I could not be seen except by a person standing where I now was, just on the edge of the slope, a spot to which it was very unlikely that anyone would come.

"The thought gave me a shadow of hope, and, returning to the upper end of the platform, I lay down, and in spite of the hardness of the rock, was soon asleep. The pain of my aching bones woke me up several times, and once, just as the first tinge of dawn was coming, I thought I could hear movements in the jungle. I raised myself somewhat, and I saw that the sounds had been heard by the Dacoits, for they were standing listening, and some of them were bringing spare fire-arms from the storehouse, in evident preparation for attack.

"As I afterwards learned, the police had caught one of the Dacoits trying to effect his escape, and by means of a little of the ingenious torture to which the Indian police then frequently resorted, when their white officers were absent, they obtained from him the exact position of Sivajee's band, and learned the side from which the ascent must be made. That the Dacoit and his band were still upon the slopes of the Ghauts they knew, and were gradually narrowing their circle, but there were so many rocks and hiding-places that the process of searching was a slow one, and the intelligence was so important that the news was off at once to the colonel, who gave orders for the police to surround the rock at daylight and to storm it if possible. The garrison was so small that the police were alone ample for the work, supposing that the natural difficulties were not altogether insuperable.

"Just at daybreak there was a distant noise of men moving in the jungle, and the Dacoit half-way down the path fired his gun. He was answered by a shout and a volley. The Dacoits hurried out from the chamber, and lay down on the edge, where, sheltered by a parapet, they commanded the path. They paid no attention to me, and I kept as far away as possible. The fire began—a quiet, steady fire, a shot at a time, and in strong contrast to the rattle kept up from the surrounding jungle; but every shot must have told, as man after man who strove to climb that steep path, fell. It lasted only ten minutes, and then all was quiet again.

"The attack had failed, as I knew it must do, for two men could have held the place against an army; a quarter of an hour later a gun from the crest above spoke out, and a round shot whistled above our heads. Beyond annoyance, an artillery fire could do no harm, for the party could be absolutely safe in the store cave. The instant the shot flew overhead, however, Sivajee Punt beckoned to me, and motioned me to take my seat on the wall facing the guns. Hesitation was useless, and I took my seat with my back to the Dacoits and my face to the hill. One of the Dacoits, as I did so, pulled off the native cloth which covered my shoulders, in order that I might be clearly seen.

"Just as I took my place another round shot hummed by; but then there was a long interval of silence. With a field-glass every feature must have been distinguishable to the gunners, and I had no doubt that they were waiting for orders as to what to do next.

"I glanced round and saw that with the exception of one fellow squatted behind the parapet some half-dozen yards away, clearly as a sentry to keep me in place, all the others had disappeared. Some, no doubt, were on sentry down the path, the others were in the store beneath me. After half an hour's silence the guns spoke out again. Evidently the gunners were told to be as careful as they could, for some of the shots went wide on the left, others on the right. A few struck the rock below me. The situation was not pleasant, but I thought that at a thousand yards they ought not to hit me, and I tried to distract my attention by thinking out what I should do under every possible contingency.

"Presently I felt a crash and a shock, and fell backwards to the ground. I was not hurt, and on picking myself up saw that the ball had struck the parapet to the left, just where my guard was sitting, and he lay covered with its fragments. His turban lay some yards behind him. Whether he was dead or not I neither knew nor cared.

"I pushed down some of the parapet where I had been sitting, dropped my cap on the edge outside, so as to make it appear that I had fallen over, and then picking up the man's turban, ran to the other end of the platform and scrambled down to the ledge. Then I began to wave my arms about—I had nothing on above the waist—and in a moment I saw a face with a uniform cap peer out through the jungle, and a hand was waved. I made signs to him to make his way to the foot of the perpendicular wall of rock beneath me. I then unwound the turban, whose length was, I knew, amply sufficient to reach to the bottom, and then looked round for something to write on. I had my pencil still in my trousers pocket, but not a scrap of paper.

"I picked up a flattish piece of rock and wrote on it, 'Get a rope-ladder quickly, I can haul it up. Ten men in garrison. They are all under cover. Keep on firing to distract their attention."

"I tied the stone to the end of the turban, and looked over. A non-commissioned officer of the police was already standing below. I lowered the stone; he took it, waved his hand to me, and was gone.

"An hour passed: it seemed an age. The round shots still rang overhead, and the fire was now much more heavy and sustained than before. Presently I again saw a movement in the jungle, and Norworthy's face appeared, and he waved his arm in greeting.

"Five minutes more and a party were gathered at the foot of the rock, and a strong rope was tied to the cloth. I pulled it up. A rope-ladder was attached to it, and the top rung was in a minute or two in my hands. To it was tied a piece of paper with the words: 'Can you fasten the ladder?" I wrote on the paper: 'No; but I can hold it for a light weight.'

"I put the paper with a stone in the end of the cloth, and lowered it again. Then I sat down, tied the rope round my waist, got my feet against two projections, and waited. There was a jerk, and then I felt some one was coming up the rope-ladder. The strain was far less than I expected, but the native policeman who came up first did not weigh half so much as an average Englishman. There were now two of us to hold. The officer in command of the police came up next, then Norworthy, then a dozen more police. I explained the situation, and we mounted to the upper level. Not a soul was to be seen. Quickly we advanced and took up a position to command the door of the underground chamber; while one of the police waved a white cloth from his bayonet as a signal to the gunners to cease firing. Then the police officer hailed the party within the cave.

"'Sivajee Punt! you may as well come out and give yourself up! We are in possession, and resistance is useless!'

"A yell of rage and surprise was heard, and the Dacoits, all desperate men, came bounding out, firing as they did so. Half of their number were shot down at once, and the rest, after a short, sharp struggle, were bound hand and foot.

"That is pretty well all of the story, I think. Sivajee Punt was one of the killed. The prisoners were all either hung or imprisoned for life. I escaped my blowing-up for having gone down the Ghauts after the bear, because, after all, Sivajee Punt might have defied their force for months had I not done so.

"It seemed that that scoundrel Rahman had taken back word that I was killed. Norworthy had sent down a strong party, who found the two dead bears, and who, having searched everywhere without finding any signs of my body, came to the conclusion that I had been found and carried away, especially as they ascertained that natives used that path. They had offered rewards, but nothing was heard of me till my note saying I was in Sivajee's hands arrived."

"And did you ever see the women who carried you off?"

"No, Mary, I never saw them again. I did, however, after immense trouble, succeed in finding out where it was that I had been taken to. I went down at once, but found the village deserted. Then after much inquiry I found where the people had moved to, and sent messages to the women to come up to the camp, but they never came; and I was reduced at last to sending them down two sets of silver bracelets, necklaces, and bangles, which must have rendered them the envy of all the women on the Ghauts. They sent back a message of grateful thanks, and I never heard of them afterwards. No doubt their relatives, who knew that their connection with the Dacoits was now known, would not let them come. However, I had done all I could, and I have no doubt the women were perfectly satisfied. So you see, my dear, that the Indian bear, small as he is, is an animal which it is as well to leave alone, at any rate when he happens to be up on the side of a hill while you are at the foot."

THE PATERNOSTERS.

A YACHTING STORY.

ND do you really mean that we are to cross by the steamer, Mr. Virtue, while you go over in the Seabird? I do not approve of that at all. Fanny, why do you not rebel, and say we won't be put ashore? I call it horrid, after a fortnight on board this dear little yacht, to have to get on to a crowded steamer, with no accommodation and lots of sea-sick women, perhaps, and crying children. You surely cannot be in earnest?"

"I do not like it any more than you do, Minnie; but, as Tom says we had better do it, and my husband agrees with him, I am afraid we must submit. Do you really think it is quite necessary, Mr. Virtue? Minnie and I are both good sailors, you know; and we would much rather have a little extra tossing about on board the Seabird than the discomforts of a steamer."

"I certainly think that it will be best, Mrs. Grantham. You know very well we would rather have you on board, and that we shall suffer from your loss more than you will by going the other way; but there's no doubt the wind is getting up, and though we don't feel it much here, it must be blowing pretty hard outside. The Seabird is as good a sea-boat as anything of her size that floats; but you don't know what it is to be out in anything like a heavy sea in a thirty-tonner. It would be impossible for you to stay on deck, and we should have our hands full, and should not be able to give you the benefit of our society. Personally, I should not mind being out in the Seabird in any weather, but I would certainly rather not have ladies on board."

"You don't think we should scream, or do anything foolish, Mr. Virtue?" Minnie Graham said indignantly.

"Not at all, Miss Graham. Still, I repeat, the knowledge that there are women on board, delightful at other times, does not tend to comfort in bad weather. Of course, if you prefer it, we can put off our start till this puff of wind has blown itself out. It may have dropped before morning. It may last some little time. I don't think myself that it will drop, for the glass has fallen, and I am afraid we may have a spell of broken weather."

"Oh no; don't put it off," Mrs. Grantham said; "we have only another fortnight before James must be back again in London, and it would be a great pity to lose three or four days perhaps; and we have been looking forward to cruising about among the Channel Islands, and to St. Malo, and all those places. Oh no; I think the other is much the better plan—that is, if you won't take us with you."

"It would be bad manners to say that I won't, Mrs. Grantham; but I must say I would rather not. It will be a very short separation. Grantham will take you on shore at once, and as soon as the boat comes back I shall be off. You will start in the steamer this evening, and get into Jersey at nine or ten o'clock to-morrow morning; and if I am not there before you, I shall not be many hours after you."

"Well, if it must be it must," Mrs. Grantham said, with an air of resignation. "Come, Minnie, let us put a few things into a hand-bag for to-night. You see the skipper is not to be moved by our pleadings."

"That is the worst of you married women, Fanny," Miss Graham said, with a little pout. "You get into the way of doing as you are ordered. I call it too bad. Here have we been cruising about for the last fortnight, with scarcely a breath of wind, and longing for a good brisk breeze and a little change and excitement, and now it comes at last, we are to be packed off in a steamer. I call it horrid of you, Mr. Virtue. You may laugh, but I do."

Tom Virtue laughed, but he showed no signs of giving way, and ten minutes later Mr. and Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham took their places in the gig, and were rowed into Southampton Harbour, off which the Seabird was lying.

The last fortnight had been a very pleasant one, and it had cost the owner of the Seabird as much as his guests to come to the conclusion that it was better to break up the party for a few hours.

Tom Virtue had, up to the age of five-and-twenty, been possessed of a sufficient income for his wants. He had entered at the bar, not that he felt any particular vocation in that direction, but because he thought it incumbent upon him to do something. Then, at the death of an uncle, he had come into a considerable fortune, and was able to indulge his taste for yachting, which was the sole amusement for which he really cared, to the fullest.

He sold the little five-tonner he had formerly possessed, and purchased the Seabird. He could well have afforded a much larger craft, but he knew that there was far more real enjoyment in sailing to be obtained from a small craft than a large one, for in the latter he would be obliged to have a regular skipper, and would be little more than a passenger, whereas on board the Seabird, although his first hand was dignified by the name of skipper, he was himself the absolute master. The boat carried the aforesaid skipper, three hands, and a steward, and with them he had twice been up the Mediterranean, across to Norway, and had several times made the circuit of the British Isles.

He had unlimited confidence in his boat, and cared not what weather he was out in her. This was the first time since his ownership of her that the Seabird had carried lady passengers. His friend Grantham, an old school and college chum, was a hard-working barrister, and Virtue had proposed to him to take a month's holiday on board the Seabird.

"Put aside your books, old man," he said. "You look fagged and overworked; a month's blow will do you all the good in the world."

"Thank you, Tom; I have made up my mind for a month's holiday, but I can't accept your invitation, though I should enjoy it of all things. But it would not be fair to my wife; she doesn't get very much of my society, and she has been looking forward to our having a run together. So I must decline."

Virtue hesitated a moment. He was not very fond of ladies' society, and thought them especially in the way on board a yacht; but he had a great liking for his friend's wife, and was almost as much at home in his house as in his own chambers.

"Why not bring the wife with you?" he said, as soon as his mind was made up. "It will be a nice change for her too; and I have heard her say that she is a good sailor. The accommodation is not extensive, but the after-cabin is a pretty good size, and I would do all I could to make her comfortable. Perhaps she would like another lady with her; if so by all means bring one. They could have the after-cabin, you could have the little state-room, and I could sleep in the saloon."

"It is very good of you, Tom, especially as I know that it will put you out frightfully; but the offer is a very tempting one. I will speak to Fanny, and let you have an answer in the morning."

"That will be delightful, James," Mrs. Grantham said, when the invitation was repeated to her. "I should like it of all things; and I am sure the rest and quiet and the sea air will be just the thing for you. It is wonderful, Tom Virtue making the offer; and I take it as a great personal compliment, for he certainly is not what is generally called a lady's man. It is very nice, too, of him to think of my having another lady on board. Whom shall we ask? Oh, I know," she said suddenly; "that will be the thing of all others. We will ask my cousin Minnie; she is full of fun and life, and will make a charming wife for Tom!"

James Grantham laughed.

"What schemers you all are, Fanny! Now I should call it downright treachery to take anyone on board the Seabird with the idea of capturing its master."

"Nonsense, treachery!" Mrs. Grantham said indignantly; "Minnie is the nicest girl I know, and it would do Tom a world of good to have a wife to look after him. Why, he is thirty now, and will be settling down into a confirmed old bachelor before long. It's the greatest kindness we could do him, to take Minnie on board; and I am sure he is the sort of man any girl might fall in love with when she gets to know him. The fact is, he's shy! He never had any sisters, and spends all his time in winter at that horrid club; so that really he has never had any women's society, and even with us he will never come unless he knows we are alone. I call it a great pity, for I don't know a pleasanter fellow than he is. I think it will be doing him a real service in asking Minnie; so that's settled. I will sit down and write him a note."

"In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose," was Tom Virtue's comment when he received Mrs. Grantham's letter, thanking him warmly for the invitation, and saying that she would bring her cousin, Miss Graham, with her, if that young lady was disengaged.

As a matter of self-defence he at once invited Jack Harvey, who was a mutual friend of himself and Grantham, to be of the party.

"Jack can help Grantham to amuse the women," he said to himself; "that will be more in his line than mine. I will run down to Cowes to-morrow and have a chat with Johnson; we shall want a different sort of stores altogether to those we generally carry, and I suppose we must do her up a bit below."

Having made up his mind to the infliction of female passengers, Tom Virtue did it handsomely, and when the party came on board at Ryde they were delighted with the aspect of the yacht below. She had been repainted, the saloon and ladies' cabin were decorated in delicate shades of gray, picked out with gold; and the upholsterer, into whose hands the owner of the Seabird had placed her, had done his work with taste and judgment, and the ladies' cabin resembled a little boudoir.

"Why, Tom, I should have hardly known her!" Grantham, who had often spent a day on board the Seabird, said.

"I hardly know her myself," Tom said, rather ruefully; "but I hope she's all right, Mrs. Grantham, and that you and Miss Graham will find everything you want."

"It is charming!" Mrs. Grantham said enthusiastically. "It's awfully good of you, Tom, and we appreciate it; don't we, Minnie? It is such a surprise, too; for James said that while I should find everything very comfortable, I must not expect that a small yacht would be got up like a palace."

So a fortnight had passed; they had cruised along the coast as far as Plymouth, anchoring at night at the various ports on the way. Then they had returned to Southampton, and it had been settled that as none of the party, with the exception of Virtue himself, had been to the Channel Islands, the last fortnight of the trip should be spent there. The weather had been delightful, save that there had been some deficiency in wind, and throughout the cruise the Seabird had been under all the sail she could spread. But when the gentlemen came on deck early in the morning a considerable change had taken place; the sky was gray and the clouds flying fast overhead.

"We are going to have dirty weather," Tom Virtue said at once. "I don't think it's going to be a gale, but there will be more sea on than will be pleasant for ladies. I tell you what, Grantham; the best thing will be for you to go on shore with the two ladies, and cross by the boat to-night. If you don't mind going directly after breakfast I will start at once, and shall be at St. Helier's as soon as you are."

And so it had been agreed, but not, as has been seen, without opposition and protest on the part of the ladies.

Mrs. Grantham's chief reason for objecting had not been given. The little scheme on which she had set her mind seemed to be working satisfactorily. From the first day Tom Virtue had exerted himself to play the part of host satisfactorily, and had ere long shaken off any shyness he may have felt towards the one stranger of the party, and he and Miss Graham had speedily got on friendly terms. So things were going on as well as Mrs. Grantham could have expected.

No sooner had his guests left the side of the yacht than her owner began to make his preparations for a start.

"What do you think of the weather, Watkins?" he asked his skipper.

"It's going to blow hard, sir; that's my view of it, and if I was you I shouldn't up anchor to-day. Still, it's just as you likes; the Seabird won't mind it if we don't. She has had a rough time of it before now; still, it will be a case of wet jackets, and no mistake."

"Yes, I expect we shall have a rough time of it, Watkins, but I want to get across. We don't often let ourselves be weather-bound, and I am not going to begin it to-day. We had better house the topmast at once, and get two reefs in the main-sail. We can get the other down when we get clear of the island. Get number three jib up, and the leg-of-mutton mizzen; put two reefs in the foresail."

Tom and his friend Harvey, who was a good sailor, assisted the crew in reefing down the sails, and a few minutes after the gig had returned and been hoisted in, the yawl was running rapidly down Southampton waters.

"We need hardly have reefed quite so closely," Jack Harvey said, as he puffed away at his pipe.

"Not yet, Jack; but you will see she has as much as she can carry before long. It's all the better to make all snug before starting; it saves a lot of trouble afterwards, and the extra canvas would not have made ten minutes' difference to us at the outside. We shall have pretty nearly a dead beat down the Solent. Fortunately tide will be running strong with us, but there will be a nasty kick-up there. You will see we shall feel the short choppy seas there more than we shall when we get outside. She is a grand boat in a really heavy sea, but in short waves she puts her nose into it with a will. Now, if you will take my advice, you will do as I am going to do; put on a pair of fisherman's boots and oilskin and sou'-wester. There are several sets for you to choose from below."

As her owner had predicted, the Seabird put her bowsprit under pretty frequently in the Solent; the wind was blowing half a gale, and as it met the tide it knocked up a short, angry sea, crested with white heads, and Jack Harvey agreed that she had quite as much sail on her as she wanted. The cabin doors were bolted, and all made snug to prevent the water getting below before they got to the race off Hurst Castle; and it was well that they did so, for she was as much under water as she was above.

"I think if I had given way to the ladies and brought them with us they would have changed their minds by this time, Jack," Tom Virtue said, with a laugh.

"I should think so," his friend agreed; "this is not a day for a fair-weather sailor. Look what a sea is breaking on the shingles!"

"Yes, five minutes there would knock her into matchwood. Another ten minutes and we shall be fairly out; and I sha'n't be sorry; one feels as if one was playing football, only just at present the Seabird is the ball and the waves the kickers."

Another quarter of an hour and they had passed the Needles.

"That is more pleasant, Jack," as the short, chopping motion was exchanged for a regular rise and fall; "this is what I enjoy—a steady wind and a regular sea. The Seabird goes over it like one of her namesakes; she is not taking a teacupful now over her bows.

"Watkins, you may as well take the helm for a spell, while we go down to lunch. I am not sorry to give it up for a bit, for it has been jerking like the kick of a horse.

"That's right, Jack, hang up your oilskin there. Johnson, give us a couple of towels; we have been pretty well smothered up there on deck. Now what have you got for us?"

"There is some soup ready, sir, and that cold pie you had for dinner yesterday."

"That will do; open a couple of bottles of stout."

Lunch, over, they went on deck again.

"She likes a good blow as well as we do," Virtue said, enthusiastically, as the yawl rose lightly over each wave. "What do you think of it, Watkins? Is the wind going to lull a bit as the sun goes down?"

"I think not, sir. It seems to me it's blowing harder than it was."

"Then we will prepare for the worst, Watkins; get the try-sail up on deck. When you are ready we will bring her up into the wind and set it. That's the comfort of a yawl, Jack; one can always lie to without any bother, and one hasn't got such a tremendous boom to handle."

The try-sail was soon on deck, and then the Seabird was brought up into the wind, the weather fore-sheet hauled aft, the mizzen sheeted almost fore and aft, and the Seabird lay, head to wind, rising and falling with a gentle motion, in strong contrast to her impetuous rushes when under sail.

"She would ride out anything like that," her owner said. "Last time we came through the Bay on our way from Gib., we were caught in a gale strong enough to blow the hair off one's head, and we lay to for nearly three days, and didn't ship a bucket of water all the time. Now let us lend a hand to get the main-sail stowed."

Ten minutes' work and it was securely fastened and its cover on; two reefs were put in the try-sail. Two hands went to each of the halliards, while, as the sail rose, Tom Virtue fastened the toggles round the mast.

"All ready, Watkins?"

"All ready, sir."

"Slack off the weather fore-sheet, then, and haul aft the leeward. Slack out the mizzen-sheet a little, Jack. That's it; now she's off again, like a duck."

The Seabird felt the relief from the pressure of the heavy boom to leeward and rose easily and lightly over the waves.

"She certainly is a splendid sea-boat, Tom; I don't wonder you are ready to go anywhere in her. I thought we were rather fools for starting this morning, although I enjoy a good blow; but now I don't care how hard it comes on."

By night it was blowing a downright gale.

"We will lie to till morning, Watkins. So that we get in by daylight to-morrow evening, that is all we want. See our side-lights are burning well, and you had better get up a couple of blue lights, in case anything comes running up Channel and don't see our lights. We had better divide into two watches; I will keep one with Matthews and Dawson, Mr. Harvey will go in your watch with Nicholls. We had better get the try-sail down altogether, and lie to under the foresail and mizzen, but don't put many lashings on the try-sail, one will be enough, and have it ready to cast off in a moment, in case we want to hoist the sail in a hurry. I will go down and have a glass of hot grog first, and then I will take my watch to begin with. Let the two hands with me go down; the steward will serve them out a tot each. Jack, you had better turn in at once."

Virtue was soon on deck again, muffled up in his oilskins.

"Now, Watkins, you can go below and turn in."

"I sha'n't go below to-night, sir—not to lie down. There's nothing much to do here, but I couldn't sleep, if I did lie down."

"Very well; you had better go below and get a glass of grog; tell the steward to give you a big pipe with a cover like this, out of the locker; and there's plenty of chewing tobacco, if the men are short."

"I will take that instead of a pipe," Watkins said; "there's nothing like a quid in weather like this, it ain't never in your way, and it lasts. Even with a cover a pipe would soon be out."

"Please yourself, Watkins; tell the two hands forward to keep a bright look-out for lights."

The night passed slowly. Occasionally a sea heavier than usual came on board, curling over the bow and falling with a heavy thud on the deck, but for the most part the Seabird breasted the waves easily; the bowsprit had been reefed in to its fullest, thereby adding to the lightness and buoyancy of the boat. Tom Virtue did not go below when his friend came up to relieve him at the change of watch, but sat smoking and doing much talking in the short intervals between the gusts.

The morning broke gray and misty, driving sleet came along on the wind, and the horizon was closed in as by a dull curtain.

"How far can we see, do you think, Watkins?"

"Perhaps a couple of miles, sir."

"That will be enough. I think we both know the position of every reef to within a hundred yards, so we will shape our course for Guernsey. If we happen to hit it off, we can hold on to St. Helier; but if when we think we ought to be within sight of Guernsey we see nothing of it, we must lie to again, till the storm has blown itself out or the clouds lift. It would never do to go groping our way along with such currents as run among the islands. Put the last reef in the try-sail before you hoist it. I think you had better get the foresail down altogether, and run up the spit-fire jib."

The Seabird was soon under way again.

"Now, Watkins, you take the helm; we will go down and have a cup of hot coffee, and I will see that the steward has a good supply for you and the hands; but first, do you take the helm, Jack, whilst Watkins and I have a look at the chart, and try and work out where we are, and the course we had better lie for Guernsey."

Five minutes were spent over the chart, then Watkins went up and Jack Harvey came down.

"You have got the coffee ready, I hope, Johnson?"

"Yes, sir, coffee and chocolate. I didn't know which you would like."

"Chocolate, by all means. Jack, I recommend the chocolate. Bring two full-sized bowls, Johnson, and put that cold pie on the table, and a couple of knives and forks; never mind about a cloth; but first of all bring a couple of basins of hot water, we shall enjoy our food more after a wash."

The early breakfast was eaten, dry coats and mufflers put on, pipes lighted, and they then went up upon deck. Tom took the helm.

"What time do you calculate we ought to make Guernsey, Tom?"

"About twelve. The wind is freer than it was, and we are walking along at a good pace. Matthews, cast the log, and let's see what we are doing. About seven knots, I should say."

"Seven and a quarter, sir," the man said, when he checked the line.

"Not a bad guess, Tom; it's always difficult to judge pace in a heavy sea."

At eleven o'clock the mist ceased.

"That's fortunate," Tom Virtue said; "I shouldn't be surprised if we get a glimpse of the sun between the clouds, presently. Will you get my sextant and the chronometer up, Jack, and put them handy?"

Jack Harvey did as he was asked, but there was no occasion to use the instruments, for ten minutes later, Watkins, who was standing near the bow gazing fixedly ahead, shouted:

"There's Guernsey, sir, on her lee bow, about six miles away, I should say."

"That's it, sure enough," Tom agreed, as he gazed in the direction in which Watkins was pointing. "There's a gleam of sunshine on it, or we shouldn't have seen it yet. Yes, I think you are about right as to the distance. Now let us take its bearings, we may lose it again directly."

Having taken the bearings of the island they went below, and marked off their position on the chart, and they shaped their course for Cape Grosnez, the north-western point of Jersey. The gleam of sunshine was transient—the clouds closed in again overhead, darker and grayer than before. Soon the drops of rain came flying before the wind, the horizon closed in, and they could not see half a mile away, but, though the sea was heavy, the Seabird was making capital weather of it, and the two friends agreed that, after all, the excitement of a sail like this was worth a month of pottering about in calms.

"We must keep a bright look-out presently," the skipper said; "there are some nasty rocks off the coast of Jersey. We must give them a wide berth. We had best make round to the south of the island, and lay to there till we can pick up a pilot to take us into St. Helier. I don't think it will be worth while trying to get into St. Aubyn's Bay by ourselves."

"I think so, too, Watkins, but we will see what it is like before it gets dark; if we can pick up a pilot all the better; if not, we will lie to till morning, if the weather keeps thick; but if it clears so that we can make out all the lights we ought to be able to get into the bay anyhow."

An hour later the rain ceased and the sky appeared somewhat clearer. Suddenly Watkins exclaimed, "There is a wreck, sir! There, three miles away to leeward. She is on the Paternosters."

"Good heavens! she is a steamer," Tom exclaimed, as he caught sight of her the next time the Seabird lifted on a wave. "Can she be the Southampton boat, do you think?"

"Like enough, sir, she may have had it thicker than we had, and may not have calculated enough for the current."

"Up helm, Jack, and bear away towards her. Shall we shake out a reef, Watkins?"

"I wouldn't, sir; she has got as much as she can carry on her now. We must mind what we are doing, sir; the currents run like a millstream, and if we get that reef under our lee, and the wind and current both setting us on to it, it will be all up with us in no time."

"Yes, I know that, Watkins. Jack, take the helm a minute while we run down and look at the chart.

"Our only chance, Watkins, is to work up behind the reef, and try and get so that they can either fasten a line to a buoy and let it float down to us, or get into a boat, if they have one left, and drift to us."

"They are an awful group of rocks," Watkins said, as they examined the chart; "you see some of them show merely at high tide, and a lot of them are above at low water. It will be an awful business to get among them rocks, sir, just about as near certain death as a thing can be."

"Well, it's got to be done, Watkins," Tom said, firmly. "I see the danger as well as you do, but whatever the risk, it must be tried. Mr. Grantham and the two ladies went on board by my persuasion, and I should never forgive myself if anything happened to them. But I will speak to the men."

He went on deck again and called the men to him. "Look here, lads; you see that steamer ashore on the Paternosters. In such a sea as this she may go to pieces in half an hour. I am determined to make an effort to save the lives of those on board. As you can see for yourselves there is no lying to weather of her, with the current and wind driving us on to the reef; we must beat up from behind. Now, lads, the sea there is full of rocks, and the chances are ten to one we strike on to them and go to pieces; but, anyhow I am going to try; but I won't take you unless you are willing. The boat is a good one, and the zinc chambers will keep her afloat if she fills; well managed, you ought to be able to make the coast of Jersey in her. Mr. Harvey, Watkins, and I can handle the yacht, so you can take the boat if you like."

The men replied that they would stick to the yacht wherever Mr. Virtue chose to take her, and muttered something about the ladies, for the pleasant faces of Mrs. Grantham and Miss Graham had, during the fortnight they had been on board, won the men's hearts.

"Very well, lads, I am glad to find you will stick by me; if we pull safely through it I will give each of you three months' wages. Now set to work with a will and get the gig out. We will tow her after us, and take to her if we make a smash of it."

They were now near enough to see the white breakers, in the middle of which the ship was lying. She was fast breaking up. The jagged outline showed that the stern had been beaten in. The masts and funnel were gone, and the waves seemed to make a clean breach over her, almost hiding her from sight in a white cloud of spray.

"Wood and iron can't stand that much longer," Jack Harvey said; "another hour and I should say there won't be two planks left together."

"It is awful, Jack; I would give all I have in the world if I had not persuaded them to go on board. Keep her off a little more, Watkins."

The Seabird passed within a cable's-length of the breakers at the northern end of the reef.

"Now, lads, take your places at the sheets, ready to haul or let go as I give the word." So saying, Tom Virtue took his place in the bow, holding on by the forestay.

The wind was full on the Seabird's beam as she entered the broken water. Here and there the dark heads of the rocks showed above the water. These were easy enough to avoid, the danger lay in those hidden beneath its surface, and whose position was indicated only by the occasional break of a sea as it passed over them. Every time the Seabird sank on a wave those on board involuntarily held their breath, but the water here was comparatively smooth, the sea having spent its first force upon the outer reef. With a wave of his hand Tom directed the helmsman as to his course, and the little yacht was admirably handled through the dangers.

"I begin to think we shall do it," Tom said to Jack Harvey, who was standing close to him. "Another five minutes and we shall be within reach of her."

It could be seen now that there was a group of people clustered in the bow of the wreck. Two or three light lines were coiled in readiness for throwing.

"Now, Watkins," Tom said, going aft, "make straight for the wreck. I see no broken water between us and them, and possibly there may be deep water under their bow."

It was an anxious moment, as, with the sails flattened in, the yawl forged up nearly in the eye of the wind towards the wreck. Her progress was slow, for she was now stemming the current.

Tom stood with a coil of line in his hand in the bow.

"You get ready to throw, Jack, if I miss."

Nearer and nearer the yacht approached the wreck, until the bowsprit of the latter seemed to stand almost over her. Then Tom threw the line. It fell over the bowsprit, and a cheer broke from those on board the wreck and from the sailors of the Seabird. A stronger line was at once fastened to that thrown, and to this a strong hawser was attached.

"Down with the helm, Watkins. Now, lads, lower away the try-sail as fast as you can. Now, one of you, clear that hawser as they haul on it. Now out with the anchors."

These had been got into readiness; it was not thought that they would get any hold on the rocky bottom, still they might catch on a projecting ledge, and at any rate their weight and that of the chain cable would relieve the strain upon the hawser.

Two sailors had run out on the bowsprit of the wreck as soon as the line was thrown, and the end of the hawser was now on board the steamer.

"Thank God, there's Grantham!" Jack Harvey exclaimed; "do you see him waving his hand?"

"I see him," Tom said, "but I don't see the ladies."

"They are there, no doubt," Jack said, confidently; "crouching down, I expect. He would not be there if they weren't, you may be sure. Yes, there they are; those two muffled-up figures. There, one of them has thrown back her cloak and is waving her arm."

The two young men waved their caps.

"Are the anchors holding, Watkins? There's a tremendous strain on that hawser."

"I think so, sir; they are both tight."

"Put them round the windlass, and give a turn or two, we must relieve the strain on that hawser."

Since they had first seen the wreck the waves had made great progress in the work of destruction, and the steamer had broken in two just aft of the engines.

"Get over the spare spars, Watkins, and fasten them to float in front of her bows like a triangle. Matthews, catch hold of that boat-hook and try to fend off any piece of timber that comes along. You get hold of the sweeps, lads, and do the same. They would stave her in like a nut-shell if they struck her.

"Thank God, here comes the first of them!"

Those on board the steamer had not been idle. As soon as the yawl was seen approaching slings were prepared, and no sooner was the hawser securely fixed, than the slings were attached to it and a woman placed in them. The hawser was tight and the descent sharp, and without a check the figure ran down to the deck of the Seabird. She was lifted out of the slings by Tom and Jack Harvey, who found she was an old woman and had entirely lost consciousness.

"Two of you carry her down below; tell Johnson to pour a little brandy down her throat. Give her some hot soup as soon as she comes to."

Another woman was lowered and helped below. The next to descend was Mrs. Grantham.

"Thank God, you are rescued!" Tom said, as he helped her out of the sling.

"Thank God, indeed," Mrs. Grantham said, "and thank you all! Oh, Tom, we have had a terrible time of it, and had lost all hope till we saw your sail, and even then the captain said that he was afraid nothing could be done. Minnie was the first to make out it was you, and then we began to hope. She has been so brave, dear girl. Ah! here she comes."

But Minnie's firmness came to an end now that she felt the need for it was over. She was unable to stand when she was lifted from the slings; and Tom carried her below.

"Are there any more women, Mrs. Grantham?"

"No; there was only one other lady passenger and the stewardess."

"Then you had better take possession of your own cabin. I ordered Johnson to spread a couple more mattresses and some bedding on the floor, so you will all four be able to turn in. There's plenty of hot coffee and soup. I should advise soup with two or three spoonfuls of brandy in it. Now, excuse me; I must go upon deck."

Twelve men descended by the hawser, one of them with both legs broken by the fall of the mizzen. The last to come was the captain.

"Is that all?" Tom asked.

"That is all," the captain said. "Six men were swept overboard when she first struck, and two were killed by the fall of the funnel. Fortunately we had only three gentlemen passengers and three ladies on board. The weather looked so wild when we started that no one else cared about making the passage. God bless you, sir, for what you have done! Another half-hour and it would have been all over with us. But it seems like a miracle your getting safe through the rocks to us."

"It was fortunate indeed that we came along," Tom said; "three of the passengers are dear friends of mine; and as it was by my persuasion that they came across in the steamer instead of in the yacht, I should never have forgiven myself if they had been lost. Take all your men below, captain; you will find plenty of hot soup there. Now, Watkins, let us be off; that steamer won't hold together many minutes longer, so there's no time to lose. We will go back as we came. Give me a hatchet. Now, lads, two of you stand at the chain-cables; knock out the shackles the moment I cut the hawser. Watkins, you take the helm and let her head pay off till the jib fills. Jack, you lend a hand to the other two, and get up the try-sail again as soon as we are free."

In a moment all were at their stations. The helm was put on the yacht, and she payed off on the opposite tack to that on which she had before been sailing. As soon as the jib filled, Tom gave two vigorous blows with his hatchet on the hawser, and, as he lifted his hand for a third, it parted. Then came the sharp rattle of the chains as they ran round the hawser-holes. The try-sail was hoisted and sheeted home, and the Seabird was under way again. Tom, as before, conned the ship from the bow. Several times she was in close proximity to the rocks, but each time she avoided them. A shout of gladness rose from all on deck as she passed the last patch of white water. Then she tacked and bore away for Jersey.

Tom had now time to go down below and look after his passengers. They consisted of the captain and two sailors—the sole survivors of those who had been on deck when the vessel struck—three male passengers, and six engineers and stokers.

"I have not had time to shake you by the hand before, Tom," Grantham said, as Tom Virtue entered; "and I thought you would not want me on deck at present. God bless you, old fellow! we all owe you our lives."

"How did it happen, captain?" Tom asked, as the captain also came up to him.

"It was the currents, I suppose," the captain said; "it was so thick we could not see a quarter of a mile any way. The weather was so wild I would not put into Guernsey, and passed the island without seeing it. I steered my usual course, but the gale must have altered the currents, for I thought I was three miles away from the reef, when we saw it on our beam, not a hundred yards away. It was too late to avoid it then, and in another minute we ran upon it, and the waves were sweeping over us. Every one behaved well. I got all, except those who had been swept overboard or crushed by the funnel, up into the bow of the ship, and there we waited. There was nothing to be done. No boat would live for a moment in the sea on that reef, and all I could advise was, that when she went to pieces every one should try to get hold of a floating fragment; but I doubt whether a man would have been alive a quarter of an hour after she went to pieces."

"Perhaps, captain, you will come on deck with me and give me the benefit of your advice. My skipper and I know the islands pretty well, but no doubt you know them a good deal better, and I don't want another mishap."

But the Seabird avoided all further dangers, and as it became dark, the lights of St. Helier's were in sight, and an hour later the yacht brought up in the port and landed her involuntary passengers.

A fortnight afterwards the Seabird returned to England, and two months later Mrs. Grantham had the satisfaction of being present at the ceremony which was the successful consummation of her little scheme in inviting Minnie Graham to be her companion on board the Seabird.

"Well, my dear," her husband said, when she indulged in a little natural triumph, "I do not say that it has not turned out well, and I am heartily glad for both Tom and Minnie's sake it has so; but you must allow that it very nearly had a disastrous ending, and I think if I were you I should leave matters to take their natural course in future. I have accepted Tom's invitation for the same party to take a cruise in the Seabird next summer, but I have bargained that next time a storm is brewing up we shall stop quietly in port."

"That's all very well, James," Mrs. Grantham said saucily; "but you must remember that Tom Virtue will only be first-mate of the Seabird in future."

"That I shall be able to tell you better, my dear, after our next cruise. All husbands are not as docile and easily led as I am."

A PIPE OF MYSTERY.

jovial party were gathered round a blazing fire in an old grange near Warwick. The hour was getting late; the very little ones had, after dancing round the Christmas-tree, enjoying the snapdragon, and playing a variety of games, gone off to bed; and the elder boys and girls now gathered round their uncle, Colonel Harley, and asked him for a story—above all, a ghost story.

"But I have never seen any ghosts," the colonel said, laughing; "and, moreover, I don't believe in them one bit. I have travelled pretty well all over the world, I have slept in houses said to be haunted, but nothing have I seen—no noises that could not be accounted for by rats or the wind have I ever heard. I have never"—and here he paused—"never but once met with any circumstances or occurrence that could not be accounted for by the light of reason, and I know you prefer hearing stories of my own adventures to mere invention."

"Yes, uncle. But what was the 'once' when circumstances happened that you could not explain?"

"It's rather a long story," the colonel said, "and it's getting late."

"Oh! no, no, uncle; it does not matter a bit how late we sit up on Christmas Eve, and the longer the story is, the better; and if you don't believe in ghosts, how can it be a story of something you could not account for by the light of nature?"

"You will see when I have done," the colonel said. "It is rather a story of what the Scotch call second sight, than one of ghosts. As to accounting for it, you shall form your own opinion when you have heard me to the end.

"I landed in India in '50, and after going through the regular drill work, marched with a detachment up country to join my regiment, which was stationed at Jubbalpore, in the very heart of India. It has become an important place since; the railroad across India passes through it, and no end of changes have taken place; but at that time it was one of the most out-of-the-way stations in India, and, I may say, one of the most pleasant. It lay high, there was capital boating on the Nerbudda, and, above all, it was a grand place for sport, for it lay at the foot of the hill country, an immense district, then but little known, covered with forests and jungle, and abounding with big game of all kinds.

"My great friend there was a man named Simmonds. He was just of my own standing; we had come out in the same ship, had marched up the country together, and were almost like brothers. He was an old Etonian, I an old Westminster, and we were both fond of boating, and, indeed, of sport of all kinds. But I am not going to tell you of that now. The people in these hills are called Gonds, a true hill tribe—that is to say, aborigines, somewhat of the negro type. The chiefs are of mixed blood, but the people are almost black. They are supposed to accept the religion of the Hindus, but are in reality deplorably ignorant and superstitious. Their priests are a sort of compound of a Brahmin priest and a negro fetish man, and among their principal duties is that of charming away tigers from the villages by means of incantations. There, as in other parts of India, were a few wandering fakirs, who enjoyed an immense reputation for holiness and wisdom. The people would go to them from great distances for charms or predictions, and believed in their power with implicit faith.

"At the time when we were at Jubbalpore, there was one of these fellows, whose reputation altogether eclipsed that of his rivals, and nothing could be done until his permission had been asked and his blessing obtained. All sorts of marvellous stories were constantly coming to our ears of the unerring foresight with which he predicted the termination of diseases, both in men and animals; and so generally was he believed in that the colonel ordered that no one connected with the regiment should consult him, for these predictions very frequently brought about their own fulfilment; for those who were told that an illness would terminate fatally, lost all hope, and literally lay down to die.

"However, many of the stories that we heard could not be explained on these grounds, and the fakir and his doings were often talked over at mess, some of the officers scoffing at the whole business, others maintaining that some of these fakirs had, in some way or another, the power of foretelling the future, citing many well authenticated anecdotes upon the subject.

"The older officers were the believers, we young fellows were the scoffers. But for the well-known fact that it is very seldom indeed that these fakirs will utter any of their predictions to Europeans, some of us would have gone to him, to test his powers. As it was, none of us had ever seen him.

"He lived in an old ruined temple, in the middle of a large patch of jungle at the foot of the hills, some ten or twelve miles away.

"I had been at Jubbalpore about a year, when I was woke up one night by a native, who came in to say that at about eight o'clock a tiger had killed a man in his village, and had dragged off the body.

"Simmonds and I were constantly out after tigers, and the people in all the villages within twenty miles knew that we were always ready to pay for early information. This tiger had been doing great damage, and had carried off about thirty men, women, and children. So great was the fear of him, indeed, that the people in the neighbourhood he frequented scarcely dared stir out of doors, except in parties of five or six. We had had several hunts after him, but, like all man-eaters, he was old and awfully crafty; and although we got several snap shots at him, he had always managed to save his skin.

"In a quarter of an hour after the receipt of the message, Charley Simmonds and I were on the back of an elephant, which was our joint property; our shekarry, a capital fellow, was on foot beside us, and with the native trotting on ahead as guide we went off at the best pace of old Begaum, for that was the elephant's name. The village was fifteen miles away, but we got there soon after daybreak, and were received with delight by the population. In half an hour the hunt was organized; all the male population turned out as beaters, with sticks, guns, tom-toms, and other instruments for making a noise.

"The trail was not difficult to find. A broad path, with occasional smears of blood, showed where he had dragged his victim through the long grass to a cluster of trees a couple of hundred yards from the village.

"We scarcely expected to find him there, but the villagers held back, while we went forward with cocked rifles. We found, however, nothing but a few bones and a quantity of blood. The tiger had made off at the approach of daylight into the jungle, which was about two miles distant. We traced him easily enough, and found that he had entered a large ravine, from which several smaller ones branched off.

"It was an awkward place, as it was next to impossible to surround it with the number of people at our command. We posted them at last all along the upper ground, and told them to make up in noise what they wanted in numbers. At last all was ready, and we gave the signal. However, I am not telling you a hunting story, and need only say that we could neither find nor disturb him. In vain we pushed Begaum through the thickest of the jungle which clothed the sides and bottom of the ravine, while the men shouted, beat their tom-toms, and showered imprecations against the tiger himself and his ancestors up to the remotest generations.

"The day was tremendously hot, and, after three hours' march, we gave it up for a time, and lay down in the shade, while the shekarries made a long examination of the ground all round the hillside, to be sure that he had not left the ravine. They came back with the news that no traces could be discovered, and that, beyond a doubt, he was still there. A tiger will crouch up in an exceedingly small clump of grass or bush, and will sometimes almost allow himself to be trodden on before moving. However, we determined to have one more search, and if that should prove unsuccessful, to send off to Jubbalpore for some more of the men to come out with elephants, while we kept up a circle of fires, and of noises of all descriptions, so as to keep him a prisoner until the arrival of the reinforcements. Our next search was no more successful than our first had been; and having, as we imagined, examined every clump and crevice in which he could have been concealed, we had just reached the upper end of the ravine, when we heard a tremendous roar, followed by a perfect babel of yells and screams from the natives.

"The outburst came from the mouth of the ravine, and we felt at once that he had escaped. We hurried back to find, as we had expected, that the tiger was gone. He had burst out suddenly from his hiding-place, had seized a native, torn him horribly, and had made across the open plain.

"This was terribly provoking, but we had nothing to do but follow him. This was easy enough, and we traced him to a detached patch of wood and jungle, two miles distant. This wood was four or five hundred yards across, and the exclamations of the people at once told us that it was the one in which stood the ruined temple of the fakir of whom I have been telling you. I forgot to say, that as the tiger broke out one of the village shekarries had fired at, and, he declared, wounded him.

"It was already getting late in the afternoon, and it was hopeless to attempt to beat the jungle that night. We therefore sent off a runner with a note to the colonel, asking him to send the work-elephants, and to allow a party of volunteers to march over at night, to help surround the jungle when we commenced beating it in the morning.

"We based our request upon the fact that the tiger was a notorious man-eater, and had been doing immense damage. We then had a talk with our shekarry, sent a man off to bring provisions for the people out with us, and then set them to work cutting sticks and grass to make a circle of fires.

"We both felt much uneasiness respecting the fakir, who might be seized at any moment by the enraged tiger. The natives would not allow that there was any cause for fear, as the tiger would not dare to touch so holy a man. Our belief in the respect of the tiger for sanctity was by no means strong, and we determined to go in and warn him of the presence of the brute in the wood. It was a mission which we could not intrust to anyone else, for no native would have entered the jungle for untold gold; so we mounted the Begaum again, and started. The path leading towards the temple was pretty wide, and as we went along almost noiselessly, for the elephant was too well trained to tread upon fallen sticks, it was just possible we might come upon the tiger suddenly, so we kept our rifles in readiness in our hands.

"Presently we came in sight of the ruins. No one was at first visible; but at that very moment the fakir came out from the temple. He did not see or hear us, for we were rather behind him and still among the trees, but at once proceeded in a high voice to break into a sing-song prayer. He had not said two words before his voice was drowned in a terrific roar, and in an instant the tiger had sprung upon him, struck him to the ground, seized him as a cat would a mouse, and started off with him at a trot. The brute evidently had not detected our presence, for he came right towards us. We halted the Begaum, and with our fingers on the triggers, awaited the favourable moment. He was a hundred yards from us when he struck down his victim; he was not more than fifty when he caught sight of us. He stopped for an instant in surprise. Charley muttered, 'Both barrels, Harley,' and as the beast turned to plunge into the jungle, and so showed us his side, we sent four bullets crashing into him, and he rolled over lifeless.

"We went up to the spot, made the Begaum give him a kick, to be sure that he was dead, and then got down to examine the unfortunate fakir. The tiger had seized him by the shoulder, which was terribly torn, and the bone broken. He was still perfectly conscious.

"We at once fired three shots, our usual signal that the tiger was dead, and in a few minutes were surrounded by the villagers, who hardly knew whether to be delighted at the death of their enemy, or to grieve over the injury to the fakir. We proposed taking the latter to our hospital at Jubbalpore, but this he positively refused to listen to. However we finally persuaded him to allow his arm to be set and the wounds dressed in the first place by our regimental surgeon, after which he could go to one of the native villages and have his arm dressed in accordance with his own notions. A litter was soon improvised, and away we went to Jubbalpore, which we reached about eight in the evening.

"The fakir refused to enter the hospital, so we brought out a couple of trestles, laid the litter upon them, and the surgeon set his arm and dressed his wounds by torch-light, when he was lifted into a dhoolie, and his bearers again prepared to start for the village.

"Hitherto he had only spoken a few words; but he now briefly expressed his deep gratitude to Simmonds and myself. We told him that we would ride over to see him shortly, and hoped to find him getting on rapidly. Another minute and he was gone.

"It happened that we had three or four fellows away on leave or on staff duty, and several others knocked up with fever just about this time, so that the duty fell very heavily upon the rest of us, and it was over a month before we had time to ride over to see the fakir.

"We had heard he was going on well; but we were surprised, on reaching the village, to find that he had already returned to his old abode in the jungle. However, we had made up our minds to see him, especially as we had agreed that we would endeavour to persuade him to do a prediction for us; so we turned our horses' heads towards the jungle. We found the fakir sitting on a rock in front of the temple, just where he had been seized by the tiger. He rose as we rode up.

"'I knew that you would come to-day, sahibs, and was joyful in the thought of seeing those who have preserved my life.'

"'We are glad to see you looking pretty strong again, though your arm is still in a sling,' I said, for Simmonds was not strong in Hindustani.

"'How did you know that we were coming?' I asked, when we had tied up our horses.

"'Siva has given to his servant to know many things,' he said quietly.

"'Did you know beforehand that the tiger was going to seize you?' I asked.

"'I knew that a great danger threatened, and that Siva would not let me die before my time had come.'

"'Could you see into our future?' I asked.

"The fakir hesitated, looked at me for a moment earnestly to see if I was speaking in mockery, and then said:

"'The sahibs do not believe in the power of Siva or of his servants. They call his messengers impostors, and scoff at them when they speak of the events of the future.'

"'No, indeed,' I said. 'My friend and I have no idea of scoffing. We have heard of so many of your predictions coming true, that we are really anxious that you should tell us something of the future.'

"The fakir nodded his head, went into the temple, and returned in a minute or two with two small pipes used by the natives for opium-smoking, and a brazier of burning charcoal. The pipes were already charged. He made signs to us to sit down, and took his place in front of us. Then he began singing in a low voice, rocking himself to and fro, and waving a staff which he held in his hand. Gradually his voice rose, and his gesticulations and actions became more violent. So far as I could make out, it was a prayer to Siva that he would give some glimpse of the future which might benefit the sahibs who had saved the life of his servant. Presently he darted forward, gave us each a pipe, took two pieces of red-hot charcoal from the brazier in his fingers, without seeming to know that they were warm, and placed them in the pipes; then he recommenced his singing and gesticulations.

"A glance at Charley, to see if, like myself, he was ready to carry the thing through, and then I put the pipe to my lips. I felt at once that it was opium, of which I had before made experiment, but mixed with some other substance, which was, I imagine, haschish, a preparation of hemp. A few puffs, and I felt a drowsiness creeping over me. I saw, as through a mist, the fakir swaying himself backwards and forwards, his arms waving, and his face distorted. Another minute, and the pipe slipped from my fingers, and I fell back insensible.

"How long I lay there I do not know. I woke with a strange and not unpleasant sensation, and presently became conscious that the fakir was gently pressing, with a sort of shampooing action, my temples and head. When he saw that I opened my eyes he left me, and performed the same process upon Charley. In a few minutes he rose from his stooping position, waved his hand in token of adieu, and walked slowly back into the temple.

"As he disappeared I sat up; Charley did the same.

"We stared at each other for a minute without speaking, and then Charley said:

"'This is a rum go, and no mistake, old man.'

"'You're right, Charley. My opinion is, we've made fools of ourselves. Let's be off out of this.'

"We staggered to our feet, for we both felt like drunken men, made our way to our horses, poured a mussuk of water over our heads, took a drink of brandy from our flasks, and then feeling more like ourselves, mounted and rode out of the jungle.

"'Well, Harley, if the glimpse of futurity which I had is true, all I can say is that it was extremely unpleasant.'

"'That was just my case, Charley.'

"'My dream, or whatever you like to call it, was about a mutiny of the men.'

"'You don't say so, Charley; so was mine. This is monstrously strange, to say the least of it. However, you tell your story first, and then I will tell mine.'

"'It was very short,' Charley said. 'We were at mess—not in our present mess-room—we were dining with the fellows of some other regiment. Suddenly, without any warning, the windows were filled with a crowd of Sepoys, who opened fire right and left into us. Half the fellows were shot down at once; the rest of us made a rush to our swords just as the niggers came swarming into the room. There was a desperate fight for a moment. I remember that Subadar Pirán—one of the best native officers in the regiment, by the way—made a rush at me, and I shot him through the head with a revolver. At the same moment a ball hit me, and down I went. At the moment a Sepoy fell dead across me, hiding me partly from sight. The fight lasted a minute or two longer. I fancy a few fellows escaped, for I heard shots outside. Then the place became quiet. In another minute I heard a crackling, and saw that the devils had set the mess-room on fire. One of our men, who was lying close by me, got up and crawled to the window, but he was shot down the moment he showed himself. I was hesitating whether to do the same or to lie still and be smothered, when suddenly I rolled the dead sepoy off, crawled into the ante-room half-suffocated by smoke, raised the lid of a very heavy trap-door, and stumbled down some steps into a place, half storehouse half cellar, under the mess-room. How I knew about it being there I don't know. The trap closed over my head with a bang. That is all I remember.'

"'Well, Charley, curiously enough my dream was also about an extraordinary escape from danger, lasting, like yours, only a minute or two. The first thing I remember—there seems to have been something before, but what, I don't know—I was on horseback, holding a very pretty but awfully pale girl in front of me. We were pursued by a whole troop of Sepoy cavalry, who were firing pistol-shots at us. We were not more than seventy or eighty yards in front, and they were gaining fast, just as I rode into a large deserted temple. In the centre was a huge stone figure. I jumped off my horse with the lady, and as I did so she said, 'Blow out my brains, Edward; don't let me fall alive into their hands.'

"'Instead of answering, I hurried her round behind the idol, pushed against one of the leaves of a flower in the carving, and the stone swung back, and showed a hole just large enough to get through, with a stone staircase inside the body of the idol, made no doubt for the priest to go up and give responses through the mouth. I hurried the girl through, crept in after her, and closed the stone, just as our pursuers came clattering into the courtyard. That is all I remember.'

"'Well, it is monstrously rum,' Charley said, after a pause. 'Did you understand what the old fellow was singing about before he gave us the pipes?'

"'Yes; I caught the general drift. It was an entreaty to Siva to give us some glimpse of futurity which might benefit us.'

"We lit our cheroots and rode for some miles at a brisk canter without remark. When we were within a short distance of home we reined up.

"'I feel ever so much better,' Charley said. 'We have got that opium out of our heads now. How do you account for it all, Harley?'

"'I account for it in this way, Charley. The opium naturally had the effect of making us both dream, and as we took similar doses of the same mixture, under similar circumstances, it is scarcely extraordinary that it should have effected the same portion of the brain, and caused a certain similarity in our dreams. In all nightmares something terrible happens, or is on the point of happening; and so it was here. Not unnaturally in both our cases, our thoughts turned to soldiers. If you remember there was a talk at mess some little time since, as to what would happen in the extremely unlikely event of the sepoys mutinying in a body. I have no doubt that was the foundation of both our dreams. It is all natural enough when we come to think it over calmly. I think, by the way, we had better agree to say nothing at all about it in the regiment.'

"'I should think not,' Charley said. 'We should never hear the end of it; they would chaff us out of our lives.'

"We kept our secret, and came at last to laugh over it heartily when we were together. Then the subject dropped, and by the end of a year had as much escaped our minds as any other dream would have done. Three months after the affair the regiment was ordered down to Allahabad, and the change of place no doubt helped to erase all memory of the dream. Four years after we had left Jubbalpore we went to Beerapore. The time is very marked in my memory, because the very week we arrived there, your aunt, then Miss Gardiner, came out from England, to her father, our colonel. The instant I saw her I was impressed with the idea that I knew her intimately. I recollected her face, her figure, and the very tone of her voice, but wherever I had met her I could not conceive. Upon the occasion of my first introduction to her, I could not help telling her that I was convinced that we had met, and asking her if she did not remember it. No, she did not remember, but very likely she might have done so, and she suggested the names of several people at whose houses we might have met. I did not know any of them. Presently she asked how long I had been out in India?

"'Six years,' I said.

"'And how old, Mr. Harley,' she said, 'do you take me to be?'

"I saw in one instant my stupidity, and was stammering out an apology, when she went on,—

"'I am very little over eighteen, Mr. Harley, although I evidently look ever so many years older; but papa can certify to my age; so I was only twelve when you left England.'

"I tried in vain to clear matters up. Your aunt would insist that I took her to be forty, and the fun that my blunder made rather drew us together, and gave me a start over the other fellows at the station, half of whom fell straightway in love with her. Some months went on, and when the mutiny broke out we were engaged to be married. It is a proof of how completely the opium-dreams had passed out of the minds of both Simmonds and myself, that even when rumours of general disaffection among the Sepoys began to be current, they never once recurred to us; and even when the news of the actual mutiny reached us, we were just as confident as were the others of the fidelity of our own regiment. It was the old story, foolish confidence and black treachery. As at very many other stations, the mutiny broke out when we were at mess. Our regiment was dining with the 34th Bengalees. Suddenly, just as dinner was over, the window was opened, and a tremendous fire poured in. Four or five men fell dead at once, and the poor colonel, who was next to me, was shot right through the head. Every one rushed to his sword and drew his pistol—for we had been ordered to carry pistols as part of our uniform. I was next to Charley Simmonds as the Sepoys of both regiments, headed by Subadar Pirán, poured in at the windows.

"'I have it now,' Charley said; 'it is the scene I dreamed.'

"As he spoke he fired his revolver at the subadar, who fell dead in his tracks.

"A Sepoy close by levelled his musket and fired. Charley fell, and the fellow rushed forward to bayonet him. As he did so I sent a bullet through his head, and he fell across Charley. It was a wild fight for a minute or two, and then a few of us made a sudden rush together, cut our way through the mutineers, and darted through an open window on to the parade. There were shouts, shots, and screams from the officers' bungalows, and in several places flames were already rising. What became of the other men I knew not; I made as hard as I could tear for the colonel's bungalow. Suddenly I came upon a sowar sitting on his horse watching the rising flames. Before he saw me I was on him, and ran him through. I leapt on his horse and galloped down to Gardiner's compound. I saw lots of Sepoys in and around the bungalow, all engaged in looting. I dashed into the compound.

"'May! May!' I shouted. 'Where are you?'

"I had scarcely spoken before a dark figure rushed out of a clump of bushes close by with a scream of delight.

"In an instant she was on the horse before me, and shooting down a couple of fellows who made a rush at my reins, I dashed out again. Stray shots were fired after us. But fortunately the Sepoys were all busy looting, most of them had laid down their muskets, and no one really took up the pursuit. I turned off from the parade-ground, dashed down between the hedges of two compounds, and in another minute we were in the open country.

"Fortunately, the cavalry were all down looting their own lines, or we must have been overtaken at once. May happily had fainted as I lifted her on to my horse—happily, because the fearful screams that we heard from the various bungalows almost drove me mad, and would probably have killed her, for the poor ladies were all her intimate friends.

"I rode on for some hours, till I felt quite safe from any immediate pursuit, and then we halted in the shelter of a clump of trees.

"By this time I had heard May's story. She had felt uneasy at being alone, but had laughed at herself for being so, until upon her speaking to one of the servants he had answered in a tone of gross insolence, which had astonished her. She at once guessed that there was danger, and the moment that she was alone caught up a large, dark carriage rug, wrapped it round her so as to conceal her white dress, and stole out into the verandah. The night was dark, and scarcely had she left the house than she heard a burst of firing across at the mess-house. She at once ran in among the bushes and crouched there, as she heard the rush of men into the room she had just left. She heard them searching for her, but they were looking for a white dress, and her dark rug saved her. What she must have suffered in the five minutes between the firing of the first shots and my arrival, she only knows. May had spoken but very little since we started. I believe that she was certain that her father was dead, although I had given an evasive answer when she asked me; and her terrible sense of loss, added to the horror of that time of suspense in the garden, had completely stunned her. We waited in the tope until the afternoon, and then set out again.

"We had gone but a short distance when we saw a body of the rebel cavalry in pursuit. They had no doubt been scouring the country generally, and the discovery was accidental. For a short time we kept away from them, but this could not be for long, as our horse was carrying double. I made for a sort of ruin I saw at the foot of a hill half a mile away. I did so with no idea of the possibility of concealment. My intention was simply to get my back to a rock and to sell my life as dearly as I could, keeping the last two barrels of the revolver for ourselves. Certainly no remembrance of my dream influenced me in any way, and in the wild whirl of excitement I had not given a second thought to Charley Simmonds' exclamation. As we rode up to the ruins only a hundred yards ahead of us, May said,—

"'Blow out my brains, Edward; don't let me fall alive into their hands.'

"A shock of remembrance shot across me. The chase, her pale face, the words, the temple—all my dream rushed into my mind.

"'We are saved,' I cried, to her amazement, as we rode into the courtyard, in whose centre a great figure was sitting.

"I leapt from the horse, snatched the mussuk of water from the saddle, and then hurried May round the idol, between which and the rock behind, there was but just room to get along.

"Not a doubt entered my mind but that I should find the spring as I had dreamed. Sure enough there was the carving, fresh upon my memory as if I had seen it but the day before. I placed my hand on the leaflet without hesitation, a solid stone moved back, I hurried my amazed companion in, and shut to the stone. I found, and shot to, a massive bolt, evidently placed to prevent the door being opened by accident or design when anyone was in the idol.

"At first it seemed quite dark, but a faint light streamed in from above; we made our way up the stairs, and found that the light came through a number of small holes pierced in the upper part of the head, and through still smaller holes lower down, not much larger than a good-sized knitting-needle could pass through. These holes, we afterwards found, were in the ornaments round the idol's neck. The holes enlarged inside, and enabled us to have a view all round.

"The mutineers were furious at our disappearance, and for hours searched about. Then, saying that we must be hidden somewhere, and that they would wait till we came out, they proceeded to bivouac in the courtyard of the temple.

"We passed four terrible days, but on the morning of the fifth a scout came in to tell the rebels that a column of British troops marching on Delhi would pass close by the temple. They therefore hastily mounted and galloped off.

"Three quarters of an hour later we were safe among our own people. A fortnight afterwards your aunt and I were married. It was no time for ceremony then; there were no means of sending her away; no place where she could have waited until the time for her mourning for her father was over. So we were married quietly by one of the chaplains of the troops, and, as your story-books say, have lived very happily ever after."

"And how about Mr. Simmonds, uncle? Did he get safe off too?"

"Yes, his dream came as vividly to his mind as mine had done. He crawled to the place where he knew the trap-door would be, and got into the cellar. Fortunately for him there were plenty of eatables there, and he lived there in concealment for a fortnight. After that he crawled out, and found the mutineers had marched for Delhi. He went through a lot, but at last joined us before that city. We often talked over our dreams together, and there was no question that we owed our lives to them. Even then we did not talk much to other people about them, for there would have been a lot of talk, and inquiry, and questions, and you know fellows hate that sort of thing. So we held our tongues. Poor Charley's silence was sealed a year later at Lucknow, for on the advance with Lord Clyde he was killed.

"And now, boys and girls, you must run off to bed. Five minutes more and it will be Christmas-day. So you see, Frank, that although I don't believe in ghosts, I have yet met with a circumstance which I cannot account for."

"It is very curious anyhow, uncle, and beats ghost stories into fits."

"I like it better, certainly," one of the girls said, "for we can go to bed without being afraid of dreaming about it."

"Well, you must not talk any more now. Off to bed, off to bed," Colonel Harley said, "or I shall get into terrible disgrace with your fathers and mothers, who have been looking very gravely at me for the last three quarters of an hour."

WHITE-FACED DICK,

A STORY OF PINE-TREE GULCH.

OW Pine-tree Gulch got its name no one knew, for in the early days every ravine and hillside was thickly covered with pines. It may be that a tree of exceptional size caught the eye of the first explorer, that he camped under it, and named the place in its honour; or, may be, some fallen giant lay in the bottom and hindered the work of the first prospectors. At any rate, Pine-tree Gulch it was, and the name was as good as any other. The pine-trees were gone now. Cut up for firing, or for the erection of huts, or the construction of sluices, but the hillside was ragged with their stumps.

The principal camp was at the mouth of the Gulch, where the little stream, which scarce afforded water sufficient for the cradles in the dry season, but which was a rushing torrent in winter, joined the Yuba. The best ground was at the junction of the streams, and lay, indeed, in the Yuba valley rather than in the Gulch. At first most gold had been found higher up, but there was here comparatively little depth down to the bed-rock, and as the ground became exhausted the miners moved down towards the mouth of the Gulch. They were doing well as a whole, how well no one knew, for miners are chary of giving information as to what they are making; still, it was certain they were doing well, for the bars were doing a roaring trade, and the store-keepers never refused credit—a proof in itself that the prospects were good.

The flat at the mouth of the Gulch was a busy scene, every foot was good paying stuff, for in the eddy, where the torrents in winter rushed down into the Yuba, the gold had settled down and lay thick among the gravel. But most of the parties were sinking, and it was a long way down to the bed-rock; for the hills on both sides sloped steeply, and the Yuba must here at one time have rushed through a narrow gorge, until, in some wild freak, it brought down millions of tons of gravel, and resumed its course seventy feet above its former level.

A quarter of a mile higher up a ledge of rock ran across the valley, and over it in the old time the Yuba had poured in a cascade seventy feet deep into the ravine. But the rock now was level with the gravel, only showing its jagged points here and there above it. This ledge had been invaluable to the diggers: without it they could only have sunk their shafts with the greatest difficulty, for the gravel would have been full of water, and even with the greatest pains in puddling and timber-work the pumps would scarcely have sufficed to keep it down as it rose in the bottom of the shafts. But the miners had made common cause together, and giving each so many ounces of gold or so many day's work had erected a dam thirty feet high along the ledge of rock, and had cut a channel for the Yuba along the lower slopes of the valley. Of course, when the rain set in, as everybody knew, the dam would go, and the river diggings must be abandoned till the water subsided and a fresh dam was made; but there were two months before them yet, and every one hoped to be down to the bed-rock before the water interrupted their work.

The hillside, both in the Yuba Valley and for some distance along Pine-tree Gulch, was dotted by shanties and tents; the former constructed for the most part of logs roughly squared, the walls being some three feet in height, on which the sharp sloping roof was placed, thatched in the first place with boughs, and made all snug, perhaps, with an old sail stretched over all. The camp was quiet enough during the day. The few women were away with their washing at the pools, a quarter of a mile up the Gulch, and the only persons to be seen about were the men told off for cooking for their respective parties.

But in the evening the camp was lively. Groups of men in red shirts and corded trousers tied at the knee, in high boots, sat round blazing fires, and talked of their prospects or discussed the news of the luck at other camps. The sound of music came from two or three plank erections which rose conspicuously above the huts of the diggers, and were bright externally with the glories of white and coloured paints. To and from these men were always sauntering, and it needed not the clink of glasses and the sound of music to tell that they were the bars of the camp.

Here, standing at the counter, or seated at numerous small tables, men were drinking villainous liquor, smoking and talking, and paying but scant attention to the strains of the fiddle or the accordion, save when some well-known air was played, when all would join in a boisterous chorus. Some were always passing in or out of a door which led into a room behind. Here there was comparative quiet, for men were gambling, and gambling high.

Going backwards and forwards with liquors into the gambling-room of the Imperial Saloon, which stood just where Pine-tree Gulch opened into Yuba valley, was a lad, whose appearance had earned for him the name of White-faced Dick.

White-faced Dick was not one of those who had done well at Pine-tree Gulch; he had come across the plains with his father, who had died when half-way over, and Dick had been thrown on the world to shift for himself. Nature had not intended him for the work, for he was a delicate, timid lad; what spirits he originally had having been years before beaten out of him by a brutal father. So far, indeed, Dick was the better rather than the worse for the event which had left him an orphan.

They had been travelling with a large party for mutual security against Indians and Mormons, and so long as the journey lasted Dick had got on fairly well. He was always ready to do odd jobs, and as the draught cattle were growing weaker and weaker, and every pound of weight was of importance, no one grudged him his rations in return for his services; but when the company began to descend the slopes of the Sierra Nevada they began to break up, going off by twos and threes to the diggings, of which they heard such glowing accounts. Some, however, kept straight on to Sacramento, determining there to obtain news as to the doings at all the different places, and then to choose that which seemed to offer the best prospects of success.

Dick proceeded with them to the town, and there found himself alone. His companions were absorbed in the busy rush of population, and each had so much to provide and arrange for, that none gave a thought to the solitary boy. However, at that time no one who had a pair of hands, however feeble, to work need starve in Sacramento; and for some weeks Dick hung around the town doing odd jobs, and then, having saved a few dollars, determined to try his luck at the diggings, and started on foot with a shovel on his shoulder and a few day's provisions slung across it.

Arrived at his destination, the lad soon discovered that gold-digging was hard work for brawny and seasoned men, and after a few feeble attempts in spots abandoned as worthless he gave up the effort, and again began to drift; and even in Pine-tree Gulch it was not difficult to get a living. At first he tried rocking cradles, but the work was far harder than it appeared. He was standing ankle deep in water from morning till night, and his cheeks grew paler, and his strength, instead of increasing, seemed to fade away. Still, there were jobs within his strength. He could keep a fire alight and watch a cooking-pot, he could carry up buckets of water or wash a flannel shirt, and so he struggled on, until at last some kind-hearted man suggested to him that he should try to get a place at the new saloon which was about to be opened.

"You are not fit for this work, young 'un, and you ought to be at home with your mother; if you like I will go up with you this evening to Jeffries. I knew him down on the flats, and I daresay he will take you on. I don't say as a saloon is a good place for a boy, still you will always get your bellyful of victuals and a dry place to sleep in, if it's only under a table. What do you say?"

Dick thankfully accepted the offer, and on Red George's recommendation was that evening engaged. His work was not hard now, for till the miners knocked off there was little doing in the saloon; a few men would come in for a drink at dinner-time, but it was not until the lamps were lit that business began in earnest, and then for four or five hours Dick was busy.

A rougher or healthier lad would not have minded the work, but to Dick it was torture; every nerve in his body thrilled whenever rough miners cursed him for not carrying out their orders more quickly, or for bringing them the wrong liquors, which, as his brain was in a whirl with the noise, the shouting, and the multiplicity of orders, happened frequently. He might have fared worse had not Red George always stood his friend, and Red George was an authority in Pine-tree Gulch—powerful in frame, reckless in bearing and temper, he had been in a score of fights and had come off them, if not unscathed, at least victorious. He was notoriously a lucky digger, but his earnings went as fast as they were made, and he was always ready to open his belt and give a bountiful pinch of dust to any mate down on his luck.

One evening Dick was more helpless and confused than usual. The saloon was full, and he had been shouted at and badgered and cursed until he scarcely knew what he was doing. High play was going on in the saloon, and a good many men were clustered round the table. Red George was having a run of luck, and there was a big pile of gold dust on the table before him. One of the gamblers who was losing had ordered old rye, and instead of bringing it to him, Dick brought a tumbler of hot liquor which someone else had called for. With an oath the man took it up and threw it in his face.

"You cowardly hound!" Red George exclaimed. "Are you man enough to do that to a man?"

"You bet," the gambler, who was a new arrival at Pine-tree Gulch, replied; and picking up an empty glass, he hurled it at Red George. The by-standers sprang aside, and in a moment the two men were facing each other with outstretched pistols. The two reports rung out simultaneously: Red George sat down unconcernedly with a streak of blood flowing down his face, where the bullet had cut a furrow in his cheek; the stranger fell back with the bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

The body was carried outside, and the play continued as if no interruption had taken place. They were accustomed to such occurrences in Pine-tree Gulch, and the piece of ground at the top of the hill, that had been set aside as a burial place, was already dotted thickly with graves, filled in almost every instance by men who had died, in the local phraseology, "with their boots on."

Neither then nor afterwards did Red George allude to the subject to Dick, whose life after this signal instance of his championship was easier than it had hitherto been, for there were few in Pine-tree Gulch who cared to excite Red George's anger; and strangers going to the place were sure to receive a friendly warning that it was best for their health to keep their tempers over any shortcomings on the part of White-faced Dick.

Grateful as he was for Red George's interference on his behalf, Dick felt the circumstance which had ensued more than anyone else in the camp. With others it was the subject of five minutes' talk, but Dick could not get out of his head the thought of the dead man's face as he fell back. He had seen many such frays before, but he was too full of his own troubles for them to make much impression upon him. But in the present case he felt as if he himself was responsible for the death of the gambler; if he had not blundered this would not have happened. He wondered whether the dead man had a wife and children, and, if so, were they expecting his return? Would they ever hear where he had died, and how?

But this feeling, which, tired out as he was when the time came for closing the bar, often prevented him from sleeping for hours, in no way lessened his gratitude and devotion towards Red George, and he felt that he could die willingly if his life would benefit his champion. Sometimes he thought, too, that his life would not be much to give, for in spite of shelter and food, the cough which he had caught while working in the water still clung to him, and, as his employer said to him angrily one day—

"Your victuals don't do you no good, Dick; you get thinner and thinner, and folks will think as I starve you. Darned if you ain't a disgrace to the establishment."

The wind was whistling down the gorges, and the clouds hung among the pine-woods which still clothed the upper slopes of the hills, and the diggers, as they turned out one morning, looked up apprehensively.

"But it could not be," they assured each other. Every one knew that the rains were not due for another month yet; it could only be a passing shower if it rained at all.

But as the morning went on, men came in from camps higher up the river, and reports were current that it had been raining for the last two days among the upper hills; while those who took the trouble to walk across to the new channel could see for themselves at noon that it was filled very nigh to the brim, the water rushing along with thick and turbid current. But those who repeated the rumours, or who reported that the channel was full, were summarily put down. Men would not believe that such a calamity as a flood and the destruction of all their season's work could be impending. There had been some showers, no doubt, as there had often been before, but it was ridiculous to talk of anything like rain a month before its time. Still, in spite of these assertions, there was uneasiness at Pine-tree Gulch, and men looked at the driving clouds above and shook their heads before they went down to the shafts to work after dinner.

When the last customer had left and the bar was closed, Dick had nothing to do till evening, and he wandered outside and sat down on a stump, at first looking at the work going on in the valley, then so absorbed in his own thoughts that he noticed nothing, not even the driving mist which presently set in. He was calculating that he had, with his savings from his wages and what had been given him by the miners, laid by eighty dollars. When he got another hundred and twenty he would go; he would make his way down to San Francisco, and then by ship to Panama and up to New York, and then west again to the village where he was born. There would be people there who would know him, and who would give him work, for his mother's sake. He did not care what it was; anything would be better than this.

Then his thoughts came back to Pine-tree Gulch, and he started to his feet. Could he be mistaken? Were his eyes deceiving him? No; among the stones and boulders of the old bed of the Yuba there was the gleam of water, and even as he watched it he could see it widening out. He started to run down the hill to give the alarm, but before he was half-way he paused, for there were loud shouts, and a scene of bustle and confusion instantly arose.

The cradles were deserted, and the men working on the surface loaded themselves with their tools and made for the high ground, while those at the windlasses worked their hardest to draw up their comrades below. A man coming down from above stopped close to Dick, with a low cry, and stood gazing with a white scared face. Dick had worked with him; he was one of the company to which Red George belonged.

"What is it, Saunders?"

"My God! they are lost," the man replied. "I was at the windlass when they shouted up to me to go up and fetch them a bottle of rum. They had just struck it rich, and wanted a drink on the strength of it."

Dick understood at once. Red George and his mates were still in the bottom of the shaft, ignorant of the danger which was threatening them.

"Come on," he cried; "we shall be in time yet," and at the top of his speed dashed down the hill, followed by Saunders.

"What is it, what is it?" asked parties of men mounting the hill. "Red George's gang are still below."

Dick's eyes were fixed on the water. There was a broad band now of yellow with a white edge down the centre of the stony flat, and it was widening with terrible rapidity. It was scarce ten yards from the windlass at the top of Red George's shaft when Dick, followed closely by Saunders, reached it.

"Come up, mates; quick, for your lives! The river is rising; you will be flooded out directly. Every one else has gone!"

As he spoke he pulled at the rope by which the bucket was hanging, and the handles of the windlass flew round rapidly as it descended. When it had run out, Dick and he grasped the handles.

"All right below?"

An answering call came up, and the two began their work, throwing their whole strength into it. Quickly as the windlass revolved, it seemed an endless time to Dick before the bucket came up, and the first man stepped out. It was not Red George. Dick had hardly expected it would be. Red George would be sure to see his two mates up before him, and the man uttered a cry of alarm as he saw the water, now within a few feet of the mouth of the shaft.

It was a torrent now, for not only was it coming through the dam, but it was rushing down in cascades from the new channel. Without a word the miner placed himself facing Dick and the moment the bucket was again down, the three grasped the handles. But quickly as they worked, the edge of the water was within a few inches of the shaft when the next man reached the surface; but again the bucket descended before the rope tightened. However, the water had began to run over the lip—at first in a mere trickle, and then, almost instantaneously, in a cascade, which grew larger and larger.

The bucket was half-way up when a sound like thunder was heard, the ground seemed to tremble under their feet, and then at the turn of the valley above, a great wave of yellow water, crested with foam, was seen tearing along at the speed of a race-horse.

"The dam has burst!" Saunders shouted. "Run for your lives, or we are all lost!"

The three men dropped the handles and ran at full speed towards the shore, while loud shouts to Dick to follow came from the crowd of men standing on the slope. But the boy still grasped the handles, and with lips tightly closed, still toiled on. Slowly the bucket ascended, for Red George was a heavy man; then suddenly the weight slackened, and the handle went round faster. The shaft was filling, the water had reached the bucket, and had risen to Red George's neck, so that his weight was no longer on the rope. So fast did the water pour in, that it was not half a minute before the bucket reached the surface, and Red George sprang out. There was but time for one exclamation, and then the great wave struck them. Red George was whirled like a straw in the current; but he was a strong swimmer, and at a point where the valley widened out, half a mile lower, he struggled to shore.

Two days later the news reached Pine-tree Gulch that a boy's body had been washed ashore twenty miles down, and ten men, headed by Red George, went and brought it solemnly back to Pine-tree Gulch. There, among the stumps of pine-trees, a grave was dug, and there, in the presence of the whole camp, White-faced Dick was laid to rest.

Pine-tree Gulch is a solitude now, the trees are growing again, and none would dream that it was once a busy scene of industry; but if the traveller searches among the pine-trees, he will find a stone with the words:

"Here lies White-faced Dick, who died to save Red George. 'What can a man do more than give his life for a friend?'"

The text was the suggestion of an ex-clergyman working as a miner in Pine-tree Gulch.

Red George worked no more at the diggings, but after seeing the stone laid in its place, went east, and with what little money came to him when the common fund of the company was divided after the flood on the Yuba, bought a small farm, and settled down there; but to the end of his life he was never weary of telling those who would listen to it the story of Pine-tree Gulch.

A BRUSH WITH THE CHINESE,

AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

T was early in December that H.M.S. Perseus was cruising off the mouth of the Canton River. War had been declared with China in consequence of her continued evasions of the treaty she had made with us, and it was expected that a strong naval force would soon gather to bring her to reason. In the meantime the ships on the station had a busy time of it, chasing the enemy's junks when they ventured to show themselves beyond the reach of the guns of their forts, and occasionally having a brush with the piratical boats which took advantage of the general confusion to plunder friend as well as foe.

The Perseus had that afternoon chased two Government junks up a creek. The sun had already set when they took refuge there, and the captain did not care to send his boats after them in the dark, as many of the creeks ran up for miles into the flat country; and as they not unfrequently had many arms or branches, the boats might, in the dark, miss the junks altogether. Orders were issued that four boats should be ready for starting at daybreak the next morning. The Perseus anchored off the mouth of the creek, and two boats were ordered to row backwards and forwards off its mouth all night to insure that the enemy did not slip out in the darkness.

Jack Fothergill, the senior midshipman, was commanding the gig, and two of the other midshipmen were going in the pinnace and launch, commanded respectively by the first lieutenant and the master. The three other midshipmen of the Perseus were loud in their lamentations that they were not to take share in the fun.

"You can't all go, you know," Fothergill said, "and it's no use making a row about it; the captain has been very good to let three of us go."

"It's all very well for you, Jack," Percy Adcock, the youngest of the lads, replied, "because you are one of those chosen; and it is not so hard for Simmons and Linthorpe, because they went the other day in the boat that chased those junks under shelter of the guns of their battery, but I haven't had a chance for ever so long."

"What fun was there in chasing the junks?" Simmons said. "We never got near the brutes till they were close to their battery, and then just as the first shot came singing from their guns, and we thought that we were going to have some excitement, the first lieutenant sung out 'Easy all,' and there was nothing for it but to turn round and to row for the ship, and a nice hot row it was—two hours and a half in a broiling sun. Of course I am not blaming Oliphant, for the captain's orders were strict that we were not to try to cut the junks out if they got under the guns of any of their batteries. Still it was horribly annoying, and I do think the captain might have remembered what beastly luck we had last time, and given us a chance to-morrow."

"It is clear we could not all go," Fothergill said, "and naturally enough the captain chose the three seniors. Besides, if you did have bad luck last time, you had your chance, and I don't suppose we shall have anything more exciting now; these fellows always set fire to their junks and row for the shore directly they see us, after firing a shot or two wildly in our direction."

"Well, Jack, if you don't expect any fun," Simmons replied, "perhaps you wouldn't mind telling the first lieutenant you do not care for going, and that I am very anxious to take your place. Perhaps he will be good enough to allow me to relieve you."

"A likely thing that!" Fothergill laughed. "No, Tom, I am sorry you are not going, but you must make the best of it till another chance comes."

"Don't you think, Jack," Percy Adcock said to his senior in a coaxing tone later on, "you could manage to smuggle me into the boat with you?"

"Not I, Percy. Suppose you got hurt, what would the captain say then? And firing as wildly as the Chinese do, a shot is just as likely to hit your little carcase as to lodge in one of the sailors. No, you must just make the best of it, Percy, and I promise you that next time there is a boat expedition, if you are not put in, I will say a good word to the first luff for you."

"That promise is better than nothing," the boy said; "but I would a deal rather go this time and take my chance next."

"But you see you can't, Percy, and there's no use talking any more about it. I really do not expect there will be any fighting. Two junks would hardly make any opposition to the boats of the ship, and I expect we shall be back by nine o'clock with the news that they were well on fire before we came up."

Percy Adcock, however, was determined, if possible, to go. He was a favourite among the men, and when he spoke to the bow oar of the gig, the latter promised to do anything he could to aid him to carry out his wishes.

"We are to start at daybreak, Tom, so that it will be quite dark when the boats are lowered. I will creep into the gig before that and hide myself as well as I can under your thwart, and all you have got to do is to take no notice of me. When the boat is lowered I think they will hardly make me out from the deck, especially as you will be standing up in the bow holding on with the boat-hook till the rest get on board."

"Well, sir, I will do my best; but if you are caught you must not let out that I knew anything about it."

"I won't do that," Percy said. "I don't think there is much chance of my being noticed until we get on board the junks, and then they won't know which boat I came off in, and the first lieutenant will be too busy to blow me up. Of course I shall get it when I am on board again, but I don't mind that so that I see the fun. Besides, I want to send home some things to my sister, and she will like them all the better if I can tell her I captured them on board some junks we seized and burnt."

The next morning the crews mustered before daybreak. Percy had already taken his place under the bow thwart of the gig. The davits were swung overboard, and two men took their places in her as she was lowered down by the falls. As soon as she touched the water the rest of the crew clambered down by the ladder and took their places; then Fothergill took his seat in the stern, and the boat pushed off and lay a few lengths away from the ship until the heavier boats put off. As soon as they were under way Percy crawled out from his hiding-place and placed himself in the bow, where he was sheltered by the body of the oarsmen from Fothergill's sight.

Day was just breaking now, but it was still dark on the water, and the boat rowed very slowly until it became lighter. Percy could just make out the shores of the creek on both sides; they were but two or three feet above the level of the water, and were evidently submerged at high tide. The creek was about a hundred yards wide, and the lad could not see far ahead, for it was full of sharp windings and turnings. Here and there branches joined it, but the boats were evidently following the main channel. After another half-hour's rowing the first lieutenant suddenly gave the order, "Easy all," and the men, looking over their shoulders, saw a village a quarter of a mile ahead, with the two junks they had chased the night before lying in front of it. Almost at the same moment a sudden uproar was heard—drums were beaten and gongs sounded.

"They are on the look-out for us," the first lieutenant said. "Mr. Mason, do you keep with me and attack the junk highest up the river; Mr. Bellew and Mr. Fothergill, do you take the one lower down. Row on, men."

The oars all touched the water together, and the four boats leapt forward. In a minute a scattering fire of gingals and matchlocks was opened from the junks, and the bullets pattered on the water round the boats. Percy was kneeling up in the bow now. As they passed a branch channel three or four hundred yards from the village, he started and leapt to his feet.

"There are four or five junks in that passage, Fothergill; they are poling out."

The first lieutenant heard the words.

"Row on, men; let us finish with these craft ahead before the others get out. This must be that piratical village we have heard about, Mr. Mason, as lying up one of these creeks; that accounts for those two junks not going higher up. I was surprised at seeing them here, for they might guess that we should try to get them this morning. Evidently they calculated on catching us in a trap."

Percy was delighted at finding that, in the excitement caused by his news, the first lieutenant had forgotten to take any notice of his being there without orders, and he returned a defiant nod to the threat conveyed by Fothergill shaking his fist at him. As they neared the junks the fire of those on board redoubled, and was aided by that of many villagers gathered on the bank of the creek. Suddenly from a bank of rushes four cannons were fired. A ball struck the pinnace, smashing in her side. The other boats gathered hastily round and took her crew on board, and then dashed at the junks, which were but a hundred yards distant. The valour of the Chinese evaporated as they saw the boats approaching, and scores of them leapt overboard and swam for shore.

In another minute the boats were alongside and the crews scrambling up the sides of the junks. A few Chinamen only attempted to oppose them. These were speedily overcome, and the British had now time to look round, and saw that six junks crowded with men had issued from the side creek and were making towards them.

"Let the boats tow astern," the lieutenant ordered. "We should have to run the gauntlet of that battery on shore if we were to attack them, and might lose another boat before we reached their side. We will fight them here."

The junks approached, those on board firing their guns, yelling and shouting, while the drums and gongs were furiously beaten.

"They will find themselves mistaken, Percy, if they think they are going to frighten us with all that row," Fothergill said. "You young rascal, how did you get on board the boat without being seen? The captain will be sure to suspect I had a hand in concealing you."

The tars were now at work firing the gingals attached to the bulwarks and the matchlocks, with which the deck was strewn, at the approaching junks. As they took steady aim, leaning their pieces on the bulwarks, they did considerable execution among the Chinamen crowded on board the junks, while the shot of the Chinese, for the most part, whistled far overhead; but the guns of the shore battery, which had now been slewed round to bear upon them, opened with a better aim, and several shots came crashing into the sides of the two captured junks.

"Get ready to board, lads!" Lieutenant Oliphant shouted. "Don't wait for them to board you, but the moment they come alongside lash their rigging to ours and spring on board them."

The leading junk was now about twenty yards away, and presently grated alongside. Half-a-dozen sailors at once sprang into her rigging with ropes, and after lashing the junks together leaped down upon her deck, where Fothergill was leading the gig's crew and some of those rescued from the pinnace, while Mr. Bellew, with another party, had boarded her at the stern. Several of the Chinese fought stoutly, but the greater part lost heart at seeing themselves attacked by the "white devils," instead of, as they expected, overwhelming them by their superior numbers. Many began at once to jump overboard, and after two or three minutes' sharp fighting, the rest either followed their example or were beaten below.

Fothergill looked round. The other junk had been attacked by two of the enemy, one on each side, and the little body of sailors were gathered in her waist, and were defending themselves against an overwhelming number of the enemy.

The other three piratical junks had been carried somewhat up the creek by the tide that was sweeping inward, and could not for the moment take part in the fight.

"Mr. Oliphant is hard pressed, sir." He asked the master: "Shall we take to the boats?"

"That will be the best plan," Mr. Bellew replied. "Quick, lads, get the boats alongside and tumble in; there is not a moment to be lost."

The crew at once sprang to the boats and rowed to the other junk, which was but some thirty yards away.

The Chinese, absorbed in their contest with the crew of the pinnace, did not perceive the new-comers until they gained the deck, and with a shout fell furiously upon them. In their surprise and consternation the pirates did not pause to note that they were still five to one superior in number, but made a precipitate rush for their own vessels. The English at once took the offensive. The first lieutenant with his party boarded one, while the new-comers leapt on to the deck of the other. The panic which had seized the Chinese was so complete that they attempted no resistance whatever, but sprang overboard in great numbers and swam to the shore, which was but twenty yards away, and in three minutes the English were in undisputed possession of both vessels.

"Back again, Mr. Fothergill, or you will lose the craft you captured," Lieutenant Oliphant said; "they have already cut her free."

The Chinese, indeed, who had been beaten below by the boarding party, had soon perceived the sudden departure of their captors, and gaining the deck again had cut the lashings which fastened them to the other junk, and were proceeding to hoist their sails. They were too late, however. Almost before the craft had way on her Fothergill and his crew were alongside. The Chinese did not wait for the attack, but at once sprang overboard and made for the shore. The other three junks, seeing the capture of their comrades, had already hoisted their sails and were making up the creek. Fothergill dropped an anchor, left four of his men in charge, and rowed back to Mr. Oliphant.

"What shall we do next, sir?"

"We will give those fellows on shore a lesson, and silence their battery. Two men have been killed since you left. We must let the other junks go for the present. Four of my men were killed and eleven wounded before Mr. Bellew and you came to our assistance. The Chinese were fighting pluckily up to that time, and it would have gone very hard with us if you had not been at hand; the beggars will fight when they think they have got it all their own way. But before we land we will set fire to the five junks we have taken. Do you return and see that the two astern are well lighted, Mr. Fothergill; Mr. Mason will see to these three. When you have done your work take to your boat and lay off till I join you; keep the junks between you and the shore, to protect you from the fire of the rascals there."

"I cannot come with you, I suppose, Fothergill?" Percy Adcock said, as the midshipman was about to descend into his boat again.

"Yes, come along, Percy. It doesn't matter what you do now. The captain will be so pleased when he hears that we have captured and burnt five junks, that you will get off with a very light wigging, I imagine."

"That's just what I was thinking, Jack. Has it not been fun?"

"You wouldn't have thought it fun if you had got one of those matchlock balls in your body. There are a good many of our poor fellows just at the present moment who do not see anything funny in the affair at all. Here we are; clamber up."

The crew soon set to work under Fothergill's orders. The sails were cut off the masts and thrown down into the hold; bamboos, of which there were an abundance down there, were heaped over them, a barrel of oil was poured over the mass, and the fire then applied.

"That will do, lads. Now take to your boats and let's make a bonfire of the other junk."

In ten minutes both vessels were a sheet of flame, and the boat was lying a short distance from them waiting for further operations. The inhabitants of the village, furious at the failure of the plan which had been laid for the destruction of the "white devils," kept up a constant fusilade, which, however, did no harm, for the gig was completely sheltered by the burning junks close to her from their missiles.

"There go the others!" Percy exclaimed after a minute or two, as three columns of smoke arose simultaneously from the other junks, and the sailors were seen dropping into their boats alongside.

The killed and wounded were placed in the other gig with four sailors in charge. They were directed to keep under shelter of the junks until rejoined by the pinnace and Fothergill's gig, after these had done their work on shore.

When all was ready the first lieutenant raised his hand as a signal, and the two boats dashed between the burning junks and rowed for the shore. Such of the natives as had their weapons charged fired a hasty volley, and then, as the sailors leapt from their boats, took to their heels.

"Mr. Fothergill, take your party into the village and set fire to the houses; shoot down every man you see. This place is a nest of pirates. I will capture that battery and then join you."

Fothergill and his sailors at once entered the village. The men had already fled; the women were turned out of the houses, and these were immediately set on fire. The tars regarded the whole affair as a glorious joke, and raced from house to house, making a hasty search in each for concealed valuables before setting it on fire. In a short time the whole village was in a blaze.

"There is a house there, standing in that little grove a hundred yards away," Percy said.

"It looks like a temple," Fothergill replied. "However, we will have a look at it." And calling two sailors to accompany him, he started at a run towards it, Percy keeping by his side.

"It is a temple," Fothergill said when they approached it. "Still, we will have a look at it, but we won't burn it; it will be as well to respect the religion, even of a set of piratical scoundrels like these."

At the head of his men he rushed in at the entrance. There was a blaze of fire as half a dozen muskets were discharged in their faces. One of the sailors dropped dead, and before the others had time to realize what had happened they were beaten to the ground by a storm of blows from swords and other weapons.

A heavy blow crashed down on Percy's head, and he fell insensible even before he realized what had occurred.

When he recovered, his first sensation was that of a vague wonder as to what had happened to him. He seemed to be in darkness and unable to move hand or foot. He was compressed in some way that he could not at first understand, and was being bumped and jolted in an extraordinary manner. It was some little time before he could understand the situation. He first remembered the fight with the junks, then he recalled the landing and burning the village; then, as his brain cleared, came the recollection of his start with Fothergill for the temple among the trees, his arrival there, and a loud report and flash of fire.

"I must have been knocked down and stunned," he said to himself, "and I suppose I am a prisoner now to these brutes, and one of them must be carrying me on his back."

Yes, he could understand it all now. His hands and his feet were tied, ropes were passed round his body in every direction, and he was fastened back to back upon the shoulders of a Chinaman. Percy remembered the tales he had heard of the imprisonment and torture of those who fell into the hands of the Chinese, and he bitterly regretted that he had not been killed instead of stunned in the surprise of the temple.

"It would have been just the same feeling," he said to himself, "and there would have been an end of it. Now, there is no saying what is going to happen. I wonder whether Jack was killed, and the sailors."

Presently there was a jabber of voices; the motion ceased. Percy could feel that the cords were being unwound, and he was dropped on to his feet; then the cloth was removed from his head, and he could look round.

A dozen Chinese, armed with matchlocks and bristling with swords and daggers, stood around, and among them, bound like himself and gagged by a piece of bamboo forced lengthways across his mouth and kept there with a string going round the back of the head, stood Fothergill. He was bleeding from several cuts in the head. Percy's heart gave a bound of joy at finding that he was not alone; then he tried to feel sorry that Jack had not escaped, but failed to do so, although he told himself that his comrade's presence would not in any way alleviate the fate which was certain to befall him. Still the thought of companionship, even in wretchedness, and perhaps a vague hope that Jack, with his energy and spirit, might contrive some way for their escape, cheered him up.

As Percy, too, was gagged, no word could be exchanged by the midshipmen, but they nodded to each other. They were now put side by side and made to walk in the centre of their captors. On the way they passed through several villages, whose inhabitants poured out to gaze at the captives, but the men in charge of them were evidently not disposed to delay, as they passed through without a stop. At last they halted before two cottages standing by themselves, thrust the prisoners into a small room, removed their gags, and left them to themselves.

"Well, Percy, my boy, so they caught you too? I am awfully sorry. It was my fault for going with only two men into that temple, but as the village had been deserted and scarcely a man was found there, it never entered my mind that there might be a party in the temple."

"Of course not, Jack; it was a surprise altogether. I don't know anything about it, for I was knocked down, I suppose, just as we went in, and the first thing I knew about it was that I was being carried on the back of one of those fellows. I thought it was awful at first, but I don't seem to mind so much now you are with me."

"It is a comfort to have someone to speak to," Jack said, "yet I wish you were not here, Percy; I can't do you any good, and I shall never cease blaming myself for having brought you into this scrape. I don't know much more about the affair than you do. The guns were fired so close to us that my face was scorched with one of them, and almost at the same instant I got a lick across my cheek with a sword. I had just time to hit at one of them, and then almost at the same moment I got two or three other blows, and down I went; they threw themselves on the top of me and tied and gagged me in no time. Then I was tied to a long bamboo, and two fellows put the ends on their shoulders and went off with me through the fields. Of course I was face downwards, and did not know you were with us till they stopped and loosed me from the bamboo and set me on my feet."

"But what are they going to do with us do you think, Jack?"

"I should say they are going to take us to Canton and claim a reward for our capture, and there I suppose they will cut off our heads or saw us in two, or put us to some other unpleasant kind of death. I expect they are discussing it now; do you hear what a jabber they are kicking up?"

Voices were indeed heard raised in angry altercation in the next room. After a time the din subsided and the conversation appeared to take a more amiable turn.

"I suppose they have settled it as far as they are concerned," Jack said; "anyhow, you may be quite sure they mean to make something out of us. If they hadn't they would have finished us at once, for they must have been furious at the destruction of their junks and village. As to the idea that mercy has anything to do with it, we may as well put it out of our minds. The Chinaman, at the best of times, has no feeling of pity in his nature, and after their defeat it is certain they would have killed us at once had they not hoped to do better by us. If they had been Indians I should have said they had carried us off to enjoy the satisfaction of torturing us, but I don't suppose it is that with them."

"Do you think there is any chance of our getting away?" Percy asked, after a pause.

"I should say not the least in the world, Percy. My hands are fastened so tight now that the ropes seem cutting into my wrists, and after they had set me on my feet and cut the cords of my legs I could scarcely stand at first, my feet were so numbed by the pressure. However, we must keep up our pluck. Possibly they may keep us at Canton for a bit, and if they do the squadron may arrive and fight its way past the forts and take the city before they have quite made up their minds as to what kind of death will be most appropriate to the occasion. I wonder what they are doing now? They seem to be chopping sticks."

"I wish they would give us some water," Percy said. "I am frightfully thirsty."

"And so am I, Percy; there is one comfort, they won't let us die of thirst, they could get no satisfaction out of our deaths now."

Two hours later some of the Chinese re-entered the room and led the captives outside, and the lads then saw what was the meaning of the noise they had heard. A cage had been manufactured of strong bamboos. It was about four and a half feet long, four feet wide, and less than three feet high; above it was fastened two long bamboos. Two or three of the bars of the cage had been left open.

"My goodness! they never intend to put us in there," Percy exclaimed.

"That they do," Jack said. "They are going to carry us the rest of the way."

The cords which bound the prisoners' hands were now cut, and they were motioned to crawl into the cage. This they did; the bars were then put in their places and securely lashed. Four men went to the ends of the poles and lifted the cage upon their shoulders; two others took their places beside it, and one man, apparently the leader of the party, walked on ahead; the rest remained behind.

"I never quite realized what a fowl felt in a coop before," Jack said, "but if its sensations are at all like mine they must be decidedly unpleasant. It isn't high enough to sit upright in, it is nothing like long enough to lie down, and as to getting out one might as well think of flying. Do you know, Percy, I don't think they mean taking us to Canton at all. I did not think of it before, but from the direction of the sun I feel sure that we cannot have been going that way. What they are up to I can't imagine."

In an hour they came to a large village. Here the cage was set down and the villagers closed round. They were, however, kept a short distance from the cage by the men in charge of it. Then a wooden platter was placed on the ground, and persons throwing a few copper coins into this were allowed to come near the cage.

"They are making a show of us!" Fothergill exclaimed. "That's what they are up to, you see if it isn't; they are going to travel up country to show the 'white devils' whom their valour has captured."

This was, indeed, the purpose of the pirates. At that time Europeans seldom ventured beyond the limits assigned to them in the two or three towns where they were permitted to trade, and few, indeed, of the country people had ever obtained a sight of the white barbarians of whose doings they had so frequently heard. Consequently a small crowd soon gathered round the cage, eyeing the captives with the same interest they would have felt as to unknown and dangerous beasts; they laughed and joked, passed remarks upon them, and even poked them with sticks. Fothergill, furious at this treatment, caught one of the sticks, and wrenching it from the hands of the Chinaman, tried to strike at him through the bars, a proceeding which excited shouts of laughter from the by-standers.

"I think, Jack," Percy said, "it will be best to try and keep our tempers and not to seem to mind what they do to us, then if they find they can't get any fun out of us they will soon leave us alone."

"Of course, that's the best plan," Fothergill agreed, "but it's not so easy to follow. That fellow very nearly poked out my eye with his stick, and no one's going to stand that if he can help it."

It was some hours before the curiosity of the village was satisfied. When all had paid who were likely to do so, the guards broke up their circle, and leaving two of their number at the cage to see that no actual harm was caused to their prisoners, the rest went off to a refreshment house. The place of the elders was now taken by the boys and children of the village, who crowded round the cage, prodded the prisoners with sticks, and, putting their hands through the bars, pulled their ears and hair. This amusement, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by Fothergill suddenly seizing the wrist of a big boy and pulling his arm through the cage until his face was against the bars; then he proceeded to punch him until the guard, coming to his rescue, poked Fothergill with his stick until he released his hold.

The punishment of their comrade excited neither anger nor resentment among the other boys, who yelled with delight at his discomfiture, but it made them more careful in approaching the cage, and though they continued to poke the prisoners with sticks they did not venture again to thrust a hand through the bars. At sunset the guards again came round, lifted the cage and carried it into a shed. A platter of dirty rice and a jug of water were put into the cage; two of the men lighted their long pipes and sat down on guard beside it, and, the doors being closed, the captives were left in peace.

"If this sort of thing is to go on, as I suppose it is," Fothergill said, "the sooner they cut off our heads the better."

"It is very bad, Jack. I am sore all over with those probes from their sharp sticks."

"I don't care for the pain, Percy, so much as the humiliation of the thing. To be stared at and poked at as if we were wild beasts by these curs, when with half a dozen of our men we could send a hundred of them scampering, I feel as if I could choke with rage."

"You had better try and eat some of this rice, Jack. It is beastly, but I daresay we shall get no more until to-morrow night, and we must keep up our strength if we can. At any rate, the water is not bad, that's a comfort."

"No thanks to them," Jack growled. "If there had been any bad water in the neighbourhood they would have given it to us."

For six weeks the sufferings of the prisoners continued. Their captors avoided towns where the authorities would probably at once have taken the prisoners out of their hands. No one would have recognized the two captives as the midshipmen of the Perseus; their clothes were in rags—torn to pieces by the thrusts of the sharp-pointed bamboos, to which they had daily been subjected—the bad food, the cramped position, and the misery which they suffered had worn both lads to skeletons; their hair was matted with filth, their faces begrimed with dirt. Percy was so weak that he felt he could not stand. Fothergill, being three years older, was less exhausted, but he knew that he, too, could not support his sufferings for many days longer. Their bodies were covered with sores, and try as they would they were able to catch only a few minutes' sleep at a time, so much did the bamboo bars hurt their wasted limbs.

They seldom exchanged a word during the daytime, suffering in silence the persecutions to which they were exposed, but at night they talked over their homes and friends in England, and their comrades on board ship, seldom saying a word as to their present position. They were now in a hilly country, but had not the least idea of the direction in which it lay from Canton or its distance from the coast.

One evening Jack said to his companion, "I think it's nearly all over now, Percy. The last two days we have made longer journeys, and have not stopped at any of the smaller villages we passed through. I fancy our guards must see that we can't last much longer, and are taking us down to some town to hand us over to the authorities and get their reward for us."

"I hope it is so, Jack; the sooner the better. Not that it makes much difference now to me, for I do not think I can stand many more days of it."

"I am afraid I am tougher than you, Percy, and shall take longer to kill, so I hope with all my heart that I may be right, and that they may be going to give us up to the authorities."

The next evening they stopped at a large place, and were subjected to the usual persecution; this, however, was now less prolonged than during the early days of their captivity, for they had now no longer strength or spirits to resent their treatment, and as no fun was to be obtained from passive victims, even the village boys soon ceased to find any amusement in tormenting them.

When most of their visitors had left them, an elderly Chinaman approached the side of the cage. He spoke to their guards and looked at them attentively for some minutes, then he said in pigeon English, "You officer men?"

"Yes!" Jack exclaimed, starting at the sound of the English words, the first they had heard spoken since their captivity. "Yes, we are officers of the Perseus."

"Me speeke English velly well," the Chinaman said; "me pilot-man many years on Canton river. How you get here?"

"We were attacking some piratical junks, and landed to destroy the village where the people were firing on us. We entered a place full of pirates, and were knocked down and taken prisoners, and carried away up the country; that is six weeks ago, and you see what we are now."

"Pirate men velly bad," the Chinaman said; "plunder many junk on river and kill crew. Me muchee hate them."

"Can you do anything for us?" Jack asked. "You will be well rewarded if you could manage to get us free."

The man shook his head.

"Me no see what can do, me stranger here; come to stay with wifey; people no do what me ask them. English ships attack Canton, much fight and take town, people all hate English. Bad country dis. People in one village fight against another. Velly bad men here."

"How far is Canton away?" Jack asked. "Could you not send down to tell the English we are here?"

"Fourteen days' journey off," the man said; "no see how can do anything."

"Well," Jack said, "when you get back again to Canton let our people know what has been the end of us; we shall not last much longer."

"All light," the man said, "will see what me can do. Muchee think to-night!" And after saying a few words to the guards, who had been regarding this conversation with an air of surprise, the Chinaman retired.

The guards had for some time abandoned the precaution of sitting up at night by the cage, convinced that their captives had no longer strength to attempt to break through its fastenings or to drag themselves many yards away if they could do so. They therefore left it standing in the open, and, wrapping themselves in their thickly-wadded coats, for the nights were cold, lay down by the side of the cage.

The coolness of the nights had, indeed, assisted to keep the two prisoners alive. During the day the sun was excessively hot, and the crowd of visitors round the cage impeded the circulation of the air and added to their sufferings. It was true that the cold at night frequently prevented them from sleeping, but it acted as a tonic and braced them up.

"What did he mean about the villages attacking each other?" Percy asked.

"I have heard," Jack replied, "that in some parts of China things are very much the same as they used to be in the highlands of Scotland. There is no law or order. The different villages are like clans, and wage war on each other. Sometimes the Government sends a number of troops, who put the thing down for a time, chop off a good many heads, and then march away, and the whole work begins again as soon as their backs are turned."

That night the uneasy slumber of the lads was disturbed by a sudden firing; shouts and yells were heard, and the firing redoubled.

"The village is attacked," Jack said. "I noticed that, like some other places we have come into lately, there is a strong earthen wall round it, with gates. Well, there is one comfort—it does not make much difference to us which side wins."

The guards at the first alarm leapt to their feet, caught up their matchlocks, and ran to aid in the defence of the wall. Two minutes later a man ran up to the cage.

"All lightee," he said; "just what me hopee."

With his knife he cut the tough withes that held the bamboos in their places, and pulled out three of the bars.

"Come along," he said; "no time to lose."

Jack scrambled out, but in trying to stand upright gave a sharp exclamation of pain. Percy crawled out more slowly; he tried to stand up, but could not. The Chinaman caught him up and threw him on his shoulder.

"Come along quickee," he said to Jack; "if takee village, kill evely one." He set off at a run. Jack followed as fast as he could, groaning at every step from the pain the movement caused to his bruised body.

They went to the side of the village opposite to that at which the attack was going on. They met no one on the way, the inhabitants having all rushed to the other side to repel the attack. They stopped at a small gate in the wall, the Chinaman drew back the bolts and opened it, and they passed out into the country. For an hour they kept on. By the end of that time Jack could scarcely drag his limbs along. The Chinaman halted at length in a clump of trees surrounded by a thick undergrowth.

"Allee safee here," he said, "no searchee so far; here food;" and he produced from a wallet a cold chicken and some boiled rice, and unslung from his shoulder a gourd filled with cold tea.

"Me go back now, see what happen. To-mollow nightee come again—bringee more food." And without another word went off at a rapid pace.

Jack moistened his lips with the tea, and then turned to his companion. Percy had not spoken a word since he had been released from the cage, and had been insensible during the greater part of his journey. Jack poured some cold tea between his lips.

"Cheer up, Percy, old boy, we are free now, and with luck and that good fellow's help we will work our way down to Canton yet."

"I shall never get down there; you may," Percy said feebly.

"Oh, nonsense, you will pick up strength like a steam-engine now. Here, let me prop you against this tree. That's better. Now drink a drop of this tea; it's like nectar after that filthy water we have been drinking. Now you will feel better. Now you must try and eat a little of this chicken and rice. Oh, nonsense, you have got to do it. I am not going to let you give way when our trouble is just over. Think of your people at home, Percy, and make an effort, for their sakes. Good heavens! now I think of it, it must be Christmas morning. We were caught on the 2nd and we have been just twenty-two days on show. I am sure that it must be past twelve o'clock, and it is Christmas-day. It is a good omen, Percy. This food isn't like roast beef and plum-pudding, but it's not to be despised, I can tell you. Come, fire away, that's a good fellow."

Percy made an effort and ate a few mouthfuls of rice and chicken, then he took another draught of tea, and lay down, and was almost immediately asleep.

Jack ate his food slowly and contentedly till he finished half the supply, then he, too, lay down, and, after a short but hearty thanksgiving for his escape from a slow and lingering death, he, too, fell off to sleep. The sun was rising when he woke, being aroused by a slight movement on the part of Percy; he opened his eyes and sat up.

"Well, Percy, how do you feel this morning?" he asked cheerily.

"I feel too weak to move," Percy replied languidly.

"Oh, you will be all right when you have sat up and eaten breakfast," Jack said. "Here you are; here is a wing for you, and this rice is as white as snow, and the tea is first rate. I thought last night after I lay down that I heard a murmur of water, so after we have had breakfast I will look about and see if I can find it. We should feel like new men after a wash. You look awful, and I am sure I am just as bad."

The thought of a wash inspirited Percy far more than that of eating, and he sat up and made a great effort to do justice to breakfast. He succeeded much better than he had done the night before, and Jack, although he pretended to grumble, was satisfied with his companion's progress, and finished off the rest of the food. Then he set out to search for water. He had not very far to go; a tiny stream, a few inches wide and two or three inches deep, ran through the wood from the higher ground. After throwing himself down and taking a drink, he hurried back to Percy.

"It is all right, Percy, I have found it. We can wash to our hearts' content; think of that, lad."

Percy could hardly stand, but he made an effort, and Jack half carried him to the streamlet. There the lads spent hours. First they bathed their heads and hands, and then, stripping, lay down in the stream and allowed it to flow over them, then they rubbed themselves with handfuls of leaves dipped in the water, and when they at last put on their rags again felt like new men. Percy was able to walk back to the spot they had quitted with the assistance only of Jack's arm. The latter, feeling that his breakfast had by no means appeased his hunger, now started for a search through the wood, and presently returned to Percy laden with nuts and berries.

"The nuts are sure to be all right; I expect the berries are too. I have certainly seen some like them in native markets, and I think it will be quite safe to risk it."

The rest of the day was spent in picking nuts and eating them. Then they sat down and waited for the arrival of their friend. He came two hours after nightfall with a wallet stored with provisions, and told them that he had regained the village unobserved. The attack had been repulsed, but with severe loss to the defenders as well as the assailants; two of their guards had been among the killed. The others had made a great clamour over the escape of the prisoners, and had made a close search throughout the village and immediately round it, for they were convinced that their captives had not had the strength to go any distance. He thought, however, that although they had professed the greatest indignation, and had offered many threats as to the vengeance that Government would take upon the village, one of whose inhabitants, at least, must have aided in the evasion of the prisoners, they would not trouble themselves any further in the matter. They had already reaped a rich harvest from the exhibition, and would divide among themselves the share of their late comrades; nor was it at all improbable that if they were to report the matter to the authorities they would themselves get into serious trouble for not having handed over the prisoners immediately after their capture.

For a fortnight the pilot nursed and fed the two midshipmen. He had already provided them with native clothes, so that if by chance any villagers should catch sight of them they would not recognize them as the escaped white men. At the end of that time both the lads had almost recovered from the effects of their sufferings. Jack, indeed, had picked up from the first, but Percy for some days continued so weak and ill that Jack had feared that he was going to have an attack of fever of some kind. His companion's cheery and hopeful chat did as much good for Percy as the nourishing food with which their friend supplied them, and at the end of the fortnight he declared that he felt sufficiently strong to attempt to make his way down to the coast.

The pilot acted as their guide. When they inquired about his wife, he told them carelessly that she would remain with her kinsfolk, and would travel on to Canton and join him there when she found an opportunity. The journey was accomplished at night, by very short stages at first, but by increasing distances as Percy gained strength. During the daytime the lads lay hid in woods or jungles, while their companion went into the village and purchased food. They struck the river many miles above Canton, and the pilot, going down first to a village on its banks, bargained for a boat to take him and two women down to the city.

The lads went on board at night and took their places in the little cabin formed of bamboos and covered with mats in the stern of the boat, and remained thus sheltered not only from the view of people in boats passing up or down the stream, but from the eyes of their own boatmen.

After two days' journey down the river without incident, they arrived off Canton, where the British fleet was still lying while negotiations for peace were being carried on with the authorities at Pekin. Peeping out between the mats, the lads caught sight of the English warships, and, knowing that there was now no danger, they dashed out of the cabin, to the surprise of the native boatmen, and shouted and waved their arms to the distant ships.

In ten minutes they were alongside the Perseus, when they were hailed as if restored from the dead. The pilot was very handsomely rewarded by the English authorities for his kindness to the prisoners, and was highly satisfied with the result of his proceedings, which more than doubled the little capital with which he had retired from business. Jack Fothergill and Percy Adcock declare that they have never since eaten chicken without thinking of their Christmas fare on the morning of their escape from the hands of the Chinese pirates.

THE END.

Table of Contents

The Golden Canyon and The Stone Chest

The Golden Canyon

PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER I.—A RUN ASHORE.

CHAPTER II.—DICK'S ESCAPE.

CHAPTER IV.—MORE PLANS.

CHAPTER V.—THE SEARCH FOR THE CANYON.

CHAPTER VI.—THE MAP AGAIN.

CHAPTER VII.—THE SCARCITY OF WATER.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE GOLDEN VALLEY.

CHAPTER IX.—THE TREE ON THE PEAK.

CHAPTER X.—WATCHED.

CHAPTER XI.—HARD AT WORK.

CHAPTER XII.—RETREAT.

CHAPTER XIII.—THE REDSKIN.

CHAPTER XIV.—IN THE RAVINE.

CHAPTER XV.—RIFLE-SHOTS.

CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE RETURN.

CHAPTER XVII.—CONCLUSION.

The Stone Chest

CHAPTER I.—A MYSTERY OF THE STORM.

CHAPTER II.—OFF FOR ZARUTH.

CHAPTER III.—AMONG THE ICEBERGS.

CHAPTER IV.—THE ESCAPE FROM THE ICEBERGS.

CHAPTER V.—THE ARCTIC ISLAND.

CHAPTER VI.—THE MADMAN.

CHAPTER VII.—A FEARFUL FALL.

CHAPTER VIII.—A REMARKABLE STORY.

CHAPTER IX.—THE VOLCANO OF ICE.

CHAPTER X.—THE ESCAPE OF THE "DART."

CHAPTER XI.—AMONG A STRANGE FOE.

CHAPTER XII.—BOB'S DISCOVERY.

CHAPTER XIII.—THE BIG POLAR BEAR.

CHAPTER XIV.—THE FINDING OF THE STONE CHEST.

CHAPTER XV.—BOB RESCUES HIS FATHER—CONCLUSION.

The Golden Canyon and The Stone Chest

The Golden Canyon

PUBLISHERS' INTRODUCTION

George Alfred Henty has been called "The Prince of Story-Tellers." To call him "The Boy's Own Historian" would perhaps be a more appropriate title, for time has proved that he is more than a story-teller; he is a preserver and propagator of history amongst boys.

How Mr. Henty has risen to be worthy of these enviable titles is a story which will doubtless possess some amount of interest for all his readers.

Henty may be said to have begun his preliminary training for his life-work when a boy attending school at Westminster. Even then the germ of his story-telling propensity seems to have evinced itself, for he was always awarded the highest marks in English composition.

From Westminster he went to Cambridge, where he was enrolled as a student at Caius College. It is a decided change of scenery and circumstances from Cambridge to the Crimea, but such was the change which took place in Mr. Henty's career at the age of twenty-one.

An appointment in connection with the commissariat department of the British army, took him from the scenes of student life into the excitement of the Muscovite war.

Previous to this, however, he had written his first novel, which he has characterized as "Very bad, no doubt, and was, of course, never published, but the plot was certainly a good one."

Whilst engaged with his duties at the Crimea he sent home several descriptive letters of the places, people, and circumstances passing under his notice. His father, thinking some of those letters were of more than private interest, took a selection of them to the editor of the Morning Advertiser, who, after perusal of them, was so well pleased with their contents that he at once appointed young Henty as war correspondent to the paper in the Crimea.

The ability with which he discharged his duties in the commissariat department at that time soon found for him another sphere of similar work in connection with the hospital of the Italian forces. After a short time this was relinquished for engagement in mining work, which he first entered into at Wales, and then in Italy.

Ten years after his Crimean correspondence to the Morning Advertiser he again took to writing, and at this time obtained the position of special correspondent to the Standard. While holding this post, he contributed letters and articles on the wars in Italy and Abyssinia, and on the expedition to Khiva. Two novels came from his pen during this time, but his attention was mostly devoted to miscellaneous letters and articles.

It is a specially interesting incident in the career of Mr. Henty how he came to turn his attention to writing for boys. When at home, after dinner, it was his habit to spend an hour or so with his children in telling them stories, and generally amusing them. A story begun one day would be so framed as "to be continued in the next," and so the same story would run on for a few days, each day's portion forming a sort of chapter, until the whole was completed. Some of the stories continued for weeks. Mr. Henty, seeing the fascination and interest which these stories had for his own children, bethought himself that others might receive from them the same delight and interest if they were put into book form. He at once acted upon the suggestion and wrote out a chapter of his story for each day, and instead of telling it to his children in an extempore fashion, read what he had written. When the story was completed, the various chapters were placed together and dispatched to a publisher, who at once accepted and published it. It was in this way the long series of historical stories which has come from his powerful pen was inaugurated, and G.A. Henty was awarded the title of "The Prince of Story-Tellers."

There is in this incident a glimpse of the character of our author which endears him to us all. The story of his kindly interest in his own children surely creates a liking for him in the hearts of the children of others. The man who can spend an hour in telling stories to his little ones, and retain their attention and interest, has an evident sympathy with, and power over, the youthful nature. Time has proved such is the case with G.A. Henty, for up to the present he has written close on fifty stories for boys, which have been received with unbounded joy and satisfaction by all.

As an indication of the reception which his books have met with, the following may be quoted from an English paper:

"G.A. Henty, the English writer of juveniles, is the most popular writer in England to-day in point of sales. Over 150,000 copies of his books are sold in a year, and in America he sells from 25,000 to 50,000 during a year."

"All the world" is the sphere from which Mr. Henty draws his pictures and characters for the pleasure of the young. Almost every country in the world has been studied to do service in this way, with the result that within the series of books which Mr. Henty has produced for the young we find such places dealt with as Carthage, Egypt, Jerusalem, Scotland, Spain, England, Afghanistan, Ashanti, Ireland, France, India, Gibraltar, Waterloo, Alexandria, Venice, Mexico, Canada, Virginia, and California. Doubtless what other countries remain untouched as yet are but so many fields to be attacked, and which every lad hopes to see conquered in the same masterly way in which the previous ones have been handled.

As a rule much of what boys learn at school is left behind them when classes are given up for the sterner work of the world. Unless there is a special demand for a certain subject, that subject is apt to become a thing of the past, both in theory and practice. This, however, is not likely to be the case with history, so long as G.A. Henty writes books for boys, and boys read them. History is his especial forte, and that he is able to invest the dry facts of history with life, and make them attractive to the modern schoolboy, says not a little for his power as a story-teller for boys. It is questionable if history has any better means of fixing itself in the minds of youthful readers than as it is read in the pages of G.A. Henty's works. There is about it an attraction which cannot be resisted; a most unusual circumstance in connection with such a subject. All this of course means for Mr. Henty a vast amount of research and study to substantiate his facts and make his situations, characters, places, and points of time authentic. To the reader it means a benefit which is incalculable, not only as a means of passing a pleasant hour, but in reviving or imparting a general knowledge of the history and geography, the manners and customs of our own and other lands.

There is a noticeable element of "Freedom" which runs through Mr. Henty's books, and in this may be said to lie their influence. From them lads get an elevating sense of independence, and a stimulus to patriotic and manly endeavor. His pages provide the purest form of intellectual excitement which it is possible to put into the hands of lads. They are always vigorous and healthy, and a power for the strengthening of the moral as well as the intellectual life.

In the present work, "The Golden Canyon," a tale of the gold mines, Mr. Henty has fully sustained his reputation, and we feel certain all boys will read the book with keen interest.

CHAPTER I.—A RUN ASHORE.

In the month of August, 1856, the bark Northampton was lying in the harbor of San Diego. In spite of the awning spread over her deck the heat was almost unbearable. Not a breath of wind was stirring in the land-locked harbor, and the bare and arid country round the town afforded no relief to the eye. The town itself looked mean and poverty-stricken, for it was of comparatively modern growth, and contained but a few buildings of importance. Long low warehouses fringed the shore, for here came for shipping vast quantities of hides; as San Diego, which is situated within a few miles of the frontier between the United States and Mexico, is the sole sheltered port available for shipping between San Francisco and the mouth of the Gulf of California. Two or three other ships which were, like the Northampton, engaged in shipping hides, lay near her. A sickening odor rose from the half-cured skins as they were swung up from boats alongside and lowered into the hold, and in spite of the sharp orders of the mates, the crew worked slowly and listlessly.

"This is awful, Tom," a lad of about sixteen, in the uniform of a midshipman, said to another of about the same age as, after the last boat had left the ship's sides, they leaned against the bulwarks; "what with the heat, and what with the stench, and what with the captain and the first mate, life is not worth living. However, only another two or three days and we shall be full up, and once off we shall get rid of a good deal of the heat and most of the smell."

"Yes, we shall be better off in those respects, Dick, but unfortunately we shan't leave the captain and mate behind."

"No, I don't know which I like worst of them. It is a contrast to our last sip, Tom. What a good time we had of it on board the Zebra! The captain was a brick, and the mates were all good fellows. In fact, we have always been fortunate since the day we first came on board together up to now. I can't think how the owners ever appointed Collet to the command; he is not one of their own officers. But when Halford was taken suddenly ill I suppose they had no others at home to put in his place, so had to go outside. My father said that Mr. Thompson had told him that they heard that he was a capital sailor, and I have no doubt he is. He certainly handled her splendidly in that big storm we had rounding the Cape. I suppose they did not inquire much farther, as we took no passengers out to San Francisco, and were coming out to pick up a cargo of hides here for the return journey; but he is a tyrant on board, and when I get back I will tell my father, and he will let Thompson know the sort of fellow Collet is. It doesn't do one any good making complaints of a captain, but my father is such friends with Thompson that I know he will tell the other partners that he hears that Collet isn't the sort of man they care about having commanding their ships, without my name coming into it. If he does I can't help it. I know Thompson will see that I don't sail with Collet again, anyhow, and will get you with me, as he has often met you at my father's, and knows what chums we are. Collet brought Williams with him, and they were a nice pair. I believe the second and third are just as disgusted as we are, and as Allen is a nephew of one of the partners he will put a spoke in their wheel too, when he comes back."

"Well, we might be worse off in some respects, Dick. We have two good officers out of the four, and we have a very fair crew, and we have good grub; and the company always victual their ships well, and don't put the officers' messing into the hands of the captain, as they do in some ships."

Presently Mr. Allen, the second officer, came up with the two lads.

"I am going ashore in an hour, Preston," he said to Dick; "if you like, you can come with me."

"Thank you, sir; I should like it very much."

"I wish you were coming too, Tom," he went on when the officer moved away. "That is one of the nuisances, Collet never letting us go ashore together."

"It is a nuisance," the other said, heartily. "Of course, Allen is a very good fellow, but one can't have any larks as one could have if we were together."

"Well, there are not many larks to be had here, at any rate, Tom. It is about the dullest place I ever landed at. It is a regular Mexican town, and except that they do have, I suppose, sometimes, dances and that sort of thing, there is really nothing to be done when one does go ashore, and the whole place stinks of hides. Even if one could get away for a day there is no temptation to ride about that desert-looking country, with the sun burning down on one; no one but a salamander could stand it. They are about the roughest-looking lot I ever saw in the town. Everyone has got something to do with hides one way or the other. They have either come in with them from the country, or they pack them in the warehouses, or they ship them. That and mining seem the only two things going on, and the miners, with their red shirts and pistols and knives, look even a rougher lot than the others. I took my pistol when last I went ashore; I will lend it you this evening."

"Oh, I don't want a pistol, Tom; there is no chance of my getting into a row."

"Oh, it is just as well to carry one, Dick, when you know that everyone else has got one about him somewhere, and a considerable number of them are drunk; it is just as well to take one. You know, it is small, and goes in my breast pocket."

"I will take my stick, the one I bought at San Francisco; it has got an ounce of lead in the knob. I would rather have that than a pistol any day."

However, as Dick was standing with the second officer at the top of the gangway, Tom Haldane, as he passed by, slipped the pistol into his hand and then walked on. Dick thrust it into his pocket, and then descended the ladder. It was almost dark now.

"I have two or three places to go to, Preston, and do not know how long I shall be detained. It is just nine o'clock now. Suppose you meet me here at the boat at half-past ten. It will be pleasanter for you to stroll about by yourself than to be waiting about outside houses for me."

"Very well, sir. I don't think there is much to see in the town, but I will take a bit of a stroll outside. It is cool and pleasant after the heat of the day."

They walked together to the first house that Mr. Allen had to visit; then Dick strolled on by himself. The place abounded with wine-shops. Through the open doors the sound of the strumming of mandolins, snatches of Spanish song, and occasionally voices raised in dispute or anger, came out. Dick felt no inclination to enter any of them. Had his chum been with him he might have looked in for a few minutes for the fun of the thing, but alone he would be the object of remark, and might perhaps get involved in a quarrel. Besides the freshness of the air was so pleasant that he felt disposed for a walk, for the moon was shining brightly, the stars seemed to hang from the skies, and after having been pent up in the ship for the last four days it was pleasant to stretch the limbs in a brisk walk. In ten minutes he was outside the town, and followed the road for half an hour.

"It is a comfort," he said to himself, "to have got rid of the smell of hides. If ever cholera comes this way I should think it would make a clean sweep of San Diego."

Turning, he walked leisurely back; he entered the town, and had gone but a hundred yards or two when he heard a shout, followed by a pistol shot, and then, in English, a cry for help.

He dashed down the street toward a group of people who, he could see in the moonlight, were engaged in a sharp struggle. One man was defending himself against four, and the oaths and exclamations of these showed that they were Mexicans. Just as he reached them the man they were attacking was struck down, and two of his assailants threw themselves upon him.

Dick rushed upon the men, and felled one with a sweeping blow of his stick. The other man who was standing up sprang at him, knife in hand, with a savage oath.

So quick was the action that he was upon Dick before he had time to strike a blow with his stick. He threw up his left arm to guard his head, but received a severe gash on the shoulders. At the same moment he struck out with his right, full into the face of the Mexican, who, as he staggered back, fell across the three men on the ground. Dick seized the opportunity to draw his pistol, dropping his stick as he did so, as his left arm was disabled. It was a double-barreled pistol and as the three natives rose and rushed at him, he shot the first. The other two sprang at him and he received a blow that almost paralyzed him. He staggered against the wall, but had strength to raise his arm and fire again, just as the man was about to repeat his blow; he fell forward on his face, and his other assailant took to his heels. A moment later Dick himself sank to the ground.

CHAPTER II.—DICK'S ESCAPE.

When Dick opened his eyes it was broad daylight. He was lying in a barely furnished room. A surgeon was leaning over him bandaging his wounds, while on the other side of the bed stood three red-shirted men, whose rough beards and belts with bowie knives and pistols showed them to be miners. One of them had his face strapped up and his arm in a sling. An exclamation of satisfaction burst from him as Dick's eyes opened.

"That is right, lad. You will do now. It has been touch and go with you all night. My life aint no pertik'lar value to nobody, but such as it is you have saved it. But I won't talk of that now. Which ship do you belong to? We will let them know at once."

"The Northampton," Dick said in a whisper.

"All right; don't you talk any more. We will get your friends here in no time."

But when Mr. Allen came ashore Dick was again unconscious. The mate fetched two more surgeons, who, after conferring with the first, were all of opinion that although he might possibly recover from his wounds, weeks would elapse before he would be convalescent. Before night fever had set in, and it was a fortnight before he was again conscious of what was passing round him. He looked feebly round the room. One of the red-shirted men was attending to a pot over a charcoal fire. Turning his head he saw, standing looking out of the window, his friend Tom Haldane.

"Halloa, Tom," he said, in a whisper, which, however, reached the midshipman's ears. He turned sharply round, and hurried to the bedside.

"Thank God, Dick, you are conscious again. Don't try to talk, old fellow; drink this lemonade, and then shut your eyes again."

Dick tried to raise his hand to take the glass, but, to his surprise, found he was unable to do so. Tom, however, put it to his lips and poured it down his throat. It was cool and pleasant, and with a sigh of relief he again closed his eyes, and went off into a quiet sleep.

When he awoke it was evening; the window was open, and the fresh air came in, making the lamp on the table flicker.

"How do you feel now, old man?" Tom asked.

"I feel all right," he said, "but I am wonderfully weak. I suppose I must have lost a lot of blood. Has the skipper given you leave to stop with me for the night?"

Tom nodded. "I will tell you all about it in the morning, Dick. There is some chicken broth Dave has been cooking for you. You must try and drink a bowl of it, and then by to-morrow morning you will be feeling like a giant."

Dick laughed feebly. "It will be some time before there is much of a giant about me. Tom; but I feel as if I could drink some broth."

The next morning Dick woke feeling decidedly stronger. "Raise me up and put some pillows behind me, Tom. It is horrid being fed from a spoon, lying on one's back."

The man called Dave, and Tom, lifted him up as he wished, and then the latter fed him with the broth, in which some bread had been crumbled.

"Now, then," Dick said, when he had finished; "let us hear what the old man said. I suppose he was in a tremendous rage?"

"That he was! a brute!"

"Why, there is my chest. What has he sent that ashore for? I should think I could be taken on board again to-day."

"You won't be taken on board the Northampton," Tom said, "for by this time she is down somewhere near Cape Horn."

"Eh!" Dick exclaimed in astonishment. "Why, how long have I been here?"

"A fortnight to-day, Dick."

Dick was too surprised to make any remark for some time.

"But if the Northampton has gone, how is it that you are here, Tom?"

"Simply because she has gone without me, Dick. The old man was in a furious rage when he heard in the morning what had happened to you. Of course, we were in a great stew—I mean the third mate and myself—when Allen came off at twelve o'clock without you, after waiting an hour and a half at the wharf for you to turn up. We all felt sure that something must have happened, or you would never have been all that time late. There was a row between Allen and the skipper the first thing in the morning. Allen wanted to go ashore to make inquiries about you, and the old man would not let him, and said that no doubt you had deserted, but that if you came on board again he would have you put in irons.

"Well, there was a regular row going on when a boat came off with a man in a red shirt, who I know now is one of Dave's partners, and said that you were desperately wounded, and that the Spanish doctor they had called in thought that you would die. So then the old man couldn't help Allen's going ashore. Of course, he could do nothing, as you were insensible, but he got two other surgeons. Their opinion was that you would not get over it, but that if you did it would be a long time first. When Allen got back there was another row. He wanted to have you brought on board. The captain said that as you had chosen to mix yourself up in a row on shore, you might die on shore for anything he cared. Then I asked for leave to stay with you when the vessel sailed, and got sworn at for my pains. In the afternoon I filled up your chest chockfull with as many of my things as I could get into it, and sent it ashore. By the next night we had got all the cargo on board, and were to sail by the next morning, and I lowered myself down and swam ashore.

"Allen had told me exactly where you were lying, so I came here at once and told Dave who I was, and why I had come ashore, and as soon as it was light he took me round to the room the other two had. The captain came ashore in the morning and stormed and raved at the Consul's, but he had better have kept on board. I told our friends here all about it, and as he went back to the boat again one of them pitched into him, and gave him such a tremendous licking that I hear he had to be carried on board. As soon as he got on board the Northampton sailed, so you see here we both are. I have written off to your father and mine, giving them a full account of the whole affair, and saying what a brute Collet had been on the whole voyage. They will be sure to lay the letters before the firm, and as Allen and Smith will, when they are questioned, speak out pretty straight, you may be sure the old man and his friend, the first mate, will have to look for a berth somewhere else."

"It is awfully good of you to have come ashore to nurse me, Tom."

"Bosh! Why, I have got away from the Northampton. I found, too, that as far as nursing was concerned I might as well have stayed on board, for Dave here and his two mates have, one or other of them, been with you night and day, and they could not have taken more care of you if they had been women. Still I have been very glad to be here, though till three days ago there seemed very little hope of your pulling through it. Now you have talked enough, or rather, I have talked enough, Dick; and you had better turn over and get another sleep."

CHAPTER III.—THE GOLD-SEEKERS.

Two days later the lad was able to sit up in bed and to enter upon a discussion as to the future with Tom and the miner. It was begun by the latter.

"I suppose you will be taking the first ship back as soon as you are strong enough?" he said.

"I don't know, Dave; now I am here I should certainly like a run ashore for a few weeks and to see something of the country. We have got twenty pounds between us; that will last for some time. I should think we could get a passage back without having to pay on this side for it, and if there was any difficulty about it, we could work our way back; but Tom agrees with me, we should like to see something of the country first.

"I suppose in another fortnight I shall be all right again; but there is the doctor to pay. I don't know what their charges are here, but I expect his bill will be a pretty long one. You had better tell him to-day that we have not got a great deal of cash between us, and that as I only want building up now, he need not come again."

"Don't you trouble yourself about that," Dave growled. "You don't suppose that when you have got yourself cut and sliced about in helping me you are going to have any trouble about doctors? We have got a tidy lot at present amongst us, and what is ours is yourn. We were going to set off among the hills a day or two after the time we had that trouble; only, of course, that stopped it all."

"Please don't stop on my account," Dick said. "I shall get on very well now, and I was saying to Tom, as soon as I can get about we will go off somewhere among the hills; for one might just as well be lying in an oven as here. If you will tell us where you and your mates are working, we might find our way there, and get a job. We are both pretty strong, you know—that is to say, when we are well—and we have often said that we should like to try our luck gold-mining."

"We aint agoing till you are strong enough to get about," Dave said; "so it is no use saying any more about that. Then, if you want to do some mining, we will put you in the way of it; but we are going on a long expedition, which may last months, and from which, as like as not, we shall never come back again. However, we can easy enough take you with us for a bit and drop you at one of the mining camps, and stop there with you till you get accustomed to it, or work for a few months with you if you like. Time is not of much consequence to us."

"That is awfully good of you, Dave," Tom said, "but as you have lost more than a fortnight at present, and I suppose it will be another fortnight before Dick is strong enough to travel, it isn't fair on you; and perhaps you might be able to introduce us to some men going up to the hills—that is, if you think that we could not go with you on this expedition you talk of."

"That won't be a job for young hands," Dave said. "It will be a mighty long journey over a terrible rough country, where one's life will be always in one's hands, where one's eyes will always be on the lookout for an enemy, and one will know that any moment, night or day, one may hear the war yell of the Indians. We are going into the heart of Arizona, to places where not half-a-dozen white men, even counting Mexicans as white men, have ever set foot; at least, where not half-a-dozen have ever come back alive from, though maybe there are hundreds who have tried."

"Then I suppose you are going to look for some very rich mine, Dave?"

"That is so; I will tell you how it came about, and queerly enough, it wur pretty well the same way as your friend and me came together. My mates and me were coming down from the hills when we heard a shot fired in a wood ahead of us. It wasn't none of our business, but we went on at a trot, thinking as how some white men had been attacked by greasers."

"What are greasers?" Tom asked.

Dave laughed.

"A greaser is just a Mexican. Why they call them so I don't know; but that has been their name always as long as I came in the country. Well, we ran down and came sudden upon two greasers who were kneeling by a man lying in the road, and seemed to be searching his pockets. We let fly with our Colts; one of them was knocked over, and the other bolted. Then we went to look at the man in the road; he wur a greaser too. He had been shot dead. 'I wonder what they shot him for?' says I. 'Maybe it is a private quarrel; maybe he had struck it rich, and has got a lot of gold in his belt. We may as well look; it is no use leaving it for that skunk that bolted to come back for.' He had got about twenty ounces in his belt, and we shifted it into our bag, and were just going on when 'Zekel—that is one of my mates—said, 'I know this cuss, Dave; it's the chap that lived in that village close to where we were working six months ago; they said he had been fossicking all over Arizona, and that he was the only one who ever came back out of a party who went to locate a wonderful rich spot it was said he knew of.

"'He tried over and over again to get up another party, but no one would try after that first failure. We may just as well search him all over; it may be he has got a plan of the place somewhere about him, and it is like enough those fellows have killed him on the chance of finding it.'

"So we searched him pretty thorough, and at last we found a paper sewn up in the collar of his jacket. Sure enough it was a plan. We did not examine it then, for someone might have come along, and we might have been accused of the chap's murder; so I shoved it into the inside pocket of my shirt, and we went on. We looked at it that night; there was several marks on it and names, one of which we had heard of, though we had never been so far in the Indian country. Well, as you may guess, we had some big talks over it, and at last we reckoned we would have a try to find it.

"We had been lucky, and had struck it rich at the last place we had been at, and we agreed, instead of spending our money in a spree or at the monte tables, we would fit out an expedition and try it. Now I believe that attack was made on me to try and get that piece of paper. The chap who bolted may like enough have hid himself and watched us, and may have seen us find it and me take charge of it. We thought more than once since we came down here that we were being dogged by a greaser, but we never thought about the paper. That evening I had been out by myself, which I did not often do, for we in general went about together, and was going back along that street, and was pretty nigh home, when someone said in Spanish, 'That is the fellow,' and then five men jumped out with knives in their hands. I had just time to whip out my six-shooter and fire once. One fellow went down, but at the same moment I got a clip across my wrist with a knife, and down went the pistol. Then I got a slice across the head, and another on the shoulder, and down I went. Two of them threw themselves on me, and I shammed dead, knowing that if I moved it was all over with me. One of them shoved his hand in my trousers pockets, and the other tore my shirt open. I heard a sudden row, a blow, and the fall of a body; then one of them came tumbling down on the top of us and knocked the two fellows over, then they jumped up, and I heard your pistol crack twice and two falls, and as I got up on to my feet to lend a hand I saw one of the fellows bolting down the street, running off in another direction. That was the one, I think, that came down on the top of us.

"I have been wondering since then how it was that that fellow fell, for you did not fire till they jumped up."

Dick explained that he had felled one with a blow from the stick, and not having time to strike with it again, had sent the second staggering over the group with a blow of his fist; "those are the two that got away, I expect," he said.

"I expect so; there were four bodies on the ground—yours, the two fellows you shot, and the one I wiped out to begin with."

"Has there been any row about it?" Dick asked.

"No; they take these things quietly. If it had been one of my mates and me who had killed three Mexicans, our story that we had been attacked might not have been believed, but as it was certain a young ship's officer would not have joined me in falling foul of three natives, they just took and buried them, and there was an end of it."

CHAPTER IV.—MORE PLANS.

"I suppose this is Dave's room?" Dick Said when he and his friend were alone.

"Yes, from what he said they lodged here together, but the other two went somewhere else the day after you were brought in, so that the place should be quiet, but they come in by turns to sit up with you at night. I wish they would take us with them on this expedition, Dick."

"I wish they would; it would be a splendid adventure, and we might come back with no end of gold. At any rate, after being four months under Collet, I think we have a right to a holiday. I expect they will let us go with them if you make a strong point of it, Dick."

"It shan't be for want of trying, Tom, anyhow."

The lads had their way. As soon as the three men saw that they were really bent upon accompanying them, they raised no further objections.

"We shall be glad enough to have you with us," Dave said, "and though the work will be toilsome and hard, there is nothing in it that two active young chaps like you need be afraid of. It is just the Injuns—they are the worst kind, and have always set themselves against gold-seekers. That is natural enough, for they know that if gold mines were once opened in their country, the whites would pour in, and they would soon be wiped out. Anyhow, everyone who goes prospecting in that part of Arizona knows well enough that he takes his life in his hands.

"All along the country by the Gila River is the stronghold of the Apaches, the terror of Northern Mexico. Many parties of miners have set out, but very few have ever come back again; but those that have tell of gold richer by a hundred times than ever was seen in California, and have brought with them sacks of nuggets to prove it. These are men who have had the luck to get in and out without ever having been seen by the Injuns; the large parties have never succeeded. So you see, young fellows, the odds are strongly agin you. Still, if you like to go with us, you are welcome; but if the time comes when the redskins have got us shut up in some place we can never get out of alive, remember that you are there on your own choice, and that we had no hand in getting you into the scrape."

"We will never blame you, whatever comes of it, Dave. If the risk is not too great for you and your comrades, it is not too great for us. There is nothing in the world we should like so much as such an adventure."

"Well, that is settled then, and no more words about it. We shall be glad to have two more with us, and we intended to go alone only because it is not everyone that can be trusted."

"What do we take with us?"

"We shall each take a horse, and a Mexican pony to carry our food and traps. If everything goes right and we find a bonanza, we can load them up on the way back. Twenty dollars will buy a pony here. Then you will want a critter each to ride. We are not going to get first-rate ones, for if the Indians come on us it is fighting that we shall have to do, not riding. Among those mountains no shod horse of the plains has a chance with those Indian ponies, which can climb like goats and go at a gallop along places where a horse from the plains wouldn't dare move. Then you will want rifles and six-shooters. That is about all; I am afraid our stock of money will hardly run to it, and I think we had better work for a while in one of the diggings to make up what we shall want."

"We have twenty pounds between us," Dick said, "and we can draw on our fathers for twenty-five pounds each. The Consul here has, of course, heard of my being wounded and left behind, and I expect he won't mind cashing our draft."

"There will be more than we want," the miner said. "Still, it is as well to be on the right side. If we don't find any gold up there, we shall want a little when we get back to keep us going until something turns up."

Three days later Dick was strong enough to go with his friend to the Consul's; they found that Mr. Allen had spoken about Dick, and told him that should he recover from his wounds, he could cash a draft for him without any fear. Therefore in half an hour the lads returned to their lodgings with three hundred and fifty dollars, having changed their English gold into the currency of the country.

"You have not got your horses yet, I suppose, Dave?"

"No, we shall go up the river about a hundred and twenty miles. There we shall buy horses cheaper than we can get them here. We have got rifles and colts; they are things one can't very well do without in knocking about among the hills. I will go round the town, and I have no doubt I shall be able to pick you up what you want cheap. There are so many men get rubbed out one way or the other that such things are pretty often for sale."

The other two miners, who during Dick's illness had nothing to do but to stroll about the town, both knew of men who had rifles or revolvers to dispose of, and in a couple of hours the purchases were completed and a considerable stock of ammunition was also bought.

"I should recommend yer," the miner called 'Zekel said, as the party were talking matters over that evening, "to rig yourselves out miner fashion. Them uniforms looks very nice on board ship, but they aint much good for knocking about in the mountains; and yer can leave them here, and take to them again when yer gets back."

The lads thought the advice was good, and next day rigged themselves out in red shirts and high boots, in which were tucked the bottom of the thick moleskin trousers. They also bought jackets of the same material as the troupers.

"You will be glad of them at night," Dave said; "it gets pretty cold up in the mountains when the sun is down, and we shan't be lighting any fires, you bet."

They also bought a couple of rough blankets each, a spare shirt, and two or three pairs of stockings, a couple of long bowie knives, and two broad-brimmed felt hats.

CHAPTER V.—THE SEARCH FOR THE CANYON.

Ten days later the party took passage in a large boat going up the river to Santa Fe. It had come down freighted with hides, and the odor still hung about it. However, by this time they had become accustomed to the smell, and scarcely noticed it. The boat was manned by six Mexicans, who sometimes poled it along, sometimes, when the stream was rapid, got ashore and towed from the bank.

It took them six days to arrive at Santa Fe. Although just inside the United States frontier, the population was almost entirely Mexican. There were, however, a few American stores, containing European goods of all kinds, for the use of the natives, and such articles as miners or prospectors going up among the hills would require. Here they had no difficulty in purchasing horses. Five rough, serviceable ponies for the carriage of the baggage were picked up at twenty dollars a piece, and five well-made and wiry horses for their own riding. Mexican saddles, with very high pommels and cantles, heavy and cumbersome to look at, but very comfortable for long distances, were also obtained without difficulty. At the stores were bought two sacks of flour and two sides of bacon, a frying pan, saucepan, baking pot, and a good supply of tea and sugar; four large water-skins, five small ones, completed their purchases, with the exception of shovels, picks, and pails for washing the gravel.

"Going up among the hills again, Dave?" remarked the store-keeper, with whom the miners had often dealt before.

"Yes, we are going to try a new direction this time, and don't want to have to come back directly we have struck anything. We have got enough grub here for three or four months, reckoning as we shall occasionally get hold of bear or deer meat."

"Well, you had better keep clear of the Indian country, Dave. They made a raid down South, I hear, last month, and burnt half a dozen Mexican villages, and they would make short work with you if they came across you anywhere near their country. However, I suppose you aint going to be fool enough to go that way, especially as I see you have got two green hands with you."

"They are old enough to be useful," Dave said. "We can put them to cook and look after the horses, if they can't do anything else. They are Britishers, and one of them stood by me pluckily in a mess I got into in San Diego; so as they had left their ship and were out of a berth, I thought I would bring them with me, as they had a fancy for seeing a little of mining life, before they shipped back again."

Two days after their arrival at Santa Fe they started.

"We will strike due south as if intending to enter Mexico; one never knows who is watching one," Dave said the evening before. "There are always some pretty hard men about these border towns—miners who are down on their luck; men who have had to run from the northern diggings, and such like. We may say what we like, but they will make a guess that we have located something rich, and are going back to work it quietly and keep it to ourselves, and like enough some of them will take it in their heads to follow us. Anyhow, we will travel south for a day or two, and then turn off sharp to the west. It aint as I should grudge anyone else a share in the mine, but the more there are the more chance of the Injuns finding us. Besides, some of these chaps are so reckless that like as not they would light a big fire if they wanted to cook a loaf of bread. We three have been up that way before, although not so far as we are going now, and we know what we have got to expect, and that, if we are going to bring our scalps out again, we have got to sleep with our eyes open."

Another fortnight's traveling and they had passed the last settlements, had left Fort Mason behind them, and had entered the country that the Apaches and kindred tribes claimed as their own.

The two lads had enjoyed the journey immensely. They had traveled about fifteen miles a day, their pace being regulated by that of the pack animals. During the heat of the day they had all halted in the shade of some clump of tree or bush. Here the horses had picked up their sustenance, grass and leaves, while the men slept. At night they had camped, when they could find such a spot, on the banks of a stream. Then a big fire would be lighted, a dough of flour, water, and soda would be mixed, and placed in the baking pot. This was put among the red embers, which were drawn over the lid so as to bake it from above as well as below. Then, if they had no other meat, rashers of bacon would be grilled over the fire, and eaten with the hot bread. Generally, however, they had been able to purchase a kid or some fowls at one or other of the little villages through which they passed.

They always carried with them two of the large skins filled with water, in case none should be met with at their halting places; this sufficed for tea and for a good drink at night, and before starting in the morning for the horses. The villages, however, had become fewer and fewer, and at the last through which they had passed they had bought one of the little bullocks of the country, cut the flesh into strips, and hung it in the sun to dry, halting three days for the purpose.

CHAPTER VI.—THE MAP AGAIN.

"Now," Dave said, as they finished their meal on the evening after leaving Fort Mason, "we have got to consider which course we had better take. First we will have another look at the map."

This was taken out from a wash-leather case, in which it had been sewn, Dave carrying it under his shirt by a string that went round his neck. It was the first time that the boys had seen it. As Dave opened it they examined it with much curiosity. It was divided in two; the upper one appeared to be a general map of the country, the lower one a plan of the immediate locality of the spot.

"It looks very confusing," Dick said, as he examined it.

"You see the chap as made it did not do it for other people, but so that he could find his way back by it. This line that runs along the bottom of the other map I take to be the Gila, which is a big river which runs right through the Indian country, and falls into the Rio Grande. I have gone up it from that side two or three hundred miles. We were a strong party, but we had to fight our way back again, and lost pretty near half our number. You see by the map it lies on the north side of the Gila. But as the Gila is eight or nine hundred miles long, that don't help us a great deal, and the map wouldn't be any good to us if it was not for this mark here up near the top. You see all these things are meant for mountains, but as one mountain on a map is just like another, we should be downright done if it was not for this mark. Do you see there are three little jags here close together? Now I take it those three jags are meant for a mountain the Indians call the Three Sisters, which is a mountain with three peaks close together. I never saw it myself, but I have spoken with miners who have seen it from the north. Now, here you see, to the south of the Three Sisters, is a cross, and I take it that's the mine. You see there is a black line waving about among the mountains that stops at that point. I guess that is the line they traveled by."

"But there is nothing to tell us what scale the map is on, Dave," Tom said; "it may mean five hundred miles from end to end, it may mean fifty. If it is five hundred it must be seventy or eighty miles from those peaks to the cross, if it is fifty it is only seven or eight."

"That is so," Dave agreed.

"Have you any idea how far it is from the three peaks to the river?"

"Yes, I have heard it is about fifty miles north of the Gila."

"Well, that would make this spot marked from fifteen to twenty miles from them. The length of the map would be about two hundred miles, and as the peaks are about a quarter of the distance from the right-hand side, this map begins about a hundred and fifty miles to the west of the peaks. I should think it would be at some well-known place that the maker of this map began; some place that he knew he could find again without difficulty."

"That is so; you will see the line begins at a stream running north and south. There is a mark here each side of the path-line. Of course they might mean anything; they might mean trees or rocks. Then look here; there are two more dots out here, and if you were to draw a line straight through them, it would come to the other dots. One must be three or four miles off, and the other twelve or fifteen. The farthest one may be a peak, and the one nearer some conspicuous tree or rock in a line with it."

"Yes, that is what we make it out to be," Boston Joe said. "We have the choice of either going up the Gila valley and mounting this side stream till we come upon something that agrees with these four marks, or of keeping along from the west by a valley about the right distance from the Gila."

"I should not think we can trust much to distances," Dick said; "this man was merely sketching out a plan to help him on his way up again, should he ever make up a party to return to the mine, and, though probably these bendings and turnings of the road are to be depended upon, the map itself cannot be done to any scale. Here the peaks are made twice as far from the left side as they are from the river, but they may be really four times as far, or they may be only the same distance; there is no saying at all; as he has drawn it, the point where the road begins is a good deal more to the south than the peaks are. If the scale is correct, it is not more than thirty miles at most north of the Gila that the path begins. You see about halfway between this point and the river are five or six little marks like a V upside down. I see there are other marks like these at different places on the map. I should say they were meant for Indian villages."

"That is so, no doubt," Dave agreed. "Here is another thing beside them; what do you make that out to be, Dick?"

"It looks to me like a tiny bird; it is very small and very badly done, but I am pretty sure that that is what is meant. What in the world can he have put a bird there for? Let us look at the other villages." He examined them carefully. "Two of them have got figures. This one looks like a cat, and this is a snake—at least, I should think so."

"I have got it," Dave exclaimed. "Those are the names of the chiefs. I know the names of a good many of their chiefs, and there's Rattlesnake and the Mountain Lion among them."

"And there is the Crow, too, Dave," Boston Joe put in.

"So there is; I know he is the chief of the tribes whose country lies this side of the Arizona. No doubt that is his village. Now we have it. I know pretty well where his place is, for I have been further among the hills than that. I can find my way there easy enough. When we get to the stream his village is built on we have got to hunt along it till we find these marks, and then follow on the line he took. The Crow's village is about thirty miles north of the Gila. That will put these stops sixty miles from the river. Yes, this straightens out the distances pretty considerable, for I should say that from them to the three peaks it must be nigh three hundred miles. I don't think it is more than a hundred from here to the Crow's village. It should be an easy thing following that marked line, but it won't matter if we miss it. Our course will be pretty nigh due east, not, as he makes it, north, for we know the Sisters are not more than eighty miles from the Gila. When we get near them we can't help seeing them. Then we have only got to follow the direction of this map below. There are the peaks. Well, right in front of them is a lower hill with a tree on its top, and that tree exactly in line with the middle peak gives us the line, and as the tree just touches the bottom of the peak, it will give us the distance to within half a mile. Here are two lines, one on each side of the line from the peak through the trees. I don't know what they mean, but I guess they mark a canyon, and when we go up that we can hardly help striking the mine, wherever it is. I think we have got the thing pretty well down to a point, and if we go wrong it is our own fault."

"Shall we have to come back this way?" Dick asked.

"That must depend upon circumstances," Dave replied. "We might make straight north and come down on a pass that crosses the mountains about a hundred and fifty miles north of the Sisters, but I reckon it would be a terrible journey to undertake with loaded mules. Then again we might strike east, and make either for Albuquerque or Socorro. Like enough we may find that our best way."

CHAPTER VII.—THE SCARCITY OF WATER.

Five days later they reached the stream. The miners had all recognized points that they had passed on their former journey, and all agreed that it was lower down on this stream that the Crow's village was situated. For the moment this was a matter of inferior importance to them. It was enough that they had reached water, for they had for the last four days been traversing an arid waste of broken country, without as much as a tree under which they could lie during the day. They had filled up all their water skins before entering on this region, and these had sufficed for them and their animals, but for the last two days they had been obliged to husband it. What remained tasted so strongly of the skins that at any other time the boys could not have drank it, but men and horses were both filled with delight at the sight of the bright clear water. The baggage and saddles were removed, and the animals were allowed to drink their fill, and then to lie down in the stream while their riders enjoyed the luxury of a bath.

They had done no cooking for the last four days, as no fuel of any sort was to be obtained, and they lived upon the dried meat and a drink of flour and water. The banks of the stream were well wooded, and the animals, as soon as their thirst was quenched, fell to work upon the grass that grew knee-deep near its banks.

"We must do some cooking to-day," Dave said, "and a good batch of it; there is no saying when it will be safe to cook again. We must wait till night, and then light the fire in the thickest part of these trees, and fasten our blankets up round it to prevent its light being seen. We can collect the firewood in readiness before it gets dark."

The spot was carefully chosen, the horseropes were fastened from tree to tree around it, and all the blankets hung on them.

"We must take it by turns," Dave said, "to keep the fire up, and go on baking. We will make a dozen loaves if we can."

As they sat round the fire later on they discussed their next move, and agreed that as the river was shallow they would cross it at once, and then follow it up stream. Should they find no landmarks answering to those on the map, they would then return and go down the stream.

Next morning they started again, with fifteen loaves done up in a blanket on one of the ponies. The journey was toilsome, for the river ran in places through gorges where the rocks rose sheer from its edge, and they were forced to make considerable detours, and to come down upon it again. They had traveled, they calculated, but eight miles up the stream, when they came upon a valley running east. A small stream ran down it, and fell into the river they were following.

"This looks a likely sort of place," Dave said; "it is the sort of valley a party exploring would be likely to follow. There is wood, water, and grass. Now for the landmarks."

They went on until they reached the spot where the stream fell into the river.

"We can't do better than camp here, Dave," 'Zekel said; "it has been a rough journey for the ponies, and they will be all the better for another good feed."

"All right," Dave agreed, "I don't see any signs of the landmarks, but they may be somewhere about. We will unsaddle the ponies. Boys, you may as well walk up the stream a bit. Keep your eyes open, but don't go very far away. Keep your rifles ready for use; there is no saying but what some prowling Indian may not have caught sight of us as we came along."

The boys unslung their rifles, which were strapped tightly to their backs—they were already loaded—and started up the valley. In a quarter of a mile they passed through the low wood which filled the bottom of the valley. In front of them was an open space, bright with long grass and flowers. In the center of this stood two large trees, one on either side of the stream. They hurried on, and when they reached the trees saw, to the northwest, two peaks, one nearer and lower than the other, in an exact line. As the direction was exactly that of the two dots on the map, they had no doubt whatever that they had hit the right spot. They returned at once with the news to the men. Dave had already lighted a fire, for in this sheltered valley there was little fear of the slight smoke it made being seen, broken up as it was in its passage through the leaves overhead.

"We have found the marks," Dick said, as they arrived. "We don't think there can be any mistakes about them."

"Have you? That is good," and the three men at once went on to the two trees.

"There is no doubt that is what was meant," Boston Joe said. "Wall, I am glad to see them—it shows, anyhow, that we are right in our guess-work as to the map, which we never felt quite sure of before, seeing them three peaks war the only thing we had to go on, and the marks might not have been meant for them arter all. Now the matter air clear and fixed, and we have only got to go ahead."

"Yes, we will stick to the line they have traveled as shown in the map, but if we miss it, it is no great odds; we know where we have got to go to, and we can find our way there, I guess, anyhow. Still, their line may be the best. They may have had some redskin as their guide, who knew the country, and took them the best way. Anyhow, we can't do better than try and follow it."

CHAPTER VIII.—THE GOLDEN VALLEY.

It was nearly a month later that the gold-seekers arrived at a point due south of the three peaks. The journey had been a toilsome one. At times they made their way through deep gorges. At others they had to climb rocky hills, where the horses could scarce obtain a foothold. One of their pack ponies had been lost, having slipped and fallen over a precipice many hundreds of feet deep, and they had lost a day making a long detour to reach the spot where he fell, in order to recover the articles he had carried. For the first half of the distance they had, they believed, followed the track marked on the map, but they then found themselves at the head of a deep valley from which they could discover no egress, and it was therefore clear that they must have misunderstood the marks and have taken a wrong turning somewhere.

From this time they had put aside the map, and made their way as nearly east as the inequalities of the ground permitted. They had no difficulties as to forage for their horses. In many of the valleys there was an abundance of coarse grass, and among the rocks the aloe and cactus grew thickly, and when, as was sometimes the case, no water was to be found, they peeled the thorny skin from the thick juicy leaves and gave the pulp to the animals.

For themselves they shot three bears and several small mountain deer. There was little fear of the sound of their rifles being heard in these mountain gorges, and should the report have reached the ear of an Indian he would have supposed that it was the gun of some red hunters. There were indeed only two villages marked on the map anywhere near the line they were following, as the great bulk of the Indians lived on the slopes of the hills on either side of the Gila, whence they could make their raids into Mexico to the south or to New Mexico to the east.

Here among the mountains they could subsist on the proceeds of the chase and the little plantations tended by the women, but this offered small attractions to the restless and warlike Indians, who preferred depending upon the plunder that they could always gather by a raid upon the defenseless Mexican villages. Thus during the whole journey they had not once caught sight of an Indian, though they had two or three times made out, with the aid of a telescope Tom had brought with him, little clusters of wigwams far away among the hills.

"There will be more danger when we get near the place," 'Zekel said one evening when they were talking it over. "The redskins know well enough that it is gold the whites who come into their mountains are in search of, and I guess they know every place where it is to be found. A redskin always has his eyes open. A broken branch, a stone newly rolled down on a path, the ashes of a fire, the slightest thing that is new, he is sure to notice, and the glitter of gold, whether in a stream or in a vein, would be certain to catch his eye, and if this place is specially rich they are safe to know of it, and would keep some sort of watch to see that it is not found out by the whites."

"That is so," Dave agreed; "of course we don't know how the party that Mexican got the map from got wiped out. It may have been on their way back, but it is more likely it was at the mine itself, and we may find signs of them when we get there. I hope they had been at work some time before they were attacked; if so we may like enough find a store of gold without the trouble of working for it. It is no use to the redskins. They don't do any trade with the whites, and they don't wear gold ornaments. They are wise enough to know that if they were to show much gold about them it would make the whites more eager than ever to come in among their mountains in search of it, so if the Mexican party gathered some up afore they went under, like enough we shall find it."

It was with deep satisfaction that they at last caught sight of the mountain with three sharp peaks, but it was four days after they first saw it that they reached a point due south of it. They were now in a wide valley running east and west; to the south a wall of rock rose in a seemingly unbroken line. On the northern side of the valley the hills sloped away, rising one above another, with the peaks of the Sisters visible above them all.

They had left their animals in charge of Boston Joe, in a clump of trees four miles back, as the miners were of opinion that some Indian village might lie somewhere in the neighborhood, and that it would be safer to make their way on foot. One of the many branches of the Gila ran along the center of the valley, but except in deep pools it was now dry.

"Now we must keep a sharp lookout for marks on the hills," Dave said; "we know we are about right as to the line, but we may have to go two or three miles north or as much south before we get a mark just bearing on that middle peak. Stop," he broke off suddenly; "look up there just beyond the shoulder of that hill; there are some wigwams, sure enough."

Tom brought his telescope to bear.

"Yes, there are about twenty of them, but they never can see us at this distance."

"Don't you make any mistake, young fellow; there aint no saying what an Indian can see and what he can't see. I reckon their eyes is as good as that glass of yours, and I would not guarantee they could not see a rabbit run at this distance. There, get among those rocks at the foot of the cliff; we will make our way along them, hiding as much as we can. I suppose those are horses away there on the hillside to the right of the village; they can't be nothing else."

"Yes, they are horses, Dave."

For another half hour they made their way among the rocks, and then Dick exclaimed suddenly:

"Look, Dave, there is a tree standing by itself at the top of that hill. I believe in another fifty yards it will just be on the line of the peaks."

"I think you are right, Dick, and we have hit the very point at the first try; if it is right, there must be a break in this wall above us."

CHAPTER IX.—THE TREE ON THE PEAK.

They hastened on now with their eyes fixed on the tree. A minute later an exclamation broke from Dave, who was ahead, and the others on joining him saw that the great wall of rock had been split as if by an earthquake. The opening was not more than ten yards wide, and on looking up a narrow line of sky appeared between the walls of rock. Looking the other way, they saw that the tree on the hill bore exactly on the middle peak, the Indian village lying just in the same line halfway up the hill.

"Here is the place, sure enough," Dave said; "there can't be no mistake about it; it is just as the map made it, the tree on the middle peak and the line from them going right into this Canyon. Look, boys, there is a stream comes down here in the wet season, and runs into the one in the middle of the valley. See, I can make out gold sparkling in the sand; that is how it was the place was found; they were prospecting along the valley, and they came upon gold, and traced it up to the mouth of this Canyon."

"Shall we go in now, Dave?" Dick asked excitedly, for they were still standing among the rocks, which broke off abruptly opposite the mouth of the Canyon, those in front of it evidently having been swept away by the torrents flowing down it.

"No, don't go a step forward, Dick. Don't let us risk nothing by showing ourselves now. We will make our way back as we came to Boston, and bring up the horses after dark. We have not got a chance to throw away, I can tell you."

At night they returned with the horses; two blankets had been cut up, and the feet of the animals muffled.

"If one of them redskins was to come upon our track and saw the print of a horseshoe, it would be all up with us," Zeke said; "we had best do the same ourselves; the heel of boot would be as ugly a mark as a horseshoe. We must keep well along at the edge of these fallen rocks. Like enough they come down here to fetch water up to their village, and the further we keep away from the stream the better."

The moon was half full, which was fortunate, as they would otherwise have had great difficulty in finding the narrow gap in the cliff. Its light, too, enabled them to avoid rocks that had rolled out farther than the rest; once inside the gorge it was pitch-dark, and they had to feel their way along.

In about a hundred yards it began to widen, and they soon found themselves in a narrow valley with perpendicular sides, which seemed to widen farther up. The horses, were at once unloaded.

"Now do you lie down," Dave said. "I will keep watch at the mouth. I don't think there is any danger; still, we may as well begin as we shall have to go on."

"Well, call me up in a couple of hours, then," Zeke said; "it will begin to get light in about four, and as soon as it does we will cover up the tracks."

With the first dawn of light the three miners, taking their blankets, went down to the mouth of the Canyon. The boys accompanied them to watch their operations. It was only in the sand and gravel swept down by the floods from the gorge that any footmarks could be seen; these were first leveled, and then with the blankets the surface of the sand was carefully swept so as to erase all signs of disturbance. Before the sun was up the operation was completed, twenty or thirty yards up the Canyon.

"That is enough for the present," Dave said; "we are safe from anyone passing. Now, let us have a look round up above."

"They must have been awful careless if they were surprised in here," Zeke said; "half a dozen men ought to hold this place against a hull tribe of redskins."

"That is so," Boston Joe agreed, "but the greasers are mighty bad watchmen, and no doubt they thought they were safe in here. That Indian village could not have been over on the hill opposite then, or it would have been put down on the map."

"Like enough they had been followed," Dave said. "If a redskin had caught sight of them, he might have followed on their trail for weeks, till he found where they were going, and then made off to bring his tribe down on them. It may be that one has been hanging behind us just in the same way."

"It is a very unpleasant idea," Tom said.

"The redskins' ways aint pleasant," Dave said. "Well, let us be moving up. The first thing we have got to look for aint gold. There is no doubt about that being here somewhere. What we have got to look for is if there is any way out of this hole, because it is a regular trap, and if we were caught here we might hold the gorge for a long time, but they would have us at last certain; besides, they could shoot us down from the top."

They proceeded a few hundred yards up the valley, and then stopped suddenly on a cleared space of ground. In the center lay a score of skeletons, some separately, some in groups of twos and threes. The remnants of the rags that still hung on them showed that they had been Mexicans. The two lads felt a thrill of horror at this proof of the fate that had befallen their predecessors.

"Wall," Zeke exclaimed, "that was something like a surprise; there aint no sign they made a fight of it; they were just caught in their sleep, and never even gathered, for resistance. Well, well, what fools men are to be sure. I shouldn't have believed as even Mexicans would have been such fools as to sleep here without putting a guard at the entrance. I reckon the redskins must have come down from above somewhere, and so caught them unawares. Well, let us be moving on."

CHAPTER X.—WATCHED.

A little higher up the valley narrowed again, the sides came closer and closer, until they closed in abruptly in a rounded precipice, down which in the wet season it was evident that a waterfall leaped from a height above.

"They didn't come down here," Dave said. "If it were anywhere it was near where the attack was made; the sides slope away a bit there. Now keep your eyes skinned, and see if you can make out any place where a man might climb up or down. Our lives may depend on it."

Just as they reached the old encampment Dick said, "Look, Dave, there is a ledge running up behind that bush; it seems to me that it joins another ledge halfway up. Tom and I are accustomed to climbing; we will go up a bit and see if it goes anywhere."

The two lads stopped as they got behind the bush.

"It looks like a path here, Dave; it has certainly been trodden."

The miners came to the spot.

"You are right," Dave said; "it is a path, sure enough. Animals of some sort come up and down—bears, I should say; maybe goats, and lots of them, like enough; it is the only way they can get down from the top into the valley, and they come down to drink."

The ridge was wider than it looked, being, where it started, fully two feet across. The boys at once set off up it; as Dick had supposed, it met another ledge running along halfway up the face of the hill. From below this ledge seemed a mere line, but it was really two feet wide in most places, and even at the narrowest was not less than a foot. Two hundred yards along, another ascent was met with, and after half an hour's climbing they found themselves on a level plateau, from which they could see across to the three peaks. The path was everywhere worn smooth, showing that it had been used for ages by animals of some kind.

"One would almost think it had been cut by hand," Dick said; "who would have thought from below that there was such a way as this out of the valley? The best of it is, that it is good enough for the horses to get up as well as us. Well, thank goodness, we have found a back door to that place. It was not a pleasant idea that we might be shut up there with the option of being either shot or starved."

"They would take some time to starve us, Dick; nine horses would last us for a long time."

"Yes, but it would come sooner or later, Tom. Anyhow, I shall feel a great deal more comfortable now I know that there is a way out."

"But the Indians know of it too, Dick, if, as Dave thinks, they came down this way to attack the Mexicans."

"Yes, that is not such a comfortable idea."

"Well, lads, what do you make of it?" Dave shouted to them as they approached the bottom.

"We have been right up to the top; the ponies could go anywhere. It is narrow in places, but we have passed many worse on the way; the cliffs never close up, so even at the worst places there is room for them to get along with their loads."

"What is it like at the top?"

"Level ground along to the drop of the cliffs, hills behind it to the south."

"Well, it is a comfort there is a way down into the valley. Anyhow, since you have been gone, we have been fossicking about, and there is no doubt about the gold; it is the richest place any of us have ever seed."

"Have you found water, Dave?"

"No, that is the one thing bad, we shall have to go out to fetch water, but maybe if we dig in the center of the channel we shall find it. The best place to try will be at the end, right under where the waterfall comes down in winter. There is most always a deep hole in the rock there, where the water and stones and so on have come down and pounded away the bed rock. We found where the gold comes from too. There is a big quartz vein running right up the face of the cliff there; it is just full of gold. You can see it sparkle everywhere. Some day, when the Indians is all wiped out, fellows will bring machinery and powder, and will have one of the richest mines in the world. However, that don't concern us. I reckon there is enough in this gravel under our feet to make a hundred men rich. Now, Boston, what do you think is the best thing to do first?"

"See if we can get water, Dave. If we were shut up here without water they would have us in twelve hours, so we have got to get enough for ourselves and the horses to drink if we can, even if we have to fetch up what we want for the gravel. When we have got water, the next job will be to make a cradle; there are plenty of trees here, and we have got our hatchets, and we have brought the zinc screens, so we have got everything we want. I don't say we mightn't pick up a lot in nuggets. Still, I have got a dozen already, making, I should say, over an ounce between them. Still, the others is the real thing to depend on."

"And there is another thing, Dave," Zeke put in; "we must have a watch. We had intended that, but we thought we should have only one place to watch; now we have found this track up the hill we have two."

"That is so, Dave, though it is pretty hard on us having two out of five idle. Still, we have got a lesson there," Boston said, pointing to the spot where they had found the skeletons.

"Aye, aye, it has got to be done," Dave said. "Well, lads, will you take the watch to-day, one above and one at the mouth, and we will set to work at the water hole?"

"We will toss up which goes up the hill again, Dick. You spin. Heads; tails it is."

"Then I will choose the mouth here. You go up to the mouth's head."

"Don't you be walking about when you get to the top," Dave said. "Find some place where you can get a clear view all round, and then lie down. Choose a bit of shade, if you can find it. When we knock off work and have had a bit of grub, I will come up and take your place."

It was just getting dusk when Dave came up and relieved Dick.

"Are you going to stay here all night, Dick?"

"Yes, we have agreed I shall keep watch here to-night, Boston to-morrow night, and then I go on again. Zeke will take the watch below regular; he sleeps like a dog, and the least noise in the world will wake him, so he will do very well. Can you make out the Indian village across there from here?"

"Yes, quite plainly."

"You have not been using your glass, I hope," Dave said in alarm.

"No, I forgot to bring it up with me. But why shouldn't I?"

"Because if the sun were to flash on the glass or brasswork, it would be sartin to catch the eye of someone in the village, and if it did you may be sure they would send up to see what it was. Still, if you can make out the village, it will save us the need for keeping watch in the daytime down below. It is from there we have got to expect an attack the most, and if you saw them moving out strong, you could shout down to us and we should be ready for them. At night, in course, we must watch both places, for there may be, for anything we know, a big village half a mile from here, and the attack might come from one way or the other. I expect you would rather work than watch, Dick; so you had better arrange to change places with Tom in the middle of the day, then you can each work half a day. You will find that plenty, I warrant."

"Did you find water, Dave?"

"Yes, plenty of it, enough for the horses and the washing too."

CHAPTER XI.—HARD AT WORK.

Tom took the first watch in the morning. Dick rendered all the assistance he could to the men, who cut down a couple of the trees that stood in the gorge, chopped them into eight-feet lengths, and then with wedges split them into boards, which they smoothed up with an adze. All were accustomed to the work, and by nightfall a deep trough was constructed, resting upon rockers like a cradle.

Next morning the work began; two men threw the gravel and sand into the cradle, the third kept it in motion, while whichever of the boys was off watch brought water in two of the pails from the hole.

The horses were no trouble, finding plenty of coarse grass among the rocks, and only requiring watering night and morning. Thrice a day the contents of the cradle were cleared entirely out, and the gold that had sunk to the bottom collected. Much, of it was in fine dust, but there was also a large number of nuggets, varying in size from a pea to a marble. Each clear-up they obtained on an average eight or nine pounds of gold.

The fourth day Tom had come down from above at twelve o'clock, and found that the men had only just finished the clear-up, and had sat down to have some food.

Having nothing to do, he strolled away to the spot where the Mexicans had been massacred, a short distance away, on some ground at the side of the valley. Some three or four feet above the ground level of the bottom he saw a charred stump of a pole sticking up; he went across to it.

"I suppose this is where the leader of the party had a tent or rough hut," he said.

He was confirmed in the belief by a number of bits of charred wood lying round the pole.

"It was sort of arbor, I suppose," he said to himself.

There were several relics lying about: two boots shriveled by fire, a tin cup flattened by some weight that had fallen on it, a pistol with its stock blackened by fire. He called the men to the spot.

"Yes, like enough it is as you say, Dick, but it is scarcely worth getting up to look at."

"No, there is not much to look at, Dave, but you have been wondering ever since you came that you had not come upon any of the gold they must have gathered, and you said you didn't believe the Indians had taken it away. Now if this was the hut of the leader of the party, it struck me that it would most likely be kept here, and that it may be buried somewhere under this circle of ashes."

"Tom is right, mates," Dave said, "that is just where the gold would be kept, and there aint much doubt that they would bury it as they got it, so as to prevent anyone from taking any of it till it was divided up. Let us fetch our picks, Boston, and we will soon see if it is here. Let us try round the post first," he went on, when the three men fetched their picks; "it will be either close to the middle of the hut, or else on one side under where he made his bed."

The ground was sand, which had been washed up by an, eddy in one of the floods, and they had struck but three or four blows with the pick, when Dave exclaimed:

"Here is something, boys!"

They had brought a shovel with them, and throwing aside the sand, they saw a piece of leather.

"It is a bag," Joe said; "this is their hoard, sure enough."

Going down on their hands and knees, they pulled up bag after bag, each about fifty pounds in weight, until they had a pile on the surface of eight bags.

"Eureka!" Dave exclaimed, as he lifted the last bag out of the hole. "They had made something like a pile; no doubt they were a strong party, but even with that they must have been here a couple of months to have got this lot together. Well, Boston," and he held out his hand, "we can go east again; we have struck it rich at last."

"You bet," Joe said briefly.

"How much is it?" Dick asked.

"Each of them bags weighs about fifty pounds, Dick."

Dick looked incredulous, and stooped to pick up one of the bags, and was astonished at its weight.

"Fifty pounds if it weighs an ounce, and there are eight of them—four hundred pounds of gold; think of that, lad; that is pretty nigh eighty pounds apiece. I aint good at reckoning, but put it rough at two hundred and fifty dollars a pound, that is somewhere like two hundred thousand dollars each."

"Forty thousand pounds!" Dick exclaimed; "it does not seem possible."

"We aint got it to the settlements yet," Zeke said quietly; "them chaps had it, and they lost it. Don't let us figure it up much till we get beyond the sound of the Apache war-whoop."

"Well, I will go on watch at the mouth," Dick said, "and then you can talk things over together."

"Do, Dick; there is a lot more to look after than there was before, and it makes one feel one can't be too careful. Anyhow we won't stay a day longer in this place. We will be off to-night."

Dick went nearly down to the mouth of the narrow gorge. He had expected they would find a treasure, and although this far exceeded his anticipations, he did not feel the excitement the men had shown at the discovery of the treasure. He sat down on a rock, and amused himself with the thought of the wonder there would be at home. Suddenly he heard the sound of a horse's hoof, and grasping his rifle, stooped down behind a fallen rock. A moment later a mounted Indian dashed past the mouth of the rift. He was scarce twenty yards away, but Dick noticed the eagle feathers of his head-dress, the rifle slung across his shoulder, and the leggings decorated with tufts of hair. It was but a moment, and then he was gone. Dick waited a minute or two, and then ran in to tell the miners. They uttered an exclamation of alarm.

"He went right on," Dick said. "He didn't check the speed of his horse or glance my way."

"That is no sign," Zeke said. "The chances are that fellow has happened on our trail maybe a mile, maybe fifty, back and he has just been following it. Why should he be riding so close to the cliffs if he was not tracking us?"

"But he didn't look in," Dick persisted.

"He warn't such a fool, lad. He knew well enough that if he glanced round, and there was anyone on watch there, he would have a bullet through him sartin."

"What shall we do? Shall we saddle up at once, Dave?" Boston Joe asked.

"We may as well pack the horses anyhow, Boston, but we can't go till it is dark. If a party like ours were to show up there, they would see us from the village sure. Do you run up, Dick, and keep a lookout with Tom at the village. You can crawl along, if you like, nearer to the edge, and make out if that fellow is riding there. If you see him go there come down with the news, and tell Tom to hurry down as quick as he can if he sees a party setting out. We will have the horses saddled up by the time you are down again."

CHAPTER XII.—RETREAT.

Dick sprang up the hill, and, as soon as he joined Tom, astonished him with the account of the discovery of the treasure collected by the other party, and also by the news that it was probable that the Indians would be speedily upon them. All this he told him as he was crawling forward towards the edge of the cliff.

"There he goes!" he exclaimed, when they neared it. "Do you see him going up the slope toward the village? How clear the air is. Dave says it is six miles there if it is a foot; it does not look more than one.

"Well, I must go and tell them below. Mind, Tom, the moment you see a party issue out from there you crawl back to the path, and then hurry down as quick as you can, but mind you don't tumble in your haste."

"That settles it," Dave said, when he heard the news. "If he had been going to that village he would have made for it straight, and not come along under the cliffs until he was opposite to it. No; we have got to fight, that's sartin."

"If we were to mount that path at once, Dave, we could keep them from climbing up if there were hundreds of them."

"That is so, lad, but we could not stay there forever, and might be took in the rear by another party. Besides, as soon as they find out that we have left—they will do that pretty soon—they will be straight after us. No, we have been talking it over while you have been away, and we have agreed that we must hold the Canyon until it gets dark, and then make off. No doubt they know of this path, but they won't think as we have found it out, and they will fancy that they have got us sure. Like enough, as soon as they find we are ready for them here, they will send a messenger off to some village up behind us. There is one thing, he will have a good way to go for we have seen no break in the cliffs for the last twenty miles, and maybe they go much farther; anyhow, we have got to risk it."

"I should think," Dick said, "that anyhow we might as well get the horses up to the top of the path, ready to push on as soon as it gets dark. They can do it easily enough in daylight, but it would be a very awkward job at night."

"Right you are, lad, that is a capital plan. We will do it at once. We have got everything wrapped up ready. One of us will stay up there with Tom so as to guard the top of the path, in case any of the redskins should come down before we are ready to go forward. Three will be enough to hold the Canyon."

"I will undertake the horse job," Boston Joe said. "As you say, three is enough here. They will think they are going to take us by surprise, and as soon as they find we are ready for them they will draw off fast enough. I reckon that fellow has counted our numbers, and no redskin will try to force that pass with five Western rifles facing him."

Just as Joe began to mount the path, leading his horse, with the others tied head to tail in a long line behind it, Tom appeared on the path high up and shouted:

"Thirty or forty horsemen have just left the village, and are coming this way."

"All right, Tom," Dick shouted back. "You are not to come down. Joe is coming up with the horses."

"We have got plenty of time yet," Dave said, as soon as the string of horses had started on their way up; "it aint much past two o'clock yet, and it will be pretty nigh six hours afore we can make a start. There is a good fire, and we have kept down thirty pounds of flour; we shall have time to bake that into bread before we start. We shan't have much time for baking when we are once off, you can bet your boots."

Dick looked on with some wonder at the quiet and deliberate manner in which Dave mixed his dough.

"By the way, Dick," the latter said, looking up, "we have divided that lot of gold we got here ourselves into five lots, and put one lot into the blankets on each of our riding horses; it is like enough that if we carry our own scalps back to the Settlements we shan't get any of the four baggage ponies there with us. There is about twelve pound of gold in each blanket, so suppose we have to let the other ponies go, we shan't have made a bad job out of our journey after all."

"Have you filled the water-skins, Dave?"

"We filled the five small skins we carry ourselves, and one of the others we daren't carry. Each of the horses has got two sacks of gold, one of them has got the water-skin, two others have got twenty pounds of flour each, which will be enough to last us with the loaf we are baking here till we get out of the Indian country; the others have got the tea and sugar. The one with the skin will be the heaviest load at first; but the water will soon go, so that makes it even. Everything else we have got to leave behind, except a kettle and this baking pan. We will take them up as we go. Now that the loaf is fairly under way, we will get ready for the redskins."

CHAPTER XIII.—THE REDSKIN.

They took their post behind some rocks in front of them. The bottom was composed of sand and gravel, the only rock being that behind which Dick had crouched, close to the entrance.

"Mind, we mustn't all fire at once," Dave said; "one must always be loading, and we will take it in turns to fire. Of course, if they make a rush we must take to our six-shooters; but they aint likely to do that. I will fire first, Zeke, you follow me; I reckon they aint likely to miss either of us."

Another quarter of an hour passed, and then suddenly a mounted Indian appeared at the mouth of the Canyon. He checked his horse and sat gazing up it. Dave's rifle cracked, and the Indian fell backward from his saddle; and a sudden yell of anger and surprise rose outside. Another moment and a dozen figures appeared at the entrance. Zeke fired.

"Now, Dick!" Dave said a moment later, and the lad, whose rifle was resting on the rock in front of him, pulled his trigger, and almost immediately Dave fired again. Another moment and the mouth of the Canyon was clear. Another Indian lay by the side of the first who had fallen.

"I reckon all the shots told," Dave said; "we could hardly miss that clump. Now I don't think you will see any more of them; they know we are here and they know we are ready for them, and it aint in Indian nature to throw away their lives charging up a place like this. They had reckoned the five first would go down anyhow. Then they will guess that we have got pistols, and the redskins hate six-shooters like poison."

The time passed slowly, but the quiet in the Canyon remained undisturbed.

"I expect it is as I said, Zeke; they won't attack again by daylight, though I don't say as they won't try and crawl up when it gets dark, but I don't think as they will. If there is a village up in the hill behind us they will send round to it, and wait here till they hear a fight begin inside. If there aint no village, half of them will ride round to come down on us. However, they won't set about that at once. Injuns are never in a hurry, and they think that they have got us safe in here and can take things easy. If it is a long way round and they aint quite sure of the path, like enough they won't start until they calculate they will get there at daybreak, when they will guess that we shall be all pretty well worn out with keeping watch here."

"I guess that is about it, Dave. Anyhow, we can push out as soon as it begins to get too dark for them to see us from the village across there—that is, as soon as the sun has gone down behind the hills to the south."

Dave had from time to time left his post and gone to keep up the fire and to put a fresh batch of dough in the pan, and as soon as a shadow fell across the valley he said, "Now we will be off. I reckon there is no fear of the redskins getting round for a time; but I tell you that gold makes one mighty fidgety."

Six loaves had been baked, and each taking two, while Dave, in addition, took the pan and kettle, they mounted the path. When they reached the tail of the string of horses Dave hailed Boston Joe, and a moment later the miner's head appeared on the edge of the cliff above them.

"Is it all clear?"

"Aye. I have seen nothing of them—ne'er a thing moving."

"Well, we will go at once, Joe. Even a redskin's eyes could not make us out from that village now."

The horses were at once set in motion. As soon as they had left the path the cords were unfastened, and the five mounted.

"Which way, Dave?" Boston Joe asked.

"We had better make west. It is lucky we shall have the moon, for there is no traveling over the hills in the dark if you don't know the way. Anyhow, we will make straight back at present, or we may come upon those fellows riding round. We will go in Indian file. I will go first, with a pony tied to mine. The two lads will follow, then either you, Zeke, or Joe, can take the last pony, and the other one ride in the rear, so that you can keep us well in sight, and yet be far enough off to use your ears."

For an hour they continued their course south, the ground rising as they went. Then they reached a dip running west.

"We will follow this," Dave said; "it is the right direction anyhow, and it is as likely to take us down into the valleys again in time."

As they proceeded, the dip became more decided, and after two hours' riding the sides narrowed in.

"We shall strike a water-course soon," Dave said, turning round to speak to Tom, who was riding next to him. "The water that falls here has got to make its way out somewhere, and this is the only way as it can go. Not that there is much water, for it is often months without rain."

Presently they found that the ground was covered with pebbles.

"There is the water-course, you see," Dave said.

The fall became steeper and steeper, and the ground more stony; low trees and bushes rose on the slopes on either side.

"We had best dismount here," Dave said; "it is growing mighty steep, and we may come upon a sudden fall anywhere, and it is mighty difficult to judge about depth in the moonlight."

The lads were heartily glad at the order, for they had for some time been momentarily expecting that their horses would come down over the bowlders.

"I will go twenty yards ahead," Dave said. "You had better loose the baggage-ponies and let them pick their own way. Throw your bridles on your horses' necks: they will go a deal safer so than if you were leading them; the critters can pick their way anywhere if they have got time and can look about."

Luckily the moon was still high and shot full down upon the path they were traveling. Even on foot the lads found it difficult to make their way down. Sometimes they had to climb over heaps of bowlders, sometimes to slide down smooth faces of rock so steep that they could not keep their feet upon them, and often it seemed so perilous that they would have hesitated to attempt it had they not seen that Dave with his two horses kept steadily on below them.

CHAPTER XIV.—IN THE RAVINE.

The lads were surprised at the way their own horses followed, sliding on their haunches down the steepest places and picking their way among rocks and bowlders. Six hours after starting they found themselves in a deep ravine, whose sides were covered with trees. They had now lost the moon, and it was far too dark for them to progress further.

"We will give them four hours' rest," Dave said; "that long halt on the path was worse than traveling. We shall go three times as fast when we get light to help us as in the dark; besides, we have got to look for some place where we can double on them. We shan't find that till we are out of this valley. We shall have to be pretty spry if we are going to get away from them; they will come along fast when they once take up the trail. It has taken us six hours to get down here; it won't take them three. Well, I hope we shall get on the move an hour or two before they do. If they wait until daylight before advancing there will be a lot of hubbub and talk before they really make up their minds that we have really slipped through their fingers, and arrange for a start. Still, by midday we shall be having them behind us if we can't find the way to throw them off."

"I'd willingly take twenty ounces for my share of that gold, to be paid to me at Santa Fe," Boston Joe said.

"So would I, Joe; there ain't no denying it, we are in a tight place, and unless we find some way out of it in the morning, my own opinion is that we have only got one chance, and that is to leave all the horses behind us and to take our rifles and a loaf of bread each, and to start back on foot."

"I should not wonder if we came to that," Zeke said; "but we will hold on for a few hours, and, anyhow, before we leave them we will hide them bags. Possibly we might come back some day; anyhow, we could each tote along what we have got in our blankets; it aint as if we were going to run all the way from here to the settlements. Twelve pound weight aint nothing one way or the other."

"No, nor twenty," Boston agreed. "I vote if we do have to leave the horses we slip open one of the bags and take another eight pounds or so each. Twenty pounds aint much for a man to carry besides his gun and ammunition and a chunk of bread. Well, let the rest of you lie down and get a couple of hours' sleep. I was off once last night."

"All right; wake us directly you see a change in the sky. We should give the horses a chunk of bread and a drink each before we start."

It seemed to the lads that they had been asleep for five minutes only when they were roused. It was but the work of a few minutes to adjust the loads again and to give the horses the bread and water. It was still hardly light in the ravine when they were ready to start, but all were too anxious to get on to delay a moment. As soon as the day had broadened a little they were able to pick their way along on the comparatively level ground beyond the edge of the water-course, and the horses were put into a trot.

"If we can keep on like this," Joe said, "the Apaches won't be up to us before night. They will know that we have got nigh twelve hours' start of them, and though they may start off fast at first, they will soon settle down into a pace that they can keep up all day."

After journeying for three hours they came upon the spot where two other ravines fell into that along which they were journeying.

"Let us hold a council," Dave said. "Now, what do you think had best be done—push straight forward or take one of these other gulches?"

"They seem to run back almost the same line as that ye have been following," Dick said.

"All the better, lad. They will be less inclined to think that we have taken it. What do you say, Zeke?"

"I think we had better push straight on, Dave. If they were coming along in the dark it would be a different thing; but they would not go a horse's length afore they missed our tracks, and even if we muffle the critters' feet, they are strong enough to send a party each way."

"So they are, Zeke; but it would be a sight better to fight a third of them than the hull lot."

"I think that it would be better to push on, Dave," Boston Joe said. "There ain't no saying where these narrow valleys lead, they wind and double every way; besides, they are dry, so I says let us push on till we get into one of the main valleys."

"Well, we will do it, Joe; anyhow, we may as well do as I say and muffle their feet. The Injuns will know what we have done when they see the tracks stop here, but, as you say, they won't know whether we have gone straight on or turned up one side or the other. I guess most likely they will think that we have turned up; anyhow, they are sure to divide."

No further talking was necessary. The blankets were all cut up, bunches of dry grass were laced under the horses' feet to form a pad, and the strips of blankets wound round and round and securely fastened.

"Now, on we go again, lads," Dave said, setting the example, and they rode straight down the ravine ahead of them. Two hours later the blankets were taken off and thrown among the bushes, the rocks having cut through them, they were useless any longer to conceal the tracks, and they incommoded the horses. A mouthful of water was given to the animals, and they again started at a brisk pace. The sides of the valley were now narrowing in again, and becoming much steeper; the trees had ceased, and the bare rock rose in some places almost precipitously.

"The water rises high here when there is a storm," Zeke said. "You see, it is pretty nigh closed up somewhere in front here."

"All the better," Dave said; "we can make a fight for it in a place like that, and hold it till dark. They can't be far behind us now. Stop the horses a moment and listen."

A faint sound was heard.

"That is them," Dave said; "they aint above a mile behind; push on till we find a good place to make a stand."

CHAPTER XV.—RIFLE-SHOTS.

Another five minutes they entered a gorge so blocked with rocks that had fallen from above that they had the greatest difficulty in leading the horses over them.

"It could not be better," Dave said. "We can stop them here. Zeke, do you go on with Dick, see how far this goes, and what the chances are when we get out of it. If you can see any way of climbing the side of the valley come back and tell us. Then I reckon the best thing will be for you to take the horses down and go straight up, leaving Dick to tell us exactly where you have gone up; then, as soon as it is quite dark, we will be off and follow you; they won't be able to pick up the trail and will guess we have gone straight down the valley. Anyhow, it will give us another twelve hours' start."

Zeke nodded. "We may as well take the critters down at once," he said; "it may be two or three miles before we can find a place where we can get out of this valley, and there aint no use making two journeys of it."

Somewhat reluctantly Dick followed Zeke, driving the horses before them.

They had been gone but five minutes when he heard the crack of a rifle behind them.

"Do you think they are sure to be able to hold that place?"

"They are safe for some time, anyhow," Zeke said. "As soon as the redskins see they are brought to a stand they will draw off and wait till the bands that have gone up the other valleys join them. No doubt, as soon as they had made out our tracks again, they sent a kipple of men off to fetch them back, but I reckon they wouldn't have seen them till they got four or five miles down, and by that time the other bands would have been as much farther up the side-valleys, and the messengers would have a long ride before they overtook them—ten or twelve miles, maybe—and they would have all that to come down again, so they would be pretty well four hours before they had joined the first band, and in four hours it will be dark enough for Dave to draw off."

"There they go again!"

Shot after shot echoed among the cliffs. The gorge extended for another mile, and then widened rapidly. A mile and a half farther the sides were clad with trees, and the slope, although still steep, was, Zeke said, possible for horses to scramble up.

"They will go up there safe enough," he said, "five of them with nothing to carry, and the other four ain't heavy loaded. You see them two trees standing alone on the crest there?"

"I see them, Zeke."

"Well, that is to be your mark. You will make them out plainly enough in the moonlight. I shall be just down beyond them. I need not tell you to be keerful how you go when you get beyond the shelter of the trees below. Dave will know all about that. Now you can be off back again."

Dick started back at a run, and in less than half an hour joined the other three among the rocks.

"Found a place, lad?"

"Yes; they have started up."

"I am glad you are back. These fellows look as if they were going to make an attack on us. They are about five-and-twenty of them, and I guess they know as well as we do that it will be dark before their friends join them. However, I don't think they will make a rush; they will lose heart when three or four of their number get shot, and weaken when it comes to climbing these rocks in face of our six-shooters. Now, do you two lads keep below; get down right among the rocks, so that you can fire out through some hole between them, and directly you have fired get out of the line, for a stray bullet might come in."

Scarcely had the boys taken their position, and looked along their barrels, when they saw a dozen dark figures spring up among the rocks fifty yards away.

Two shots were fired by the miners, and two of the Indians fell forward; then, one after another, the lads fired, as they felt sure of their aim, while at the same moment two sharper cracks sounded close to them, for the Colt at forty yards is as deadly a weapon as a rifle. Three more of the Indians fell, and the rest sank down behind rocks and opened fire at the position held by the whites. These reloaded rapidly.

"Now keep a sharp lookout," Dave said, "but don't fire unless they rise again. Joe and I will make it hot for them as they raise their heads to take aim."

The rifles were fired but twice, and then the fire of the Indians ceased.

"I think we have accounted for two more," Joe said. "We shan't hear any more of them. Seven out of twenty-five is a sharp lesson, and the first man who fell was their chief, I reckon, and they will wait till the sub-chiefs with the other bands come up. Now, the sooner the sun goes down the better. There is one thing, it will be dark down here an hour before it is on the hill-tops."

"Why shouldn't we fall back at once?" Tom asked.

"Because, like enough, they will open fire occasionally, and if we didn't reply they would think we had made off, and would follow us, and pick up the trail where the horses left the valley. We have got to wait here until it is too dark for them to follow the trail. The moment it is dark enough for that we are off."

It was just getting dusk, when Dave said, suddenly:

"There is one of the other bands coming up. They are a good bit away yet, but I can hear them."

Dick could only make out a low, continuous murmur that sounded to him like a distant waterfall.

"What do you think, Joe," Dave said; "would it be safe to make a run for it? We might beat off the first attack, but some of us are safe either to get killed or hurt too badly to travel. They will talk for a quarter of an hour at least after they come up, and by the time they find we have gone, and got their horses over these rocks, and got down to the mouth of this gorge, it will be too dark for them to follow the tracks."

"I am with you, Dave," Joe said, as he discharged his rifle. "That is one more wiped out. He was just going to fire to see whether we were here still. That has answered the question; now let us be off. Go as quiet as you can, lads, and don't make the slightest noise. Just creep along until we are three or four hundred yards away. You may be sure that they are listening."

For a quarter of a mile they moved very cautiously.

"Now I think we are safe," Dave said, breaking into a run.

At a steady trot they kept on down the gorge. Just as they reached its mouth, they heard a faint yell in the distance.

"They have found we are off. They will be five minutes and more before they have brought up their horses and got over the rocks, and they will go pretty cautious, because they will be expecting to be ambushed. It is getting pretty dark now; we shall be in among the trees before they are out."

CHAPTER XVI.—ON THE RETURN.

The trees began fully half a mile above the point where Zeke had made his way up with the horses, and, running now at the top of their speed, they were among them before the Indians issued from the gorge.

The fugitives went on at a slower pace among the trees, until they heard a war-whoop, and knew that the leading Indians had passed out.

"Now throw yourselves down," Dave said, "and just lie as still as mice—the slightest noise would tell them we had taken to the wood. We want them to go straight on for a bit."

In four or five minutes they heard the tramping of horses, and a party of Indians rode down the valley.

"There are over fifty of them," Dave whispered. "I expect the other two bands must have come up together. Now let us get up as high as we can. As long as they are galloping they won't hear any little noise we may make, but mind how you go, lads. Don't step on a twig, don't brush against any dead wood that might crack, and mind you don't set a stone rolling."

They climbed for ten minutes, and then came to a spot where they had a view through the trees down the valley.

"There they are in a heap about a mile down," Joe said, and the boys in the moonlight could see a dark mass gathered in the middle.

"They are having a talk over it," Dave said; "they know if we held on down the valley they would have overtaken us by this time, and they know we have taken to the wood one side or the other. I recken they won't think it any use searching for us to-night, but maybe they will go straight on for a bit. They won't know how long a start the horses may have had, and will think we may have had them in the gorge, and have mounted and ridden down. Yes; there they go. Now we can move on again without fear of being heard."

Half an hour later they joined Zeke, who was with the horses a hundred yards over the crest of the hill in a line with the two trees.

"No one hurt?" he asked, as they approached.

"Nary a scratch, Zeke. We have wiped out eight of them. The rest have just gone tearing down the valley."

"Well, we had best be moving so as to get as far as we can before we lose the moon."

"That won't be till within an hour of daylight," Zeke said. "Now, which way shall we go?"

"I think we had better keep along the hillside, Zeke. We can travel fast here, and can get so far that when they find the trail in the morning, and follow us, we shall be too far away for them to overtake us before nightfall."

So day after day they traveled, sometimes in deep ravines, sometimes high up among the hills, sometimes coming upon a stream and taking in a supply of water, and sometimes well-nigh mad with thirst. They had cut up two of the empty water-skins and had made rough shoes for their horses, and believed that they had entirely thrown their pursuers off the trail, winding along on what was little more than a goat's track up the steep face of a valley, the opposite side of which was a perpendicular cliff. They had nearly gained the top when the crack of a rifle was heard from the opposite cliff, which was not more than two hundred yards away, although the depth of the gorge was fully a thousand feet. Looking across they saw that nearly opposite to them stood an Indian village, and that a number of redskins were running toward the edge.

"Hurry up, hurry up!" Dave shouted. "It is too far for them to shoot straight, but a stray bullet might hit us. Push on, lads, with the ponies. We will give them a shot or two. Our rifles will carry that distance easy enough."

The lads pushed on while the three miners opened fire. There was but another fifty yards to climb. They could hear the sharp ping of the bullets round them. One of the ponies gave a sudden start, stumbled forward, and then rolled over the edge. In another minute the rest gained the plateau.

"Oh, Dick, it is one of the treasure ponies," Tom exclaimed.

"That is a bad job, Tom; which is it?"

"The gray."

"Better him than the others. It was one of his bags that we took the gold out of to make us up twenty pounds each, so there aint above seventy pounds lost. Come on, let us get beyond range. We don't want to lose any more." When they got two or three hundred yards further the three men ran up.

"One pony has gone, I see," Dave said.

"Yes; it is the gray. He had only seventy pounds, you know, so if one was to go it were best it should be him."

"Well, let us mount and be off, lads; like enough those Indians will have to ride forty or fifty miles to get round this canyon, and come here, but, anyhow, we may as well push on. It is lucky the horses have done well the last day or two, and that we have got our water-skins full."

CHAPTER XVII.—CONCLUSION.

Another ten days of arduous toil, and, in turning a sharp corner in a defile, they saw a number of men at work. As these heard the sound of the horses' feet they threw down their picks and shovels, and seized their guns.

"Don't say anything about the gold," Dave exclaimed to the others. "It is lucky it is all covered up."

As soon as the miners saw that the new-comers were whites they lowered their guns.

"Why, where on earth have you come from?" one of them asked, as they rode up.

"We have been making a prospecting tour among the hills."

"Have you found anything?"

"Yes; we have found a first-rate place, but the Apaches drove us off from it when we had been at work only four days, and we have had hard work to save our scalps. I have no objection to give you the indications, for I will not go back again among them ramping Apaches not to find solid gold. There is the map as I steered by. Them three points are the Three Sisters, and that tree bears on the mouth of a narrow canyon. There is gold there, you bet, and likewise the skeletons of about thirty Mexicans who got killed there three or four years ago. Now, let us have some grub; we finished our last ounce of flour yesterday, and have been short for the last fortnight."

"You have had to leave everything behind, I see," the miner said, looking at the eight horses.

"Yes; we had to make a clean bolt for it. However, in the four days we were there we got about seventy pounds of gold, and we have stuck to that. Now you know as much about it as we do. There is gold enough to make you all rich, but you will have to fight, and fight hard, to get there and come away again."

The horses were unsaddled and picketed, Dave and Joe taking care themselves to unload the three packed ponies, and that the flat bags, over which blankets had been stuffed, should not be noticed. They stopped there for two days to rest the horses, and then proceeded on their way, arriving at Pueblo a fortnight later. Thence they traveled together to Santa Fe, and then hired a wagon and joined a large caravan going across the plains east. When they reached St. Louis they separated. A division was made of the gold, and the lads started by train for New York, and the next day took their passages for England.

When Dick reached home he was received by his family as one from the dead. The Northampton had arrived three weeks before, and, from the report Mr. Allen had given, they had slight hopes indeed that Dick would recover from his wounds, although the letter that Tom had written three days after he landed had given them some slight grounds for hope. The letter had been shown to the owners of the Northampton, and as the statements respecting the captain and the first mate were confirmed by Mr. Allen and the third officer, the captain and first mate had been summarily discharged from the service.

The astonishment of the lads' fathers when they found that each lad had brought home a hundred pounds of gold, worth about five thousand pounds, was great indeed. With it shares were bought in the ships of the company, and when in time both attained the rank of master they had the satisfaction of sailing in ships in which they held shares. Neither had any inclination ever to embark again upon the operation of gold-mining.

The Stone Chest

CHAPTER I.—A MYSTERY OF THE STORM.

"What a fearful night, Bob!"

"Yes, mother; it's about the worst storm of the season," replied Bob Cromwell, as he entered the seaside cottage and shook the water from his cap. "It will go hard on any vessel near the coast. The wind is rising to a perfect gale. Just listen to it sing."

There was no need to listen. The storm was so violent one could scarcely hear aught else. The little cottage, standing so boldly out upon the sea cliff, shook and rocked from end to end as if preparing to leave its foundations.

"I see supper is ready," went on Bob. "By the way, was Mr. Vasty here?"

At once Mrs. Cromwell's face grew dark and troubled. It was an aristocratic face, and plainly indicated that the lady had seen better days.

"Yes, he was here, Bob."

"And what did he say?"

"We must leave on Monday. The cottage has been sold over our heads."

Tears stood in Mrs. Cromwell's eyes as she spoke.

"Sold!"

"Yes, my boy. He said he could wait no longer. He believes, as do all in

Sea Cove, that your father is dead."

"Perhaps he is," sighed Bob. "It is now over six months since the Bluebell went down. If he escaped in a small boat we should have heard from him before this."

"Oh, I cannot believe your father dead, Bob," cried the mother, bursting into tears. "If I thought that—" She did not finish.

Bob sat down to the supper table in silence. He had little heart to eat, and swallowed the food mechanically.

Bob was seventeen years of age, bright, handsome, and fearless. He was

Mrs. Cromwell's only son and his father had been a sea captain.

We say, had been, for the Bluebell had been wrecked some time before and all in Sea Cove thought the captain dead—all saving Mrs. Cromwell, who still hoped for his safe return—hoping, as it were, against hope.

Years before the Cromwells had been rich, owning four large trading vessels. But bad luck had come and continued until the fortune dwindled down to nothing but the ownership of the old Bluebell. It was then that the captain had determined on a voyage to Alaska, taking with him a party of men who wished to explore the new gold mines in that territory.

The Bluebell was supposed to have gone down in sight of the coast and only two of the survivors had thus far returned.

As time went by the little cottage, a poor affair at the best, was mortgaged to pay outstanding debts. It was the last of the Cromwell belongings.

Bob worked at the docks, handling freight. It was not what he had been brought up to, but it was the best employment he could obtain in the vicinity.

"I don't see what's to be done, Bob," said Mrs. Cromwell, during a lull in the storm. "We must move and I have only three dollars in all."

"Oh, I forgot!" he suddenly exclaimed, and pulled a ten-dollar bill from his pocket. "Here, mother, is a little to help us."

"Why, where in the world did you get that, Bob?" she ejaculated.

"A young gentleman gave it to me—insisted I should take it."

"What for?"

"He said I saved his life."

"And did you?"

"Well, I don't know—perhaps," mused Bob. "You see, it was Captain Randolph Sumner, the gentleman who owns that splendid new yacht down to Marcey's. He fell into the water right in front of the incoming steamer Flag, and I fished him out just as he was on the point of being struck. He was very grateful and made me keep the money, although I didn't want it and told him so."

That was all Bob said. He was too modest to mention that Randolph Sumner had called him a hero and that the crowd standing by had given him a cheer for his bravery.

"Ten dollars is a windfall," began Mrs. Cromwell. "Now if we—Gracious, the signal gun, Bob!"

Boom!

Bob sprang up from the table. He knew that sound only too well.

Boom!

"Ship has struck, mother!" he cried. "I must go down and see if I can help in any way."

And waiting for no reply, the youth grabbed up his cap and storm coat and rushed out into the storm.

Bob was right—a ship had struck. Away off through the mist and rain he could see the colored lights and the flash of the gun, calling for help.

The lifeboat men were already out and getting ready to launch their heavy craft.

"Look! look! The ship is going down!"

The cry thrilled everyone to the very heart. It was true. The stately ship was sinking fast. Down she went and came up again, once, twice —and then no more.

The lifeboat went out in a hurry, but it was of no avail. The storm had done its work and all on board had perished.

No, not all. Walking at the foot of the cliff a little later, Bob heard a low moan, and soon came upon the body of an aged seaman jammed in between the rocks. The man was fearfully bruised and did nothing but moan as the youth bore him up to the cottage.

Here he was made as comfortable as possible on a cot. It was an hour before he was able to open his eyes.

"Where am I?" he asked faintly. "Oh, the storm. I was hit in the back—I am dying; I know it. Take me to Mrs. Leon Cromwell."

At this utterance Mrs. Cromwell and Bob were both greatly astonished.

"I am Mrs. Cromwell, sir."

"You! It is not possible!"

"Mother tells the truth," put in Bob. "What do you want?"

"You are the wife of Leon Cromwell?"

"I am," said the woman.

"Heaven be praised! Who brought you to me?"

"I brought you to our cottage," returned Bob. "You lay unconscious on the rocks."

"It is the work of Providence," murmured the sufferer. "I was on my way hither when the storm overtook the Mary Lee. I—I—a drink—I am fainting!"

Water with brandy was brought and the man revived a little. He glared strangely at Mrs. Cromwell.

"I must speak quickly, for I am dying—I know it, feel it. I was sick on board; that's why I know. The doctor said I couldn't live, and the storm has only hastened matters. I want to talk to you about your husband."

"Is he alive?" came from mother and son simultaneously.

"He is—or was three months ago. At Zaruth, on the Siberian coast—where the stone chest was left—we—more drink—quick!"

Again the sufferer had a relapse.

"The stone chest caused the trouble. There was gold and silver, and after the wreck——"

"Never mind the gold and silver. Where is my husband?" interrupted Mrs.

Cromwell.

"I was going to tell you. We started for—for——" The man gasped for breath. "It's my head. We started for the coast, when the people living there who had seen the stone chest, got together and—oh!"

The sufferer fell back in a spasm of pain, from which it was almost impossible to revive him. At last he spoke again.

"He was made a prisoner, and;—water, or I die—I can't drink—it is growing dark—the papers in my pocket are for you—and may Heaven forgive me!"

The man leaped almost to his feet, then fell back in another spasm. A minute later he was dead. With tenderness mother and son cared for the body. In one of the seaman's pockets was found a packet of papers yellow with age.

Bob opened the packet and looked over the paper with interest. An hour passed. Then the youth sprang to his feet.

"Mother, I am going to Cedar Island on the Siberian coast and to father's rescue!" he cried, with sudden determination.

CHAPTER II.—OFF FOR ZARUTH.

"To Siberia—Cedar Island!"

"Yes, mother. From what I can make out, father is there, a prisoner of some people called the Svlachkys, and all on account of a wonderful stone chest, said to be filled with gold and silver."

"It cannot be true, Bob."

"I think it is. This dead sailor's name was Ruel Gross——"

"Ruel Gross!" Mrs. Cromwell started. "I heard of him before. Your father said he possessed a wonderful secret."

"He did—about the stone chest. The whole truth is, so far as I can understand, he got father to go up there in search of it. After it was found they got into some trouble with the natives, and Ruel Gross abandoned father to his fate. Here is a handmade map of the locality."

"Pray Heaven your father still lives," murmured Mrs. Cromwell. "But you say you are going up there. How?"

"I don't know. But I'll find a way, even if I have to go up on a whaler."

Mrs. Cromwell shook her head.

On the following morning the dead body of the sailor was turned over to the village authorities.

Between them mother and son decided for the present to say nothing to the simple fisher-folks concerning Ruel Gross' revelation.

"They'll sneer at us—that's all," said Bob.

But Bob confided in his chum, Jack Larmore, an orphan boy of his own age. Jack was tremendously interested.

"Say, Bob, I'll go along, if you say the word," he said. "I'm sick of

Sea Cove and the mean folks living around here."

"All right."

That noon, when Bob returned home he found Captain Sumner present, talking to his mother.

The captain had come to offer Bob a position on his yacht.

"I would like to go—if you're going up the coast," said Bob. "I want to get to Alaska, and then to Cedar Island, off Siberia."

The rich yacht owner was much astonished. He proceeded to draw Bob out, and an hour later had the youth's story in full. With Mrs. Cromwell he looked over the papers and map.

Then he lit a cigar and began to pace up and down the parlor of the cottage.

"I've half a mind to cruise up there," he said. "To me, one place is as good as another. I love to roam the wide world over, and have already been to the South Seas and to the coast of Africa. What if I should take you up there, my boy?"

"Will you?" shouted Bob, in quick delight. "Do it, and you shall have the contents of that stone chest—if we can get it."

"No, I'll only want my share of it," laughed Captain Sumner.

On the next day they talked the matter over once more. The captain was a widower with one child, a girl of fifteen. The girl, whose name was Viola, said she would like to go up the coast to new lands. But she would like Mrs. Cromwell, or some other lady, to go along.

Persuaded by Bob, Mrs. Cromwell said she would undertake the trip, and before they knew it, all arrangements were made.

The Dart, as the yacht was named, was sent to San Francisco for stores, and three days later Bob and Mrs. Cromwell and Jack Larmore left Sea Cove, and left it forever!

It is not the purpose of this tale to tell of all that happened ere the Dart put to sea on that memorable voyage up the coast to Alaska.

For awhile all went well on board. But one day there was trouble among the crew. The trouble grew worse and three of the fellows had to be put into irons.

They were let go later on, but ever after they showed their ugliness only too plainly.

Bob and Jack were not idle while on board. Both did their full share of work and both proved themselves good sailors.

A strong friendship sprang up between Mrs. Cromwell and Viola Sumner, and the two became almost inseparable.

Bob found Captain Sumner a fine man to get along with, stern at times, but always fair and square. He had, as he said, been a great rover, and often told interesting stories of his adventures.

As days went by and they got further north it became colder. Then a storm was encountered which took them many miles out of their course.

So suddenly did it fall upon them that the sails were blown to ribbons.

Viola Sumner, who was on deck, got drenched and nearly drowned. She was saved by Bob only at peril of his life, and carried down into the cabin nearly senseless.

And now we find the Dart storm-beaten, but still water-tight, blown far out to sea.

Bob, who had just come on deck, cast his eye first aloft, like the true sailor he was becoming, and then around him.

Not more than half a mile distant towered an immense iceberg, its topmost pinnacles glowing in the bright morning sun.

Other bergs floated to the southward, while to both east and west could be seen long floes of rugged ice.

The yacht was trying to beat to the northward by making short tacks through the ice-floes, but, as Bob could see, she made but little way.

"Have we done any good since I went below?" he asked Bok, a sailor who was steering.

"No, faith, yer honor. The current sets so fast to the south that sorra a bit more north do we make in an hour than I could throw a cat by her tail. It's wearisome work, yer honor, and, be jabers! it's bitterly cold."

Bob buttoned his pilot coat closer around him and shivered.

"You are right, Bok."

"Hullo, Bob!"

Our hero looked around and perceived Jack Larmore's head above the companion.

"Come down to breakfast, before it's cold," cried Jack.

Our hero made a bolt down the ladder after his friend.

"What is your opinion, Bob, about the men?" asked Captain Sumner, as Bob took his place at the table. "I mean the rascals I had to iron up last week."

"Well, sir," replied our hero, "they seem to go about their duty all right, but after our experience, we must never trust them."

"It's that scoundrel, Nockey, that I mistrust. The others are more fools than knaves. He will never forgive that flogging I gave him."

"It served him all right," broke in Bob. "When we gave them the choice of taking a couple of dozen or going ashore, not one hesitated."

"Well, even now, we have only eight hands and ourselves."

"What do you mean to do, papa?" broke in Viola. "Surely not go further among these dreadful icebergs? I have read that ships are often crushed by them."

"I should be only too glad to be out of these regions, dear; but, with the wind and current against us, I don't know what to do."

As soon as breakfast was finished the captain went on deck. His eye rested on the floe to the westward.

"Where are your eyes, you Irish lubber?" he shouted to the steersman. "Don't you see yon ice closing in on us? You ought to have let me know of this."

"Blest if I can see much change," muttered Bok.

"But I can. The channel is narrowed by half. We shall never get clear of it before we are nipped. 'Bout ship, boys, and be smart!"

"All hands!" bellowed the mate.

In a couple of minutes the small crew were on deck, hauling in the ropes and halyards.

The topsail-yards swung round, the helm was put hard down.

The sails shivered in the wind as the yacht came about.

"Put both the main- and fore-sails on her, Leeks. We must be out of this trap as soon as possible," cried the captain.

It took some time to get full sail on the Dart.

Once done, however, she flew onward, with the wind on her quarter, at a tremendous speed.

"Sixteen knots an hour! Bravo!" cried the captain. "Can't she move,

Bob?"

"That she can, sir. But I can't help dreading this still going through the ice. There are few ships, except whalers, that have penetrated as far as we, I should think."

"Right, sir. But desperate circumstances require desperate means. None of us want to spend a winter here, and, though we happen to be fortunate as to the time of year, another month or six weeks will see this sea covered with ice."

CHAPTER III.—AMONG THE ICEBERGS.

Bang! crash!

At that instant a shock nearly threw them off their feet.

Viola caught Bob's arm, and Mrs. Cromwell and the captain almost fell together.

"We are foul of the ice!" shouted the mate, rushing forward.

"What!" roared the captain. "Where's that rascally lookout? Down with helm! The sea is full of loose ice."

For the rest of the day the Dart was dodging through hummocks of ice, which looked as if a floe had been broken up by a storm.

When Bob came on deck for his watch at midnight, it was intensely dark.

A thin scud shut out the light of the stars and moon.

He was joined by Jack, for the two lads usually kept watch together.

"I am afraid we are in a tight fix," said the latter. "I doubt if we shall ever again find our way home."

"Never say die," cried our hero. "But look! What's that yonder?"

The two chums peered into the darkness ahead.

"I think there is a blacker spot than the rest over the starboard bow," said Bob, after a while.

"There are some blue signal-lights here. I'll ignite one," suggested

Jack.

Retiring under shelter of the companionway he struck a light and ignited the blue fire.

Clambering on to the bulwarks, and holding on to the forestay with one hand, he held it above his head.

Right in front of them loomed two bergs, not a quarter of a mile apart, the sea dashing in spray along their sides.

There was not a moment for hesitation.

"Port your helm!" sang out our hero. "Keep her so!" he added, as he saw the bows of the schooner point for the narrow passage.

Jack lit another blue light, and thumped on the deck to wake those below.

In half a minute Captain Sumner and the mate were beside them.

"The bergs are closing in on us," said the captain quietly. "Go to your helm, Bok; it will be safer."

The bergs were more than a mile long, and the vessel, under easy sail, was not making more than six knots an hour.

"Here, gentlemen, take the halyards, and rouse up the topgallant sails.

I won't trust the crew on deck till the last minute."

With the assistance of the man Bob had relieved at the wheel, they soon had the topgallant sails, which had been furled, chock-a-block.

"It will be a narrow squeak," muttered the captain, as he glanced at the icebergs, whose tops seemed quite close, though the bases were yet some distance from the schooner.

"Is there any hope?" whispered a soft voice in our hero's ear.

"I trust so, Miss Viola," he answered. "See! yonder is the end of the ice mountain on the starboard bow."

"But how close they are!"

"They look closer than they are in reality," he replied.

All the time he was wondering if their end had really come.

Suppose the wind were to fail!

Fortunately for them, however, caught between the two bergs, it rather increased in force than diminished.

The icy tops seemed now ready to topple down on the deck.

The waves, running up the sides of the bergs, lifted the vessel on their swell as they rebounded.

Fifty yards on either side towered the glittering mountains.

Thirty yards, twenty yards! and the salt spray of the billows, which dashed on the icy cliffs, fell on deck.

Viola's hand was clasped in Bob's, and our hero felt some relief in facing death with her and his mother.

"Call your comrades," cried Captain Sumner to the sailor. "Give them a chance for life. Come, Mrs. Cromwell, Viola, Bob, Jack—all of you. Prepare to jump for the ice, when we strike! It's our only hope!"

CHAPTER IV.—THE ESCAPE FROM THE ICEBERGS.

To Captain Sumner it looked as if the Dart would surely be crushed.

"Be prepared to jump!" he sang out again.

But even as he spoke a strong gust filled the yacht's topsails.

She plunged forward.

The starboard berg was left behind, and the sea on that bow was open.

Bok instantly shifted the helm.

The Dart's head fell away from the danger on the port bow.

A few minutes passed.

Then, with a crash as if an earthquake had riven a mountain chain, the two bergs met.

Our hero, who, with the others, was watching with breathless interest, saw them rebound.

Huge blocks and pinnacles of ice, thousands of tons in weight, fell into the gap between them.

Before these could rise to the surface the ice mountains had again collided.

A crunching, rending sound struck the ears of our friends, as the two monsters ground their sides against one another.

The rugged summits fell into the sea, and formed smaller bergs.

The yacht was lifted on to the top of the giant waves caused by the concussion, then sank into the hollow, only to be caught up again by the still higher swell.

But the danger was over!

After escaping so narrowly being crushed the Dart found the sea free from ice, and made good way to the southward.

However, about eight bells on the following day, a gale sprang up from the northeast, which drove down the eastern floe in dangerous proximity.

The waves rose, and sheets of spray flew ever the fast-driven schooner.

It was so cold that, in spite of all the warm clothing they could find on board, all hands felt numbed.

"Land ahead!" was an appalling cry which rang out suddenly.

Captain Sumner himself hurried forward.

A rough, rocky island, the waves dashing in foam against its low cliffs, was discerned through the flying spray.

Already the edge of the eastern floe was crushing itself to pieces against the projecting reefs.

On the right, or western side, was a lane of broken water.

To venture into it was very dangerous, but seemed their only chance.

Bok and another sailor were at the wheel.

Over it went, strained down by their united strength, and the Dart dashed through the breaking water.

The western side of the island was about a mile long.

Twice, by porting the helm, the little vessel escaped clear of rocks, over which the water spurted.

As she approached the southern end of the isle, Bok, who had been sent into the foretop, shouted that again there was land ahead, and that the passage between was full of ice.

The captain ascended the shrouds himself, halfway to the top.

"It's like a cauldron," he exclaimed on descending. "No ship, except perhaps a very powerful steam whaler, could live in it.

"There is only one chance for us," he continued. "We must get under shelter of this island."

As the south coast line opened, the helm was put down, and the vessel was hove to under a high cliff and jutting cape, which protected her from the rush of the ice-laden current.

Both anchors were at once let go.

Fortunately they found good holding ground.

All the rest of that day, and till dawn the next, did the gale rage; but as the short night passed, the wind sank, and by midday it was but a breeze.

The current running between the islands soon swept the ice away.

But before trusting himself in these strange waters the captain determined to send a boat across to the greater island, on which rose a rugged hill of considerable height.

Both Mrs. Cromwell and Viola begged for a run on shore, so the larger boat was manned by Bok and three seamen, Bob and Jack each taking an oar, while the captain and the women occupied the stern-sheets.

CHAPTER V.—THE ARCTIC ISLAND.

Once on the island, it was seen that the hill rose on its southernmost point.

The ground was rocky, and covered with deep patches of snow in sheltered places.

"I don't like the look of that," observed the captain. "That is this year's snow. Once the frost sets in we are done."

Finding it hard work to traverse the direct route, they made for the western shore.

Here, though they had to clamber over hillocks and steep rocks, they got along quicker.

Suddenly Bok, who was in front, uttered a shout.

On the others hastening up they saw the cause of his astonishment.

Beached in a little bay, with her topmasts gone and the hulk lying over on the port side, was a brig.

The water only washed her rudder-case, and the captain noticed, to his dismay, a thin coating of ice fringing the shore of the inlet.

Not a sign of life was to be seen.

"We must examine her before we do anything else," exclaimed Bob.

Captain Sumner looked at his watch.

"We can spare an hour," he said, "but not more."

There was a rush down the steep rocks on to the sand.

Arriving alongside, for some time they could find no means of climbing on board, till our hero found a rope hanging from the port-bow, which, on being pulled, seemed strong and firm.

As soon as he, the captain, Bok, and one of the men were on deck, which sloped acutely, Bob called to the ladies to say that he would fetch a chair, or something to serve as one, and hoist them up.

To their surprise the companionway was not blocked with ice and the doorway was shut.

It opened easily, and our hero was the first to descend.

An extraordinary scene presented itself to his eyes directly they got accustomed to the gloom.

Seated at a table, some upright, others with their heads sunk in their folded arms, which rested on the table, were the shrunken bodies of a dozen or more men.

So life-like were they that not until he had summoned up courage to touch one did Bob believe them dead.

Some empty bottles, and a cup or two, stood on the table.

They might have dropped to sleep after a carouse.

If they had it was the sleep of death.

Remembering his promise, Bob looked around for a chair.

Not seeing one unoccupied, he was obliged to lift up one of the bodies and lay it on a locker.

Within another locker was found a length of stout rope, which seemed uninjured, and, accompanied by Bok, he repaired on deck and hastened to the side.

The chair was soon rigged, and Mrs. Cromwell and Viola were hauled on board.

To prepare them for the ghastly sight, our hero told them and Jack what they would see.

Opening a door at the bulkhead, Captain Sumner, closely followed by the two lads and the others, stepped into a narrow passage, which had berths on each side.

Passing through a second door they came into a square room, in which was built a clay and stone fireplace.

The captain stopped short.

A fire smoldered on the hearth.

"Hullo!" cried the captain. "Someone still lives!"

"Yonder lies the body of a man!" exclaimed Viola, who had crept to Bob's side and taken his arm between her hands.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "We must be glad that we have arrived in time, if indeed we have."

The captain and Bob advanced to the prostrate man's side.

He was lying on a rug of seals' skins, with another pulled over him, under which was a blanket.

"He lives!" cried the captain, placing his hand over the heart of the unconscious man.

After a minute a faint color mantled his white cheek and he heaved a long sigh.

Presently the eyelids trembled, and a moment later he opened them.

They rested on the captain, who was stooping over him.

A look of surprise came into them, but they almost immediately closed again.

A dose of hot brandy was given.

This time he recovered considerably, and looked round him inquiringly.

"You will do now, my man," cried the captain encouragingly. "Try him with the food," he added.

Mrs. Cromwell brought the roughly minced meat and soddened bread and placed a spoonful in the sufferer's mouth.

He swallowed it eagerly.

After he had taken some half-dozen spoonfuls he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep.

"He will be all right now," whispered the captain. "But someone must stay with him while we ransack the ship."

A second door led forward, and, leaving the watchers, the rest of the party passed through it.

Forward was found a number of great casks, such as are used to receive the blubber cut from the whale.

"She is a whaler, evidently," exclaimed the captain.

In the forecastle there was nothing except some hammocks and a chest or two.

"We can get warmer clothing than what we possess, anyhow," remarked the captain. "Now, what's the best thing to do?"

"We can carry the man back in a hammock," suggested one. "I doubt it," replied the captain. "What I propose is that some of us stay the night with him, and we will return in the morning, by which time he will be much stronger."

On their return to the square room, Bob and Jack volunteered to remain.

This done, Bok was delegated to bring them some supper.

On arriving Bok first fastened to the rope the package he had brought, which was drawn on board, and then the rope was lowered again.

"Be jabers! but it's cold, it is," he cried. "If I might be so bold, I would jist suggest that we should go down below. How is the dead man?"

"He isn't dead yet," replied Bob, laughing. "But he is sleeping still. I hope you have brought something good for him."

"Good, is it? There's a tin of soup, and another of salmon, besides a piece of seal, that Leeks shot while we were away.

"Then there is a bottle of wine—that's for yerselves and the sick man—and half a bottle of good rum, which I hope I may have my share in.

"Faith, there is enough to make us as merry and comfortable as if we were waking the dead man below there."

CHAPTER VI.—THE MADMAN.

Taking the things with them, they hastily descended the companionway.

It was not without a shudder that they passed the many bodies.

As they were preparing supper they noticed the sick man stirring.

"Who are you?" he suddenly muttered.

"We are Americans, like yourself," replied Bob. "Here, have something to eat?"

The man's eyes glistened.

"Give it me—quick!" he exclaimed, in a hoarse voice.

Jack, who had warmed some of the soup, brought it in a basin he had found, with a spoon and a piece of bread.

Bob took it from him and fed the invalid slowly.

"More," cried the latter, when it was finished.

"Not yet," replied our hero. "Have a doze, and you shall have as much as you want next time."

Giving him a glass of wine, they left him, and in a few minutes his regular breathing showed that he slept again.

By this time the joint of seal was roasted, and the little party of three sat down together.

"What can that noise come from?" exclaimed our hero, as he stayed his fork halfway to his mouth to listen.

"I heard it once or twice before," returned Jack, "but thought it rats."

"Faith, but I hope there's no ghosts here," cried Bok. "Heaven stand between us and harm."

"Bah! don't be foolish. It's rats, sure enough."

It was not long after this that the sick man sat up to partake of more food.

This done, he told his story.

He said he belonged to the whaler, Cross of Gold, which had been caught in a large icepack.

"This pack we attempted to cross," continued the sailor, "by dragging our boats over rollers we had brought with us.

"On the third day, however, a snow-storm set in, and continued for hours.

"Knowing as how time was valuable, after a rest, we tried to make our way through the drifting snow.

"But, after toiling for a long while, we found ourselves back where we started from.

"The captain, I and one or two others wanted to try again, but the rest outvoted us.

"We, therefore, tried to turn the pack by coasting along it, but, although we ran over a hundred miles along its edge, in a westerly direction, never a lead did we come across which offered any hopes of getting through.

"At length we came to the end, where it was joined on to another pack, which extended to the south.

"This we ran along till we saw high land before us.

"But all the shore was a rampart of old ice, so that it was next to impossible to approach.

"However, we killed quantities of seals and saw many whales floating in the open water.

"We then determined to make once more for the brig and start anew, taking an easterly route.

"But our luck was out. We lost many days in finding these islands, and when we did get back to them, hardly had we got on board than the weather broke up.

"For days the snow was driven in whirling clouds all around us.

"The decks were covered feet deep.

"It was impossible to get out in search of food, and we were almost starved.

"At length the weather cleared up, and we, with difficulty, forced our way on deck.

"The whole view was changed.

"A sharp frost had set in, and bound the snow-covered country with iron bands.

"Fresh ice had formed round the brig.

"I don't want to tell of the horrors of that winter.

"Some of us were mad, I guess."

"But what of the men frozen to death in the cabin?" asked Bob.

"Well, sir, we had built this kitchen, and the fireplace, and most of us in an evening would sit here and smoke.

"But dinner and supper was mostly taken in the cabin, where the big table was.

"It was the very bitterest of weather.

"Food at last there was none, except a lump of seal.

"It had been so awfully cold that none had dared venture out hunting.

"It was my day for being cook, and as soon as the joint was done we carried it into the cabin, which was warmed with a stove."

"Well, go on, man," exclaimed our hero, for the sailor had suddenly stopped in his narrative, as if some distant sound had caught his ear.

"Beg pardon, sir. Well, in spite of the stove, the meat was no sooner cut in slices than it was cold.

"I took mine back to the fire and rewarmed it.

"There was still a good supply of rum, and I took a swig at the bottle, and then, whether because of the cold or the rum, I don't know, but I fell sound asleep in front of the blaze.

"I woke up numbed with cold.

"The fire was nearly out, and the first thing I did was to make it up.

"Then, after heating myself a drop of grog, I fell to wondering what had become of my comrades.

"I stumbled along the passage, which felt as cold as the grave, and there, just as you see them now, sat our cap'n and his crew, frozen to death.

"The fire in the stove was out, and the companion door open.

"I took up one of the bodies, after I had recovered my nerve a bit, and dragged it along the passage into the kitchen.

"But I could not restore it to life, though I tried hard.

"So you see, sir, here have I been—Heaven in mercy! what's that?"

The sick sailor had risen to his feet.

Bob and Jack had done the same.

Bok crouched near the fire, with a horror-struck look in his eyes.

"It's the dead walking, maybe," he gasped.

A muffled thump, thump, thump! was again heard.

A minute or more passed.

Then our hero again seized a brand, and made a rush along the cabin passage.

Jack followed, and after him Bok.

A glance sufficed.

The body from the head of the table had disappeared.

"What can it mean?" exclaimed Jack. "I don't think I am a coward, but this is horrible."

"Something in that sick man's face tells me he has not spoken all the truth. We must have it out of him," said our hero.

But at that moment a mournful howl came from above.

Rushing to where their arms were stacked, Bob and Jack seized each a rifle and made their way on deck, not heeding, in their excitement, a cry not to fire from Horton, the sick man.

On lifting their eyes aloft they beheld a singular-looking object gazing at them over the edge of the foretop.

It appeared to be some huge animal, though of what kind they could not make out.

Scarcely waiting to consider what they were doing, Bob and Jack prepared to fire.

A wild shriek echoed along the deck.

"Stop that noise!" cried Bob, glancing round and seeing that Horton had managed to ascend the companion ladder.

Bob had thrown up his rifle to his shoulder, when the weak voice of the sailor arrested him in the act of firing.

"For heaven's sake, sir, don't fire! It's murder, nothing else."

As Horton spoke, the object of his solicitude, with incredible speed, slid down the forestay and disappeared through the scuttle of the forecastle.

"Please, sir, listen to me."

"All right; only be quick, and don't talk such nonsense about it's being murder."

With their guns in their hands, and taking good care to shut the door both at the top and bottom of the companionway, the two lads followed Bok and Horton through the dark death-cabin and passage to the kitchen, lit up by the cheerful firelight.

"Now, say what you have to, and be quick about it," cried our hero. "I can't rest quiet when a huge wild animal is within a few yards of us, though how it got there I can't imagine, for I thought there were no such things in the polar regions."

"That animal, as you call him, is Charlow, one of our sailors. He has gone mad."

No more was just then seen or heard of the crazy sailor, and the party retired for the balance of the night.

When the captain came from the yacht he brought Mrs. Cromwell and Viola with him, but left them in the small boat.

Bob quickly repeated Horton's tale.

"We must capture that madman and bind him with ropes," said Captain

Sumner.

To this all, including Horton, agreed.

The descent to where the madman had disappeared was quickly made, but he could not be found.

"Hark!" cried Bob suddenly.

A wild cry of alarm arose on the cold air, coming from off the water.

"It's my mother and Miss Viola crying for help!" Bob went on.

"We must get to them at once!" returned Captain Sumner.

The party were quickly on the snow, running toward the small boat, Bob and Jack leading.

When they came in sight of the craft a scene met their gaze which filled them with horror.

The madman had boarded the boat and was in the act of shoving off.

Terror-stricken, Mrs. Cromwell and Viola shrank back on the stern sheets.

"Stop! stop!" yelled Bob.

With a snarl the madman bent to his work. Soon the boat was in deep water.

In desperation Bob leaped into the water after it.

Ere he could reach the craft the madman picked up the long ice pole and aimed a vicious prod with it at our hero's breast.

Bob was struck squarely, and on the instant disappeared beneath the surface with the shrill laugh of the crazy sailor ringing in his ears.

CHAPTER VII.—A FEARFUL FALL.

"Where am I? Where are mother and Miss Viola?"

It was Bob who spoke. Jack Larmore stood over him in the snow.

"You're all right—I got you out of the water," Jack made answer.

"And the others?"

"Gone."

"Gone! In the power of that madman?"

"Yes."

Bob gave a groan and leaped up. His breast hurt him not a little.

"Where is Captain Sumner?"

"The yacht has given chase. Look!"

Jack pointed up the coast. The yacht was disappearing around a distant point.

But in a hour the vessel returned. The captain's sad face told his story. He had been unable to catch the crazy fugitive and rescue his daughter and Mrs. Cromwell.

What was to be done? Night came on rapidly, and they were compelled to wait until morning.

At early dawn Bob and Jack commenced to climb a near-by hill of ice to look for the small boat.

It was perilous work, but they did not falter.

At length they reached the level summit and glanced down.

The yacht looked beautiful as she lay to, with her topsails backed, and every movement of the figures on deck could be distinctly seen.

Crossing some rough, porous ice, they came to the pinnacle.

This was rougher than it had looked from below, and they found not much difficulty in mounting.

Soon they reached the summit, or, rather, within a few yards of it, where there was a tolerably safe and level spot.

With anxious speed, Bob extended the telescope, which he had carried slung over his shoulder.

For some time he swept the ocean in vain, but at length, far to the westward, just on the edge of the horizon, he caught sight of a white speck, which could be nothing but a sail.

"Look, Jack, and tell me what you think!" he exclaimed.

"I can see it!" cried the latter, after a lengthened search. "I agree with you—it must be a boat-sail; anyway, it's too distant to be a bird's wing. It must be many miles off."

"Let's make haste and descend!" cried our hero. "My chest, where the fellow struck me, is getting stiff up here in this rare air."

Most haste less speed.

They had reached within twenty feet of the level portion of the berg when our hero slipped.

His arm could not bear his weight, and he half fell, half slid rapidly to the bottom of the peak.

"Are you much hurt, old fellow?" exclaimed Jack, as soon as he could reach his friend's side.

"Only bruised, I think. Just help me up."

When assisted to his feet it was evident that Bob had twisted his ankle, or slightly strained it.

"Misfortunes never come alone," he said, with a laugh. "We must get on.

If I find the descent difficult, you must help me."

A stream of water from the melting of the ice on the peak ran along in a little channel it had worn, to where it came to the ravine.

Here it fell over in a cascade, and divided, one part, now joined by other trickling streams, descended the gorge into the sea, the other flowing into the mouth of an ice cavern.

The friends had crossed about half the summit of the berg when a sudden gust of wind, forming an eddy, blew up a cloud of ice dust.

These tiny particles stung like needle points when carried by the breeze against the faces of the two boys.

They had to stand still and cover their eyes with their hands.

When the dust subsided they again hurried forward.

At the edge of the ravine a fiercer gust than the first hurled up millions of icy particles.

They glittered like a cloud of diamond dust in the sun's rays.

Wishing to escape, both the lads dropped on to the lower ledge.

"It's worse here than ever," exclaimed Bob, holding his rifle in one hand and placing the other so as partly to protect his face. "Let's get into yonder cave."

They both ran toward it—that is, Jack ran, and Bob hobbled after.

The former had only just time to see that the floor of the cavern sank at a sharp angle, when he felt his feet fly from under him.

Our hero, arriving at the cave's mouth at the instant of his friend's fall, was horror-struck to see him slide on his side toward the edge of a dark abyss, over which the water trickled.

"Help, Bob!" cried Jack, in vain trying to regain his feet.

Our hero clearly saw the fearful danger of his comrade's position.

Jack's feet were already over the edge.

"I am gone! Help!" he gasped.

Then, with a stifled cry, he disappeared over verge of the abyss.

CHAPTER VIII.—A REMARKABLE STORY.

"Jack! Jack!" shouted Bob.

A sound as of falling rocks or ice blocks reached his ears, but no answering voice.

The echoes of the falling masses died away.

Bob was filled with dismay at the dreadful ending of his chum.

He had reached his gun to him, but Larmore had been unable to grasp it.

He shuddered as he thought of Jack's feelings as he felt himself shooting over the precipice.

There was nothing to do but to return.

He found, lame as he was, the path extremely difficult.

But at length he reached the yacht and told his story.

"It's dreadful," said Captain Sumner. "First my daughter and your mother, and now your friend, a young gentleman we all liked and I, for one, looked on as a comrade, for we fought side by side against that rascally crew of ours."

The captain was quite affected.

When the Dart was once more going through the water in the direction in which Bob had seen what he took for a boat sail, he came to the side of our hero, who stood leaning on the after-bulwarks, gazing at the berg, whose southern point they were now passing.

"He was a fine young fellow!" he exclaimed, "and would have made a good officer.

"But what are you looking at?"

"A seal, sir," said Bob. "Don't you see it, lying in the shade of that block of ice, on the ledge, lapped by the swell?"

"Seals don't lie in the shade—they bask in the sun. Give me the glass,

Bob."

But our hero was already drawing it out to his focus.

No sooner did he get it pointed correctly than he uttered a cry of surprise.

"That's his body!" he exclaimed. "At all events, a man's body. How on earth did it come there?"

A small boat was still towing astern.

Bob, forgetful of his sprain, lowered himself into her, and grasped the oars, while the captain followed.

"Hold hard!" shouted the mate.

Our hero impatiently, though he never for a moment expected to find his friend alive, complied.

In two minutes Leeks reappeared and let down a flask into the boat.

Our hero dashed the oars into the water, and the small boat moved faster over the heaving face of the ocean than she had ever done before.

"Don't deceive yourself. If it is your friend, he can't be alive," said the captain, as they approached the body of the ledge.

"It is Jack!" he added, a couple of minutes later. "But how on earth did he come there?"

Another score of vigorous strokes brought the little boat alongside the berg.

Hardly waiting to fasten the painter, they rushed to the body.

It was lying on its back, and as Bob bent over it he noticed a faint tinge of color on the cheek.

"He's only stunned, I believe, after all," cried our hero.

The captain unscrewed the top of the flask and poured a mouthful of wine between the teeth of the senseless lad.

In a minute it took effect.

Jack sighed and opened his eyes.

"Let's get him on board the yacht at once," exclaimed the captain.

First, however, he passed his hand along each limb, and then felt Jack's ribs.

The patient winced at the last experiment and uttered a low cry.

"Legs and arms all right," muttered the captain, as he with our hero's help carried the boy to the small boat; "so, if a rib's broken, he must consider himself well out of a bad scrape."

Bob again pulled his hardest, and when alongside the yacht his comrade with some difficulty was got on board.

It was not until late that evening that Jack was able to tell of his wonderful escape.

"I don't know much about it," he said, "but never shall I forget the awful feeling as I shot over the edge of the precipice.

"Of course I thought that I should fall down a well that penetrated right through the berg into the sea.

"However, instead of that, I did not fall a great distance before I came down feet first among a lot of pieces of loose ice, or, if not loose, they gave way with me, and together we went clattering down a second slope.

"All of a sudden I was pulled up by my rifle, which was slung round my shoulders, getting jammed across the passage.

"I tried to gain my feet, but failed; the slope was too smooth and steep.

"There was but one thing for it, and that was to go on.

"I slipped the sling over my head, and away I went again.

"Then came another fall.

"This nearly knocked me senseless.

"I just remember another slide, then daylight, then a last fall, and I lost all consciousness, only coming to myself to find you leaning over me."

"How is your side?" asked the captain. "Your escape was most wonderful.

Another foot farther, and you would have been drowned."

"It was, as you say, a narrow escape. As for my side, I must say it's rather painful."

However, on the captain pressing it, he came to the conclusion that no ribs were broken.

It was bandaged up, and Jack was able to walk about, thankful that things were not worse.

CHAPTER IX.—THE VOLCANO OF ICE.

For three long days the Dart bore away northwest, the direction in which the last had been seen of the missing boat.

"Luckily it's the right course to steer for the Siberian coast," remarked the captain, as he sat over his wine after midday dinner. "We shall sight the high land to-morrow morning, if not before"

"Surely we shall come across the boat in time, captain?" remarked Bob.

"Well, we have had wonderfully fine weather," replied the captain. "But, after all she was but a cutter, handled by a lunatic."

And he and Bob interchanged looks of despair as they ascended the companion ladder.

"Bok, go to the foremast-head," ordered the captain. "Take the glass, and have a look around."

The sailor slung the telescope over his shoulder and nimbly mounted the rigging.

When he arrived at the topgallant-yard he passed his arm round the skypole, and, adjusting the glass, swept the line of the horizon.

There was a long pause.

"Deck ahoy!"

"What is it?" bellowed the captain.

"Sure, there is a mist, or smoke right ahead, and above it I see what looks like the top of a mountain," replied the Irishman.

"Nothing else?"

"There is a low, flat berg."

"Nothing more? No sign of a boat-sail?"

"Nothing the size of a pocket handkerchief, yer honor."

"Well, we must give up the search for the present and start for the Siberian shore. But I give you my word, Bob, I shall not give up this hunt for many a week."

The wind fell light, and the Dart did not make more than three knots an hour during that afternoon.

The strange misty appearance still hung over the water.

They were gradually approaching it, and it was not more than a couple of miles ahead, when, as the sun set, the captain and the two boys went to supper, leaving Leeks in charge of the deck.

They had just finished their meal when the latter shouted down the companion for them to come up.

An extraordinary scene met their gaze when they reached the deck.

The yacht was still in moderately smooth water, but a quarter of a mile before her the sea was covered with a thick mist, while it was tossed hither and thither in tumbling waves, which met and crossed one another in wild confusion.

As they looked a thick body of smoke was belched from the midst of the turmoil.

"Port! hard aport!" shouted the captain. "Round with the yards! Flatten in the jib! Be smart, there!"

Rushing forward, followed by Bok and Jack, the captain himself seized the rope and aided the sailors to execute his orders, while Leeks attended to the jib.

Bok was at the wheel.

When on the new tack the Dart was not a cable's length from the boiling water.

"It's a subterranean eruption!" exclaimed the captain. "Look—look yonder!"

Where he pointed, from the midst of the curling waves, a great black patch of what seemed to be mud rose above the surface.

Round it were thick columns of smoke, which instantly shut it out from view.

The wind chopped round, and a fierce gust came, laden with steam and smoke, from the north.

The yacht heeled over till her copper sheeting gleamed above the water-line.

Gasping for breath, for a fearful stench accompanied the smoke, which enveloped them, all on board could do nothing but hold on to whatever was handiest.

A rushing, roaring sound filled their ears as the Dart dashed onward, throwing the boiling water in showers of spray over her bows.

The men forward were forced to stagger aft.

It looked as if the Dart was doomed!

CHAPTER X.—THE ESCAPE OF THE "DART."

For fully ten minutes no one could tell whether the yacht would right herself or not.

Captain Sumner, aided by our hero and Jack, at length found the topgallant halyards, and lowered the sail in the peak.

We say found, for the darkness was intense.

Then the gallant little vessel, as if freed from an overpowering load, came up to her bracings.

Once more she flew with increased speed through the water.

A few seconds and the star-lit sky again appeared overhead, and the rolling smoke wreaths were left behind.

"Heavens!" cried the captain; "never in all my life have I seen the like. What a death to have escaped!"

As if exhausted with its own fury, the squall subsided as suddenly as it had sprung up. The smoke gradually blew away.

And there, over the starboard quarter, some two miles distant, lay a long, low, black island.

"Look! look!" yelled Bob suddenly.

All eyes followed his outstretched hand.

There on the shore rested a familiar-looking boat, containing three figures—Mrs. Cromwell, Viola, and the madman.

Mrs. Cromwell and Viola were waving their hands. Then, assured they were seen, both fell back unconscious.

As for the mad sailor, he never stirred. He was dead.

It did not take the captain and Bob long to reach the women folks. They were taken on board the Dart, and, after Bob had kissed his mother and the captain had hugged his daughter, and both were given food, they told their story.

"When the madman struck Bob I nearly fainted," said Mrs. Cromwell. "When I came to he had hoisted the sail, and we were leaving the shore. The crazy fellow was eating some ship biscuit, which lay in a basket.

"When the madman had appeased his hunger he looked at us for some minutes without speaking.

"We were dreadfully frightened, but he never once came aft to annoy us.

"He placed some tinned meat and water near us, and then sat by the mast, singing loudly and rocking himself backward and forward.

"Viola and myself slept in turn; but the madman sat in the bow, looking out ahead, hour after hour.

"When the wind rose and the waves broke into the cutter he reefed the sail, and managed her wonderfully well.

"Still he never spoke.

"A shower fell, and Viola and myself collected the water and had a good drink.

"Another time snow fell.

"This also we collected and put into the barrel.

"Time after time a fresh can of meat was placed out for us.

"But we ate very sparingly.

"I think at this period the man's senses were returning to him, for soon after he spoke.

"He told us he did not know where we were, but trusted it was off the coast of Siberia, and that we had every chance of being picked up.

"He said that his name was Charlow, and that he had been mate of a brig that had been wrecked, but he had gone mad through misery, loneliness, and want.

"We had just sighted the coast, when first the smoke from your vessel came into view.

"Charlow was very weak, but he altered the direction the boat was going, and told us how to steer toward you.

"Presently the yacht came in sight, and we tried to get him to put us on board; but he was too weak, and just before Bob saw us he breathed his last."

Such was Mrs. Cromwell's narrative, and Viola corroborated it.

A happy day was spent on board of the Dart. "I trust we are never separated again," said Bob to his mother.

"So do I, Bob," she returned fondly. Then she gave a sigh. "I wonder when we will reach Cedar Island. I see nothing like cedar trees around here."

"The map has but one cedar on it," he returned. "It must have floated up here in the water and taken root in the ice. Even Captain Sumner can't understand that part of it."

On the following day the Dart again set sail for the coast of Siberia.

They were well into the sea of Kamtchatka, and felt that they must soon strike the spot mentioned in Ruel Gross' memorandums, if the old sailor had taken his observations correctly.

"If only we were sure father was alive!" Bob murmured more than once.

Three days passed, and Bob was one morning in the foretop when suddenly he gave a wild shout.

"Land ahoy!"

"Where away?" asked Captain Sumner quickly.

For from the deck nothing but icebergs were to be seen.

"To the northwest, sir. Will you let me have the glass?"

The glass was quickly brought and adjusted. The captain gave one glance.

"Ah! Bob, look!"

The boy did so, and then gave a shout that brought everyone on board on deck.

"Cedar Island!"

CHAPTER XI.—AMONG A STRANGE FOE.

It was true.

Far off to the northwest they could see the shore of a land that was covered with ice and snow.

The snow was of a reddish color, and the ice a deep blue.

But this was not all, nor by far the strangest part of the picture.

On the top of a hill, amid the snow, there stood a large cedar tree.

Its heavy branches swayed in the breeze mournfully; for though standing as if planted, the tree was dead.

For several minutes those on the Dart viewed the scene.

Then Bob broke the spell.

"Do you know what I think?" he said.

"I think that dead cedar was stuck up on the hill for a guide."

"Perhaps you are right," returned Captain Sumner. "One thing is certain—we have reached Cedar Island, as Gross called it. Probably the ground has a Russian name a yard long."

"Let us waste no time in getting ashore," cried Bob. "My father may be waiting for us!"

At this the captain said nothing, not wishing to hurt the boy's feelings. But the Dart continued on her course, and soon they dropped anchor in deep water but a few rods from the edge of the land.

Bob was the first to enter the small boat. He was followed by the captain and Jack and two sailors.

The shore of the land reached, they gazed around curiously.

"Looks deserted," said Bob, in a disappointed tone of voice. "But come on up to the cedar. We may be able to discover something from the top of the hill." The ascent was quickly made by Bob, but scarcely was the top gained than a shout was heard from below.

"Savages!"

Bob was right. The sight that met his eyes startled him as he had never been startled before.

Rushing forward, they perceived the yacht surrounded by a half-score of canoes.

Two others were drawn up on the beach, and half a dozen or more copper-colored savages were standing round the dingy.

"We must save our boat at any cost!" cried Captain Sumner.

As they dashed down the hill the savages turned, armed with clubs, to face them.

One was bending a bow, but a shot from Bob's gun broke his arm.

Jack also fired, and the aborigines, all save one, took to flight, jumping into one of the canoes.

This brave chief, for such he looked, wielding a heavy club with both hands, rushed at our hero.

Bob threw up his gun to parry the blow.

The weapon was struck from his hand, but the blow fell harmless.

Before the tall savage could regain his balance Bob bounded on him, clasping him round the body.

But if our hero was strong, the native was stronger.

Dropping his club, he seized his adversary's throat, and, forcing back his head, made him relinquish his hold.

Then, seizing him round the waist, he flung him at the captain, whom he upset, at the same instant springing into the sea and swimming after his companions.

The whole affair did not last a minute.

Jack, who had reloaded, fired upon the overcrowded canoe.

Two paddles fell into the water and drifted away.

No sooner did they clamber on board than they were saluted with a score of spears, which stuck in the masts and deck, one passing through the fleshy part of a sailor's arm.

"Here, man, go below and bathe it in brandy," cried the captain. "Drink some, too. The rest of you get under shelter of the bulwarks.

"I have heard that these fellows poison their spears and arrowheads," he continued to our hero.

"Will they come back, do you think?" questioned Bob.

"Perhaps—we must remain on guard."

The next few hours were very anxious ones on board of the Dart.

CHAPTER XII.—BOB'S DISCOVERY.

Night came, and the hostile natives showed no sign of returning.

A strict watch was kept until morning, but nothing out of the ordinary happened.

In the meantime Captain Sumner and Bob examined the map with great care and also read and reread the papers Ruel Gross had left behind him.

"Let us go on another tour of exploration," said the captain, on the following day. "If those natives come back Bok can fire a gun to warn us."

The boy readily agreed and they set off without delay.

Once under the dead cedar tree they looked around them curiously.

A short distance further inland they saw a hollow, which had evidently at one time been a camp.

Tin cans were strewn around, along with a number of fish and animal bones.

"I wonder if father and Ruel Gross once encamped here?" thought Bob.

Hardly had the idea occurred to him than Captain Sumner set up a shout.

He was pointing to a post set up in the ice. To the top of the post was attached a rude sign, which read:

"To the Svlachkys' Camp—One Mile."

"Hurrah! here's a discovery!" cried Bob. "Shall we go on?"

"Yes; but let us advance with extreme caution. These Svlachkys may be very bad people."

"Undoubtedly there are, or they wouldn't keep my father a prisoner," rejoined Bob.

"That signpost must be the work of Ruel Gross," went on the captain. "The savages haven't dared to touch it, thinking there was something supernatural attached to it—something to injure them."

On went the captain and Bob, down one hill of ice and up another. It was extremely cold, but neither minded that.

At last they reached a portion of the island that was very uneven. Great chasms yawned to the right and left of them. It was with difficulty that they pushed forward.

But they were bound to go on, and go they did, until at the mouth of what looked like a cave of ice the captain called a halt.

"Listen!" he whispered. "I hear voices."

Bob listened. Captain Sumner was right. From the cavern came the sounds of several human tongues.

"They are not speaking Russian," said the captain. "Perhaps we have stumbled upon more savages."

Hardly had he spoken when three human beings came into view.

They were bundled up in furs, in strong contrast to the other natives, who had scarcely any body-covering.

The new-comers were jabbering among themselves at a great rate.

Presently they came to a halt before a large slab of ice.

They tugged and pounded on this until the slab fell to one side, revealing a strange-looking opening.

"What are they up to now?" whispered Bob.

"I don't know—wait."

They waited. Presently the three men disappeared within the opening. Soon a smoke came out, and they saw that firebrands had been lit to light up the scene.

"That may be the place where the stone chest is kept," said Bob.

"More likely it is a burial place," replied Captain Sumner. "I've seen such spots before. Maybe they're preparing for a funeral."

"Can't we get a little closer to them?"

"It would not be safe. Hark!"

From a distance they heard the mournful toot of a large horn.

"That's a funeral horn, I'm sure," said the captain. "If they are coming this way we had better—Hullo! look!"

The captain pointed to an opening to their left.

A band of men were advancing.

They were guarding a prisoner—a white man, who walked in their midst.

Bob gave the white man one swift look, and then shrieked out at the top of his voice:

"It's my father!"

CHAPTER XIII.—THE BIG POLAR BEAR.

"Your father!" cried Captain Sumner.

"Yes, my father," repeated Bob, in high excitement. "What shall we do?"

He felt like rushing forward, but the captain restrained him.

"We can do nothing against such a force of men," he said. "Wait—or—"

He hesitated.

"What?"

"You or I might go back to the Dart for help. Every man on board can come heavily armed. When these people see our number they may be willing to talk reasonably to us."

"That's so, but I hate to leave," returned Bob. "They may do some harm to my father in the meantime."

"Then I will go, Bob. But mind, keep shady, unless they do something very bad."

Bob promised, and without delay Captain Sumner started on the return to the Dart.

With a wildly beating heart Bob watched the people who held his father a captive.

They were marching along silently now and did not stop until the center of the cave of ice was reached.

Here the party assembled in a circle at a point where there was a slight elevation.

Two of the men had axes, and with these they began to chop at the elevation, causing the pieces of ice to fly in all directions.

"Now what are they going to do?" thought our hero.

Presently he heard a slight noise behind him. Somewhat startled, he turned around to find himself face to face with a monstrous polar bear!

The beast had just discovered Bob. For a moment he stood still.

Then with a growl he leaped directly for the astonished youth.

Had Bob not sprung out of the way the bear would have landed on his head.

But Bob moved with the quickness of lightning, and this saved his life.

The bear, however, came down so close to the boy's side that our hero had no time left to fire at him.

He struck the bear one hasty blow with his gun stock and then ran for dear life.

Recovering, the huge beast came after him.

Although a heavyweight, the bear managed to cover the ground with incredible swiftness.

Down the side of the icy hill went Bob, with the bear less than a dozen feet in the rear.

The plain below reached, Bob scarcely knew which way to turn.

The bear uttered growl after growl, showing that he was working himself up to a perfect fury.

"I must get to the yacht, if possible," thought Bob, and headed in the direction without delay.

On and on came the polar bear.

He did not seem to gain, neither did he lose.

So far the race had been about even, but Bob felt he could not keep up that terrific strain much longer.

As he ran he fingered his gun nervously.

Should he risk a shot?

"I must do something," he said to himself desperately.

And wheeling about he took hasty aim and blazed away.

The shot was not a bad one. The bullet struck the polar bear in the side of the head, causing him to stagger back and halt.

On went Bob again, and by the time the bear recovered sufficiently to continue the pursuit he was nearly fifty yards in advance.

But the bear was undaunted, and on he came as swiftly as before.

Once Bob stumbled and almost gave himself up for lost.

But he scrambled up quickly, and was relieved to see the bear stop, not being able to make out what was about to happen.

Then on went again, until, with a cry of terror, Bob leaped back.

He had reached the edge of a swiftly flowing stream, which ran between smooth banks of ice.

To attempt to leap that body of water would be highly dangerous, and to enter it might cost him his life.

And now the polar bear was at his very heels.

CHAPTER XIV.—THE FINDING OF THE STONE CHEST.

"Help! help!"

Why he uttered the cry Bob could scarcely tell.

He did not imagine that any human beings were within sound of his voice.

Yet it is natural for a person in mortal peril to cry for assistance.

Luckily his cries were heard.

Captain Sumner was returning from the Dart, having hastily summoned

Bok, Leeks, and the others.

Glancing in the direction, he saw the polar bear and then Bob.

He did not stop to think, but, taking hasty aim, fired.

Bok also discharged his weapon, and, hit twice in the neck, the beast staggered back.

Bob now saw his friends, and, running up the stream, joined them.

With so many against him the bear tried to flee, but a second bullet from the captain's gun finished him.

"Oh, how thankful I am that you have come," cried Bob gratefully. "I thought I was a goner."

"Don't waste time here," exclaimed Captain Sumner. "These shots will alarm those people we left at the ice cave."

"That is true," said Bob. "Come on—we must rescue my father!"

And he led the way, with the captain at his side.

It was a rough journey up the side of the hill again, and more than once they had to stop to catch their breath.

At the top a surprise awaited them.

The band of strange people had disappeared!

At first Bob could scarcely believe his eyes.

"Where are they?"

"Gone!"

"But to where? I can't see them anywhere."

Captain Sumner shook his head.

A telescope was brought into play, but it did no good.

Captors and captive had alike gone, no one could tell where.

A consultation was held, and it was decided to explore the cave before going back to the Dart.

The descent into the cold spot was not easy, and more than once a member of the party was in danger of breaking a leg.

The bottom reached they made their way to the place where the men had been at work with their axes.

They had cut out a square hole two by three feet and six feet deep.

Gazing down into the bottom of the hole, Bob gave a shout:

"The stone chest, as sure as I live!"

"What!" cried the captain.

He too looked into the opening.

There rested what at first looked to the a square stone of a whitish-blue color.

But a closer examination proved that it was really a stone chest, having two immense hinges of iron. How had the object come there?

"I believe those people were going to dig it out when our firing frightened them off," said Captain Sumner.

"Let us see what the chest contains," returned Bob, in high curiosity.

The others were willing, and by the united efforts of the sailors the top of the chest was pried back.

A murmur of astonishment went up.

The chest contained three iron pots, one filled with silver and the others filled with gold!

"The treasure, sure enough!" ejaculated Jack, who had come along with the sailors.

"There are thousands of dollars there!" said Captain Sumner.

"We ought to take the stuff on board of the Dart," put in Bok. "'Taint no use to leave it out here."

The others agreed with him.

In the chest were two fur-covered sacks, and these the party used, filling them up to the top.

In the midst of the work a far-away shot was heard. Two more followed in quick succession.

"'Tis an alarm from the yacht," cried the captain. "I told my daughter and Mrs. Cromwell to fire in case anything turned up."

Without delay the sailors were sent off in advance.

Captain Sumner, Bob, and Jack started to follow with the treasure sacks, when a shout went up and a band of the hostile savages appeared at the far end of the ice cave.

"We must run for it!" yelled Bob. "Come on—for the ship!"

"Give them a volley first!" shouted the captain.

Six shots, poured into the advancing troop, threw them into confusion.

As the treasure-seekers turned to run a spear glanced over our hero's shoulder and stuck quivering in the ground a dozen yards beyond.

At the top of their speed they rushed toward the shore.

At first they fancied they were not pursued.

After going a hundred yards, however, a wild yell and the patter of feet told them they would have to do their best.

Encumbered as they were, with both the lads partly disabled and the captain no speedy runner, the savages soon gained on them.

"We must give them another volley!" panted the captain.

Though the guns chosen were breech-loaders, it took some little time to reload them whilst at a run.

Suddenly Bob felt a shock, which nearly made him fall.

However, he recovered himself with a stagger.

"The sack saved you," gasped Captain Sumner. "But for that the spear would have pierced your back. Now wheel round and fire!"

As they fronted the natives they found that not thirty yards divided them.

At that short range every bullet told.

Three men fell dead, and as many were wounded.

The captain gave them a couple of shots from his revolver before he once more turned and ran for his life.

"That accounts for about half them," exclaimed our hero.

As they gained the head of the beach Jack stopped short.

"Go on!" he gasped. "My side! I am stuck!"

Bob put his arm through that of his friend, who had dropped his gun, and dragged him onward.

The captain turned and fired the remaining chambers of his revolver among the crowd, now within a score of yards.

The small boat was in waiting, and into it they tumbled, amid a storm of spears.

Both the captain and Bok, who rowed, were stuck.

Our hero seized the oars from the hands of the latter and pulled with all his strength for the yacht.

The gunwale of the little boat was almost level with the water.

It was slow work.

Luckily, nearly all the enemies' spears were exhausted.

An arrow pierced Bob's cap, and the last spear which was thrown again wounded the captain, piercing his leg.

Fortunately the distance was so far that it only entered about an inch and fell out from its own weight.

Our hero and the captain clambered on board the schooner.

Jack was exhausted, but still clung to his bag of silver.

Scarcely had they gained the deck when a yell broke from the dark waters around them, and spears and arrows fell on all sides.

Every gun on board was now fired at the savages.

Yet they came on as if determined to kill every white person in sight.

CHAPTER XV.—BOB RESCUES HIS FATHER—CONCLUSION.

The savages were pressing close upon the Dart. Something must be done.

"Slip the cable!" shouted the captain. "Up with the jib, topgallant sails, and gaff!"

"We must trust to weathering the point," he added to the mate. "If we do, we are safe. The current will carry us to sea."

His orders were executed.

The wind fortunately blew from the southward, and, filling the light sails, carried the Dart off the shore.

The yacht's head paid off, and, answering her helm, she, with the tide in her favor, bore seaward.

A few parting shots, and the Dart, now feeling the full force of the wind, left the fleet of canoes far behind.

The next few hours were employed in the dressing of wounds and making things a little ship-shape.

It had been a hard-fought fight, and everyone was tired out.

Fortunately, neither Mrs. Cromwell nor Viola had suffered from the attack.

Long before the crew were able to do anything more darkness set in.

Bob was very impatient to trace up his father, but just now that was impossible.

Anxiously the boy waited for dawn, while his mother wept in silence, thinking of her beloved husband.

Would they save him?

At the first signs of morning Bob was up and ready for the search.

Captain Sumner and Jack were not far behind.

The Dart proceeded slowly toward land.

Satisfied that the savages had left the vicinity, the party went ashore, and once more proceeded toward the cave of ice.

A light snow had fallen, and all former tracks had been obliterated.

In vain they looked about for some trace of the Svlachkys.

"Let us go on an exploring tour," suggested the captain, seeing how badly Bob felt.

They started off first for the far end of the cavern.

They had gone scarcely a dozen rods when the captain called a halt.

"Someone is coming!" he whispered.

A crunching of snow and ice was now plainly to be heard.

The party ran for shelter behind a series of ice humps and waited.

Suddenly a man clad in furs dashed by them, running at top speed.

"Father!"

At that strange cry the man stopped as though shot.

"Who calls?" he asked, but instead of replying, Bob rushed from his hiding place.

"My son! What does this mean? How came you here?"

"We came in search of you, father," replied Bob. Father and son embraced warmly. Then Captain Cromwell turned swiftly.

"We must fly! The Svlachkys are coming! I just escaped from them."

He had just uttered the words when the crowd of strange people came down upon them.

The leader started to throw a sharp spear at Captain Cromwell, when Bob rushed in and, with one well-directed blow of his gun, laid the man on his back.

A fierce shout went up and a struggle ensued.

But the fall of their leader had demoralized the Svlachkys, and when half a dozen guns and pistols had been fired at them they fled in dismay.

After this the party from the Dart lost no time in returning to the vessel.

Bob and his father walked side by side, and never were parent and child happier.

When Mrs. Cromwell saw her husband alive and well, she cried for joy and threw herself into his arms. It was a happy time all around.

Captain Cromwell's story was a long one. In brief, it was as follows:

When the Bluebell went down, he and Ruel Gross escaped on a raft, and after several days of suffering, reached the coast of Siberia.

From there they set out for Cedar Island.

The island gained, they found the stone chest, and then Captain Cromwell was captured.

For a long while the Svlachkys held him, thinking he knew of more treasures than those already discovered.

At last, however, they grew weary of waiting, and had resolved to put him to death, when deliverance came as recorded.

That there was more treasures was proven later on.

The stone chest was taken up, and beneath was found a cross of gold that was valued at fifteen thousand dollars.

With the treasure on board, the Dart started southeastward for the

United States.

In due course of time San Francisco was reached, and here the treasure was disposed of.

Each of the sailors belonging to the party was given five hundred dollars, besides his pay.

Jack received five hundred dollars also.

The remainder of the money was divided equally between Captain Sumner and Captain Cromwell.

With his portion of the treasure Captain Cromwell purchased an interest in another ship, and to-day is fast regaining his lost financial position.

Bob is with his father and Jack Larmore sticks to the pair.

Captain Sumner has given up his roving life and has settled down with Viola as his housekeeper. His residence is but a short distance from that occupied by Mrs. Cromwell, so the latter does not want for company when her husband and son are on the ocean.

And here let us leave, satisfied that in the future all will be well with those who have figured in the story of The Stone Chest

Table of Contents

Yule Logs

A FIGHTING MERMAID

By KIRK MUNROE

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

THE VENTURE OF THE "BERTHA" WHALER

By HENRY FRITH

I

II

III

IV

"A FRENCHMAN'S GRATITUDE;"

By Lieut.-Col. PERCY GROVES

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER III

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER VII

THE BADGE OF THE FOURTH FOOT

By ROBERT LEIGHTON

I

II

III

A DANGEROUS GAME

By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

"BY DEFAULT OF THE ENGINEER"

By FRANKLIN FOX

I

II

THE KING OF SPAIN'S WILL

By JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

A NEW ENGLAND RAID

By E. F. POLLARD

SIR RICHARD'S SQUIRES

By C. W. WHISTLER

THE SLAVER'S REVENGE

By HARRY COLLINGWOOD

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

ON A MEXICAN RANCHE

By G. A. HENTY

THE END

Transcriber's Notes:

BEING LONGMANS'

XMAS ANNUAL FOR

1898 EDITED BY

G. A. HENTY.

YULE LOGS

"An Indian sprang up behind him."

Page 279.

Longmans' Christmas Annual for 1898

YULE LOGS

Edited by

G. A. Henty

With Sixty-one Illustrations

Longmans, Green, and Co.

39 Paternoster Row, London

New York and Bombay

1898

All rights reserved

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

At the Ballantyne Press

A FIGHTING MERMAID

BY KIRK MUNROE

Author of "The White Conquerors," "At War with Pontiac," "Through Swamp and Glade," "With Crockett and Bowie," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I

It was a grand success. Every one said so; and moreover, every one who witnessed the experiment predicted that the Mermaid would revolutionize naval warfare as completely as did the world-famous Monitor. Professor Rivers, who had devoted the best years of his life to perfecting his wonderful invention, struggling bravely on through innumerable disappointments and failures, undaunted by the sneers of those who scoffed, or the significant pity of his friends, was so overcome by his signal triumph that he fled from the congratulations of those who sought to do him honour, leaving to his young assistants the responsibility of restoring the marvellous craft to her berth in the great ship-house that had witnessed her construction.

These assistants were two lads, eighteen and nineteen years of age, who were not only the Professor's most promising pupils, but his firm friends and ardent admirers. The younger, Carlos West Moranza, was the only son of a Cuban sugar-planter, and an American mother who had died while he was still too young to remember her. From earliest childhood he had exhibited so great a taste for machinery that, when he was sixteen, his father had sent him to the United States to be educated as a mechanical engineer in one of the best technical schools of that country.

There his dearest chum was his class-mate, Carl Baldwin, son of the famous American shipbuilder, John Baldwin, and heir to the latter's vast fortune. The elder Baldwin had founded the school in which his own son was now being educated, and placed at its head his life-long friend, Professor Alpheus Rivers, who, upon his patron's death, had also become Carl's sole guardian.

In appearance and disposition young Baldwin was the exact opposite of Carlos Moranza, and it was this as well as the similarity of their names that had first attracted the lads to each other. While the young Cuban was a handsome fellow, slight of figure, with a clear olive complexion, impulsive and rash almost to recklessness, the other was a typical Anglo-Saxon American, big, fair, and blue-eyed, rugged in feature, and slow to act, but clinging with bulldog tenacity to any idea or plan that met with his favour. He invariably addressed his chum as "West," while the latter generally called him "Carol."

The Rivers submarine boat, finally christened Mermaid, had been evolved during long years in the great Baldwin shipyard located on the Delaware, less than a mile distant from the Baldwin technical school, and during his lifetime John Baldwin had taken a deep interest in its construction. Thus Carl had been familiar with its every detail from the time that he could remember anything, and had grown up with an abiding faith in its possibilities. That his chum was also enthusiastic concerning it constituted one of the strongest bonds of sympathy between them. Now that its complete success had been demonstrated by four hours of trial, during most of which time it had been manœuvred under water with a party of six distinguished engineers on board, Carl's elation was only little less than that of the inventor, whose very life was bound up in it. Like him, however, the lad was slow to express his deepest feelings; but the enthusiasm of the day found ample vent through the young Cuban, who had been permitted to share in the glorious result, and who poured forth his exultation in a torrent of words as the two lads left the shipyard and wended their way homeward.

"It is the crowning triumph of the century, my Carol, and will make immortal the name of our honoured instructor. To have lived until this day and to be allowed a share in such glory is a vast privilege. Of war, what a revolution will be made! Oh, if my poor country possessed but one of these marvels, how quickly would she be free! To destroy the ships of Spain and open to the world every Cuban port! What an achievement! what honour! Carol, why may it not be done? Why may we not take this Mermaid, and with her liberate Cuba from her centuries of slavery?"

"Because," answered Carl Baldwin slowly, "she is not ours to take, and even if she were, we would not be allowed to use her in any such fashion. The Government would not permit us."

"But if she were ours. If the Professor would consent to allow us to attempt the experiment. If we could escape the vigilance of the American cruisers, and manage to convey our marvel of marvels to the scene of action, would you not join in the enterprise, my Carol? Would you not aid in striking the blow for freedom?"

"It would certainly be most interesting to test the little craft in actual service," replied the young American cautiously.

"Interesting, say you? It is of vital importance. What she has done is nothing. Who knows what she may accomplish? When will there come another such chance for trying her in warfare? Where in the world is there a prize to be gained equal in value to that of a free Cuba? That my father has sacrificed all but life itself for her is my proudest boast; that I may soon fight by his side, my fondest hope. Oh, if you cold-blooded Americans could but witness the cruelty, the oppression, the despair, the horror of it all. But, if I cannot win over my dearest friend among them, how may I hope to persuade others? Ah, Dios! it is hard, it is bitter, it is pitiful, that but for want of a single helping hand all should be lost."

At this point the young Cuban's feelings so overpowered him that words failed to express them, and as Carl Baldwin's policy was to remain silent during these outbursts, the lads reached the school building in which they lodged without further conversation.

Since Carlos Moranza had left home, the affairs of his native land had come to a sorry pass. The struggle for freedom had begun. Spanish armies devastated the fair island, killing its inhabitants, laying waste their fields, and destroying their homes, while Spanish war-ships patrolled its coasts to cut off all outside aid from the insurgents.

The latter, devoid of nearly everything necessary for carrying on a war, save a desperate determination to resist to the death, occupied the interior of the island, where they found impregnable strongholds amid its rugged mountains and dense forests. The sympathies of the American people were with them, and expeditions for their relief were constantly fitting out in the southern ports of the United States. Many of these failed to reach their destination, since international law compelled the Government to prevent them from sailing, if possible. Thus, in addition to the Spanish fleet patrolling the Cuban coasts, the southern waters of the United States were guarded by an equally numerous fleet of American men-of-war and vessels of its revenue marine.

From the very outset of the war Don Cæsar Moranza, after placing his only daughter, Catina, who was two years younger than Carlos, in what he conceived to be a safe retreat, had linked his fortunes with those who fought for liberty. He had quickly risen to the command of a Cuban army, and, as General Moranza, the dashing cavalry leader, proved such a terror to the Spaniards, that to capture him became an important object of their campaigns.

With all the impetuosity of his nature Carlos longed to take part in the glorious struggle, and, in every letter that he found means of transmitting to his father, pleaded to be allowed to join him. Thus far his petitions had been denied on the ground that he would still have ample opportunity for fighting after he had become a skilled engineer. In the meantime he could do much for the cause where he was, and must remember that to perfect himself in his chosen profession would be of greater value to Cuba than the winning of a battle. This stimulant was what made young Moranza one of the most brilliant scholars in the Baldwin Polytechnic; for he felt that every problem solved was a blow struck for his country. At the time of the Mermaid's successful trial trip, in which the young Cuban had been allowed to participate as a distinguished reward of merit, he had received no word from his father or sister for many weeks, and so was filled with anxiety concerning them.

As the lads reached the school they separated, Carlos proceeding directly to his room, and the other going in search of Professor Rivers to report the safe housing of the Mermaid. The Professor was so buried in thought that for a few moments he apparently took no notice of Carl's entrance. Suddenly, lifting his head and looking squarely at the lad, he exclaimed—

"Yes, yes, my boy, all is well so far as we have gone, but what will she do in actual service? How will she behave in face of an enemy? Is she capable of single-handed and successful attack against a fleet? Until these questions are answered how may I know whether my lifework is a success or a failure? To solve them I would willingly engage a navy in single combat; but where may I find one willing to accept my challenge?"

"Why not in Cuba, sir?" suggested Carl with a sudden inspiration.

"Cuba! Cuba!" repeated the Professor slowly, as though bewildered by the idea thus presented, and then he plunged once more into abstracted thought.

After waiting a few moments longer, and seeing that his guardian was disinclined for further conversation just then, Carl Baldwin departed to tell his friend of the seed he had planted. To his dismay he found Carlos standing as though petrified, and staring with bloodshot eyes at a telegram evidently just received.

"What is it, West? What has happened?" inquired young Baldwin anxiously.

"Read that," replied the other huskily.

With this he extended the message, which was signed by the president of the Cuban Junta or War Committee, whose headquarters were in New York City.

"General Moranza captured by treachery and shot by order of Weyler. His daughter seized, imprisoned, and held for transportation to a penal colony. May God help you in this hour of your affliction!"

"For my father's death I grieve not," cried the young Cuban. "He died for the cause he loved, and may be avenged. But for my sister, my own little Catina, in prison, at the mercy of those brutes, and consigned to the living death of a convict! How may I bear it? What can I do? Tell me, my friend, for I am going mad."

"No," cried Carl Baldwin, "you shall not go mad, nor even yield to despair, for we will yet save her. The Professor shall go with us, and we will take the Mermaid. Even now he is inclined to consider some such undertaking. And when he reads this message he will be as ready to set forth as you or I. Oh yes, my dear fellow, we can rescue her and we will. Instead of going to a penal colony, she shall come to this country, and be as free as you are at this moment."

As he spoke the young American seized his friend's hand, and the latter looking into the brave blue eyes, now blazing with excitement, believed that Catina would be saved.

CHAPTER II

The submarine boat Mermaid was a cigar-shaped shell of aluminium bronze, extremely light and strong, about forty feet in length and eight in greatest diameter. On its upper side was a small railed platform or deck, from the centre of which rose a low turret provided with four bull's-eyes, from which an observer might glance out ahead, astern, or on either side. Another bull's-eye was fitted into the hinged and water-tight cap that closed the turret when the boat was submerged.

The interior of the boat was divided into three compartments. Of these, the one farthest forward was fitted with an air-lock, through which a person wearing a diver's suit might leave the vessel while she was under water and return to her at will. This hold was also pierced for a bull's-eye through which could be made to shine an electric search light of intense power.

The central compartment was the living and operating room. It also contained a dynamo, an air compressor, and a small condenser, by means of which sea-water could be made drinkable. In the after compartment was located a compact but powerful gasoline engine. This furnished the motive power for running on the surface, and also stored electricity by which the screw could be turned when surface air was no longer available. Beneath the floor of the central compartment was a tank for water ballast, which could be filled or emptied at will of the operator. In all parts of the boat were hundreds of tubes, wires, cocks, valves, and other devices of amazing ingenuity for ensuring the safety of her crew and the discomfiture of an enemy.

She was indeed, as Carlos Moranza had said, one of the crowning scientific marvels of the century. On the day succeeding that of her trial trip, the young Cuban was full of hope and courage, for Professor Rivers had been won to his cause by the enticing prospect of achieving the rescue of a young girl from a dreadful fate, and at the same time testing under most trying conditions the powers of his beloved boat. He had only stipulated that she should not be used for the destruction of either life or property.

Thus it happened that in less than a week one of the most powerful tugs on the Delaware cleared for Havana. She had in tow a great dumping scow, such as is used in New York harbour for conveying the city garbage far out to sea. This scow was built with a long central pocket, the bottom of which was longitudinally divided into two parts. Each of these was hung on massive hinges, and could be made to drop or open outward, thus allowing the contents of the pocket to fall into the sea. Then, by means of a donkey-engine, the great valves could be drawn up and closed as before.

The question of how to get the Mermaid to Havana had proved most puzzling. She was too small to undertake such a voyage by herself, and had she been shipped on the deck of another vessel, her every movement would have been watched and heralded, while the success of the proposed expedition depended upon its secrecy. Thus, at the very outset, the would-be rescuers seemed to be confronted by an insurmountable difficulty. Then Carl Baldwin had thought of the sea-going dumping scows, several of which had been built in his father's shipyard, where one recently completed even now awaited a purchaser.

"Why couldn't we take the Mermaid to Cuba in it?" he suggested, after several other plans had been dismissed as impracticable.

"The very thing," cried Carlos Moranza. "In that way we could carry her right into Havana harbour, and there offer the scow for sale to the Spaniards as a blind. It is a noble idea, my Carol, and will prove our salvation."

"It might be done," said the Professor thoughtfully. "Let us go and take some measurements."

This they did, and found that the pocket of the dumping scow was amply large to hold the Mermaid, at the same time allowing her free egress and exit. It would even float her when closed and half filled with water. Only a few alterations that readily suggested themselves to the Professor were needed to exactly suit the great craft to their purpose.

While he took charge of these, and Carlos took a trip to New York for consultation with the President of the Cuban Junta, Carl Baldwin arranged for the charter of the finest sea-going tug on the Delaware, and through her captain for the purchase of the dumping-scow.

The Professor had long since placed the practical direction of his school in the hands of able assistants, so that he was free to leave it at a moment's notice for any length of time. Thus, when he announced that he was about to devote a few weeks to the testing of his pet invention, and should need the assistance of his two ranking pupils, their departure was effected without arousing undue curiosity.

The clearing of the tug, with its novel tow, for Havana, was, however, quite another thing; and, from the moment their destination was announced, both craft were watched by Government officials and Spanish spies to see that no contraband cargo was taken aboard. Of course nothing of the kind was found; but this did not prevent a revenue cutter from escorting the tow down the river and across Delaware Bay until it was clear of the breakwater and well out at sea. Finally, the cutter turned back; but even then her commander continued to watch the tow through a glass.

"In spite of their seeming innocence, I regard that as one of the most suspicious departures ever made from the Delaware," he remarked to a lieutenant who stood beside him. "The pretence of trying to sell that scow in Havana is only the baldest kind of a bluff. Any fool knows that those blooming Spaniards aren't going to put themselves to either the expense or trouble of carrying garbage out to sea so long as they can dump it in their harbours. Hello! What's that? Look quick and tell me if you don't see something between us and them."

Through the glass thrust into his hand, the lieutenant took a long and comprehensive survey of the intervening waters.

"No, sir, I don't see anything," he reported at length.

"Neither do I now," said the other after another look. "I would have sworn, though, that I saw something like a raft moving towards that scow."

The commander had indeed caught a glimpse of the Mermaid rising to the surface to get her bearings, but she had instantly dived, nor did she again visit the surface until safely within the shadow of the great scow.

She had run down the river the night before, and had lain behind the breakwater with only a small portion of her turret above the surface, until the tow, with its accompanying cutter, had passed out to sea. Then she followed, with her eyes just awash, and dove deep beneath the revenue vessel when it turned back. Upon next coming to the surface, she had been allowed to rise a little too far, and so was very nearly discovered.

"It was a close shave," admitted Carl Baldwin, after the Mermaid was safely ensconced within the closed pocket of the great scow; "but a safe miss is as good as a thousand miles, and now we are all right till we get to Havana."

"Don't you be too sure of that," admonished the captain of the tug gruffly. "There's many a cruiser between here and there, and every one of 'em is sartin to board us."

So it proved. At Charleston, where the tug put in for coal, leaving her tow in the lower bay, the scow was boarded by revenue officers, who did not leave her until she was again at sea; and all the while the poor little Mermaid was dodging about under water, only coming up now and then for a breath and a quick glance at her surroundings, like a hunted sea-fowl.

Off the mouth of the St. John's River, the tow was hove-to by a blank shot from a Government cruiser, and again was the Mermaid forced to seek safety at the bottom of the sea. This time she avenged herself by rising directly beneath the cruiser, and demonstrating to the Professor's entire satisfaction how easily he could if he chose place and fire a torpedo that would blow her from the water.

It had been decided to touch at Key West, the most southerly extremity of Florida, as well as of the United States, and only eighty-five miles across the Gulf Stream from Havana, and finally, after many narrow escapes from discovery, our adventurers reached the port of that quaint island-city in safety.

Here they found several American men-of-war, a small fleet of torpedo-boats, four revenue cutters, and a Spanish cruiser, to all of whom the strange tow, slowly making its way up the harbour, seemed an object of especial interest. Their fame had preceded them; every one knew that they were bound for Havana, and that they had been objects of suspicion all the way down the coast. So, before they came to anchor, they were boarded by United States officers, and a guard was placed on both tug and scow, with orders to allow no communication between them and the shore, except under strict surveillance.

In the meantime, the little Mermaid had sunk quietly out of sight, nor did she again rise to the surface until safely beneath a wharf covered with freight sheds, that extended out to deep water. Here, hidden in deepest shadow, she lay unobserved until nightfall, when our lads found no difficulty in gaining the streets of the town, leaving the Professor in charge of his beloved boat.

As Carlos Moranza had visited Key West before, he led the way without hesitation amid throngs of promenaders, among whom white was the rarest colour to be seen. Coal-black negroes from Jamaica, sallow-complexioned Spaniards, swarthy Cubans, mulattoes, quadroons, octoroons, and Creoles, with faces tinted in every shade of brown or yellow, jostled each other on the side-walks, all talking, singing, or laughing, with eager gesticulations. Electric lights gleamed among the softly nestling leaves of tall cocoa-palms. Open carriages, bearing cigarette-smoking men in white linen, gaudily-clad negresses, or languid Cuban women, whose only sign of animation lay in their flashing eyes, rattled over the white pavements, while, above all, innumerable flags, displaying the blue and white stripes, the crimson field and single white star of Cuba Libre, fluttered in the faint night breeze.

The entire city, which is wholly Cuban in sympathy, as well as two-thirds so in population, was rejoicing over the news just received of an insurgent victory. The exulting throngs were most dense about the building occupied by an agent of the Cuban Junta, on a balcony of which the glad tidings were being read aloud from a paper just snatched off the press, while a guard stationed at the main entrance forbade admission, except to such persons as were of well-attested patriotism.

"Halt! You may not pass!" cried one of these, as our lads, having forced their way through the crowd, sought to enter.

For answer Carlos Moranza spoke a few words in so low a tone that only he might hear them.

"The strange tow, slowly making its way up the harbour."

Instantly the man stood aside, touched his cap respectfully, and motioned them to enter.

As they did so, a third person attempted to pass the guard in their company, but was seized on the threshold.

"Is this hombre of your party, señor?" asked the guard.

"Certainly not," replied Carlos. "I never saw him before."

So the intruder, who was evidently of Spanish blood, was ignominiously thrust back, and as he slunk away he muttered words that boded no good to Carlos Moranza, in case they should again meet.

In the meantime the young Cuban, accompanied by Carl Baldwin, made his way to the balcony where the agent of the Junta had just finished reading of Garcia's victory. As Carlos touched him on the shoulder he turned quickly and frowned at sight of a stranger. Again the lad whispered his magic formula, and in another moment the agent was embracing him with the fervour of a life-long friendship. Then he led his guests to a private room, where for half-an-hour he engaged Carlos in earnest conversation, of which young Baldwin could only understand an occasional word.

When our lads finally left the building and regained the street, the latter asked curiously, "What was it all about, old man?"

"He said," replied Carlos, "that the Spanish cruiser now in port is here for the express purpose of escorting us to Havana, and that, as soon as we are outside Key West harbour, she will place a guard on both tug and scow."

"Hm!" remarked Carl Baldwin reflectively; "we can't allow that."

"I should say not," agreed Carlos Moranza; "only I'd like to know how we are to prevent it."

"Just you leave it to me, and I'll show you the trick," rejoined the young American.

CHAPTER III

So intent were the lads upon their conversation, that they mistook another freight shed for the one beneath which the Mermaid was hidden, and walked a few paces beside it before discovering their error. When they did so, they at once began to retrace their steps, and in turning a corner of the building came plump upon a cloaked figure evidently on their trail.

"Hello! what do you mean, sir, by following us?" cried Carl Baldwin, seizing the stranger's arm as he spoke.

With a muttered oath the man wrenched himself free and darted away, but not before the gleam of a street light had revealed his features to Carlos Moranza.

"The very fellow who tried to force his way into the quarters of the Junta!" he exclaimed, "and more than likely a Spanish spy. It is a narrow escape, my Carol, for if our blunder had not forced us to turn back, he must have discovered the Mermaid. In that case we should indeed have met with trouble."

"Let us hasten, then, before he returns."

"I don't believe he will dare do that. He is too badly scared."

But the spy did return, and, crouching in deepest shadow, became convinced that those whose business he was so anxious to discover had passed beneath the wharf. As he dared not attempt to follow them through the impenetrable gloom into which they had disappeared, he sought a hiding-place, and from it watched with infinite patience for them to again come forth.

They had, in the meantime, safely regained the snug living-room of the Mermaid, and reported all that had happened, to the Professor. Then Carl Baldwin unfolded his scheme for delaying the Spanish cruiser in port until after their departure.

As a result, the submarine boat was allowed to drift down the harbour with the ebbing tide, until she came abreast the great black hull of a man-of-war. Then she imperceptibly sank beneath the surface.

"She hovered like a gigantic fish."

The watch officer of the Spanish cruiser, leaning on her after-rail and gazing musingly down into the dark waters sweeping seaward, speculated idly concerning the stream of phosphorescent light tailing out from under her counter, but thought of it only as a natural phenomenon. Had he known that it was caused by the motion of the Mermaid's propeller necessary to hold her in position against the stream while she hovered like a gigantic fish directly above the screw of his ship, how easily could he have won the promotion for which he longed. But he suspected nothing; and as Carl Baldwin, working from the diving chamber of the submarine craft, had succeeded in fastening one end of a short length of stout wire rope to the propeller blade, and shackling the other to a ring-bolt in the massive rudder, the officer turned with a sigh and walked away.

On the following morning the Spanish spy, weary and cramped with his long vigil, was amazed to see an utter stranger emerge cautiously from beneath the wharf he had been watching, and walk quickly away. For a moment the spy was undecided as to whether he should follow this person or seek to discover where he had come from. Then choosing the former course, he followed Professor Rivers at a respectful distance, until he had the vast satisfaction of seeing him meet, near the custom-house, the captain of the tug that was avowedly bound for Havana.

There was a connection then between those who hid beneath the wharf and the suspected tow anchored in the harbour. Undoubtedly a store of contraband goods was concealed under the wharf, and an effort would be made to convey them on board the tug before she sailed. What a reward was in prospect for him could he but discover it!

A little later the spy, with two companions, all armed, occupied a skiff that made its way cautiously through the dark spaces beneath the wharf he had watched so long. Suddenly between them and the outer daylight two men appeared one after the other. Both slid down one of the piles supporting the pier and dropped into the water, or at least the exulting spy thought they did so as he hastily urged his boat in that direction.

To his amazement and disgust, when he reached the spot where they had disappeared, he could discover no trace of them. Neither was there a boat or a hiding-place into which they could have gone. The man was furious at being thus baffled, and uttered many a fierce Spanish oath. Finally, convinced that further search in that direction was fruitless, he pulled out into the harbour to watch the mysterious tow that still lay at anchor. As he drew near to it he saw its captain come off from shore alone. Then the guard from one of the revenue cutters was withdrawn, anchors were lifted, and the tow began to move slowly down the channel. It was certain that no one save the captain had gone aboard, nor had any cargo been taken in except a few tons of carefully examined coal.

Never in his life had the spy been so puzzled and disappointed; but it was a slight consolation to know that Spain's vigilant cruiser would accompany the Gringos to Havana. Even now was the black-hulled warship preparing to follow the departing tow. As the massive anchor broke away from the bottom, her great screw began to churn the water, and she slowly forged ahead. Suddenly her screw ceased to act, she took a sheer in the wrong direction, there was a vast amount of confusion on her decks, and in another minute she was fast aground on a bank of the narrow channel. Every eye in Key West harbour was fixed upon her, and before any one again thought of the departing tow, it had gained the high seas, and was beyond the jurisdiction of either Spain or "Uncle Sam." A little later, with the saucy Mermaid safely hidden in the ample receptacle of the great dumping scow, the tow had vanished in the direction of Havana.

That night the spy boarded a swift passenger steamer bound for the same port, which at sunrise of the following morning passed beneath the frowning walls of Moro Castle in company with the tow he had come to watch.

The Mermaid retained her berth even after a pilot had boarded the tug, and her crew looked eagerly upon the wonderfully beautiful scene unfolding before them as they passed through a narrow entrance into the broad, landlocked harbour of Havana.

Carl Baldwin, to whom everything was excitingly novel, viewed with delight the grim Moro with its tall lighthouse tower, the white Cabanas fortress, the tinted, flat-roofed buildings of the city across the placid basin, the quaint cathedral spires, and the thousand other curious features of Spain's chief stronghold in the New World.

Carlos Moranza, filled with conflicting emotions at again approaching his native land under such strange conditions, gazed in silence, but as though hoping with the very intensity of his vision to pierce the crowding walls and discover the prison of his beloved sister.

Professor Rivers had eyes only for the warships, of which the harbour held half-a-dozen, as he speculated upon the ease with which his little Mermaid could humble their pride and render them powerless.

At this very moment the Spanish spy was regarding, and triumphantly recognising, all three of the Americans through a glass levelled at them from the deck of the steamer on which he was a passenger. Thus it happened that, as the captain of the tug was preparing to go ashore and make formal entry at the custom-house, after having successfully passed examination by both health officers and port authorities, two barges filled with soldiers dashed out from the mole and headed directly towards the new arrivals. One of these took possession of the tug, while the other, in which sat the exulting spy, ranged alongside the dumping scow.

For nearly an hour the soldiers searched every compartment and corner of the two vessels, even overhauling the coal in the tug's bunkers. When there was no longer an unexplored crevice, even the spy was forced to confess that there was no person aboard unaccounted for in the tug's papers, and that he must have laboured under a delusion as to what he had seen. He was bewildered, mortified, and angry, and was rendered furious by the ridicule heaped upon him by the officer to whom he was obliged to report his failure to discover anything that would justify a seizure of the tug.

This craft the Spaniards would have been glad to possess, but when its captain went ashore and announced his desire to dispose of the dumping scow, the authorities only laughed at him, and referred him to General Weyler, who happened at that time to be absent with an expedition to the interior. This was gratifying information, as it afforded an excuse for remaining in Havana harbour until he should return.

In the meantime the Mermaid, having sunk out of sight on the approach of danger, had found safe refuge under the stern of a Spanish man-of-war that was moored close at hand. Here she received a supply of fresh air through a flexible tube, one end of which was supported on the surface of the water by a small float. During the time that her occupants were thus compelled to remain in hiding, they amused themselves by so wedging the rudder of the warship as to render it immovable.

With the earliest twilight of that evening they returned to the tug and held a short consultation with her captain, who had used his eyes to such good purpose while on shore that he was enabled to direct them to a place from which he believed they could gain the city streets. This was most important, for though in the darkness they might have landed anywhere along the quay, they would still have been shut off from the streets by a tall and stout iron fence, the gates of which were always guarded, and at sunset locked for the night. This is in accordance with a regulation that not only forbids any vessel to enter or leave the port of Havana between sunset and sunrise, but also prohibits all communication between the city and its harbour during the night.

The place indicated by the captain was a dock in which lay a number of fishing craft, and the entrance to which was closed by iron gates. As it was not likely that these extended very far below the surface, it was possible that the Mermaid might pass beneath them. This proved to be the case; for when, after a long search and several narrow escapes from discovery, the dock was reached, the Mermaid managed to squeeze under the barrier, and when she next rose to the surface she was inside the city lines. Here she remained with her deck just awash, and in charge of the Professor, while the two lads, filled with hopeful excitement, set forth in search of information that should guide their future action.

CHAPTER IV

The part of the city in which our lads found themselves was dark and deserted, save for an occasional soldier pacing a lonely beat and a few slouching figures that seemed trying to avoid observation. At the suggestion of Carlos they kept the middle of the ill-paved streets, for in Havana no one uses the narrow side-walks at night. To do so would be to invite a knife-thrust from the first dark pasadizo. Even in the more open spaces that they sought, each lad kept a hand in the pocket containing his revolver, and they took care not to allow any person to approach them closely from behind.

At length they came to a region of plazas and lighted thoroughfares, in which they encountered ever-increasing numbers of beggars and soldiers. The former were pitiable objects, horribly emaciated by the starvation which Spain was deliberately inflicting on her rebellious subjects, while most of the soldiers were mere boys, ill-fed, poorly clad, and wasted by sickness, but well armed and insolent to all save their own officers. These latter, who swaggered by in noisy, cigarette-smoking groups, seemed the only well-fed persons in the city, as well as the only ones who still found life worth the living. They stared impudently at our lads, and more than one, recognising Carl Baldwin as an American, treated him to insulting epithets, most of which he fortunately failed to understand.

Not knowing whom they might question, or even address with safety, the young adventurers finally turned into the brilliantly-lighted café of the Pasaje, where they hoped to gain some guiding clew from chance bits of conversation. The place was so crowded that for several minutes they failed to find vacant seats at any of the little tables scattered about the floor. At length they secured two that had just been vacated, and slipped into them. Two other seats at the same table were occupied by a supercilious-looking Spanish officer and a fashionably-attired civilian. The former, with an expression of deepest hatred cast toward Carl Baldwin, slowly rose, reversed his chair with a loud scraping on the marble pavement that attracted general attention, and reseated himself with his back turned squarely toward the young American. The latter had suspected the nature of the insulting epithets applied to him in the streets, but had been unable to reply to them on account of his limited knowledge of Spanish. With enforced silence his anger had smouldered until now, when it broke into a sudden fierce heat. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, he lifted his own chair, planted it in front of the Spaniard, deliberately reoccupied it, and stared his enemy full in the face, but without uttering a word.

As Carlos Moranza realised his companion's intention, he started towards him, but was detained by the fourth man who had been seated at the table, and who whispered hurriedly—

"Fly for your life, amigo, while there is yet time. For a Moranza to be arrested in Havana means sure and speedy death."

"But I cannot leave my friend," gasped the young Cuban, bewildered at being thus promptly recognised where he believed himself to be unknown.

"He will only suffer imprisonment. They dare not kill him. His Government is too powerful."

For a moment Carlos Moranza hesitated. Then his resolution was taken.

"I cannot desert him," he cried; and, gaining the place where Carl Baldwin sat, he grasped his arm with the intention of dragging him from the café. At this, the officer, who had cowered irresolute beneath his adversary's unflinching gaze, clapped a hand to his sword and attempted to rise. In an instant the young American had thrust him back with such force that the frail chair crashed beneath him, and the uniform of Spain was rolled ignominiously in the dust.

Then, without regarding the man further, or noticing the other inmates of the café, who were thronging towards them, Carl turned to his friend, saying—

"I don't think I like this place, West. Isn't there some other in which we might be just as happy?"

"Yes, yes, come quick," replied Carlos, starting towards the street as he spoke; but it was too late, for at that moment a file of soldiers appeared in the doorway. They were led by the Spanish spy who had followed our friends from Key West, and who had been sitting in the Café Pasaje brooding over the futility of his attempts to apprehend them when the two lads unsuspectingly entered it.

"There they are! Seize them!" he now cried exultingly, and the obedient soldiers rushed forward.

With all the latent fury of his nature aroused and blazing from his blue eyes, the young Anglo-Saxon American fought single-handed the minions of Spain. Two of them fell like logs beneath crashing blows from his fists. Two more were hurled breathless to right and left. The others hesitated, and even shrunk before him as with a cry of "Come on, West!" he dashed toward the doorway. At that moment some one flung a chair before him. He tripped over it, staggered wildly, and then measured his length on the pavement with half-a-dozen Spanish soldiers on his back.

When next he was allowed to regain his feet, he was helplessly bound and being marched away to prison, together with Carlos Moranza, who was in the same unhappy plight. Even then the spirit of the young American was unsubdued; and, in defiance of his enemies, he raised a cry on gaining the street that he felt certain was as good Spanish as it was English.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" he shouted, with all the breath left in him.

"Silencio, Gringo!" growled the nearest soldier, at the same time striking his prisoner full in the mouth with the flat of his hand.

For a wonder, Carl Baldwin retained sufficient wisdom to accept the blow without a word, though, had he known the full value of his outcry, he might have been tempted to repeat it.

A crowd had already gathered in front of the café, and from it instantly arose answering shouts, in tones indicating both derision and amazement, of "El gallo! El canto del gallo!"

Carlos Moranza wondered how his friend had obtained a knowledge of the Junta's defiant password for the current month, since even to him it had only been revealed under promise of a strict secrecy that he had not broken. He had used it but once, and then the whispered "Canto del gallo" had instantly admitted him to the presence of the Junta's agent in Key West. No matter, though, how Carl had discovered it, he was justified in using it under the circumstances, for it might raise friends to their assistance, if, indeed, there were any within hearing who understood its hidden meaning. Thus thinking, the young Cuban also uplifted his voice in a ringing "Canto del gallo."

At sound of this second note of defiance, the Spanish spy, with a malediction upon the gallipollo, sprang towards the lad, but, ere he could strike a blow, some one in the crowd hurled a paving-stone that stretched him senseless on the ground. As though this were a signal, the mob, led by a tall man in the dress of a carbonero or charcoal-burner, rushed upon the slender file of soldiers, and swept it irresistibly before them.

A few moments of pandemonium—shots, yells, screams of pain, cries of exultation, a crash of flying missiles, the ominous clatter of a cavalry patrol galloping down the street, and then all was over. The mob melted away like a puff of smoke, leaving only a few innocent and inoffensive citizens to be cut down by the sabres of the troopers. The prisoners who had caused the outbreak had also disappeared, and when the Spanish spy, slowly regaining his senses, became aware of this fact, he gnashed his teeth with rage.

Our lads were in the meantime dragged at top speed through a labyrinth of narrow streets and dark alleys, until, breathless and bewildered, they finally found themselves in a dimly-lighted room, surrounded by a group of those who had effected their release. One of these severed the cords binding their arms with two blows of a dirk-like machete, and said in reassuring tones—

"Fear nothing, señors; you are with friends, sworn to aid all who suffer in the cause of Cuba. Tell us, then, who you are, whence you come, and how it happens that you possess the most secret password of the Junta."

"I," replied the young Cuban boldly, for to him alone of the two was this address intelligible, "am Carlos Moranza, son of——"

Here the lad was interrupted by a great cry from one of his auditors, and in another instant he was folded in a close embrace by the carbonero who had led the mob to the rescue.

"Carlos, my son! my own brave boy! do you not know your father?" cried the man, half-sobbing, half-laughing in the excitement of his discovery.

"Father! my father! can it be?" screamed Carlos, staring wildly at the man. "It is indeed his voice; but without hearing it I should never have known him. But, father, they told me you were shot, and I have mourned you as dead."

"I was indeed captured and condemned to be shot, but managed to escape," replied General Moranza. "And I should have joined you in the land of freedom ere this, but for Catina."

"What of her?" inquired the young Cuban eagerly. "Is she still alive and well? I heard that she was a prisoner, condemned to Africa, and am here to effect her release, if it be not too late."

"The child is indeed an inmate of the vile Jacoba, and sentenced to transportation in a ship that will sail on the morrow," replied the General. "This I learned but an hour since from Don Estevan."

"Now I know," interrupted Carlos. "It was also he who gave me warning in the café."

"'Twas to meet him, who is a true friend of the cause," continued the other, "that I lingered near the Pasaje, and so was on hand to rescue from Weyler's clutches those who appealed for aid with the password of the Junta."

"Yes," laughed Carlos, "the 'Canto del gallo' of my friend, who yet declares that he knew nothing of its secret value, did us a fine service; but of Catina, my father, what more have you to tell?"

"Nothing, my son; all efforts to rescue her have been made in vain, and on the morrow the little one will sail away for ever. I have lacked two things—a demonstration of sufficient magnitude to attract attention from the prisons, and the means of conveying her from the island undiscovered. But alas——"

"Both of them I can supply," cried Carlos eagerly. "Such a demonstration may be contrived as will cause every Spaniard in Havana to tremble in his shoes and call on the saints for protection. As for a conveyance, it is already at hand. Furthermore, the transport ship can certainly be prevented from sailing on the morrow, and shall be."

"What then, my Carlos? Have the United States espoused our cause and sent a fleet to our aid?"

"Not so, father, only two of her brave citizens, of whom this, my dearest friend, is one, have come with me; but we have brought that which may accomplish all that I claim and more. Do not question me as to its nature, for I am bound to present secrecy. Only be prepared for our demonstration which will be made to-morrow night; effect the release of the little one from La Jacoba, bring her to the dock of the fishmarket on the exact stroke of midnight, and her safety together with thy own shall be assured."

After another hour spent in joyful congratulations, explanations, and a perfecting of details for the proposed rescue, our lads took their departure, and cautiously returned to the place where Professor Rivers anxiously awaited them.

CHAPTER V

Although amid the excitements of the night Carl and Carlos had not realised the flight of time, the hours of waiting passed by their companion in anxious suspense on board the Mermaid had seemed interminable. He had not dared desert his boat for a minute, nor would it have been safe to move from the precise position in which the lads had left her. So he could only watch from the turret of his submerged craft, with every sense keenly alert for the return of his young friends. After a while he seemed to hear guarded footsteps and whispering voices close at hand, though unable to see the figures to which they belonged. The impulse to turn on a search light and thus discover the nature of his surroundings became so strong that at length he disconnected the wires in order to remove the temptation.

He had hardly done this and resumed his position in the turret, when there came a shout, a shot, and a rush of feet. Then a cry in English of—

"Show a light, Professor; a light—quick!"

"Then two dripping figures scrambled aboard."

The startled man struck a match and held it aloft, where it was instantly extinguished by a little puff of wind. But its purpose was served, for even as it expired two dark forms leaped into the black water that closed above them. At the same moment half-a-dozen shots rang out spitefully, and one of them, evidently attracted by the Professor's light, glanced from the Mermaid's iron turret. Then two dripping figures scrambled aboard, the turret hatch was closed, and, with her crew safely reunited, the marvellous craft sank beneath the surface, without leaving a trace to be discovered by the flashing lanterns that, a few minutes later, were exploring every inch of the dock in which she had lain.

The lads had made a second narrow escape, and that they had made it at all was not due to any lack of precaution on the part of the Spanish spy, who, fully convinced that they were in some way connected with the mysterious tow in the harbour, had taken every means to intercept them in case they should attempt to regain it from the water-front of the city.

Daylight was tinting the eastern sky when the Mermaid again cautiously showed her eyes above the surface in close proximity to her tow, and, in obedience to a safety signal from the captain of the tug, who had long been watching for her, quickly regained her old position within the capacious pocket of the dumping scow. In the meantime the lads had recounted their adventures and told of their joyful meeting with General Moranza, together with what Carlos had promised should be done on the following night.

To all of this the Professor gladly agreed; for would it not afford him the longed-for opportunity of testing the powers of his beloved boat to the utmost? Thus, even before regaining her berth in the scow, the Mermaid paid a submarine visit to the Spanish transport that was to have borne many a heart-broken exile away from Cuba that day, and so tampered with propeller and steering-gear that her date of sailing was certain to be indefinitely postponed. A few hours later our adventurers watched with intense interest the consternation and bewilderment manifest on board the transport, and, when it became evident that she could not be moved, began to make active preparations for the coming night.

On the part of the Professor these consisted in mixing certain chemicals that required the utmost delicacy and skill in handling. Carl Baldwin devoted himself to so arranging a number of giant dynamite crackers, that they might be ignited under water and made to explode on reaching the surface, while Carlos spent his time in carrying out a design that he had borne in mind ever since the planning of their expedition. It was the preparing for service of two Cuban flags. One was a transparency fitted with electric wires and made fast to a float that would support it on the surface of the water. This was intended only for night use, while the other, which was of silk with a slender staff of steel, was designed to attract attention by daylight.

"The explosion, close under their bows, of a giant fire-cracker."

Shortly before sunset, with everything in readiness for her great venture, the Mermaid forsook her snug berth and began to move across the harbour, with the eyes of her turret just awash and the flag of free Cuba fluttering bravely a foot above the surface of the water. It did not attract attention until it passed slowly within a hundred yards of the Spanish battle-ship Alfonso XIX., when a clamour of voices from her decks announced its discovery. A few minutes later a boat, manned by Spanish bluejackets and commanded by a dapper lieutenant, dashed forth in pursuit of the hated emblem. It was easily overtaken and the officer stretched forth a hand to seize it. As he touched its steel staff he received an electric shock that caused him to utter a scream of terror and fall like one paralysed in the bottom of his boat. With this the little flag, proudly displaying its broad stripes of white and blue and a single white star in a crimson field, danced away over the placid waters towards another great ship flying the red and yellow ensign of Spain. Again was the bait taken, and a second boat was sent in pursuit. This time not only was the man who attempted to seize the Cuban emblem numbed as though by a stroke of lightning, but the boat's crew was thrown into a state of wildest panic by the explosion, close under their bows, of a giant fire-cracker.

"Isn't it great fun?" cried Carl Baldwin, who was in charge of the diving-room, the ventilation, and the explosives.

"It is bewildering," answered the Professor, without taking his eyes from the pressure-gauge that indicated their exact distance below the surface. "At this moment we three are demonstrating the worthlessness, as fighting machines, of the world's navies. From this time on, the nations of the earth will be compelled by fear to live at peace with each other."

"I wish we could sink just one Spanish ship," said Carlos Moranza from the engine-room.

"Of course we could do it," replied Professor Rivers. "In fact, we could within one hour's time destroy every warship in this harbour, but it would be a wicked and cowardly act. No, no, my boy, we will not harm a single human being in this glorious experiment. At the same time I am perfectly willing to inspire them with a wholesome fear."

"Just scare 'em stiff," laughed Carl Baldwin.

By the time darkness had settled over the scene the entire Spanish fleet was fully aroused. News of the mysterious happenings in the harbour had even spread to all parts of the city, and General Moranza realised that his powerful friends were already at work.

"The Alfonso XIX. lay in a glow of diffused light that seemed to come from beneath her very keel."

Some two hours later, while the officers and crew of the Alfonso XIX. were still discussing with bated breath the recent supernatural appearance of the Cuban emblem, they were startled by again seeing it floating on the surface but a short distance from them. This time, instead of being a simple silken flag, it was outlined in flames of red white and blue. There was a confused shouting of orders, and then the rattling fire of a machine-gun began to tear through the water just beyond the blazing emblem. With the first sound of firing it vanished, but a minute later the Alfonso XIX. lay in a glow of diffused light that seemed to come from beneath her very keel. And so it did, for that was the point from which the Mermaid was just then operating her 4000 candle-power search-light.

As the Spaniards waited in breathless terror for what should happen next, and fully expecting to be hurled into eternity by some tremendous explosion, a dense volume of sickening smoke rose slowly from the water on both sides of the ship, until she was completely enveloped in its suffocating folds. In a vain effort to escape this terror against which they could not fight, the Spaniards slipped their moorings with the idea of steaming out to sea, but, to their dismay, the great screw, that should have driven them through the water at a speed of twenty miles an hour, refused to move, and the vast bulk of the Alfonso XIX. only drifted helplessly.

Now the fiery emblem of free Cuba was again seen moving swiftly from point to point, fired at by ship after ship, disappearing with each shot only to flash out again a moment later in some unexpected quarter. Its erratic course was marked by eddying clouds of pungent smoke, bursts of flame, and loud explosions that threw the whole harbour into an uproar of terror. The panic-stricken ships of Spain dropped their moorings and made desperate efforts to escape from the enemy that they could neither see nor fight, but which seemed to hold them at its mercy. Some of them could not move, others could not be steered, and all drifted helplessly, colliding with one another, running aground, blinding each other with flashing search-lights that incessantly swept the black waters in every direction, and filled with terrified men who implored the saints to save them.

"Threw the whole harbour into an uproar of terror."

Nor was the alarm confined to these, but it spread to the city, where in every quarter church-bells rang madly, drums sounded their quick call to arms, trumpets blared, masses of people poured through every avenue leading to the water-front, and Havana was dominated by such a reign of terror as its history had never known. While the confusion was at its height, a heavy firing from the south announced an insurgent attack, and, with the general call for troops that followed, even the military guards of the prisons were temporarily pressed into service.

At five minutes before midnight, as marked by Carlos Moranza's watch, the cause of all this turmoil slipped unnoticed into the dock of the fishmarket, and lay motionless with only her low turret rising above the surface. At exactly midnight the young Cuban closed his watch with a snap, and listened eagerly to a rapidly approaching rattle of wheels. Then a carriage dashed through the crowds lining the water-front, and staring like so many bewildered moths at the flashing search-lights of the warships. As it drew up sharply at the head of the dock, a man in the uniform of a Spanish general leaped from it, and was quickly followed by a slender youth, apparently a mere boy, also in uniform.

At this moment the whole scene was suddenly illumined by a glare of light that seemed to come from the very waters of the dock, and a great cry rose from the spectators as they fell back in affright. Only two men dared press forward—the Spanish general and his aide. These stood for a moment on the very edge of the stone coping. Then the lad seemed to slip down into the water. As he disappeared, the general, waving his plumed chapeau high above his head, uttered a loud cry of "Viva Cuba libre!" and sprang after his companion.

Half-an-hour later the little Mermaid was slipping swiftly but unseen beneath the very walls of Moro Castle and out of Havana harbour. In her tiny cabin, Catina Moranza, weak with reaction from the terrible strain of the past few days, lay sobbing in her brother's arms, and striving to tell of her blessed deliverance from the horrors of La Jacoba. At the same time General Moranza stood beside Professor Rivers and watched with wondering admiration his conning of the most powerful battle-ship the world had ever known.

Two miles out at sea they found their tug, that, with its tow, had taken advantage of the dire confusion in Havana harbour to leave it unnoticed. Here the Mermaid took the last dive of her eventful cruise, and in another minute was once more safely ensconced within the dumping scow.

Ten days later the clumsy tow, with the real object of its long voyage still unsuspected, moved slowly up the Delaware River, and came to anchor off the Baldwin shipyard.

In answer to the chaff of such acquaintances as rallied him on the folly of trying to sell a dumping scow to the Spaniards of Havana, the captain of the tug was wont to say, "Yes, it is true I failed to sell the scow, but I made five thousand dollars out of the trip all the same."

Professor Rivers is equally satisfied with the success of his venture, and so of course is Carlos Moranza. As for Carl Baldwin, he made the home voyage in a state of delightful bewilderment.

"Why didn't you tell me, West, that your sister, instead of being a mere child, as I was led to suppose, was the very loveliest and most beautiful girl in the world?" he asked of his friend after his introduction to Catina.

"Because," answered Carlos Moranza, who had heretofore only seen the young lady in question through the eyes of a brother, "I didn't know she was."

THE VENTURE OF THE "BERTHA" WHALER

A STORY OF THE ANTARCTIC

BY HENRY FRITH

Author of "The Search for the 'Talisman,'" "Jack o' Lanthorn," "The Opal Mountain," &c., &c.

I

"Pax!" cried Arthur Rushton, as he and his brother Reginald struggled amicably on the sofa in the vessel's berth.

"All right!" assented the elder, a fine lad of sixteen. "How are you feeling this morning, Arthur? Better?"

"Rather! I feel like Samson already," replied the somewhat delicate-looking boy. "I am ready for several Philistines this morning, and mean to ask the steward-fellow for a couple of asses' jaw-bones for dumb-bell practice!"

"Better keep them shut, and not exercise them so much," said Reginald politely. "No, no!" he cried, as Arthur made an attempt to assault him. "It's pax now; and, besides, I want to finish dressing."

The threatened contest was thus averted, and, after some light chaff had been exchanged, the lads resumed their conversation.

"I wonder how things are at home," mused Arthur. "The dear mother was very unwilling to let us go, though the step-pater did not seem to care! Poor, dear mother! I think she spoke to the captain about us, Reggie."

"I am sure she induced Mr. Halbrake to come with us instead of the other man from the firm. Halbrake, being a doctor (surgeon, I mean), is in the right place, particularly as the captain is a bit 'touchy' and obstinate. The mate is simply a beast."

"Yes; he and the master had a nice row over that paper which was found in the chart-room, or in the cabin above. The old skipper declared it was a warning. Didn't he get riled, too? and he nearly blew himself up as well as the mate."

"Next time he'll have a fit. It strikes me the mate aggravates him purposely. The captain can't stand any kind of interference. Well, I'm going on deck. Hurry up now," said Reginald.

This conversation took place in the lads' berth on board the Bertha, a sturdy barque in which they were voyaging. She was fitted as a "whaler," and belonged to the firm of Boscombe & Halbrake—chiefly Boscombe. The senior partner was the step-father of the Rushtons, for their mother, a rich widow, had married Mr. Boscombe, a gentleman whom the lads most cordially disliked. Shortly after the marriage he, at first gently, and later very firmly, had suggested a voyage for Arthur, who seemed delicate. Then he decided upon sending the Bertha to seal in the Antarctic, and to search for a missing vessel, the Gladiator. When this was arranged, Reginald volunteered to accompany his brother. Mr. Boscombe made no objection. Mr. Halbrake, a young surgeon, usually called "Doctor," also embarked under the old and experienced master, Blake, an eccentric, touchy man, obstinate to a degree, and always easily "drawn" when his attainments were questioned. He and his mate, Esau Cordell, were always at loggerheads. It seemed, as Reginald Rushton had said, that Esau had aggravated the old man on purpose.

Several days had already passed since the Bertha quitted Plymouth. She had plunged and rolled in Biscay's Bay, and flung waves over her head aft to the waist. The lads and the Doctor lay close, sometimes venturing on deck, but more frequently keeping below till the weather moderated. The auxiliary screw was now hushed, and the barque plunged on under sail with a fine breeze on the quarter. On the day on which our tale opens, Reginald again went on deck, and the master asked him and Arthur to breakfast with him in his own cabin.

"Glad to see you up again," said the captain. "Began to think you intended to stay below until we reached the tropics. Got your sea-legs, eh? and a good appetite, I hope?"

The boys replied cheerfully in the affirmative, and the meal proceeded until, about ten minutes later, Mr. Cordell intruded his red head into the cabin and said—

"Excuse me, sir, but the weather is looking ugly. I think you had better shorten sail."

"I shall shorten sail when I please," replied the master. "You may take a reef in your jaw-tackle, Mr. Cordell, meantime."

"Best get up steam," continued the mate, without taking any notice of the suggestion.

"Get out, sir," roared the captain. "I am master of this ship! Say, what do you know of the paper about traitors aboard? Mind your own business, sir. I'll mind mine."

"There are obstinate old fools aboard, I suspect," muttered the mate. "The ship will be struck by a squall presently. You had better shorten sail, as I tell you."

"I shall not. Go forward, or I'll put you in irons. What impudence!" puffed the captain as the mate disappeared. "He thinks he commands the ship. Hum!" he muttered after a pause, during which he had consulted the barometer, "it's falling fast, but he doesn't know the ropes," continued the obstinate skipper. "Now, lads, fire away; there's no trouble; eat hearty."

"We have finished, thank you, captain. The sky is getting very dark, sir."

"Eh! eh! a bit dusky. Seems the sea is rising; wind's changing too; must go and look at it," said the old fellow, as he sauntered out of the cabin. But hardly had he emerged on deck when the mate's voice rung out loudly—

"All hands take in sail; look alive there!"

The master swore, and rushed out to confront his deputy.

"Let her go as she is, Jackson," he cried to the steersman. "Go below forward," he shouted to the mate furiously. "I shall have you in limbo. Stevens" (he hailed the second mate), "stand by the watch and reduce sail. Heavens! here's the squall ahead! Let the sheets fly—smart. Up with the helm—hard up! Haul up the mainsail, down flying jib there!"

The men, fortunately, were prepared, and the mate, ignoring the threat of arrest, assisted, gave orders, and generally behaved well. The barque, taken aback, plunged, shook herself, and then fell off, careening to the blast, almost dipping her yard-arms into the sea. The captain raved; the mate shouted; the men laboured; and when the barque was brought before the gale under a furled topsail and furled foresail, the angry captain called the mate, and standing in the waist, addressed him as follows:—

"You are a mutineer, sir; you shall leave this ship. I will put into port as soon as possible and try you. Go below, sir!"

"You'll do nothing of the kind," retorted the mate; "perhaps I can break you. You had better knock under."

"Mutiny, by heavens! Mr. Stevens, send the watch aft to seize this fellow."

The captain seized the mate as he spoke. The latter resisted. A struggle ensued, in the quick course of which the older man was pinned against the bulwarks, while the vessel rolled deeply. A tremendous wave washed into the waist furiously, and then, no one knew how, the captain, overbalanced, dropped overboard, and disappeared in the raging sea. The mate had hardly saved himself, as the wave, which had nearly swamped the Bertha, rushed in cascades along the decks, and finally escaped impetuously by the scuppers.

"The captain, overbalanced, dropped overboard, and disappeared in the raging sea."

"Man overboard!" was the cry, as the mate fell back on the deck. "Down helm; make ready the quarter boat!"

In a moment all was confusion. The hands were almost paralysed by the occurrence. Mr. Halbrake, who had been below with the two youthful passengers, came hurriedly upon deck, and for a moment the Bertha was left to herself. She plunged and rolled deeply; the waves dashed wildly over her, as the high cross seas invaded the decks fore and aft. For half a minute she appeared settling down, but her stability asserted itself, and she rolled back again, when the men steadied her by the helm on her course.

All thought of saving the unfortunate master was by this time abandoned; he must have sunk immediately. The men went about their avocations in silence. The doctor assisted the mate, who had fallen and cut his head rather badly, and interrogated him closely.

But Mr. Halbrake found himself powerless in the matter of discipline. Though so closely connected with one of the owners, he found he had no authority. The mate had had his orders from Mr. Boscombe apparently, and the three passengers were impotent in the matter. They subsequently discussed the case, for the surgeon had had his suspicions ever since the mysterious paper had been found in the captain's room, but the author of it, and the accomplice who placed it there, were unknown. The mate himself had been as furious as the captain on the subject, possibly for different reasons, but the ill-feeling then engendered had caused the tragedy which all hands regretted.

The mate took command of the barque with the tacit approval of all, though evidently against the wishes of some on board. The squall abated almost as suddenly as it had arisen. Steam was raised, and the Bertha then resumed her course in a calmer sea. The lads took the opportunity to examine the ship, and inspected the oil-tanks, the harpoon-chests, the store-cabins, and penetrated to the forecastle. They made friends with the men, and learned many things about sealing and whaling. They were much surprised at the strength of the ship—her strong hull, thick bulwarks, and clamped bows; the arm-chest and the stores, ammunition, food, were also inspected, and sampled later.

The voyage proceeded without any marked incidents. Then another, and yet another, storm attacked them. The Bertha put into no port; she proceeded southward with ever-varying weather, and novel experiences for her passengers. So the parallels were traversed to the Trades, and the Line was approached.

II

Day after day passed. The last storm from the north-west had at length subsided. The weather was becoming very warm; the sailors donned straw hats, or other light head-gear, and thin garments. The decks were scorching. The wind fell entirely; and one day late in October, when in a sailing barque people would have been whistling for wind, the Bertha fell in with the north-east Trades, sail-shifting ceased, and the engine was at rest.

All this time there was much dissatisfaction in the minds of the three passengers. Esau Cordell's manner was not in his favour. The boys disliked him heartily, and even the young surgeon was prejudiced against the new commander. The three friends kept together, and frequently compared notes on their experiences and feelings.

"I cannot understand why your step-father sent you fellows aboard this ship," remarked the doctor. They were lying on the hot deck, beneath the shade of the quarter boat suspended in-board. "Why couldn't he have sent Arthur to the Mediterranean if he is delicate, though I don't admit that?"

"For money reasons," replied Reginald. "The 'boss' is as stingy as a tom-cat, and he gets the jaunt gratis."

"Stingy! I believe you," said Arthur. "He declares he is as poor as a church-mouse; and mice would be poor indeed if they depended upon his offertory."

"Ah, then perhaps he had some other motive," murmured the doctor. "However," he continued aloud, "you will both go home well and fit. Reggie may still go to Cambridge, and you, Arthur, may go as you please; perhaps try the Bar, as you have private means."

"We shall see," said Arthur quietly. "But I say, doctor, somehow I can't forget that letter about the 'traitors on board.' What was it all about, I wonder? The poor old captain was enraged, but he had something to go upon, I think."

"What became of the paper?" asked Reginald. "Has the mate got it?"

"Don't know. I suspect it has been picked up somewhere," replied the doctor. "There is nothing suspicious now, at any rate."

"Isn't there?" said Arthur, nodding significantly at the last speaker. "The mate came into our berth last night very quietly, and when he saw I was awake, he mumbled something and went out."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Reginald. "I thought we had fastened the door."

"Perhaps you heard some one in the passage close by," said Mr. Halbrake, "or perhaps you dreamt it all."

"No, I saw the man plainly in the dim light—it must have been early in the morning, I expect—and that beast Esau——"

"Meaning me, young sir? Go on! Don't mind my feelings," continued the mate sarcastically; "I am only a beast, you know!"

The three chums were perfectly dumfounded, the man had come upon them so silently and so cautiously. What had he heard?

"We are sorry that you happened to hear my young friend's opinion," said Mr. Halbrake after a pause. "He seems, however, to have some objection to you. Of course I do not understand it, but——"

"But I understand that the accredited surgeon of this vessel, and a partner, I believe, of the owners, is inciting my passengers to insult the commander. The late skipper found out what that meant when he attacked me, and if you and these cubs are not careful, you may all find yourselves in limbo."

"Hullo, my young spitfire! so you want a lesson, do you?"

"Cubs!" exclaimed Reginald. "What do you mean by such insolence? You are a mean cad! I think you drove the old captain overboard."

"Hullo, hullo, my young spitfire! so you want a lesson, do you? Well, then, take my advice; hold your tongue in future, else both of you will be put in irons below. I'll have no mutiny here; and you, doctor, had best just keep yourself to yourself, else you will find things raspy for you!"

With this hint, and a significant nod to the three seated in the shade of the boat, the commander walked away. His advent had struck the party dumb; his departure had a similar effect upon them.

At length, after a cautious look around, Reginald remarked—

"He must have been listening. After all, he took the matter fairly well. To be called a beast, and to be spoken of as a possible murderer, is a fair test of temper."

"So is 'cubs,'" said Arthur. "And he is a beast, anyway! I would like to find that paper; then we should know what to believe."

"I am afraid he will find means to 'pay us out,'" said the surgeon, reflectively. "Let us keep quiet. Perhaps we have been too hard on him, though I cannot understand what object he had in setting the captain against him. That he did so is evident."

"What object had our 'dear papa' in sending Arthur in this ship? Yet he did, knowing I would go also. You yourself were surprised, doctor. Could it be a planned thing, do you think?"

"Oh, impossible!" exclaimed the surgeon, rising from the desk. "We must be careful, that's all."

The lads acted on this advice. Nothing occurred to alarm them. The Bertha approached the Line, and one day, after the heart-breaking "Doldrums" had been passed under steam, the Equinoctial was reached about the end of October.

"One must draw the line somewhere, I suppose," remarked Arthur to Jackson; "here it is! Can you see it?" he asked, with a great assumption of innocence.

"Certainly," replied the man, calmly, "it's just ahead. If you ascend to the cross-trees, you may see it dipping like a gold and silver rope in the waves. Take the glass and have a squint."

"Thanks!" replied Arthur, somewhat abashed; "I'll see presently." He was uncertain what pranks might be played upon him when high jinks were the rule of the road at sea near the Line; so he waited the approach of Neptune patiently.

The sea-king came over the bows in due course, accompanied by his spouse and secretary; he was attended by a number of "policemen" and followers, who seized and questioned the intended victims. These were shaved with a hoop, compelled to swallow grease pills, and then soused in the water-sail, while queerly-dressed animals, seals, and such like assisted in the ducking.

The "doctor" did not escape, and, owing to what some people thought was no accident, the young man having been roughly shaved, soused, and jumped upon in the bath, was hunted down the companion-way. Here he came into violent collision with the commander, who was at that moment ascending. The surgeon was thrown down backwards and rendered insensible by the fall.

Mr. Halbrake was carried below, attended by his young friends and the mate. The festivity of the occasion was not greatly interrupted, but Arthur sat with Reginald in the doctor's berth, conversing in whispers, and with grave faces.

"Artie," said the latter, "we are getting into a fix! It seems to me that we are doomed somehow. The Bertha is under a ban!"

"I'm afraid there is something bad here, Reggie. Cordell is at the bottom of it. I wish he was at the bottom of the sea."

"Yes, he seems inclined to remove us one by one. Whose turn next, I wonder!"

"Do you think that he is a pirate?" exclaimed Arthur. "Surely our dear step-father would not have put us in such a situation. He couldn't!"

"Perhaps he might have had reasons," whispered a strange voice.

The boys started and looked fearfully around. Who had spoken? They were alone with the sleeping man. What could he know, or how could he talk thus in his sleep, wounded as he was? Reginald looked at the invalid, and then whispered—

"The vessel is haunted! I wish we had never come on board. Let us tell Esau."

"No, certainly not," said Arthur. "He will only make things worse. Let us try to beat him at his own game!"

"Right!" whispered the strange voice. "Lie low!"

"That is mysterious," said Reginald, as he went quickly to the door and threw it open. There was no one near; the cabins were silent and darkened.

"Rum!" he remarked as he returned to the doctor's bunk. "Did you speak, doctor?"

"No," was the unexpected reply in a faint tone. "But I heard you and the strange voice. I suspect it was Jackson. He seems a good man."

The lads looked and nodded at each other, and the doctor proceeded in a whisper—

"Listen! That mate intended to seriously cripple me to-day, I'm certain, and to put the injury down to the 'larking on the Line!' Some one had guessed your step-father's plans and warned the late captain. Now Esau thinks I am disabled. Jackson, I suspect, is on our side, and has given us a hint. See?"

"Then you think that Mr. Boscombe intended us to die!" exclaimed Reginald. "Is it possible? Oh no; he couldn't be so wicked!"

"The mate has some instructions, I believe," whispered Mr. Halbrake. "Be careful. I think we may trust Jackson, and the engineers are honest. Keep quiet now till I am well again, and wait with your eyes wide open. Later on we shall certainly see something!"

The surgeon then lay silent. During the night the lads sat up with him, watching in turn. Esau came down to make inquiry, and Jackson also looked in. The Rushtons attended to their friend under his own directions, and decided to "play possum" until they fell in with a ship or landed somewhere. In this way three weeks passed, and southern climes were reached.

By that time the doctor had perfectly recovered. He assisted in the fishing for the albatross with a hook and bait, and finally secured one of these fine birds by these means. He and all the rest on board enjoyed the novel sights of whales and porpoises, the various birds, and the unusual appearances of the southern climate. A gale drove the Bertha past the Falklands, greatly to the disgust of many on board who had anticipated a run ashore; and then, when the weather moderated, the passengers came on deck again muffled up to meet the Antarctic cold. Christmas was already looming on the horizon of the almanac, and festivity was indulged in in anticipation. The doctor stuffed birds (mollymauks and Cape pigeons); Reginald and Arthur fished, shot, and thoroughly enjoyed the voyage, while still on their guard respecting the commander. In fact, to all appearance, the ill-feeling which had arisen on board had by this time passed away.

One afternoon the thermometer fell decidedly, and a report of ice was promulgated. The air became very chilly, and bergs were anticipated. Ice for Christmas!

"What a lark!" cried Arthur. "This will be fun! May we land upon an iceberg?"

The commander, who was searching the ocean through his glass, looked steadily and with much interest at the lad. He did not reply at once, but resumed his survey.

"Can we, Mr. Cordell?" asked Arthur again.

"Perhaps," was the reply. "Would you both like it?"

"Rather! eh, Reggie! Wouldn't it be splendid to land on a real iceberg?"

"There are no sham ones here," said Mr. Cordell. "None 'made in Germany'! We shall find you one, I daresay," he concluded as he walked across to port.

"You shouldn't run risks, gentlemen," remarked Jackson, who was again at the wheel. "If ye get on, ye may never get off!"

The speaker never looked at the lads; he kept his eyes upon the ocean far ahead, and seemed as if he had been talking to himself in a low tone.

"Look," he cried suddenly, "there's a Christmas-box for you! That's a berg! See, yonder, to starboard bow."

"That!" exclaimed Reginald. "Why, it's flat, not pointed, as we have seen in pictures!"

"They is always flat in the Antarctic," replied the sailor. "They are square-looking, not peaky, down here."

By this time the hands had assembled forward to see the first berg of summer in the Antarctic. As the Bertha approached the drifting mass, it seemed to emerge from the light mist as a plateau of ice, at least a mile long and quite two hundred and fifty feet high; its breadth could not be at once estimated, but it seemed square. The summit was white and sparkling with snow, which was reflected sharply by the sunbeams, even painfully. The sides of the berg were caverned like cliffs; blue, and even green in places, against which the waves dashed with great force, leaping high up the ice, half way, at times, to the summit. The sea was roaring in the ice-caves, and presented a most magnificent appearance as it retreated, foaming and angry, only to attack the white walls anew.

It was magnificent! Splendid! Glorious! All the spectators were silent as the Bertha approached the berg.

"What are those black things, Mr. Stevens?"

III

Even Arthur Rushton was silent. His idea of a "lark" appeared entirely out of place vis-à-vis with the berg.

The Bertha was sailing with a south-east wind, but the berg appeared to be drifting towards the barque. At one time some fears were entertained that the vessel would collide with the mass, but the berg passed on with merely a cold recognition of the stranger. The mist seemed increasing, the weather colder, the sea lumpy, as the island of ice passed by in dignified silence.

A man was sent up to the "crow's-nest," a barrel which had been hoisted up to the main-topmast, to scan the horizon for seals, whalers, and any floes. The look-out was seated in the cask upon a board fixed within it, and he entered it by a trap-door (cut in the bottom of the barrel) from the rigging. When the apparatus had been tested, Arthur, of course, was anxious to ascend and see what he could.

"May we go up?" asked Reginald of the second mate.

"Aye," replied Stevens. "I'll see you safe up. Take care, youngster; the ship's rollin' a tidy bit up there!"

The lads had ascended the rigging before, and with a little assistance one managed to enter the crow's-nest. Arthur went first, as he had suggested the expedition.

"This is splendid," exclaimed the lad. "There are several bergs, and lumps of ice in the sea like little islands. What are those black things, Mr. Stevens?"

He indicated some distant objects which seemed to be floating between the barque and the ice-floe.

"Whales," replied Stevens. "Not right whales, though. Those are 'finners,' as we call them."

"Wrong whales, I suppose! Are 'finners,' then, 'sinners,'" asked Arthur in his most innocent tone.

"Not particularly, so far as I know," replied the mate, laughing, "but they are no use to whalers, and so we only catch 'right whales,' d'ye see?"

"Then, is that a spout?" asked the lad, as a thin and steam-like vapour arose from the neighbourhood of the whales.

"Yes, that's a spout," was the reply, as the misty vapour vanished. "It looks different in books, don't it?"

"It does," said Arthur. "I think I'll go down now. The rolling is rather trying. Besides, Reginald is waiting."

"And Tom is expecting you to pay your 'footing,'" said the mate Stevens. "Got to fork out, sir, please."

So Arthur "forked out" as desired, and descended with a light head and a lighter pocket to warn his brother. Reginald, however, ascended boldly, and entered the barrel, which the top-man had vacated.

Reginald looked around him, and could hardly realise the position. The cold and mist he did not mind; the solitude appeared fearful! There he was, swaying about high above the deck, feeling as if he must fall into the sea when the barque rolled, or upon one of the tiny creatures which, foreshortened below him, moved on the deck. It was a giddy perch!

He looked away over the sea, in which the ice masses, in detachments or skirmishing order, were keeping the advance line of the distant, unknown shore. Farther away the ice-clad ocean was rocking undulating in the swell, which was confined by the "pack." The white reflection troubled the lad, the desolation appeared complete; and shutting his ears to exclude the sounds of the slapping ropes, the noise of the sails, the cries of men and birds, Reginald could almost believe that all the prospect was unreal, as in a dream—that he would awake again in his bunk below and recover his senses! Then he took his fingers from his ears. Even then he fancied the whole incident was unreal, even as he turned to speak to the sailor beside him.

But the look-out man—always on the look-out for "footing"—assured him that all was true and distinct and real. When he had carefully pocketed the "tip," he permitted himself a long look across the ice, muttering something, looking and again muttering.

"Ship ahoy!" he cried suddenly, hailing the deck.

"Where away!" came the response.

"Broad on the starboard beam: lying low on the ice, under the lee of a berg. Looks dismantled."

"Can you make it out?" asked Arthur, when his brother had found him on deck some minutes later.

"No; not likely from here. We are heading for it now, and expect we shall pick her up. Did you like the 'crow's nest'?"

"Not much," replied Arthur. "I didn't like playing 'Cherub aloft.' Felt as if I had a body, and that my wings were making my head giddy!"

"I say, Artie," suggested Reginald, "when we reach the vessel yonder shall we go aboard?"

"Rather!" was the reply. "Listen! what does Esau say? Derelict?—that means stranded or abandoned, doesn't it?"

"Chucked up, I think. But the beast won't let us go, never fear! We and the doctor are his pet foes."

"We can try, any way. Come and see Mr. Halbrake."

The surgeon was in his cabin reading and smoking. He heard the report, and guessed the anxiety of the boys. They were most desirous to go.

"Wait until we hear the order to lower the boat," he said after a while. "Then wrap up well, and let us all go and ask the commander. Be ready, mind!"

The lads went out, dressed and made all necessary preparations for the trip, then they came into the doctor's berth again and waited, chatting at intervals, and proposing all kinds of future expeditions.

At last the anticipated order came. The three friends went on deck, and beheld four men with Jackson ready to embark in one of the boats.

"Let us go too, please, Mr. Cordell," cried Arthur. "We want to see the stranded ship. Please let us all go."

"Oh, you all wish to go, do you? Well, perhaps it will be all the better! Go then. Look sharp, now."

None of the three noticed the tone of Cordell's reply, nor the sneer which had accompanied the permission, nor the savage light in the eyes of the commander-mate. But Jackson intervened when Mr. Cordell had spoken to him.

"Haven't you got any grub?" he asked. "Best get a snack, as in case we're delayed you won't be hungry or thirsty. Where's the guns, sir?"

"They are there," replied the chief. "Mind that rifle; put it down there! I have no fancy to be shot like a jackdaw. There's some tins for you, and a keg. You may make grog if you like. Now, steady! Lower away!"

The boat, well supplied by the steward, and armed, pushed off, and under the influence of the four men rushed through the chopping sea. The eyes of the passengers were fixed upon the derelict, the eyes of the cockswain were fixed on both alternately, with suspicious glances at the lads. But Jackson made no remark. He was thinking of the message which Esau had given him, and it puzzled him; but he held his course. The man in the "crow's-nest" gave him the direction; the barque was kept alongside the floe, clear of the bergs, too, which, agitated by currents of their fellows' making, often swerved out of their course, and compelled the Bertha to "yaw," or to come up in the wind, to avoid a collision.

The men rowed well, and the hull of the stranded vessel became more distinct through the gathering mist. The Bertha kept a signal flying at the fore, but the bunting was already indistinct; and though Arthur and others noticed the gradual disappearance of the barque, no one remarked upon the fact. The men knew their bearings and felt no alarm.

"There she is," cried some one. "My stars!" exclaimed the cockswain, "she is a derelict for sure, and one of our whalers like. Give way, lads!"

Bumping, straining, and with many a shock, the boat was impelled in the direction of the derelict, which the occupants of the pinnace succeeded in reaching safely. She was half afloat, under the lee of the berg, upon a long mass of ice attached to the cliffs in front of her. Her stern was free, released by the breaking floe.

She was a barque, but smaller than the Bertha, and covered by snow and frost above the water-line, below with barnacles. Truly a derelict vessel; no living thing, save a few birds, was near her until the "Bertha" approached.

"It jolly well strikes me," remarked Jackson, "that this is the missing Gladiator, which I am told our old skipper expected to fall in with. Poor chaps! They have all died, I expect, unless mayhap they took boat and escaped. I suppose you gents won't want to go aboard?"

"Certainly we do," said Arthur. "That is why we came. Of course we shall go; shan't we, doctor?"

"I should like to look round her," answered the doctor. "What do you think, Jackson?"

"Well, sir, there's no harm, as far as I knows. But I think I wouldn't, somehow!"

"Why?" asked Reginald. "What's the matter?"

"There ain't nothin' the matter," replied the cockswain, looking at the men. "Still, if you're determined, and as I have orders not to stay by the wreck, suppose I report, and come back for you later? There's grub and guns, a rifle, and plenty of daylight for weeks yet, so——"

"All right!" cried Arthur; "hand us up."

The three adventurers climbed up the side of the vessel, and then the beef in tins, the keg, the guns, rifle, and ammunition followed.

"I suppose it is all right?" asked the doctor, as the men prepared to go back. "You will return?"

"Oh, we'll come back," laughed the stroke oarsman, an ugly-looking customer. "You're all right!"

"I'd rather you'd pull in with us," said Jackson, "I would indeed. I can't wait. Here take this, sir."

"Nonsense!" cried Arthur. "This is real right down Robinson Crusoe business! Don't hurry back. Ta, ta! What did he give you, doctor?"

The cockswain waved his hand in farewell. The men gave way, and the boat quickly left the derelict and gradually was hidden in the still gathering mist, for the breeze was "northing."

Mr. Halbrake made no answer to Arthur's question. He was watching the boat. Then perceiving that the man had handed him some tobacco, he put it in his pocket, having already sufficient for present use. The lads had meantime left him, and he went aft to join them, but he suddenly became conscious of the insecurity of their position—and future!

What if this was a planned trick? Had the commander taken this opportunity to rid himself of the passengers? Jackson could not say much before the men, but, as the doctor now recalled with a fast-beating heart, he had given them broad hints—suggested food; the guns had been the commander's idea. What for? Why had he given them fire-arms?

With a mind far from easy, Mr. Halbrake rejoined the lads, who were about to descend into the cabin, or "saloon" as they pleased to call it. It was at best a wretched place to sleep in, but, under the circumstances, almost repulsive to the surgeon.

Arthur was in high spirits when he descended. Reginald liked the adventure also. The long-promised "lark" had appeared, had descended on the snow-clad berg, and had taken up its abode upon the derelict for the time being! Therefore the lads were delighted, and skipped down cheerfully. But when they had penetrated into the so-called cabin they paused and listened.

"Didn't you hear a noise, doctor?" asked Reggie.

"No; what kind of noise?" said Halbrake, coming up.

"I think I heard a grunt, or something like it," said Arthur, "a yawn, or like that."

"Perhaps some men are in the bunks there," suggested Reginald.

"Oh, no! the place seems to me too bad. Let us return; the look of the place is enough for me. We need not search far; the cabin would be quite unbearable in a warmer climate."

"I think I saw something," said Reginald. "Look! what are those? Cubs! Run, Arthur; get the guns. Here come the animals. Run, doctor!"

In the dim light two curious objects appeared, and though Halbrake did not think any bears could be there, he retreated on deck before the two animals, which walked upright and had come to meet him. They seemed to be a pair of fine bear-cubs, ragged and dirty. As the animals advanced up the ladder, the adventurers all retreated astern to pick up the guns. But the creatures took no notice of them, and in their turn retreated forward into the forecastle.

"Let's shoot them," suggested Reginald.

"Wait a while," said Mr. Halbrake. "I do not think they are bears at all. Suppose you and I go forward, Reginald, and investigate the matter. Arthur can remain here on watch, and if anything alarm him, he can fire his gun. That will suit you, Arthur; you will then be 'monarch of all you survey.'"

"Very well; only look slippy, please, because I am not up to a big bear-fight. However, I do not see anything very alarming. Make haste and settle the business, because I am getting hungry."

The doctor and Reginald loaded their guns carefully, and went forward. They disappeared down the fore-hatch. Arthur walked the after-deck and went to peep down the cabin-stairs; he even inspected the main hatch, and wondered what was within amidships. The vessel was deserted, apparently, by every one except the two bears, which walked on their hind-legs, and did not speak, as they would have done, he concluded, had they been "only foreigners," not beasts.

Arthur listened for the discharge of the guns, but no sound reached him. The fog had increased, and more icebergs appeared, very close too. They were, in his opinion, closing in towards the derelict, and they might crush it. The north-west wind was rising, and in that case snow and mist were sure to envelop the ocean; and on the whole he decided that Crusoe-life, unless upon a fine and well-supplied island, with complaisant animals for companions, and plenty of shooting and books, was a mistake.

The doctor and his companion had disappeared, and at length Arthur became restless. He called out, then listened, but no reply came to him. He did not wish to fire his gun unless on an emergency, but he felt anxious, and the more so as the fog was encroaching; the bergs looked more terrible, the silence became more distressing. He would have welcomed a bear cub as a relief, but the stern cold silence of Nature and the awful solitude of the derelict preyed upon his nerves.

At length, unable to sustain the strain any longer, Arthur lifted up his voice and sent a coo-ee through the fog which must have alarmed and distressed the "King" penguins—birds which take a good deal of alarming too. But even that only aroused in echo a chilling reply from the sheltering berg in front.

"In the dim light two curious objects appeared."

His late companions made no response at all, and Arthur Rushton made up his mind to desert his post to seek them.

IV

The idea of playing "Crusoe" did not then appeal forcibly to the lad, but just when he was thinking very seriously about himself and his companions, he caught sight of them on the forecastle. They were accompanied by the two small "bears" which had attacked them previously. Arthur shouted with joy when he perceived them.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you," he exclaimed. "I thought you were dead! How did you tame those animals? What queer beasts!"

"They are not beasts; they are men—savages if you like, but no beasts," replied the surgeon.

"I don't like them at all," replied Arthur. "But what are they then?"

"Fuegians. They have come from Tierra del Fuego. There is a Norwegian in the forecastle very ill! He has been wrecked on the voyage round the Horn, and it seems he and his friends picked these fellows up. The Norwegians boarded the derelict weeks ago."

"Well, supposing they did, how did they get into the Gladiator?" asked Arthur.

"That is what we have been learning. Their ship was disabled, and drifted in this direction before a nor'-wester. It was entirely wrecked on these islands, but fortunately the crew sighted the derelict. They boarded her, starved here, and died here, all but this Northman and his two companions. A terrible fate!"

"Perhaps we had better examine the vessel farther," suggested Reginald. "There may be some other unfortunate fellows on board. Let us go."

This suggestion was acted upon, but not until the doctor's advice as regarded a meal had been taken. "We shall require some food," he said; "so let us brace ourselves up before we encounter what may prove unpleasant incidents."

So the tinned beef, biscuits, and the grog were partly disposed of, the savages also assisting in the feast. Then the exploration began. It was not altogether pleasant to begin with, and amidships and 'tween-decks the revelations were extremely nasty. The dead, frozen bodies, the aspects of the remains of the seals, the blubber, and the congealed blood, were too horrible, and combined to cause the adventurers to beat a hasty retreat. They all shuddered at the future prospect. If fate had an intention of keeping them on the derelict, the result would be fatal to them.

Fortunately they came upon a store of food in the captain's cabin, and thus were at ease for the present. Even if they were compelled to remain a few days longer, they need not be hungry. Then, not till then, came the idea of their situation and prospects. The mist had increased, and even Arthur began to tire of Crusoe experiences in the derelict.

"I wonder where we are," said Reginald, after a long, silent survey of the surroundings.

"Never mind where we are," replied Arthur snappishly; "let us get out of it, wherever it is. What do you think, Mr. Halbrake?"

"Well, suppose you and Reginald take the guns and try and shoot some penguins yonder. Meantime I will find fuel, and light a fire in the galley; so, even supposing the boat cannot reach us this evening, we shall be comfortable."

"Jolly!" was the reply, as the lads accoutred themselves for the expedition on the snow. They descended carefully, and passed over the ice to the deep snowy surface beyond it, sinking deeply at each step, and leaving a trail unmistakable.

The adventurers advanced cautiously, and perceived that the derelict had been driven upon the ice forward, while the stern still floated. However, she appeared firm; and, after staring at the great massive berg so close to them, so beautiful in its purity, so terrible in its calmness even in inaction, the lads advanced from the starboard side of the vessel, towards some seals, near which many penguins were resting themselves. Some of the latter actually leaped out of the "ice pools" upon the snowfield as the lads proceeded.

"Let's get close and blaze away," said Reginald. "Those birds will make soup, the doctor said."

"Look at those seals! they appear quite tame. That one," indicating a great, white-faced animal, "winked at me, Reggie; he really did. Now, look out!"

The lads had approached the penguins, and fired together. A brace fell, and the remainder of the birds scurried away, flapping, and pushing themselves along the snow like queer animated canoes. They made a curious "quacking" noise as they paddled away like aldermanic waiters, in black coats and white waistcoats, seen through the small end of an opera-glass. Their movements were very funny, and the lads laughed heartily at the evolutions of the penguins.

Several birds were secured, amongst them being a few "Cape pigeons," which, as Arthur remarked, had no "good hope" of returning thither. He would have been severely snubbed by his brother for this remark had not Reginald's attention been directed to the derelict, which appeared to be moving!

"Hullo!" he exclaimed; "the vessel is off the ice. Hurry up, Arthur, else we shall be left behind. Lucky we didn't go far!"

This was alarming news. The lads plunged into the snow deep in their tracks; the penguins danced and signalled with their flippers, as if in sympathy, or pleasure, at the occurrence. The lads sank deeply in the white carpet, shouting at times to the doctor. The stillness of the air enabled him to hear their cries, and by them he was made aware of the state of the case, which he had hitherto not suspected. But he had evidently gained the confidence of the two "Bears," for they plunged, waded, or swam to the assistance of the lads, and rescued them, dripping, freezing, numbed, from the grasp of the ice-king; they were all assisted on board the derelict by the surgeon.

He had lighted a fire; and when the half-frozen and wholly saturated lads and the "Bears" had been rescued, the former were put into bunks in the cabin and fed with hot broth. The savages did not mind the wetting; they dried by the fire, and were also fed. But when, late next day, the lads dressed, their clothes were ruined. They looked as if they had purchased the wardrobe of a "scarecrow" from a rag-and-bone merchant who had become insolvent.

The sun was setting in the southward as they came up. One can hardly say "setting," though, because it only dipped into the horizon a little way, and came up again on the rim of the ice-field. The silence was peculiar, the air sparkling and bracing, by no means very cold. The sea, where visible, was like a mirror; the mist had receded to the north, the south was clear. The floes were intersected by canals of sea-water, and the distant ice-fields looked like a series of snow-clad water-meadows in which the channels had been half frozen. Farther away the "canals" closed up, and apparently composed a level ice-continent to the sky-line. The effect was beautiful, charming, and altogether delightful; the colours of sky, ice, and water being immensely varied and most artistically combined on Nature's pallet.

The derelict drifted and the sick men died. The weather became uncertain, alternating mist and thin snow with gales and fierce winds, which caused the adventurers much alarm. The tossings and the crashes and bumpings of the ice caused the little barque to leak seriously, and to threaten dissolution. The end appeared near, and even the stolid "Bears" seemed upset; but release came to them all at last.

"A ship! The barque! There, lying beside that sheltering berg. Shout—fire guns—yell loud!"

"The end appeared near."

Reginald had spied the vessel lying snugly under the lee of the berg, and the three friends at once proceeded to shout and fire shots as suggested. Five days had been passed by the party in the derelict, and the adventurers were satisfied with the experience.

After some delay, and while they were speculating upon whether the mate had heard the shots, a boat was lowered from the Bertha and put out for the derelict. But the channels were so winding that it was quite an hour before the boat reached the sinking ship, and fears of ultimate rescue were expressed by the lads.

Jackson was steering the boat, which came alongside. He climbed up, and stood staring at the whole party in silence, his eyes passing from one to another in turn.

"Well, I am busted!" he exclaimed at last. "Who expected to see you and them funny devils? Good job the mate's shot. Who did it, eh?"

"Shot!" exclaimed the three friends. "What do you mean?"

"Why, this. One of your bullets came along and hit him full in the chest. It settled him, you may depend. 'Spect you ain't so sorry, eh?"

"I really do not understand you," said the surgeon. "Did you not expect to see us again? Do you mean that we were sent away to die?"

"Well, sir, not you especial. But, sir, I could tell you a secret," he added, as his ruddy face became redder than his hearers', which were already well "burnt" by the snow and wind. "Have you been smoking tobacco?"

"Yes," replied the surgeon. "But what has that to do with the question?"

"Have you smoked what I gave you? No! Then look at the paper. There it is!"

Mr. Halbrake unrolled the stained wrapper which enclosed the "twist," and discovered a written communication—"To the Captain!" He read as follows:—

"There are traitors on board, captain! Oh, be careful of my boys. I cannot tell you anything. I know nothing, but I fear the worst. Be on your guard. May God keep you! I pray for my sons and you!"

"What's this," gasped Halbrake. "The disputed letter! The warning! Look here, boys!"

"Mother's writing!" they exclaimed. "Dearest mother! She did suspect, then! Oh that mate!"

"Who are the traitors, Jackson?" asked Mr. Halbrake. "I must and shall know, if I ruin myself to find out."

"Then you'll never do that either way. They are cowed now, whoever they are. The game is up, and what I suspects I sha'n't tell. Let them be, sir."

"And who was so infamous as to desire—to suggest our ... disappearance?" asked the surgeon, savagely.

"Ah! there I can't help you. I don't know. That's a fact. Now, gentlemen, you're waited for. Come away! What about these two 'Guy Foxes' here? what's to be done about them? Best take 'em and drop them somewhere."

No reply was made to this remark. The boys were thinking of their mother, and of the terrible crime into which their step-father had plunged: the death of the mate his accomplice, and the narrow escape they had had! The captain had already been sacrificed. Alas! no reparation could be made to him! The mate had paid the penalty of his ill-doings—by accident—by chance!

Who could say it was "by chance"? When the rifle was placed in the boat, he had joked about it, and it had caused his death! Was not then the finger of Providence evident? Otherwise, he might have escaped, till, even if he had been convicted in England, the disclosure of the plot would have been disastrous to the family at home. Yes, the best had happened! There is no "chance" in life.

The surgeon and his party returned to the Bertha, leaving the derelict and her cargo to the sea to give up her dead. The mate's body was buried in the cold Antarctic Ocean, and the barque sailed for England. Jackson informed the lads of the manner in which Esau met his death. "He was in the 'crow's nest,'" said the sailor, "looking out; whether he expected to see you or not, we needn't say. May-be he didn't want to! But when you fired the rifle first time, the bullet—aimed high, mind you—hit him full, and he fell dead in the barrel aloft. Awful sudden it was! Then Stevens told us to go for you; and I 'spect we'd a' done that anyway. I was lookin' out for ye myself! There was friends aboard."

"I hope not many of you were concerned with the mate, Jackson," asked the surgeon.

"Oh, well, some was. But no one is now. Of course, if any was really in it all, they'd give in, and tack off the shoal pretty quick! Esau was the prop, d'ye see! I was keepin' a look-out for you."

"Thank you, Jackson. I am sure we are greatly indebted to you; and when we reach England again you shall all receive your deserts in full."

This decision did not appear very promising to Jackson, who touched his cap and went forward amid his mates. But nothing untoward occurred during the passage home; there was nothing to complain of all the while.

The Bertha returned after a three months' struggle against tempests and opposing winds. The Fuegians died on the voyage home, but the barque, her crew, and passengers, reached Plymouth in safety, and anchored in the Cattwater.

Mr. Halbrake immediately went ashore with the Rushtons to telegraph the arrival and to report. When he returned to the Bertha, he learned that the crew, with the exception of Stevens, the two engineers, Jackson, and twelve hands, had taken French leave and decamped! This was an eloquent testimony to the intentions of Mr. Cordell and his associates.

So soon as Mr. Halbrake had placed the barque in the hands of his uncle's agent, he hastened to Mr. Boscombe's residence in the neighbourhood of Exmouth. There a sinister rumour met him. He learned from the hotel manager in the town that the young gentlemen had unexpectedly returned from abroad; that Mr. Boscombe had suddenly left home on important business the next day, and was reported dead!

This rumour was based upon the testimony of an old fisherman, whose boat had been hired that night by a gentleman whose appearance tallied with that of Mr. Boscombe.

When Mr. Halbrake learned this, he returned to Plymouth and wrote to Reginald, who replied that his step-father had certainly left home, after a most unpleasant discussion; that he himself, his mother, and Arthur intended to sell the house and leave the neighbourhood, because no doubt of his step-father's fate remained. The boat Mr. Boscombe had hired had been found by a crew of "lobstermen," empty, on the morning after his departure, out at sea.

This was the last link in the terrible chain of crime which the insatiable love of money engendered in the merchant's soul. Let us close the sad chapter here.

Reginald, Arthur, and their loving mother came up to London, where in due time the young men appeared. Reginald went into the Church, Arthur became a barrister, and Mr. Halbrake still practises his profession. Indeed, it is from him that the writer of this tale obtained the information which has resulted in this narrative of the "Venture of the Bertha," which so nearly ended in the deaths of the young men themselves.

"A FRENCHMAN'S GRATITUDE;"

OR, THE DISASTER OF EL HAMET

BY LIEUT.-COL. PERCY GROVES, ROYAL GUERNSEY ARTILLERY (LATE 27TH INNISKILLINGS)

Author of "From Cadet to Captain," "Reefer and Rifleman," "A Soldier Born," "On Service," "With the Green Jackets," "Scotland for Ever," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I

A BIRTHDAY PRESENT—OFF TO THE WARS—AN ADVENTURE AT MESSINA

"Tom, my dear boy," said my father, Colonel Sir John Cotton, K.B., as he entered the breakfast room on the morning of the 18th September 1806, "I wish you many happy returns of to-day. There's a present which will give you genuine pleasure," he went on, handing me a formidable-looking letter; "it is your appointment to an ensigncy in my old regiment, the gallant 35th."

I had that day attained my seventeenth year, and was at home on a short exeat from Eton; but now Eton would know me no more—at least, not as a fifth-form boy—for had I not suddenly blossomed into a subaltern in his Majesty's service? It was a proud moment, and I cannot recall any event in my life that has caused me greater satisfaction.

I received the congratulations of my parents and sisters—I had no brother—with becoming modesty; but the congratulations of the ladies were turned into lamentations when Sir John informed us that I was to embark, to join headquarters in Sicily, in a fortnight's time.

"John!" exclaimed my mother, the tears welling up into her eyes, "are we really to lose the dear boy so soon?"

"What a shame!" chorused my three sisters.

"Nonsense! Tom has not entered the army to dangle about drawing-rooms and exhibit himself in a red coat to all the young ladies of his acquaintance," retorted my father. "The 35th lost a good many men at Maida—egad! I wish I had been there—and a draft is going out to fill up the gaps. Tom will sail with the draft, which is under command of our friend Charles Holroyd, who—Halloa! where has Kate gone?" For my eldest sister had hurriedly left the room.

"How thoughtless of you, John!" said my mother reproachfully.

"Yes, father," chimed in Miss Laura; "have you forgotten that Kate and Captain Holroyd are engaged?"

"And she had no idea that he was going abroad again so soon," added Annie; "he only came home early in August!"

"Tut! tut! I am always putting my foot in it," exclaimed Sir John, looking very guilty. "Poor Katie! she will lose her lover and her brother at the same time."

This unfortunate remark called forth a flood of tears from the ladies, and muttering something about being "a blundering old idiot," my father beat a hasty retreat.

Captain Charles Holroyd—the mention of whose name caused our family circle to break up "i' the most admir'd disorder"—had served in the 35th with my father, with whom he was a great favourite. Holroyd now commanded the light company of the 35th, and was home on sick leave, in consequence of a wound received at the battle of Maida. He had not long been engaged to my sister, who, until Sir John spoke, knew nothing of his approaching departure. Hinc illæ lachrymæ!

The next two weeks were busy ones—uniforms and necessaries had to be ordered, farewell visits to relatives and friends paid, &c.—and they passed all too quickly. It was a wrench to leave the dear ones at home, and both Charles Holroyd and I were in very subdued spirits when we jumped into the post-chaise which was to take us to Gravesend, there to embark on board the Lord Bacon, a battered, wall-sided old collier, whose owners found it more profitable to carry troops to the Mediterranean than coals from Newcastle.

Adverse winds kept us bobbing about in the Downs for several days. Then we met with heavy weather in the Bay of Biscay. Thus it was not until the middle of November that we disembarked at Messina, where the headquarters and flank companies of the 35th were stationed. I received a cordial welcome from my brother officers, and quickly became quite at home amongst them. They all appeared pleased to have the son of their old colonel in the regiment.

At the request of Charles Holroyd, I was posted to the light company; a great honour for a newly-fledged ensign, though one I owed rather to Holroyd's influence, and the respect felt for my father, than to my own merits.

The adjutant and drill-sergeant soon initiated me into the mysteries of drill, guards, &c., and at the end of six weeks I was reported fit for duty.

I have no intention of giving any account of my life during the time I remained at Messina, but will pass at once to an adventure which befell me a few weeks before the departure of the regiment from Sicily.

At that time there were in Messina several French officers on parole; amongst them a certain Lieutenant Eugene de Vignes. De Vignes was a gentlemanly, well-bred man of six or seven and twenty, and as he spoke a little English, and seemed to wish to be friendly, Holroyd and I struck up an acquaintance with him. He used to ride and walk with us, and often passed an evening at our quarters; when he would relate his experiences of service, under "Le Petit Caporal," in Italy and Egypt. After a while we began to see less of De Vignes, and his evening visits almost entirely ceased; though, when we did meet, he was as pleasant and companionable as ever. One night, towards the end of January 1807, I was returning to my quarters, after visiting a brother subaltern at the other side of the town. Part of my way lay along a lonely road, skirting the garden walls of a convent, in which many young Sicilian ladies of noble family were domiciled. I had nearly reached the end of this wall, when I heard a shrill scream, followed by angry shouts and other sounds of strife. I immediately ran forward to the scene of action, and, though it was very dark, could just discern four men assailing a fifth, who, with his back to the wall, was making a stout defence. Naturally I espoused the weaker cause, and in another minute three of the cowardly assailants had fled, while the fourth lay on the ground with a sword-thrust through his body.

"I immediately ran forward to the scene of action."

"A thousand thanks, m'sieur!" exclaimed the man to whom I had rendered such timely aid; "you have saved my life! That charge of yours was splendid! it——"

"De Vignes!" I cried, recognising his voice.

"Ha! it is you, then, mon ami," he said, wiping the blade of his sword. "I shall never forget this service. Are you alone?"

"Yes. Why did the ruffians attack you?"

"Hope of plunder, I suppose," replied De Vignes, shrugging his shoulders. And stooping down he proceeded to examine his fallen foe.

"Have you killed him?" I asked.

"He still breathes, and might be saved if we could get assistance."

"I am afraid there will be trouble over this business," I remarked, wishing that my friend had not been quite so handy with his sword.

"Bah! these little affairs are common enough in Sicily," De Vignes rejoined. "However, we may as well try to save his life. Will you go for help? There is a house some fifty yards down the road, and I shall want water, rags for bandages, and a little cognac or other spirit."

"Suppose the other ruffians return?" I objected.

"They will not return," he answered impatiently. "Come, mon ami! be quick, I pray you, or this unhappy wretch will bleed to death." Thus exhorted, I started off down the road; but not a sign of any sort of habitation could I discover.

I retraced my steps, and on reaching the spot where the encounter took place, found, to my astonishment, that both De Vignes and the wounded robber had disappeared—not a trace of them was to be seen! I waited about a few minutes, and then hastened to my quarters.

Charles Holroyd had not gone to bed when I returned, and to him I related my adventure.

"It is a queer business," he remarked; "seems to me that our French friend sent you on a fool's errand, with the express intention of getting rid of you."

"I believe he did," I answered. "Shall I make an official report of the affair?"

"We will see what the colonel says, Tom," was his reply.

On the following morning there was a terrible hue and cry, for the daughter of Prince T—— was missing from the convent, and one of his Highness's servants had been found dead in a ditch hard by the convent walls, with a sword-thrust through his heart.

"There can be no doubt the young woman has gone off with De Vignes," said my captain when we heard the news. "They were probably watched and surprised by the prince's servants. You say you heard a woman scream?"

"I am certain of that."

"Just so," continued Holroyd; "I see the whole thing! She got away, and her lover covered her retreat; then you came to the rescue, and his assailants having fled, De Vignes wanted to rejoin the girl without your knowledge; so he sent you off on pretence of seeking aid for the wounded man, and, as soon as he had got rid of you, bolted himself. Tom, we will hold our tongues about this affair."

That Holroyd was right in his conjectures was pretty evident, for we saw no more of Eugene de Vignes in Messina; though we were destined to meet him again elsewhere.

CHAPTER II

DEPARTURE FROM MESSINA—LANDING IN EGYPT—FIRST SUCCESSES—REVERSE AT ROSETTA—OCCUPATION OF EL HAMET—SIEGE OF ROSETTA COMMENCED

"'I thought I heard the general say,

Strike your tents at break of day;

Strike your tents and march away,

March, march away!'"

sang, or rather shouted, Lieutenant Patrick Cantillon of the light company, as he burst into our quarters one hot afternoon, a few weeks subsequent to my adventure on the convent road.

"Tom, ye lazy divil! is it sleepin' ye are?" And he caught me a whack on the shoulder that nearly knocked me out of my chair.

"Don't make such a confounded row, Paddy!" I exclaimed irritably; for I had been indulging in a siesta, and this "rude awakening" startled me not a little. "Why the deuce can't you come in quietly?"

"Come in quietly, bedad!—hark to him!" cried my brother sub, capering round the room. "Sure, man, am I not ready to jump out of me skin!"

"Then I wish you'd jump out of it somewhere else," I retorted. "What's the matter with you?"

"Listen while I tell ye, alannah," said Paddy, coming to an anchor on my camp-bed. "May-be ye know that some six years ago we kicked the French out of Egypt, and put the Turks in possession of Alexandria and other towns on the Egyptian coast. Now Boney has humbugged the Sultan to enter into an alliance with France; so our Government—more power to its elbow!—has decided to send an expedition to turn the Turks out of the very places we turned them into; in short, we're goin' to punish the haythins for havin' the impudence to hobnob and make friends with the French."

"And are we to join this expedition, Paddy?" I asked.

"We are, me son," was the reply.

Paddy Cantillon's news proved to be true. Orders had already been issued for an expedition to be fitted out in Sicily, for the purpose of making a descent on the coast of Egypt, and occupying Alexandria and Rosetta, and the same evening it was officially notified that the 35th would be one of the regiments employed on this service.

The expedition sailed from Sicily on the 6th March. The military force was under Major-General Mackenzie Fraser, and consisted of the 20th Light Dragoons,[1] a detachment of artillery, the 31st, 35th, 78th, and De Rolle's regiments, and the Chasseurs Britanniques.[2] We encountered very bad weather shortly after putting to sea; nineteen sail parted company on the night of the 7th, and it was not until the 15th that we sighted the Arabs' Tower.

Before allowing the transports to approach within sight of the coast, our commodore (Captain Hallowell of the Apollo, 74) ran in-shore to obtain some information. Major Misset, the British resident at Alexandria, advised an immediate landing, assuring the commodore that the inhabitants were favourably disposed towards us, and inimical to the French; accordingly the transports were signalled to stand close in, as soon as the squadron anchored in the western harbour. A summons to surrender was then sent to the Turkish governor, which he promptly declined.

The weather was still very heavy, and a nasty sea was running; nevertheless our leaders decided to land an advanced party at once. This party, which included the light company of the 35th, numbered a thousand men, under command of Colonel John Oswald of the 35th.

We effected a landing without serious opposition, and next morning carried the western lines and forts, driving out the Turks and taking several guns. Meanwhile the castle of Aboukir having surrendered, the remainder of the transports stood in and anchored in the bay. Seeing that we meant business, the Governor of Alexandria capitulated on the 21st March, and we took possession of the city, harbour, and fortresses.

Thus far success had attended our arms; but we were now to meet with the first of those reverses which culminated in the disaster of El Hamet.

Our naval force having been augmented by the arrival of Sir John Duckworth's squadron from the Dardanelles, it was decided to attack Rosetta. On the 26th March, Major-General Wauchope, with the 31st and Chasseurs Britanniques, marched against Rosetta, and occupied the heights of Abourmandour, which command that town. Rosetta is situated some five miles from a branch of the Nile, in a beautiful district covered with date, pomegranate, banana, and other trees. The town is surrounded by a low wall, and its streets are very narrow—in fact, mere lanes and alleys.

On the 28th, Wauchope entered Rosetta at the head of the 31st Regiment. Not a soul was astir, not a sound was heard, as our troops wended their way through the streets towards the market-place in the centre of the town; but they had barely got half-way when the death-like silence was broken by a furious fusillade. From the windows and roof of every house a deadly fire was poured upon them. Cooped up in the narrow streets, unable to return the hidden enemy's fire, our gallant fellows fell fast. Wauchope was shot dead, his second-in-command seriously wounded, and in a short time nearly three hundred officers and men were placed hors de combat. There was no alternative but a retreat, and so the remnants of Wauchope's force returned to Alexandria.

Though not a little disconcerted by this serious and unexpected reverse, Fraser determined to make another attempt on Rosetta; indeed the reduction of that town was necessary to the safe possession of Alexandria, now threatened with famine.

The execution of this second attack was entrusted to Brigadier-General the Hon. William Stewart, with a force consisting of detachments of the 20th Light Dragoons and Royal Artillery, the 35th, 78th Highlanders, De Rolle's Regiment, and two hundred sailors from the fleet.

We quitted Alexandria, in the highest spirits, on the 5th April, and advanced towards Rosetta by way of the village and lake of Edko, where a depôt was established. Before advancing to Abourmandour, Stewart considered it advisable to drive the enemy away from El Hamet—a village up the Nile, some two leagues above Rosetta—and take possession of the place, in order to secure his rear, and an uninterrupted communication with the depôt on Lake Edko. This service was successfully accomplished on the 6th, and El Hamet was occupied by a strong detachment of De Rolle's, under Major Vogelsang.

On the following day the heights and fort of Abourmandour were reoccupied without opposition. A summons to surrender being contemptuously ignored by the Turkish commandant of Rosetta (who had been reinforced by a corps of Albanians), Stewart advanced to the sand-hills encircling the town, which he at once proceeded to invest.

From the great extent of Rosetta, our brigadier saw it would be impossible, with the slender force at his disposal, to invest more than half of the place; so he took up a line from the Nile to the front of the Alexandrian gate, thence retiring towards the plain, where he posted his light dragoons. Rosetta being thus only partially invested, its garrison had a free communication across the Nile to the Delta.

At this time Stewart confidently expected to be reinforced by the Mamelukes, from Upper Egypt, who were known to be inimical to the French, and at loggerheads with Mohammed Ali, but day after day passed without any appearance of these redoubtable warriors. The siege, however, was carried on with great vigour; our gunners hammered away at Rosetta, without doing any great harm to the Turks (whose numbers daily increased), while we of the infantry were constantly employed on piquet and other harassing duties. Our piquets and advanced posts were several times attacked, and on the 19th April a company of De Rolle's was surrounded and cut to pieces by the Turkish horsemen.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The 20th Light Dragoons—raised as the Jamaica Light Horse in 1791, styled the 20th Light Dragoons in 1794, and disbanded in 1817.

[2] De Rolle's Regiment and the Chasseurs Britanniques—foreign corps in British pay. Both were disbanded or absorbed in 1814-15.

CHAPTER III

EL HAMET—AN UNWELCOME DUTY—CHARLES HOLROYD SPEAKS HIS MIND—THE BEGINNING OF THE END

Before continuing my narrative, I will briefly state the position of El Hamet. From Lake Edko to the Nile is an isthmus about two and a half miles in extent, varying according to the depth of water in the lake. The remains of a deep dry canal with high banks extend from the river nearly two-thirds across the isthmus, the banks commanding the plain on either side; and on the south side of the canal, about half-way across the isthmus, is the village of El Hamet. On the banks of the Nile and at El Hamet are the only regular passes through the banks of the canal. News of the disaster to the company of De Rolle's Regiment reached General Stewart early on the 20th April, and he immediately despatched a force, under Lieutenant-Colonel Patrick Macleod (commanding the 2nd Battalion 78th[1]), to reinforce Vogelsang. Macleod's force was composed of a piquet of the 20th Light Dragoons, two guns, two companies of the 35th, and five of the 78th.

"Our gunners hammered away at Rosetta."

On the afternoon of the 20th April our company was on duty in one of the batteries. Charles Holroyd, Paddy Cantillon, and I were with the company, none of us feeling particularly amiable. Our artillery had been blazing away all day at Rosetta, while we had little or nothing to do except to listen to the eternal "bang, bang" of the guns; a sort of music that gets monotonous, especially when one wishes to indulge in "forty winks."

"I'm sick of this business!" exclaimed Paddy, as we sat with our backs against the parapet. "Sorra a bit of divarsion do I see in squattin' on me hams in a damp ditch!"

"Take things as they come, Paddy," rejoined Holroyd, who was discussing a piece of salt junk and a ship's biscuit. "Now, I should much prefer to dine off a spatchcock or a devilled kidney, but as I can't get such luxuries, I—Halloa, Harris! what ill wind blows you here?"

"An order for you, Holroyd," replied Harris, our worthy adjutant, who came hurrying up at this moment. "The light company has been detailed as an escort for an ammunition column about to start for El Hamet, and the general desires you to deliver this despatch to Colonel Macleod."

"But we're on piquet, my dear fellow," expostulated Holroyd, not relishing the idea of a long tramp across the desert. "Besides, it is not our turn, you know; we only returned from escort duty last night. Where is James's company?"

"Turning out to relieve you; he'll be here in five minutes," was the reply.

"Then why not send him to El Hamet?" asked Holroyd.

"Because the general's orders are for the light company to go," answered the adjutant; "so I have no choice in the matter."

"Very considerate of the general," growled my captain; "however, 'needs must, when a certain old gentleman drives'!"

Guided by the adjutant, we marched to the spot where the ammunition column was awaiting us, and in half-an-hour we were on our way across the desert to El Hamet.

Every march comes to an end, and it was with a deep sigh of relief that we at length reached El Hamet. Holroyd at once went off to report his arrival and deliver the despatch to Colonel Macleod, while we waited his return, fondly hoping that we should be dismissed to a well-earned rest. We were, however, doomed to disappointment.

Our captain soon rejoined us, and I knew at once, by the expression of his face, that he was thoroughly put out.

"Light company," said he, in short, sharp tones, "there'll be no rest for any of us to-night. Colonel Macleod has desired me to take up a position among the sand-hills in front of El Hamet, and remain there until further orders. You can fall out for a few minutes, and make the best meal you can on what you've got in your haversacks. A ration of cooked beef, biscuit, and rum will be issued to each man shortly after daybreak."

"Faith, this is a pleasant state of affairs!" grumbled Cantillon, as we moved away from the company.

"Does Colonel Macleod expect an attack before daybreak?" I asked.

"I suppose he does," Holroyd replied, "for he said a great deal about the necessity for vigilance; though he neither gave me any idea from what quarter danger is to be chiefly apprehended, nor of his plans in the event of a sudden attack in overwhelming force. I feel sure," he went on, "that Colonel Macleod is wrong in posting us so far in advance of El Hamet, as it will be impossible to keep up communication, except by occasional patrols; thus the company will stand a serious risk of being cut off, and the village, which, I understand, we are supposed to protect, will be placed in jeopardy."

Rather surprised at these critical remarks, I ventured to remind my captain that Generals Fraser and Stewart thought very highly of Colonel Macleod, and that the 78th Highlanders swore by him.

"True, Tom," rejoined Holroyd. "Macleod's character as a regimental commander most deservedly stands high, and a braver man there is not in the British army; nevertheless, judging by what I have heard and observed, I don't think he is the right sort of officer to hold a separate command at an important post. He lacks firmness and promptness of decision, and should an emergency arise, I much doubt if he will be properly prepared to meet it. Anyhow, I intend to use my own judgment in taking up the position assigned to us, and instead of moving the whole company up to the sand-hills, I shall leave Cantillon, with the left subdivision, half-way between them and the village. We shall then have a support to fall back on if hard pressed."

"What of the Mamelukes?—have they turned up?" asked Paddy.

"Not that I know of," was the reply. "The ammunition we escorted is intended for them; but my own impression is that Mohammed Ali will make up his differences with their beys, and if we see them at all it will be as enemies, not allies. Let us rejoin the men; it is time we were moving."

Leaving Cantillon, with half the company, under a clump of date-trees, Holroyd led the way to the sand-hills, where he posted our men to the best advantage—a sergeant, corporal, and four files being stationed as an outpost on a slight eminence a little to our right front. Having taken up our position, we anxiously waited events, keeping a very sharp look-out.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This 2nd Battalion of the 78th (Ross-shire Buffs) Highlanders was raised in 1804. Patrick Macleod was its first commanding officer. The battalion distinguished itself at the battle of Maida, and subsequently in the Netherlands. It was reduced in 1816-17.

CHAPTER IV

AN ALARM—NOT FRIENDS, BUT FOES—AN UNHEEDED REPORT—AN ANXIOUS NIGHT

Shortly after midnight the corporal hurried in from the outpost to report that a djerm (large boat), crowded with men, had been observed dropping down the river.

"Did you see this djerm yourself, Corporal Jones?" asked Holroyd, jumping to his feet.

"Plain as I sees your honour," was the corporal's reply. "We all see it, sir; for the moon's so bright that it's just as clear as day. Sergeant Finnigan says as how he thinks it's them Mammyluks as there's been such talk about."

"The deuce he does!" exclaimed Holroyd. "Whereabouts is this djerm? On our side of the river?"

"Yes, your honour; 'twas nigh that chapel-looking place on the river bank."

"Chapel-looking place! You mean the mosque, I suppose," said Holroyd, smiling. "Come, Tom, we'll go and see for ourselves. Take charge until I return, Sergeant Bullen, and be well on the alert."

We hastened to the outpost, where we found Sergeant Finnigan with his men ready for any emergency. Close to the river bank, within four hundred paces of the outpost, stood a small mosque, its slender crescent-crowned minaret shooting up gracefully from amid the dark foliage by which it was surrounded.

"Very cautiously we made our way down the sand-hills."

"There's a jham yonder, sorr," said Sergeant Finnigan, a fine old fellow, who had put Charlie Holroyd through his facings when he first joined the 35th, and had been my father's orderly in days of yore. "A jham, your honour, full of Mammyluks, I'm afther thinkin'."

"I don't see her, Finnigan," rejoined Holroyd, looking in the direction pointed out. "Where is she?"

"The clump of trees hides her, sorr," answered the sergeant; "but she's there shure enough. Does your honour think they're the Mammyluks?"

"We'll hope so, Finnigan, but I have my doubts," said Holroyd. "Tom," he added, after a moment's hesitation, "let you and I creep down nearer the river, and have a look at this mysterious craft. We must discover whether she's a friend or foe."

Very cautiously we made our way down the sand-hills, moving directly towards the mosque for the first hundred yards, then edging away to the left until we had a full view of the river.

This is what we saw. Just below the mosque were some fishermen's huts, and a small wooden pier, or wharf, projecting into the Nile. Within a couple of oars' length of the wharf lay, not one, but two large djerms, both filled with armed men. By the bright light of the moon we could discern them as clearly as in daytime.

My companion had with him a small field-glass, through which he carefully examined the djerms—or rather their occupants.

"Well, are they the Mamelukes?" I whispered impatiently.

"Egad! they're not," was the reply. "They are Albanians, without doubt, and therefore enemies. Look for yourself, and you will see their kilts, or petticoats."

I took the glass, and saw at once that Holroyd was right; there was no mistaking the Albanian costume.

"There are between two and three hundred of them," said Holroyd, as I returned the telescope. "I must report this at once, Tom."

We hurried back to the piquet, and Corporal Jones was sent off to warn Colonel Macleod of the proximity of a large body of the enemy; while another man took a message to Cantillon to advance nearer to the sand-hills, and be on the qui vive in case of a sudden attack.

"Not that I think they'll trouble us yet awhile," observed Holroyd; "so, with the exception of advancing our support, I shall keep to our present position until I receive further orders."

Corporal Jones made good use of his legs, for scarcely half-an-hour elapsed before he returned to the outpost.

"Please, your honour," said he, saluting his captain, "the answer is 'All right.'"

"All right!" exclaimed Holroyd, his face darkening; "is that all Colonel Macleod said to you?"

"That is all, sir," was the reply. "I gave the colonel your message, just as your honour gave it to me, neither more nor less. 'Tell Capt'n Holroyd it's all right,' says he. I saluted, and waited a moment, thinkin' as how he'd say something more, or may-be ask me some questions; but the colonel just waves me away, and says, 'D'ye hear me, corp'ril?—tell your orficer it's all right.' So I comes back as quick as I could, sir."

Holroyd and I stared at one another in astonishment. That Corporal Jones had delivered the report and brought back the reply correctly we did not for a moment doubt; for Jones was a steady, intelligent man, and thoroughly trustworthy, or he would not have been a light company corporal.

"What shall you do, Charlie?" I asked in an undertone. "There must be some mistake."

"A very serious mistake, I should say," he rejoined. Then turning to the corporal, he inquired if Colonel Macleod was in the village.

"No, sir," answered Jones; "the colonel's over yonder—away to our right rear. There's a young orficer with a few men of Rolle's in the village," he added.

Holroyd thought for a few minutes, and then taking me aside, said, "I must let them know in El Hamet the state of affairs, so that they may be prepared in the event of a sudden attack. Do you, Tom, hurry back to the village and warn the senior officer. Tell him that the enemy evidently mean mischief, and that I advise him to look out for squalls. On your way you can inform Cantillon of the situation, and say that he must be ready to support us the moment he hears a shot fired."

I started off on my errand, and warned both Paddy Cantillon and the officer at El Hamet—a young ensign of De Rolle's, Schmidt by name—that they must be prepared for any emergency. On regaining the piquet, I found that several more djerms had dropped down the Nile, and were lying off the little wharf. Holroyd had therefore sent a written report to Colonel Macleod, calling his attention to the gravity of the situation and requesting instructions.

Corporal Jones was again the messenger, and his face was a study when he returned, and reported that the only answer vouchsafed by the colonel was "Very well."

"You told him that I awaited instructions?" said Holroyd, looking very incensed.

"I did, sir; but the colonel only said 'Very well'; not another word, good, bad, or indifferent, your honour."

"Tom, this is too grave a contingency to be trifled with," said my captain, taking me aside; "and as Macleod has sent me no orders, I must act on my own responsibility. I fear that our force is so scattered that it would be a dangerous matter to bring it together again; knowing this, Macleod is probably unwilling to try the experiment, and so has contented himself with sending a report to General Stewart of the enemy's proximity. But," he continued, "I am not going to run the risk of being cut off in such an exposed position as this, and therefore I shall warn the officer at El Hamet to put the village into as good a state of defence as time will allow, and we will cover him while so employed. We shall then have something like a post to fall back on, if driven in; for we ought to be able to make a very fair fight of it in the village. Give me a leaf out of your note-book, Tom—I suppose that young fellow understands English?"

"He speaks it fairly well," I answered, handing him a pencil and a piece of paper.

Holroyd wrote his note and despatched it to the village; then we once more took our station with the advanced outpost, in order to observe the first hostile movement that might be made. Towards morning a thick fog came on, completely hiding the mosque and river from our view; indeed we could not see anything fifty yards before us, and had to trust entirely to our ears.

I need hardly add that not one of us closed his eyes that night.

CHAPTER V

AN UNDESERVED REPROOF—COLONEL MACLEOD CONVINCED—THE ATTACK—EL HAMET EVACUATED

The night passed without any attack being attempted; though once, towards daybreak, we fancied that we heard the sound of marching men approaching our post from the direction of the mosque, but the sound—if it existed save in our heated imaginations—died away, and all again was silent as the grave.

Towards seven o'clock in the morning—the river fog being then as dense as ever—Colonel Macleod, accompanied by a staff officer and an orderly dragoon, visited the piquet. The colonel looked pale and weary, as well he might, and his face wore a peculiar irritable expression; in fact, he had the appearance of a man worn out with anxiety and fatigue.

"You sent me two reports during the night, Captain Holroyd," he began, in querulous tones, barely acknowledging our salute; "pray what do they mean, sir?"

"Mean, colonel!" exclaimed Holroyd, his face flushing with anger. "Exactly what they stated—namely, that since midnight the enemy have been gathering in considerable force within gunshot of this spot. When I sent you my second report, sir—a written report—no less than fifteen large djerms, crowded with men, were moored in the river yonder. The thick fog now hides them from your view, but there they were, and there, I doubt not, they are at this moment."

"I don't think so," retorted Colonel Macleod; "were the enemy so close at hand, in such numbers, we should at least hear them. Now, sir, since the fog came on, have you heard any sound that would indicate the proximity of a large body of troops?"

"I cannot say that I have, sir," Holroyd admitted; "though we fancied——"

"Fancied!" interrupted Colonel Macleod. "Just so! It is my firm belief that your own fancies have deceived you, and I must beg that, when on outpost duty, you will take the trouble to make yourself better acquainted with what is near you, and not send in reports of an enemy's advance until you are absolutely certain there is really an enemy within a couple of miles. In this case you have evidently mistaken a few fishermen's boats for a hostile flotilla.

"I had intended to relieve you," continued Macleod; "but now—" He stopped short, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment, for at that moment a strange though perfectly natural thing happened.

The morning sun—as if anxious to prove the truth of Charles Holroyd's statements, and confound the incredulous Highlander—suddenly appeared struggling through the mist, and rapidly dispelling it. Away rolled the fog, disclosing to our gaze a group of horsemen; conspicuous among whom was a little man, pointing with a javelin to the right of our position.

Then arose upon the morning air a confused noise—beating of drums and clashing of cymbals—and as the fog cleared off, there appeared before us the Turkish army, numbering at least 6000 combatants, of whom perhaps one-third were horsemen.

As soon as he recovered from his amazement, Colonel Macleod, like the true Highland gentleman he was, turned to my companion, and extending his hand, said—

"Captain Holroyd, I have done you an injustice! Allow me to recall the remarks I made just now, and to offer an apology to you and the light company of the 35th."

"Say no more, sir, I beg you," rejoined Holroyd, warmly shaking the colonel's hand. "Your remarks are already forgotten."

"As the fog cleared off, there appeared before us the Turkish army."

We afterwards were thankful that we had not parted with the gallant Macleod in anger; for, alas! destiny had willed that ere another sun rose he should be

a thing

O'er which the raven flaps his funeral wing."

That my account of what followed may be better understood, I will here state the order in which Colonel Macleod's force was disposed.

The range of low sand-hills stretching from Lake Edko to the Nile—a distance of at least two miles—was everywhere accessible to infantry; but, owing to the steepness of the slope and inequality of the surface, cavalry could only operate against us at two points—namely, along a road passing through El Hamet, and by fording the lake a few hundred yards beyond the southern extremity of the ridge, where the water was extremely shallow. Now, as Macleod's rear was covered by the dry, steep-banked canal, and the road through El Hamet commanded by two six-pounders, his position might have been accounted an excellent one had it been properly manned (two thousand British troops, with a fair proportion of artillery and an ample supply of ammunition, could have held it till doomsday against ten times their number of Turks); but unfortunately Macleod's entire force did not muster eight hundred men, and he had only four six-pounder field-pieces. This slender corps had to occupy and defend the entire line of sand-hills from one extremity to the other, and it was distributed along that line as follows:—

The force was divided into three bodies: one, numbering some three hundred men, being posted beside the river; a second, of about the same strength, in the centre of the position; while the third, of which we formed part, had to defend El Hamet, watch the road passing through the village, and support the two guns enfilading that road. Thus there was an interval of about three-quarters of a mile between the several divisions; and in order that communications might be kept up, each division had to throw out, right and left, small detachments, which took post, here and there, along the ridge.

It is plain that a position thus held was practically at the mercy of a greatly superior enemy; a couple of hundred resolute men would have been sufficient to break through the scattered line at any point, save at the principal defences, and a breach in the line at any point must necessarily render the whole untenable. That the position must be forced if a determined and well-sustained attack were made, was almost a foregone conclusion; but I do not think any one anticipated the terrible disaster which befell us on that fatal day.

To return to my narrative.

We stood for some minutes gazing at the Turkish force. Their infantry was drawn up in detached bodies, each under its own banner; the horsemen, in a solid mass, formed a second line.

"Look, sir," suddenly exclaimed the staff officer; "their cavalry has separated!"

"I see, Vincent," rejoined Macleod. "The column moving off is evidently ordered to cross the lake and turn our flank."

"While those who remain will no doubt support the infantry in an attack on the village," observed Holroyd. "Shall I defend El Hamet, colonel?"

"Yes," cried Macleod, vaulting into his saddle; "to the last man!" and putting spurs to his charger, he galloped to the rear.

Having re-formed the company, we marched back to El Hamet at a quick step, and on the way were joined by two or three small parties which had been ordered to retire from the sand-hills. On reaching the village, we found that the officer and men of De Rolle's Regiment had made good use of their time: the houses had been loop-holed, windows and doors barricaded; in short, El Hamet was in a fairly defensible state.

"Come, we shall be able to hold out a long time!" exclaimed Holroyd cheerfully. Then pointing to a building of considerable size and height, he said, "Take the right section, Tom, and occupy the roof of that house. Let the men make a parapet of their knapsacks, and open fire the moment the enemy are within range. Don't throw a shot away, my lads."

I hastened to obey this order, and followed by Sergeant Finnigan and the right section, ascended to the flat roof of the house. The men took off their packs, and placed them against the low parapet, so as to afford extra protection. From this elevated position we could see the Turkish horsemen as they advanced towards the village, brandishing their javelins and scimitars, and uttering loud cries of defiance.

"They're about within range, Misther Cotton," presently observed Sergeant Finnigan. "Won't your honour open fire?" And I was about to answer in the affirmative when I heard Holroyd calling to me.

"Tom!" he shouted, "we're to evacuate El Hamet. The guns are limbered up, so come down at once."

There was nothing for it but to obey; so we quitted the roof, and joined our comrades, who, with the detachment of De Rolle's, were forming up in the narrow street, where the two six-pounders were waiting to start. We soon cleared the village, and went away at a long trot, into the heart of the sandy plain.

"Who ordered the evacuation?" I asked, as I found myself alongside of my captain.

"Macleod," was the reply; "and I fear he has made a fatal mistake. But the pace is too good for talking, Tom. We shall want all our breath before we've done."

CHAPTER VI

THE RETREAT—AT BAY

Hardly were we clear of the village when the Turkish horsemen came sweeping down into the plain, howling ferociously as they galloped here and there. From time to time they made demonstrations of an immediate attack, whereupon Holroyd would call a halt, and order the guns to unlimber; but the moment the enemy saw the six-pounders at "action rear," he retired out of range. Then the gunners limbered up, and we resumed our march. This happened, I think, three or four times.

We had not got very far into the plain when we were joined by a detachment of De Rolle's Regiment, under Major Vogelsang. The major, who as senior officer assumed command, told us that Macleod had ordered him to retire from his position, leaving a strong piquet to cover his retreat, and move obliquely across the plain until he fell in with us. We were then to join forces and wait for further orders.

"Colonel Macleod has ridden off to withdraw the remainder of the force," explained Vogelsang, in his broken English. "The colonel's intention is to concentrate his force and stand on the defensive until Stewart comes to our aid; but I fear the detachments are so scattered that they will be cut off in detail."

"I agree with you, major," said Holroyd. "However, we must await Macleod's arrival, and if attacked, make the best defence we can."

We then formed square with Vogelsang's men, the two field-pieces being placed in the centre, and calmly awaited the arrival of Macleod with the other divisions, or the onslaught of the enemy, whichever should come first. Our combined force numbered about two hundred and fifty bayonets, besides officers and artillerymen.

Although the enemy kept up his threatening attitude, we were not seriously attacked; but it was evident, from the sound of heavy firing on both our flanks, that Macleod, and Vogelsang's party which he had left to cover his retreat, were having a very warm time of it. We became terribly anxious about them, and would have given worlds to know how they fared. Unfortunately we could only hear, not see the fighting; for the country around us was like a sandy sea, broken up, so to speak, into waves, or undulating mounds, not one of which was so sufficiently elevated as to afford a commanding view from its summit over the rest.

In a short time the firing in the direction of the spot where we knew Vogelsang's covering party was battling against terrible odds, began to slacken, then it suddenly ceased. We looked at one another in horror, for no one could doubt that our gallant comrades of De Rolle's must have been overwhelmed.

"My poor fellows!" groaned Major Vogelsang, the tears streaming down his rugged cheeks; "they must have perished to a man. Would that the Highland colonel had permitted me to remain with them!"

Our attention was now attracted by a triumphant shout, and another body of the enemy appeared in sight, racing to join their comrades, "as if Ould Nick were at their heels," as Paddy Cantillon observed.

"Steady, flankers of the 35th!" cried Holroyd; "it's our turn now! Meet them firmly, and, if needs must, let us die like British soldiers for the honour of the old regiment!"

"Faith, an' we're ready to do that, your honour!" answered Sergeant Finnigan. "Shure, divil a one of thim howlin' haythins shall—" The gallant old fellow never finished the sentence, for at that moment a score of the bolder horsemen charged up to within pistol-shot of the square, and discharged their carbines at us.

They, I have no doubt, fired at random, but chance shots often do most harm—one "bullet found its billet," and lodged in the brain of poor Michael Finnigan.

A cry of rage burst from our men, for the sergeant was a general favourite in the light company, and several of the younger hands returned the fire without orders, emptying half-a-dozen saddles, and sending the bold Turks scampering back.

"Steady, light company!" cried Holroyd angrily. "What are those men thinking about? Our chance is a poor one if you're going to lose your heads like this! Reload, lads, and don't fire again without orders."

"Good, Captain Holroyd!" said Major Vogelsang. "Steadiness is everything! Ha! they are advancing again—down the front ranks!" Instantly the order was obeyed: down on the knee dropped the front ranks; while the rear ranks came to the "recover," and stood as motionless as if on an inspection parade.

We now beheld three separate columns of horsemen, each equal, in point of numbers, to our little force, moving rapidly towards us, one column leading, the others in rear. As they drew nearer, the rear columns edged off to their right and left, sweeping round so as to threaten the right and left faces of our square.

Major Vogelsang now ordered the artillery to unlimber, and bring their two guns into action, right and left; the centre sections of the right and left faces being warned to fall back, so as to leave an opening for the guns, as soon as the word was given.

On came the enemy until they were within about three hundred yards of the square, when all three columns drew rein, as if to breathe their horses.

"Now is your time, lieutenant!" said Vogelsang to the artillery officer. "Fall back the centre sections!"

Quick as lightning our gunners ran up and laid their pieces. "Fire!" shouted their officer, and plump went the six-pound shells into the columns on our right and left, bursting well in the centre, and killing or disabling several men and horses.

We gave a ringing cheer as the gunners coolly sponged out and reloaded the guns, for our foes were thrown into great confusion, and we all thought they would beat a precipitate retreat.

"The guns are loaded, sir," said the artillery subaltern; "shall I give them another dose before they're out of range?"

But the words had hardly been spoken, when the Turkish horsemen wheeled round and charged down upon us, with shrill cries of "La la ha il Allah! Vras! Vras!"[1]

Again the six-pounders were fired; then the centre sections closed up, and the moment the Turks got within musket-range, our standing ranks gave them a rattling volley, which knocked over several of them, including one of their boldest leaders. This warm reception damped their ardour, and once more they retired in confusion.

We young hands thought the day was our own, and rent the air with cheers; some of the men even sprang forward as if to start in pursuit of the retreating horsemen; but the stern voice of the veteran major quickly recalled us to our senses.

Vogelsang now ordered the gunners to load, "to the muzzle," with grape and canister, and the infantry to drop a running ball into their muskets. "We will give them a still warmer welcome, my children!" he exclaimed, with a laugh like the croak of a raven; "but you must be steady, and not break your ranks."

Once again the turbaned warriors advanced to the attack, yelling like a pack of fiends. A well-directed volley of double-shotted musketry greeted them, yet they paused not in their wild career. Then the six-pounders opened on the columns attacking our right and left faces, and their salutation no mortal Turk could have withstood. The havoc produced as the grape and canister tore through the serried ranks was fearful, and with a cry of dismay the assailants of the right and left sides of our square galloped off ventre à terre.

The third body of the enemy, however, undismayed by the repulse of their comrades, held on their course, and charged right up to the rear face of the square, where we were posted; almost up to our bayonets' points they rode, and discharged their pistols, and launched their javelins at us, killing and wounding several of our men. For a moment I feared the square would be broken; but our rear rank had reloaded, and a second volley sent the enemy to the right-about. Then we glanced around, and saw that seven or eight of our men had been killed or wounded.

"Our standing ranks gave them a rattling volley."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] "There is no god but God! Kill! Kill!"

CHAPTER VII

DEATH OF COLONEL MACLEOD—APPEARANCE OF THE MAMELUKES—THE LAST STAND—WOUNDED AND A PRISONER—A FRIEND IN NEED—"ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL"

While watching the movements and repelling the attacks of the Turkish horsemen, we had, I fear, given little thought to Macleod's division; but now we had a moment's breathing time, we remembered our comrades, and became doubly anxious as to their fate. Heavy firing was still to be heard to the right, and as we strained our ears it became evident that the sound was drawing nearer.

"Be the powers! they're fighting their way towards us," exclaimed Cantillon.

"There's no doubt of it," said Holroyd, after listening intently for a moment.

"I wish we could get a look at them," Major Vogelsang added.

"See yonder mound, major?" said Paddy; "'tis a thrifle higher than the rest. I'm the tallest man among ye, and maybe, if ye'll let me slip out, I could get a peep at them. Sorra a bit of danger, major dear. I'll take Corporal Jones with me;" and without waiting for permission, he called to the corporal to follow him, and slipped out of the square.

The mound was less than a hundred yards distant. On reaching the summit, Cantillon sprang on the corporal's shoulders—Jones was a very powerful, athletic man—and stood upright. From this coign of vantage he gazed intently in the direction of the firing; while we watched him anxiously, fearing lest he should be shot by some lurking foe.

Presently Cantillon gave a shout, and jumping down, ran back at full speed, followed by Corporal Jones.

"They're close at hand," he cried as he came up to the square, "fighting like divils. We must go to their assistance, major, and join forces, if possible."

"Are they broken?" asked Vogelsang.

"Divil a bit, sir," was the reply; "but they're attacked on all sides by ten times their number, and the haythins who have been hammering at us are now having——"

"That's enough," interrupted the major; "it is plain there is no time to lose. Put the wounded on the limbers and waggons, and we will move at once."

We hastened to carry out the major's orders; but closer and closer drew the tide of battle, and ere we could put the square in motion, Macleod's little band of heroes appeared in sight. Alas! a fatal change had occurred. The division was no longer in solid order, as when seen by Cantillon, but broken up into small parties and groups, each fighting desperately against overwhelming numbers of Turkish cavalry and Albanian infantry.

To rush to their rescue was our first impulse; but Vogelsang restrained us, pointing out that we could not possibly render our brave comrades any effectual aid, and that once we broke our formation we should infallibly be cut to pieces. We did what little lay in our power, firing at the enemy whenever we could do so without injury to our own people; and a section of our company sallying out, at a critical moment, under Holroyd and Cantillon, succeeded in bringing Captain Mackay and a few of the 78th into the square.

With the exception of this slender party, Macleod's division was destroyed, not a man escaping. The gallant Macleod fell, as became him, claymore in hand, in the midst of his Highlanders, who, with the devotion of clansmen for their chief, threw themselves in the way of certain destruction in their vain attempts to save him.

While this terrible scene was taking place we were not molested by the enemy; but, the other divisions destroyed, they now combined their forces against us. The Albanian infantry commenced the attack by lining the sand ridges and pouring a furious fusillade upon the square, the horsemen keeping out of range, ready to sweep down upon us when the right moment arrived. The Albanians were expert marksmen, and their fire proved very disastrous to us. Vogelsang, Holroyd, and Cantillon were amongst the first wounded, the latter severely, and many of our men fell to rise no more. We replied with the six-pounders, as well as with musketry; but the Albanians being scattered and well covered, our fire was not very effective. To add to our misfortunes, the sun was now beating down upon us with full force, and we had little water to quench our burning thirst; officers and men were pretty nigh worn out, and we all felt that, unless General Stewart came to our aid, the end must come quickly.

At length, when more than one-third of our number were killed or wounded, there was a cessation of the firing, followed by great commotion amongst the enemy's cavalry. We jumped to the conclusion that, at last, Stewart must have arrived, and our drooping spirits revived. Alas! we were speedily undeceived; for as the smoke cleared away, there appeared in sight a large body of Arab horsemen, advancing in loose, but not disorderly array. That the new-comers were foes, not friends, we could not doubt, for as they advanced across the plain the Turkish host welcomed them with a mighty shout and waving of flags.

Though faint from loss of blood, Major Vogelsang still retained command, and he now mounted a limber-box and examined the advancing troops through his glass.

"They are the Mamelukes!" he exclaimed, "and Mohammed Ali himself is at their head. My men, we have now nothing to do but to sell our lives dearly."

"Possibly they have come to our aid," I suggested, hoping against hope. "Are you sure the Vizier is with them?"

Vogelsang shook his head sadly, and replied that he recognised Mohammed Ali, having seen him before; his presence with the Mamelukes was sufficient to prove that they had come, not as allies, but as our most formidable enemies.

We rapidly made preparations for the struggle before us. The wounded—at least those who were totally disabled from taking part in the defence—were placed in a trench hastily made in the sand; the six-pounders were loaded with grape and with musket-balls to the very muzzle; and each soldier dropped over his cartridge, not only a running ball, but three or four slugs.

The attack was not long delayed, and opened with a renewal of the musketry fire by the Albanians. This lasted for the best part of an hour, and wrought us great mischief. Suddenly it ceased, and the Albanians leisurely retired. Then, with lightning speed, the Mamelukes bore down on our sadly-diminished square.

"Keep steady, men," cried Vogelsang, "and reserve your fire until your foes are within forty yards. Then give them a volley, and load again."

The Mamelukes came on in somewhat loose order, their line extending to, perhaps, twice the width of the square. We let them approach to within thirty yards; then both guns and muskets opened on them with terrible effect. The charge was arrested; and before they could retire out of range, we gave them a second volley only less destructive than the first. Then they galloped away in confusion. Before we had time to congratulate ourselves, the Albanians again came to the front, and annoyed us with their fire.

After a while the Mamelukes made a second attempt to break our square, only to retire discomfited. Three times did our slender band repulse these magnificent horsemen, inflicting heavy punishment on each occasion; but after each repulse the Albanians renewed their galling fire, doing us, in proportion, more harm than we did to the Mamelukes.

"I dropped senseless to the ground."

After the third attack, and while the Albanians were firing at us, the artillery officer reported that only one charge per gun was left.

"We must break up a cask of small-arm ammunition, and make the best use we can of that," replied Major Vogelsang. "You, sir," he added, turning to me, "take a couple of men, and collect the rounds from the cartouch-boxes of the slain."

I was about to execute this gruesome order, when a bullet, glancing from one of the guns, struck me on the head, and I dropped senseless to the ground.

When consciousness returned I found myself lying in the arms of Corporal Jones, who was bathing my head with muddy water. All sound of strife had ceased, and our men were sitting or standing around, disarmed. Several Mamelukes were stalking about with a triumphant air, and in the distance was assembled the Vizier's army. I asked the corporal what had happened.

"We're prisoners, Mr. Cotton, the few of us that's left," he replied. "We hadn't a blessed cartridge left, when a Turkish officer came up with a flag of truce, and told the captain as how our lives should be spared if we surrendered."

"Do you mean Captain Holroyd?"

"Yes, sir. The furrin major was knocked over just after you was, and, though badly hurt, our captain took command. There he is yonder, talking to the officer to whom we surrendered. The rum thing is," continued Corporal Jones, "that the Turkish orficer ain't a Turk at all, but a Frenchman. D'you remember, sir, the French leftenant as used to come so often to your quarters when we lay at Messina?"

"Not M'sieur de Vignes?" I exclaimed.

"That's the name, sir. Well, he's the orficer I'm tellin' you about—and here he comes!"

I looked up and saw a Mameluke approaching, whose rich attire bespoke him an officer of rank. Leaning on his arm was Charlie Holroyd, his head and shoulder bandaged.

"Tom," said Holroyd, in a faint voice, "here is an old friend—one who has indeed proved a friend in need. It is to M'sieur de Vignes we owe our lives."

"Pouf!" cried the Mameluke, whom I at once recognised as my former acquaintance; "I have but repaid the debt I owed you, mon ami. When last we met I played you a scurvy trick, and happy am I to be able to make some reparation." And with that he embraced me, much to the horror of Corporal Jones.

Holroyd then told me how, struck with admiration at our heroic defence, M. Drovetti, the French consul-general at Cairo (who had accompanied the Turkish army), had induced the Vizier to offer us quarter. De Vignes was selected to bear the flag of truce, and recognising Holroyd, persuaded him to surrender. In spite of our surrender, the Mamelukes, furious at the losses they had sustained, attempted to massacre the survivors of our force, and were only prevented by the exertions of Eugene de Vignes, who saved our lives at the risk of his own. As it was, several of our wounded were butchered; amongst others, poor Paddy Cantillon.

Naturally I was curious to learn how the French lieutenant had been transformed into an officer of Mamelukes, and that evening I asked him to tell me his story.

"Mais certainement, mon cher," he replied. "At Messina I met, and fell in love with, the lady who is now my wife. Her father, Prince T——, objecting to my attentions, sent his daughter to the convent. By bribing one of the lay-sisters, I obtained an interview, and persuaded Beatrice to elope with me. To return to France would have been difficult, if not impossible, so I determined to fly to Egypt, where my mother's brother, M'sieur Drovetti, was consul-general. I hired a small coasting-vessel, and made all arrangements for our flight. On the appointed night I repaired to the convent. With the assistance of the lay-sister, Beatrice effected her escape from the building, and joined me outside the walls. But somehow her father had got wind of the affair—I believe the lay-sister betrayed us—and while making off, we were attacked by four of his servants. I had just time to tell Beatrice to fly up the road, conceal herself, and await events, whilst I covered her retreat. Happily my assailants—probably acting on their master's orders—were so intent upon killing me, that they did not attempt to follow her. You, mon ami, came to my aid, and the fellows ran off, leaving one of their number with my sword through his heart. To get rid of you, I pretended the rascal was only wounded, and sent you off for assistance. The moment you had gone, I picked the dead body up, carried it a few yards, and threw it in a ditch. Then I rejoined Beatrice, and we hastened to the boat which was awaiting us. In the end we got safely to Cairo, and were married by my good uncle's chaplain. Through my uncle's influence, I was appointed an officer in the Vizier's service, and am now in high favour. Voila tout!"

My story is finished. We were carried prisoners to Cairo, but, thanks to the influence of M. Drovetti, were allowed to take up our quarters with Eugene de Vignes and his charming wife; thus escaping the hardships and indignities which, as we afterwards learned, many of our fellow-prisoners suffered.

In due course we were exchanged, and rejoined our regiment. Many years have passed since then. My brother-in-law, Charles Holroyd, is a general and a K.C.B.; I have long ago left the army, and settled down to a country life; but we still retain a vivid recollection of the "Disaster of El Hamet," and tell our children the story of "a Frenchman's Gratitude."

THE BADGE OF THE FOURTH FOOT

BY ROBERT LEIGHTON

I

"What a night! What a wild, wild night!"

Old Donald Leslie lifted his grizzled head, closed his book on his gnarled forefinger, and listened to the low deep soughing of the wind. As he spoke, a gust of smoke blew out into the room from the wide throat of the chimney; the flames of the burning logs on the open hearth leapt and crackled anew; the lights of the hanging cruse lamps flickered, and the grimy arras hangings over the doors and windows swung heavily to and fro and swelled out like the sails of a ship.

"Ay; it's from the north," muttered Elspeth Macdonald, as she crossed to one of the deep embayed windows and drew aside the curtain to peer out into the night. "It will be bringing snow with it. The clouds were banked up like great mountains in the north when I looked out in the forenoon, and the shepherd was telling me that he saw a white bonnet on Ben Bhuidhe as he came west over Culloden braes yestreen."

"Listen!" cried young Colin Leslie, releasing the cat from his knee and rising to his feet. "Did you not hear something, grandfather?"

"Well did I hear something," returned the old man. "I've heard it these two hours past. It's the wind howling in the vent."

"Nay, but it wasna the wind," pursued the boy. "It was——"

"Just hold your tongue, laddie, and let me get reading my book," interrupted the grandfather petulantly. "You're aye putting in your word. A body can do no reading with such chatter for ever dinging in his ears."

"There it is again!" cried Colin, not heeding the old man's complaint. "It was some one hammering at the castle door."

"Hoots, bairn. Who would be out travelling and knocking at folk's doors on a night like this?"

Colin approached the hearth and leaned his arm against the cheek of the chimney, staring into the glowing fire.

"It was some one on horseback," said he; "I heard the horse's hoofs on the stones just before you said 'What a night it is!'"

Sir Donald Leslie continued reading under the dim light of the lamp that hung above his head. Presently Elspeth Macdonald left the room on tiptoe, closing the door behind her. Colin applied himself to casting a new log upon the fire. Regardless of his grandfather, he began to whistle the lightsome air of a certain Jacobite song. Soon his whistling changed into the song itself and he chanted, half under his breath, the words—

"Oh, Charlie is my darling,

My darling, my darling,

Charlie is my darling,

The young Chevalier."

Suddenly a fluttering book flew past his curly head.

"How dare you? How dare you sing that accursed Jacobite song in my hearing?" cried his grandfather, red with rage. "Have I not told you a hundred times that I'll have none of your rebel rantings in my house?"

"I meant no harm, grandfather," said Colin, picking up the book and placing it on the corner of the table near the old man's elbow, "I was not thinking of the meaning of the words."

"Suddenly a fluttering book flew past his curly head."

"May-be not, may-be not," returned Sir Donald, as he idly took up his book. Then, calming himself, he added more softly, shaking his head the while: "Colin, you are just the very reflection of my brother Neil. My father had exactly the same trouble with him in the Forty-Five that I have with you in these more peaceful days. You try to persuade me that you have no real sympathy with the wild adventurer you were now singing about. But I'll be bound that if there were another rising (which Heaven forfend!) you'd on with the kilt and be off with another Stuart, just as Neil Leslie went off with the young Pretender—luckless loon that he was. But I'll not have it, look you. I'll have none of your Jacobite thoughts here; no, not even so much as the whistling of their inflammatory tunes!"

Colin raised his eyes and glanced furtively at the old claymore that was suspended over the door, crossed by a rusty Lochaber axe. One might have seen by the sudden gleam in his blue eyes that the lad had some lingering sympathy with the romantic adventurer of whose lost cause his grandfather had spoken so contemptuously.

"One rebel in the family has been quite enough, and more than enough," went on Sir Donald. "But for Neil Leslie we might now be living in comfort and luxury instead of in poverty. We now feed upon porridge and oaten bannocks instead of good wholesome beef and venison; we drink weak milk instead of wine. Our dwelling is a poor broken-down ruin instead of, as it once was, a lordly castle fit for a king. Look at our lands; they are wide, but they bear no harvest, for we cannot afford to cultivate them. Our stables are empty; our flocks have been reduced to a few skinny sheep that find no food upon the barren ground. Even the grouse and the plovers have deserted us. And it is all the work of Neil Leslie. My very blood simmers when I think of him, the rebel rascal! the scoundrel! the thief!"

"Thief?" echoed Colin quickly. "Thief, grandfather?"

"Ay, thief," growled the old man in an angrier tone. "He robbed his own father—my father. All the hard-earned and hard-saved money that my father had put aside for his descendants—for me as his eldest son, and for you in your turn, although that was long, long before you were born—was stolen by Neil Leslie, and by him appropriated to the accursed cause of the man whom he called his prince. Prince? A prince of rascals, a prince of gallows-birds; that is what I call the frog-eating reprobate that presumed to lay claim to the British throne. What did he do—this Charles Edward Stuart? He filled the silly heads of our men and women with his romantic tomfoolery; he turned all Scotland topsy-turvy and left it a miserable wreck of its former and better self——Don't look like that at me, Colin. I'm telling you nothing but the simple truth. And when you are a little older and get the hayseed out of your hair, you will know the wisdom of being loyal to your rightful king. There, I've lost my place in the book, now. Let me see; what page was I at?"

The door opened while the old man peevishly turned over the pages, and Elspeth Macdonald entered. There was an expression of anxious concern in her wrinkled face. She approached the master of Castle Leslie and mysteriously whispered into his ear.

Sir Donald gripped the wooden arm of his high-backed chair.

"Ossington?" he said questioningly, repeating the name that the housekeeper had announced. "Colonel Ossington? I know no such name. Who can the man be, think you, Elspeth?"

Elspeth shook her head.

"That's mair than I can tell," said she. "He just asked for the master as he stamped his snowy boots on the step. Then he took off his cloak and handed it to Geordie, as bold as you please, and bade me give you his name—Colonel Ossington."

"Has he left his horse standing there?" questioned Sir Donald.

Elspeth crossed her hands in front of her, and holding up her head in high dignity, answered—"No. The beast has been taken round to the stables."

"H'm," muttered Sir Donald. "He evidently intends to stay the night, then. Well, it matters little who he may be. We couldna send a body away from the very door on a night of storm like this, even if he were but a mere gaberlunzie. Let him come ben here. And see that some supper is sent in. Wait," he added, as Elspeth was moving away; "see that Andrew gets some food for the horse. There should be a handful of oats left in the corners of the bags up in the old loft; and if not, he'll may-be find some dry hay in the byre."

"Toots!" objected Elspeth, as she swept towards the door, "there's no need to fash yourself about the horse. Andrew will see to the beast. Trust him to that."

Young Colin Leslie stood before the fire with his face fronting to the room. His grandfather's knotted fingers nervously turned the faded brown leaves of his book, while the wind groaned in the chimney and the fitful flames of the fire cast strange moving shadows about the gloomy room.

The man who presently entered crossed the oaken floor with a somewhat halting gait. His spurs jangled at each step. His clean-shaven face was thin and pinched, but ruddy in contrast with his silvery hair. As he approached into the light of the fire, Colin noticed that his active grey eyes were conspicuously clear and bright beneath his furrowed brow. He wore a snuff-coloured riding-coat, with breeches of the same colour, and long military boots. A diamond glistened amid the pure whiteness of his lace-edged cravat.

Sir Donald Leslie rose from his chair and advanced a step to meet him. The two men bowed to each other as strangers.

"You are welcome, sir," said Sir Donald, standing upright with his right hand on the tall back of his chair. "Pray take this seat near the fire. The night is cold, and it may be you have travelled far."

The soldier bent his head courteously.

"Not farther than Inverness," was his response. He spoke in a distinctly English tone of voice, which Sir Donald at once detected.

"You are from the South?" he questioned. And then, before the stranger had time to answer, he added, "Colonel Ottington, I think my housekeeper told me, is your name?"

"Ossington," corrected the stranger, seating himself and holding his long, delicate hands in front of the fire. "Colonel Ossington, late of the King's 17th Light Dragoons. I am newly returned from Canada." He glanced at his host as he spoke, and after a slight pause continued, wrinkling his face into a half smile, "You do not appear to know me, sir? Am I not addressing Mr. Alan Leslie—Alan Leslie, once of the 20th Foot?"

There was a moment or two of silence, broken only by the deep-throated growling of the wind in the chimney-vent. Colin Leslie, who had retired to a shadowed corner of the ingle-nook, looked at his grandfather, wondering at his hesitation.

"My name is Donald Leslie," came at last the gloomy reply. "I am a brother of Alan Leslie, and the eldest son of Sir John Leslie, who died fifty years ago—fifty years almost to the very day."

Colonel Ossington meditatively nodded his head.

"That would be in the year of Culloden, I think," said he. "He was for the young——" He checked himself.

"No," broke in Sir Donald vehemently. "He was certainly not for the young Pretender."

The colonel raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise, dropped his open hands upon his knees, and slowly rose to his feet.

"I had almost expected to hear you say the young Chevalier," he said, with a fuller frankness than he had hitherto shown. "I had understood that your brother Alan was the only member of your family who was not heart and soul for the Stuarts."

"On the contrary," corrected Sir Donald, "I and my brother Alan and our father were always staunch for King George. Ah," he added, seeing the door open, "here is some supper. I am afraid it will prove a poor meal; but pray make yourself free with such as there is. Pardon me if I leave you for a little while. My grandson Colin, here, will entertain you in the meantime." He poured a few drops of whisky into a glass, and dealt similarly but more generously with a glass which he passed to his guest. "To the King!" he said, moistening his lips.

"To the King!" responded Colonel Ossington, bowing politely to Sir Donald as he left the room.

The supper which had been set before the stranger was, as his host had expressed it, but a poor meal; but Colonel Ossington partook of it with as much enjoyment as if it had been a banquet. Presently Colin Leslie emerged from his corner by the ingle and slowly approached the table, standing opposite to the colonel as he ate. The boy's fingers played idly with the ragged fringe of the table-cloth; but now and again he stole a furtive glance at the silver-haired officer at the other side. Once or twice he attempted to speak, but his shyness overcame him. It was not often that he encountered a stranger such as the man before him. At last he mustered courage enough to say—

"Are you a soldier—a real soldier?"

The colonel smiled at him. "Yes," said he, "I am a soldier. Is that something strange to you?"

"We don't see many soldiers in these parts," said the boy. "There are some at Inverness, of course, and at Fort George, but I've never been to either of those places. Once when I went to Edinburgh with my father, I saw some soldiers at the Castle. But I never spoke to one before."

"Is your father at home—here in Castle Leslie?" asked Colonel Ossington.

"No," answered Colin; "he's dead. So is my mother. Grandfather and I are quite alone in the world." He hesitated, almost ashamed of having said so much. Presently he looked up once more and added, "Where is your red coat and your sword? I thought soldiers always wore red coats and swords."

"Mine are at home in England," explained the soldier. "I don't wear them now. I have not worn them at all since I came back from America. I am too old."

Colin reflected for some moments, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin in his supporting hands.

"Did you ever kill a man?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes; many men. That is what soldiers are meant to do. But one doesn't like to think of them as men. Somehow it seems different when one calls them simply the enemy."

"Then you've been in a real battle?"

The soldier nodded.

"That must have been very exciting," remarked Colin, with boyish enthusiasm. "I should like to be in a real battle—that is, if it were against Frenchmen, or Spaniards, or blackamoors, or people of that sort. I don't think I'd like it so much if they were Britons."

"I suppose not," agreed Colonel Ossington, with a sigh. "Somehow it does seem to make a difference."

"Once," went on Colin, growing more communicative now that he had discovered a soldier to be very little different in human nature from any other man—"once, there was a battle near here—near this castle, I mean—over on Culloden Moor, where our sheep pastures are. And last spring, when Peter Reid of the Mains of Kilravock was ploughing, he turned up a rusty old claymore. He gave it to me, and I polished it. There it is, hanging up with that Lochaber axe upon the wall."

"Turned up a rusty old claymore."

Colonel Ossington moved his chair to look round at the old sword. His glance travelled to other parts of the dimly lighted room, surveying the few family portraits in their tarnished frames, the dusty antlered heads of stags, the old Highland targets, crossbows, and battle-axes that decorated the dark oak panels of the walls.

"There used to be a rack of muskets in that farther corner," he remarked. "And where is the portrait of the beautiful Lady Leslie—Bonnie Belinda, they called her—that used to hang up there above that carved settle?"

"Oh, that has been put away," explained Colin, "because—because Lady Belinda was a Jacobite, you know. But how did you know that the picture and the guns and things were ever there? You have never been in this room before, have you?"

The colonel raised his glass to his lips. "Yes," he said.

"When?" demanded Colin.

"Oh, when I was a youth, a little older than you are now. It must be fifty years ago."

At this moment Sir Donald Leslie re-entered the room.

"Grandfather!" cried Colin, "Colonel Ossington has been here before! He was here fifty years ago."

Sir Donald turned sharply to his guest.

"Is this true?" he asked.

"Quite true," responded the old campaigner. "I was here in the year 1746. You, I think, were at that time abroad."

"Yes," acquiesced Sir Donald. "I was in Leyden. I am sorry you did not inform me at once that this was not your first visit. I should have given you a warmer welcome if I had known. As it is, I have treated you as a stranger, and have not even offered you my hand."

"It is hardly too late to repair the omission," said Colonel Ossington, and he thrust forth his hand, which his host grasped.

"Ossington?" muttered Sir Donald, trying to recall the name. "Ossington? Dear me, I'm afraid I must seem very stupid. But for the life of me I cannot remember to have heard of you. If I may be so inquisitive, what was the occasion of your former visit, colonel?"

"I will tell you," returned the soldier frankly. "Indeed, my present appearance here is wholly on account of what occurred at that long distant time." He put his hand to his breast pocket. "May I smoke?" he asked.

"Certainly," said Sir Donald. "I am afraid, however, that I cannot offer you any tobacco. We can ill afford such a luxury in these hard times."

"Thank you. I have some very fine American tobacco with me," rejoined the colonel. "Ah, I forgot," he added. "I find I have left it in my saddle-bag."

"Colin will fetch it," urged Sir Donald, anticipating the promised pleasure of renewing a habit which economy alone had compelled him to abandon.

"Oh, don't trouble," said his guest, "I will go myself. I think I remember where the stable is situated. Although perhaps the lad might, after all, accompany me."

Colin was already at the door, prepared for the guest. He conducted the colonel out into the hall, where they got their hats and a lantern, and then through the house and out by one of the back doors, and into the spacious, wind-swept garden, along by a high blank wall and across to the stable. By the aid of Colin's lamp, the colonel soon found his tobacco and, giving a caressing pat to his horse's flanks, he followed the boy back into the garden.

A wild gust of wind met them as they came out from the stable door, extinguishing their light. The snow had ceased to fall, and the sky was clear, saving only for a few fleecy white clouds that drifted southward across the moon. The ruined and ivy-covered walls of the older parts of the castle stood out black against the steel-blue brightness of the sky. An owl flew with silent wings from out the ruins and disappeared among the tall bare trees that creaked and groaned in the wind at the rear of the keep.

Colin walked in advance over the crisp white snow. Suddenly he drew back with a half-smothered cry, gripped his companion's arm, and pointed with agitated finger into the dark shadows of the ruined walls.

"Look!" he ejaculated, trembling in every limb. "Do you see it? Do you see it? See! there it goes—there, in at the old postern gate! Come! come quickly back to the house. I'm afraid!"

Colonel Ossington held the lad's arm, supporting him.

"Afraid of what, boy?" he demanded. "There is nothing."

"Did you not see it?" gasped Colin, in a mysterious, scarcely audible whisper. "It went in at the postern, there."

"I saw nothing to alarm you to this degree, my boy," returned the soldier. "What was it? Tell me what it was!"

Colin's fingers crept down the colonel's right arm until they grasped his hand. The lad had implored his companion to return with him to the house, but he himself now stood still as if rooted to the spot.

"What was it?" repeated Colonel Ossington.

Colin answered in the same low, mysterious whisper. "It was the ghost—the ghost of Neil Leslie. It is often seen here. Elspeth has seen it. So has grandfather. I have seen it before, too; but never so plainly as now. It glided along there by the wall, with its plaid wrapped round it. I saw the yellow stone glistening in the hilt of its dirk. Its sword flashed in the moonlight. When it got to the gate it stopped a moment and put out its hand, holding something—something that looked like a little bag. It turned its face this way and then disappeared."

"Come," said the colonel, putting his arm about the lad and drawing him onward towards the house. "Your imagination has been playing you some trick. It was the moonlight and the moving bushes, perhaps. You will forget all about it when we get indoors."

As they passed by the postern gate, Colin craned round and peered within. Seeing nothing but black darkness, he heaved a deep sigh of relief and walked boldly on, saying nothing until he had closed and barred the door behind him. Then, touching Colonel Ossington's arm, he said calmly—

"Please say nothing to grandfather about Neil's ghost, Colonel Ossington. It would only disturb him."

II

Sir Donald Leslie was engaged in preparing a bowl of hot whisky toddy, when his grandson and his guest rejoined him. He did not observe Colin's blanched face and wild, staring eyes. The boy strode to the fireplace and flung himself into his favourite seat in the corner, staring into the glowing red mass upon the hearth.

When the two men had filled and lighted their pipes, and were comfortably seated before the fire, each with a steaming glass of toddy within reach of him, Colonel Ossington abruptly resumed the conversation at the point where it had been broken off some fifteen minutes earlier.

"My present appearance here," he said, crossing his legs, "is connected with certain mysterious events which occurred at the time of my first visit to Castle Leslie on the fifteenth day of April 1746—that is to say, on the eve of the battle of Culloden." He paused an instant as if to arrange his thoughts. Then, leaning forward and fixing his keen grey eyes upon his host, he said in a tone of sharp inquiry: "Will you tell me what became of your brother, Neil Leslie?"

Sir Donald received the question with a lowering of the brows.

"Ah," said he, as he pressed his finger into the bowl of his tobacco-pipe, "I had guessed that it was of him you came to speak. I had even gone so far as to expect that you were about to pester me by telling me you had met him out there in America. I don't want to know anything concerning him, Colonel Ossington. He disgraced and ruined his family, and whether he be dead, as I hope, or alive, as I sometimes fear, he is no more to me than the most utter stranger."

"If I had met him in America," observed Colonel Ossington, "I should have no need to ask you what had become of him. I know nothing of him—nothing of what happened to him subsequent to the evening before Culloden fight."

"I assume that you were yourself in that fight," remarked Sir Donald.

"Yes," returned the colonel, "I was then a young ensign. I served under Major James Wolfe in repelling the first attack of the Highlanders."

"Ah," mused Sir Donald; "then you would not come into conflict with Neil Leslie. He, I believe, remained studiously in the rear."

"Pardon me," corrected the colonel, "he was not on the field."

A blank yet somewhat haughty stare was the response to this unexpected contradiction. Sir Donald was evidently perplexed.

"I do not go so far as to declare that he was actually in the fight," said he. "But that he was somewhere on the fringe of the battle I am well assured. After the fight he fled with the defeated Highlanders, first to the Western Islands, and afterwards to France. Such at least is what my father believed concerning him—not that he went out of his way to make inquiries. You may be sure that he was in nowise anxious for the graceless scoundrel's safety. Indeed, if the truth must needs be told, Sir John was rejoiced to be rid of Neil at any cost."

"Rejoiced to be rid of him?" echoed the colonel, in surprise. "I do not understand. Neil Leslie was his father's especial favourite. And very naturally so, as it seems to me, since they both were Jacobites."

Sir Donald laid his pipe upon the table.

"Jacobites?" he repeated, in a tone half of surprise and half of disbelief. "Who were Jacobites?"

"Why, Sir John Leslie and his son Neil."

"No, no," returned Sir Donald emphatically. "You mistake the facts, colonel; you are dreaming. My brother Neil was a Jacobite, curse him. But my father, I thank Heaven, was as firmly for the House of Hanover as you or I."

"If either of us is dreaming," declared the soldier, "I am afraid it is yourself, Sir Donald. Surely you do not pretend that you never knew your father to be a bitter enemy of King George! Surely you, his own son, cannot be ignorant of the fact that for months—ay, for years—before Culloden, Sir John Leslie was secretly one of the most active friends and personal supporters of the young Pretender?"

Sir Donald had risen to his feet, and now he strode thoughtfully to the end of the room and back.

"If you are speaking the truth, I have been ignorant indeed," he said, with a frown. He turned and continued moodily to pace the room. To and fro he strode with his twitching hands linked together behind his back. Colonel Ossington quietly puffed at his pipe, while young Colin Leslie, in his seat at the ingle, leaned forward staring at the two men in fixed attention. No word was spoken for many minutes, and all was silent saving only for the wild, boisterous rumbling of the wind in the chimney, and the regular shuffling tramp of Sir Donald Leslie's slippered feet upon the bare oak floor. Presently this latter sound ceased, and Sir Donald stood still, ruminating.

"I cannot believe it," he said at length, confronting Colonel Ossington. "On what grounds do you base your conviction?"

"On the surest of all grounds," returned the soldier, "his own admission, and also my certain knowledge that when Charles Edward Stuart and his army of Highlanders were encamped on the moor near here, Sir John Leslie supplied them not only with the food which they so sorely needed, but also with money, with arms, and with ammunition."

A fierce light leapt into the old man's eyes.

"It is false!" he cried, in a quivering voice; "it is false!" He stamped his foot. "I do not doubt that you yourself believe what you are saying. Some knave or liar must have deceived you. But, all the same, it is not true. My father was as fervent a Hanoverian as I was and still am. It was Neil alone who was the skulking Jacobite. Ay, and to him I owe it that I am now so poor that I cannot even offer a chance visitor the hospitality that is his due. Had my father been in sound health at the time of the Rebellion, he would have joined the King's troops and fought as boldly as did my dear brother Alan, who fell fighting bravely and loyally for King George on Culloden Moor."

"In that last particular you are again strangely in error," interrupted Colonel Ossington. "Alan Leslie took no part whatsoever in the battle of Culloden. I, who was his comrade and friend, can testify also that he did not die a soldier's death—at least not upon the field."

"What!" cried the astonished Sir Donald. "Are you certain of this?"

"I am," reiterated the colonel, "absolutely certain."

"Then where in Heaven's name was he?"

"Here—in this house," returned Ossington, knocking the ash out of his pipe and slowly reopening his tobacco-bag. "It was of him more particularly that I came here to speak with you. I wanted to learn something of his fate, whatever it may have been. But it seems you know as little of it as I do myself. We were companions in arms, he and I. It was while I was stationed in Edinburgh that he joined Major James Wolfe's battalion of the Fourth Foot. I was then a young ensign. Alan and I were quartered together, and we soon became fast friends. We sat at the same mess-table, we shared the same bottle of wine, we smoked the same pipe. When it was a question of fighting, as at Prestonpans, we fought side by side."

Sir Donald filled his guest's glass anew. Colin Leslie continued silently to listen, believing that the old soldier was now coming to something more definite.

"In the spring of '46, you remember," went on the colonel, "the Duke of Cumberland's forces marched northward to Aberdeen, in search of the rebels. From Aberdeen we advanced to the town of Nairn, and while there we heard that the Pretender was concentrating his army of Highlanders at a spot not many miles away from our encampment. Alan Leslie and I were sent out to reconnoitre. We made our way westward and discovered the enemy on Culloden Moor. Believing that we might learn something further as to their intentions, Alan induced me to accompany him to Castle Leslie, in the hope of hearing news from the lad's father, who was supposed, although erroneously, to be friendly to the King. We arrived here at dusk and were admitted into this same room."

The colonel's eyes wandered about the apartment as if in the endeavour to picture it as it had been at that earlier time.

"For some two hours," he continued, "we were left here alone. During that interval of waiting, Alan told me the romantic story of Bonnie Belinda, the story being suggested by her portrait, which hung over yonder above the settle."

Sir Donald nodded and glanced across at the vacant place on the panelled wall.

"But at last," went on the speaker, "Sir John Leslie entered, with his plaid about his shoulders, as if he had newly returned from a journey. He regarded his soldier son with stony indifference."

"'Well?' he demanded; 'what do you want here?'

"'I have come, sir,' stammered Alan, surprised at this cold welcome. 'I have come——'

"His father bent forward with his hand resting on the table at his side, and almost touching Alan's regimental cap with its bright brass badge.

"'You have come as a spy!' he cried bitterly, following up the accusation with a volley of virulent taunts. 'You ingrate!' he cried; 'you weak-kneed renegade! Where is your patriotism? How dare you come here, wearing the uniform of the hateful foreign usurper whom you serve?'"

"He said that?" questioned Sir Donald agitatedly. "He—my father—said that?"

Colonel Ossington took up the fire-tongs and caught at a fragment of burning wood with which to light his pipe.

"Those were his own words," said he; "and they were not less surprising to me than they were to Alan Leslie. I do not exactly remember what Alan said in retaliation, but he taunted his father with being a Jacobite, and, as he said, 'the follower of an upstart Pretender'; and at these words Sir John drew himself proudly together and stood at his full height, which I am sure must have been a good six feet. 'I will not have His Royal Highness so named in my presence,' he declared with a frown, and pointing to the door in all the dignity of his old age, he added: 'You are no son of mine, and I do not wish ever to see you again.'

"But even as he spoke, the door was opened from without, and a tall, singularly noble-looking young man entered with the majestic stride of a monarch. He was followed by a yet younger man. At sight of our red coats both new-comers started back in amazement. Before either could speak, however, Sir John had hurried the elder of them out of the room. The younger man, whom I rightly guessed to be Neil Leslie, stepped back and, looking into Alan's face, smiled in recognition, and held out his hand. Alan refused to accept this offer of friendship."

"Ay, and quite right," interposed Sir Donald.

Colonel Ossington did not heed the interruption, but proceeded with his narrative.

"As the two brothers stood there, facing each other," he said, "I thought them the two handsomest youths I had ever beheld. Alan, with his smart military bearing, his finely featured face and his glistening dark eyes; Neil, somewhat taller, although younger, with fairer hair and more lithe figure, dressed in the picturesque Highland costume, with his dark tartan kilt and his long flowing plaid, that was caught at the shoulder by a large silver brooch, set with a sparkling yellow stone."

On hearing this description of his great-uncle, young Colin Leslie moved from his seat at the fire to a vacant chair opposite to Colonel Ossington. It was evident that Neil was in his eyes a hero.

"Alan, I say, refused to accept his brother's proffered friendship. 'Who was the young man that came to the door with you just now?' he demanded. And Neil answered proudly, as he turned to leave the room: 'It was the prince whom I have the honour to serve—Prince Charles Edward Stuart.'"

"And he was once here—here in this very room?" murmured Colin, with reverent enthusiasm. In his boyish imagination the room had been sanctified by the presence of the romantic adventurer.

"Alan refused to accept this offer of friendship."

"Continue," urged Sir Donald, with a black cloud in his face. "What happened next?"

"When Neil had gone out of the room," said the old campaigner, "Alan gave a mocking laugh. 'What do you think of them, Jack?' said he. 'It seems to me we've dropped into a hornet's nest. It will be war to the knife with my father and me after this. Which reminds me,' he added, crossing the room to the wall opposite the window there, 'this pretty dirk is mine. I may as well take possession of it.' And he took down a long-bladed, jewel-hafted dagger that was hung there under the picture of Bonnie Belinda. 'Wait outside for me, Jack,' said he; 'wait at the stable door. There's something else I want to do before we go back to Nairn.' So I went out and waited at the stable. I waited for fully an hour. When Alan joined me at last, he was a different man. He was strangely agitated—almost mad with passion and fierce vindictive rage against his father.

"'Look here, Jack,' said he, 'you'd better ride back to Nairn at once—without me. I shall come on later—perhaps not until to-morrow morning. Ride back as quickly as you can, and see the Duke of Cumberland. If you can't see him, go to Major Wolfe. Tell him—tell either of them—that the rebel army is only some four thousand strong, but that the Pretender has determined to attack the King's troops to-morrow. I have just heard this by accident. The three of them—Charles Stuart, my father, and that young scamp Neil—have been closeted together. But I overheard them talking and unfolding their plans. There was only a thin curtain between us, and I heard every word. I heard my father saying that he had a store of arms and ammunition here in the castle for the use of the Highlanders. Two hundred muskets and as many swords, as well as ten thousand pounds in gold. These he offered to Stuart, bidding him send for them at eleven o'clock to-night. The arms and the money are to be delivered to the messengers by my brother Neil at the postern gate in the castle garden. They will be delivered, Jack, if—if I don't prevent it, as I mean to do.'"

Colonel Ossington paused in his narrative. His gaze was fixed upon the earnestly attentive eyes and the white face of Colin Leslie. The boy seemed mentally to be associating this fact of the delivery of arms at the postern gate with the recently seen apparition of Neil Leslie. As for Sir Donald, he had now ceased to doubt Colonel Ossington's affirmations, and was as deeply interested in the narrative as was his grandson, although the sympathies of the two were directly at variance.

"Ten thousand pounds in gold!" ejaculated Sir Donald in astonishment. "Where on earth did it all come from?"

"I do not know," returned Ossington. "Probably it represented the contributions of the wealthy Jacobites of the immediate neighbourhood."

"And did the Highlanders get those guns and things in time to use them in the next day's battle?" Colin ventured to ask. He breathed a sigh of disappointment when Colonel Ossington answered, with more conviction than the mere words implied—

"I believe not. Alan Leslie remained behind with the purpose of frustrating their delivery."

"Ay, and did frustrate it, I'll be bound," interposed the grandfather. "Alan was brave, he was strong and determined. He would stick at nothing! When did you next see him, colonel?"

"I never saw him again," replied Ossington. "Since that night when I left him his fate has been to me a complete mystery. On the next day, at Nairn, when the muster-roll was called, he was absent. We advanced to Culloden, and the battle was fought—if battle it may be called which was a mere rout. But Alan Leslie was nowhere on the field. When the Highlanders had retreated, vanquished, and the Duke of Cumberland was pursuing his too terrible vengeance upon the innocent and the guilty alike, I searched among the wounded and the dead for my missing comrade, but nowhere could I find him. Afterwards, I came here. Your castle had been attacked and partly demolished by Hawley's dragoons. Sir John Leslie, I heard, had gone the night before with Charles Stuart to the house of Lord Lovat, to be present at a council of war. He afterwards escaped with the fugitives—probably in company with his son Neil."

"Ay!" added Sir Donald; "and Neil, I'll be bound, did not neglect to carry off the gold with him, and use it for his own selfish purposes; for the Pretender never got the money. I'm thankful for that at least. That he should have it were worse even than that Neil should squander it." The old man began again to stride to and fro across the floor. "Neil was a villain!" he cried; "an ingrain villain and scoundrel. He ought to have been hanged with the rest of them! I could almost be content at the loss of the family fortunes if I might only know that the rascal had died an outlaw's death on the gallows. It was doubtless he who prevented Alan from getting back to his regiment that night."

Colonel Ossington meditated a few moments in silence.

"Yes," he said at length, "no doubt you are right. But in what way did he prevent him, Sir Donald? That is what I want most particularly to know."

"To my mind there is but one answer to that question," returned Sir Donald decisively. "My brother Alan was not in the battle, you say. If he had been alive I am certain he would not have shirked his duty. But I believe he was not alive, colonel; I believe that he was murdered, and murdered by his own brother, Neil Leslie. That also would tally with the fact that since that fatal night, Neil has never dared to show himself at his home."

Colin Leslie here ventured to break in with a remark.

"You have no right to say such a thing, grandfather," he said emphatically. "Why should Neil ever think of murdering Alan? He had nothing to fear from him."

"You know nothing about the matter, boy," growled Sir Donald. "It is no business of an ignorant lad to discuss such a thing as this with his elders."

But Colonel Ossington did not so despise the boy's opinions.

"By the way, Master Colin," said he, "your ghost of this evening should have some bearing on this mystery. Did you not say that the apparition was dressed in the Highland kilt?"

"Ghost!" echoed Sir Donald in astonishment. "What ghost? What apparition?"

"The ghost that I saw to-night when I went out with Colonel Ossington to the stables," returned Colin; "the ghost of Neil Leslie. It went in at the postern gate; the gate where the arms and the money were to have been delivered."

"Ah!" the old man drew his breath in sharply, "I have heard of that ghost before. Old Elspeth has seen it. Once, also," he hesitated, listening to the angry blast of the wind; "once, also, on a wild, blustering night just such as this, I saw it myself. That was many years ago; but, I remember, it was at that same place—near the postern gate. Probably the rascal's guilty conscience troubles him, even in his grave—if, indeed, he be in his grave."

There was a long pause, during which the wind howled even more piteously than before. Colonel Ossington emptied his glass and set it down with deliberate slowness upon the table at his elbow.

"I am persuaded that there was some foul play on that night," said he, in a low, clear voice. "But of course there can now be no proof. How could there be, after all these years?" He leaned forward with his open hands clasping his knees, and with his eyes fixed upon the fire. Then he went on, as if speaking to himself: "Some years ago, just after the taking of Quebec, I chanced to make the acquaintance of an aged Highlander, who had a bullet in his chest and was dying in the hospital. I learned that the man's name was David Duncan. We got talking of the Jacobite rebellion, and I discovered that he had been present at Culloden. Further conversation elicited the information that this same old Highlander had been one of the Pretender's messengers sent to Castle Leslie to convey the arms and money to the rebel encampment. Duncan and his companions waited that night near the postern gate. They were at their post at eleven. They waited until three o'clock. But no one ever came to them and the arms were never delivered. While they waited, Duncan heard a strange, weird cry, like a cry for help. Whence it came he could not tell; neither did he know whether it was the cry of a man or of a woman. Human it certainly was. It seemed, he said, to come out of the ground at his feet. It was then midnight."

The old clock in the outer hall struck eleven. Sir Donald Leslie signed to Colin, indicating that it was high time the boy was in bed. Colin bade the two men good-night, but still lingered in the room for a few moments, hoping to hear more of this family mystery.

"I infer from what you have said," remarked Colonel Ossington, addressing his host, "that you have no knowledge of the secret place in which the military stores and the gold of which we have been speaking were hidden?"

"There is no such secret place in all the castle," returned Sir Donald. "Of that I am quite certain. Whether the rebels received the stores or not, the things were assuredly removed long before I returned to Scotland."

These were the last arguments that Colin Leslie heard before he retired to bed. As he lay wakeful on his pillow, he reflected upon the story that had been revealed to him. The men had come to the conclusion that Neil Leslie, the Jacobite, had murdered his own brother. "Could this really be so?" thought Colin. The boy wondered where and in what exact circumstances the tragedy had taken place. He wondered in which room the guns and swords and all those thousands of golden guineas had been hidden. Colonel Ossington had suggested a secret chamber as the probable receptacle; but Colin knew every nook and cranny about the building, and he was forced to acknowledge to himself that his grandfather's words were true when he said, "There is no such secret place in all the castle."

III

But on the following morning, when Colin accompanied Colonel Ossington in a walk round the garden, a new light seemed to come to him.

They were passing the little postern of which so much had been said—the postern through which, as the boy declared, he had himself seen the apparition of Neil Leslie disappear on the previous night. Here Colin now stood. He stamped his feet upon the ground.

"Listen!" he said. "Do you hear anything?" He stamped once again. "I've often thought, as I have passed this spot, that the ground seems to give back a hollow sound."

"And if it does, what of it?" asked Colonel Ossington.

"Well," said Colin, with a curious lift of his eyebrows, "I was thinking that it is just possible there may be some cave, or passage, or cellar under here; and that perhaps it was down there that the guns and things you were telling us of last night were stored."

"You may be right," smiled the colonel, "but I don't see that it matters very much now. It's so long ago, you know."

"Yes," went on Colin, "but I should like to find out, all the same. I have often thought of it before—of the underground passage, I mean. Most castles in Scotland have underground passages somewhere, and Castle Leslie can scarcely be an exception. At one time I thought I had found a way into this one." He pointed up to the top of the ivy-covered wall. "You see the place where that buttress ends?" he asked. The colonel nodded. "Well, last spring a jenny wren built her nest up there. I wanted to get it. I climbed up from the inside of the ruin, and crept along the top of the wall. I had got as far as where the nest was when, leaning over to reach it, I felt one of the big stones give way beneath me. I held on by the ivy; but the loosened stone fell with a crash to the ground. I didn't look where it fell. I was only thinking of how I should get down with the nest. But a day or two afterwards I was coming through the place that used to be the guard-room in the old days, before Hawley's dragoons burnt this part of the castle down, and I saw the stone lying there. It wasn't smashed; but it had smashed the flagstone that it had fallen upon. Some parts of the flagstone had dropped through, right down into a sort of black well. I did not try to open the well; although I should have done if any other boys had been here to help me. But this morning I thought of it again in connection with your story—"

"I understand," interrupted the colonel. "You think it may have been down there that old Sir John Leslie hid the arms for the rebels, eh? Well, let me see this fancied entrance to the subterranean passage. Where is it?"

"It's through here," said Colin. And he led his companion through the postern gate into a large roofless room.

In one of the corners there was a heap of garden refuse, covered by a thin layer of melting snow. Colin took an old spade and industriously cleared the rubbish away. Presently he revealed a large cracked flagstone. He went down on his knees and busily endeavoured to dislodge one of the broken fragments. He scraped and tore and pulled at it to no purpose. Then he stood up and stamped upon it. The rattling of loose earth underneath encouraged him to continue.

"Can you find such a thing as a pickaxe?" questioned Colonel Ossington.

Colin shook his head, but ran, nevertheless, in search of some such instrument, returning some minutes afterwards with a heavy sledge-hammer. With this he opened an assault upon the flagstone, and soon succeeded in loosening one small fragment. A small brown rat darted out from the excavation and scampered across the uneven floor.

"Wait!" cried the colonel; "lend me the hammer. Let us try first to remove this smaller stone, then we can better get at the larger one."

He took the sledge-hammer, raised it over his shoulder, and brought it down with a well-directed blow upon the smaller stone, splitting it. A second blow broke it into splinters. These he removed. Beneath them he discovered the end of a rusty bar of iron that was shot like a bolt through an iron ring. The bar seemed to extend under the larger flagstone, supporting it through its centre of gravity. For many minutes he hammered at the rusty iron, and with each blow the flagstone trembled on its axle and a shower of loosened stones and gravel fell into the depths below. With each development the old soldier's energy increased, while Colin looked on absorbed in boyish expectation.

At last the corroded bar broke. The flagstone collapsed and slipped a few inches into the void, where it was arrested by some obstacle. Its removal revealed an irregular opening, some two feet in diameter.

"You were right, boy," remarked the colonel; "there is indeed a secret chamber here, and this is, or once was, its entrance. See! the flagstone has formed a sort of trap-door. It may have been opened by a spring set under the smaller stone at the side. Look down there; you can see the edge of one of the stone stairs."

"Can we get down?" asked Colin.

"It is possible, I think," returned the old soldier. "But we should require a lighted lantern. Could you fetch one?"

Colin ran off. He was absent some ten minutes. During that interval Colonel Ossington contrived so to force back the broken flagstone that it left an opening sufficiently wide to admit his body. He went upon his knees and thrust his feet into the cavity, descending step by step until his eyes were on a level with the paved floor. There he waited, resting with his hands on the second step. The fingers of his right hand touched something that was softer than the cold stone. He gripped it and drew it forth into the fuller light. It was a fragment of mouldy cloth or felt. Attached to it was a disc of tarnished metal upon which the figure "4" was embossed.

"God!" he exclaimed, "it's the badge of the Fourth Foot."

He tore off the badge and thrust it into his pocket. At this moment Colin Leslie appeared with the lighted lantern, and accompanied by his grandfather.

"I am glad you have come too, Sir Donald," said the colonel somewhat absently.

"What boy's adventure are you contriving now, colonel?" demanded Sir Donald. "One would think that you had gone back to your childhood."

"Not quite so far back as that," returned the old soldier grimly, "but my mind has indeed gone back to my young manhood. Give me the light, Colin," he added, turning to the lad. "I had better, perhaps, go down in advance."

"Colin handed him the lantern."

Colin handed him the lantern and stood at the top of the steps watching him slowly and cautiously descend. The light flickered upon the damp moss-grown stones of the walls that formed the sides of the narrow stairway. It went down and down, growing gradually dimmer and dimmer, until at last it died away. The old grandfather and Colin waited, listening. They faintly heard the tread of the colonel's spurred boots echoing hollowly in the darkness. Once they heard him cough, and then all was silent. The minutes slowly passed. Sir Donald grew a trifle nervous, his nervousness being indicated by the impatient tapping of his foot.

"Listen!" cried Colin. "I heard something fall—something that rattled." He knelt down and peered into the opening. "I hear him walking," he whispered. "He's coming nearer now. Now he has stopped. Now he is coming on again. He's on the stairs. He's carrying something that knocks against each step. I can see the reflection of the light now. And now here's the lantern." The boy drew back. "Mind your head, colonel, or you'll knock it," he cried.

Colonel Ossington did not require the caution. Bending his head, he crept upward, holding the lantern in his extended hand. Presently his face appeared in the aperture. It was ghastly white, and his eyes stared wildly. He drew a deep breath of the fresher air.

"You had better come down," he said, glancing up at Sir Donald Leslie; and drawing his left hand upward, he cast an old and rusty broadsword at the old man's feet. Sir Donald glanced at the weapon and kicked it aside.

"Come!" reiterated the colonel in a voice of authority, and the grandfather slowly obeyed. Colin followed him down the steps, although he was aware that he had not been included in the command. Perhaps he would have been wiser to remain where he was, but his boyish curiosity and love of adventure overcame his caution. Step by step they descended into the gloom. The air about them was damp and cold and stifling. The walls dripped with moisture. The stone stairs were slimy. Darkness hemmed them in, saving only for a fitful glimmer of the lantern light that was below them.

"Three steps more, Sir Donald," said the colonel, standing aside on the firm floor of what appeared to be an arched vault. He held the light aloft. "Now, follow me closely," he added; "the passage turns sharply to the left. Be careful of the corner. I knocked my elbow against it just now. Is that the boy behind you?"

"Yes."

"He ought not to have come. Never mind now; let him follow close at your heels. Now halt and look down upon the floor while I hold the light."

The colonel held out his free hand and gripped the older man's arm, directing his gaze into a narrow archway.

"Those are the muskets," he said. "There are two hundred there. I have counted them."

Colin crept up to his grandfather's side, holding him by the skirts of his coat. Looking into the archway he saw the neatly stacked-up guns, with their rusty barrels and locks and rotting stocks.

The colonel drew his companions onward some three or four steps.

"And here are the claymores," said he. "You see the rebels did not get them, after all."

"No, Alan was true," murmured Sir Donald. "I felt sure he would frustrate their delivery. But—" He gripped the soldier's arm and asked in a suppressed but eagerly acquisitive tone: "But where was the gold, colonel? Did Neil take it all—every guinea of it?"

The colonel held his lantern full in front of Sir Donald's face, which he regarded with an expression of undisguised contempt.

"The gold," he answered, "was stored in the next vault. And," he added loftily, as he signed to Sir Donald to go past him, "I think you will find it all there still."

"The light! the light!" demanded Sir Donald. "Hold it nearer, that I may see."

By the help of the lantern he made his way a few steps farther into the chamber. The yellow rays of light were cast into the low vault. On the floor of hewn rock were many little canvas bags, that were so rotten and mouldy that their sides had fallen away under the pressure of the golden guineas that they had contained. The gold glistened in the lantern light. With greedy outstretched hands, and with eyes staring wide with covetousness, Sir Donald leapt at the treasure. He plunged his fingers into the midst of the coins, lifting his filled hands, and letting the gold fall from them in a jingling shower.

"Wonderful!" he cried. "Ah! now I am rich—rich—rich!" He glanced behind him with shrinking, miserly fear. "It's mine—all mine!" he frenziedly exclaimed, and proceeded eagerly to fill his pockets.

Colonel Ossington lightly touched him on the shoulder.

"Remember, my friend, that the money is Jacobite money," said he. "It was meant for the Pretender, you know."

Sir Donald's coat-pockets were already full to overflowing.

"Meant for the Pretender?" he repeated. "Ah, but look! look!" he added, holding up one of the coins to the light, "every one of them bears the head of the King! No; do not go yet! Let me have the lantern."

"The money will not run away," remarked Colonel Ossington, passing on with the lantern. "You have found it, and may return when you will. And now, since we have solved the material part of the mystery, let us go further that you may understand its more human side."

He led the way, with Colin at his side, and the grandfather was perforce obliged to follow.

"There is something here that you must see," said the colonel, as, having turned a sharp angle in the passage, he stood still, with his hat under his arm and holding the light in front of him so that its rays shot along the slimy floor. Wondering, Sir Donald and his grandson bent forward, searching into the gloom. Colin drew back as his eyes rested for a moment on something white. But he advanced again and timidly looked once more. His trembling finger pointed down upon the floor at the gaunt, fleshless face and the tall form of a man that was partly hidden under mouldy folds of a Highland plaid and kilt. At the left shoulder there was a tarnished silver brooch, set in the centre with a dim yellow stone. The man lay flat on his back. His sword was in its scabbard at his side; the blanched bones of his right hand still held the remains of one of the canvas money-bags. The gold guineas lay in a little pile beneath the long fingers.

"He was carrying that bag of gold to give to the Prince's messenger," cried the boy Colin, aghast. "It is Neil—Neil Leslie!"

"Yes," nodded Colonel Ossington. "And he must have been met just here by his murderer."

"Neil?" echoed Sir Donald, reeling back; "my brother Neil? Then he did not escape to France? And he has been dead all this time!" The old man shuddered. "Murdered, did you say? But who could have murdered him down here? Perhaps he died naturally. Perhaps he could not find his way out up those stairs and through the stone trap-door!"

"The trap-door could certainly be opened only from the outside," remarked the colonel. "This place was evidently built as a dungeon—a prison from which it was not meant that any one should escape. But," he added solemnly, "Neil Leslie was not a prisoner. He probably left the door open, not expecting to be interrupted by the villain who drove that dagger into his honest heart. Do you see the dagger, Donald Leslie?" He pointed to the dead man's breast, and brought the lantern nearer until its gleam fell upon the jewelled hilt of a Highland dirk. "You should recognise the weapon—as I do. It used to hang under the painted portrait of the Lady Belinda. It is the same weapon that Alan Leslie carried away with him on the eve of Culloden fight."

"Neil? my brother Neil?"

"I do not believe it!" cried Sir Donald excitedly. "My brother Alan never was down here. He did not know of the existence of such a place, any more than I did until this hour. For all that you say I do not believe but that my brother Alan died like a brave man on Culloden Moor, fighting, I thank God, for the King!"

Colonel Ossington silently shook his head and turned away, carrying the lantern with him to the foot of the stairs by which the three had entered the dungeon. Here he stood, holding the lantern so that its light shone only directly in front of him. He confronted Sir Donald and Colin, the while he put his hand into his breast pocket, and drew something forth which he held out for the old man's inspection.

"I found this on one of the upper stairs when I first entered," he said, holding the thing under the light. "It came off a soldier's regimental cap. It is the badge of the Fourth Foot. The man who wore it and who left it lying up there was a man whom I once called my friend; but whom I now know to have been a dishonourable spy, an unscrupulous traitor, an assassin and a fratricide. When Neil Leslie came down here faithfully to fulfil his father's instructions, he was dogged and followed by his brother. It was Alan Leslie who murdered him."

"Then where is Alan now?" interrupted Sir Donald. "Why did he never come home?"

"Because," answered the colonel, "when he came down here to kill his brother, he made the mistake of closing the trap-door behind him. He could not open it, he could not escape. He was imprisoned here with his dead victim. He may have starved; he may have been suffocated by the smoke from the burning building above him that night when Hawley's dragoons set fire to the castle. However it was, he never left this place." The colonel moved aside, allowing the light to shine upon the dull red, mildewed cloth of a soldier's coat that covered the crouching figure of a man long dead. "That is what remains of Alan Leslie," he added grimly. He handed the lantern to Colin, bidding the lad hold it aloft. He knelt down. "When a soldier disgraces his regiment," he continued, "we usually remove the facings from his uniform. This man was not worthy to wear the uniform of so honoured a regiment as the Fourth Foot."

"I think," remarked Colin, "that, rebel though he was, Neil Leslie was by far the better man."

"I am sure of it, my boy," returned Colonel Ossington.

A DANGEROUS GAME

BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN

Author of "Frank and Saxon," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I

"Oh, bother the old books!"

And as if to bother them, though more likely to break their backs, Lance Penwith closed two with a sharp clap, rose from his seat at the table, and then, holding one flat in each hand, he walked round behind his cousin, who was bent over another, with his elbows on the study-table, a finger in each ear, and his eyes shut as if to keep in the passage he was committing to memory. But the next moment he had started up, hurting his knees, and stood glaring angrily at Lance, who was roaring with laughter.

For the hearty-looking sunburned boy had passed behind his fellow-student's chair with the intention of putting his books on one of the shelves, but seeing his opportunity, a grin of enjoyment lit up his face, and taking a step back, he stood just at his cousin's back, and brought the two books he carried together, cymbal fashion, but with all his might, and so close to the reader's head that the air was stirred and the sharp crack made him spring up in alarm.

"What did you do that for?"

"To wake you up, Alfy. There, put 'em away now, and let's go down to the cliff."

"And leave my lessons half done?—Don't you do that again. You won't be happy till I've given you a sound thrashing."

"Shouldn't be happy then," said Lance, with a laugh; "and besides, you couldn't do it, Alfy, my lad, without I lay down to let you."

"What! I couldn't?"

"Not you. Haven't got strength enough. Jolly old molly-coddle, why don't you come out and bathe and climb and fish?"

"And hang about the dirty old pilchard houses and among the drying hake, and mix with the rough old smugglers and wreckers."

"How do you know they're smugglers and wreckers?"

"Everybody says they are, and uncle would be terribly angry if I told him all I know about your goings on."

"Tell him, then: I don't care. Father doesn't want me to spend all my time with my nose in a book, my eyes shut, and my ears corked up with fingers."

"Uncle wants you to know what Mr. Grimston teaches us."

"Course he does. Well, I know my bits."

"You don't: you can't. You haven't been at work an hour."

"Yes, I have; we sat down at ten, and it's a quarter past eleven, and I know everything by heart. Now, then, you listen."

"Go on, then," cried the other.

"Not likely. I've done. Come on and let's do something. The rain's all gone off and it's lovely out."

"There, I knew you didn't," cried the other. "You can't have learned it all. And look here, if you do that again I shall certainly report it to uncle."

"Very well, report away, sneaky. Now then, will you come? We'll get Old Poltree's boat and make Hezz come and row."

The student reseated himself, frowning, and bent over his book again.

"Look here," cried his cousin, "I'll give you one more chance. Will you come?"

No answer.

"One more chance. Will you come?"

"Will you leave off interrupting me?" cried the other furiously.

"Certainly, sir. Very sorry, sir. Hope you will enjoy yourself, sir. Poor old Alf! He'll want specs soon."

Then pretending great alarm, the speaker darted out into the hall, and thrust his head through a door on the right, which he half opened, and stood looking in at a slightly grey-haired lady who was bending over her work.

"Going out, mother," he said.

The lady looked up and smiled pleasantly.

"Don't be late for dinner, my dear. Two o'clock punctually, mind."

"Oh, I shall be back," said the boy, laughing.

"And don't do anything risky by the cliff."

"Oh no, I'll mind."

The boy closed the door and crossed the hall, just as a shadow darkened the porch, and a tall, bluff-looking man entered.

"Hullo, you, sir!" he cried; "how is it you are not at your studies?—Going out?"

"Yes, father; down to the shore a bit. Done lessons."

"Why don't you take your cousin with you?"

"Won't come, father. I did try."

It was only about half a mile to the cliff, where a few fishermen's cottages stood on shelves of the mighty granite walls which looked as if they had been built up of blocks by the old Cornish ogres, weeded out by the celebrated Jack the Giant-killer; and here Lance made his way to where in front of one long whitewashed granite cot, perched a hundred feet above the shore, there was a long protecting rail formed of old spars planted close to the edge of the cliff, just where a tiny river discharged itself into the sea. This opened sufficiently to form a little harbour for half-a-dozen fishing luggers, the rocks running out sufficiently to act as a breakwater and keep off the huge billows which at times came rolling in from the south-west, so that on one side of the cliffs lay piled up a slope of wave-washed and rounded boulders, many as big as great Cheshire cheeses, while on the other, where the luggers lay, there were pebbles and sand.

Upon this rail four men were leaning with folded arms, apparently doing nothing but stare out at the bright, clear sea; but every eye was keenly on the look-out for one of those dark-cloud, shadow-like appearances on the surface which to them meant money and provisions.

But there was no sign of fish breaking the surface of the water, and as Lance approached he had a good view of four immense pairs of very thick flannel trousers, whose bottoms were tucked into as many huge boots, which, instead of being drawn well up their owners' thighs, hung in folds about their ankles, and glittered in the sunshine, where they were well specked with bright fish scales.

Higher up Lance looked upon four pairs of very short braces, hitched over big bone buttons, and holding the aforesaid trousers close up under their wearers' armpits. The rest of the costume consisted of caps, home-made, and of fur formerly worn by unfortunate seals which had come too near a boat instead of seeking safety in one of the wave-washed caves round the point.

"Hi! Old Poltree!" shouted Lance, as he drew near, "where's Hezz?"

The broadest man present raised his head a little, screwed it round, and unfolding his arms, set one at liberty to give three thrusts downward of a hand which was of the same colour as all that could be seen of a very hairy face—mahogany.

"Thankye," shouted Lance, turning off to the left, and the big man folded his arms again and looked seaward, the others not having stirred.

Lance's turn to the left led him to a steep descent all zigzag—a way to the shore that a stranger would have attacked like a bear and gone down backwards; but Lance was no stranger, and the precipitous nature of the way did not deter him, for he descended in a series of jumps from stone to stone, till he finished with a drop of about ten or a dozen feet into a bed of sand lying at the mouth of a wave-scooped hollow, from which came strange moans and squeaks, the latter painfully shrill, the former deepening at times into a roar.

The said stranger would have imagined that a person had fallen from the cliff and was lying somewhere below, badly broken and wanting help; but there was nothing the matter. It was only Hezz, or more commonly "Hezzerer," in three syllables, and he had been busy at work putting a patch on the bottom of a clumsy upturned boat which, as he put it, "lived in the cave," and he was now daubing his new patch with hot tar from a little three-legged iron kettle held in his left hand.

But this does not account for the groans and squeaks.

These were produced from the youth's throat. In fact, Hezz was singing over his work, though it did not sound very musical at the time, for something was broken; but it was only Hezz's voice, and it was only the previous night that Old Poltree, his father, had said to Billy Poltree, another of the big fisherman's offspring, "Yo' never know wheer to have him now, my son: one minute he's hoarse as squire's Devon bull, and next he's letting go like the pig at feeding time."

At the sound of the dull thuds made by Lance's feet in the sand, Hezz Poltree whisked himself round and held his tar-kettle and brush out like a pair of balances to make him turn, and showed a good-looking young mahogany face—that is to say, it was paler than his father's, and not so ruddy and polished.

"Hullo, Master—Lance," he said, widening his mouth and showing his white teeth, joining in the laughter as the visitor threw himself down on the sand and roared.

"Whisked himself round and held his tar-kettle and brush out like a pair of balances."

"I can't help it, Master—Lance."

"Try again," cried the new-comer, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I do try," growled the boy, beginning once more in a deep bass, and then ending in a treble squeak. "There's somethin' got loose in my voice. 'Tarn't my fault. S'pose it's a sort o' cold."

"Never mind, gruff un. But I didn't know the boat was being mended. I wanted to go out fishing, and the pitch isn't dry."

"That don't matter," growled Hezz, setting down his kettle and brush, and catching up a couple of handfuls of dry sand, which he dashed over the shiny tar. "Come on."

Lance came on in the way of helping to turn the clumsy boat over on its keel; then it was spun round so as to present its bows to the sea; a block was placed underneath, another a little way off, and the two boys skilfully ran it down the steep sandy slope till it was half afloat, when they left it while they went back to the natural boat-house for the oars, hitcher, and tackle.

"Got any bait?" said Lance.

"Heaps," came in a growl. Then in a squeak—"Thought you'd come down, so I got some wums—lugs and rags, and there's four broken pilchards in the maund, and a couple o' dozen sand-eels in the coorge out yonder by the buoy."

"Are there any bass off the point?"

"Few. Billy saw some playing there 'smorning, but p'raps they won't take."

"Never mind; let's try," said Lance eagerly. "Look sharp; I must be back in time for dinner."

"Lots o' time," growled Hezz, as he loaded himself up with the big basket, into which he had tumbled the coarse brown lines and receptacles of bait, including a scaly piece of board with four damaged pilchards laid upon it and a sharp knife stuck in the middle. "You carry the oars and boat-hook," came in a squeak.

They hurried down to the boat, and were brought back to the knowledge that four pairs of eyes were watching them from a hundred feet overhead, by Old Poltree roaring out as if addressing some one a mile at sea—

"You stopped that gashly leak proper, my son?"

"Iss, father," cried Hezz, in a shrill squeak, as he dumped down his load.

Lance thrust in the oars and hitcher and sprang in, after giving the boat a thrust; and as a little wave came in and floated her, Hezz ran her out a bit farther and sprang in too, thrust an oar over the stern, and sculled the craft out, fish-tail fashion, to where a black keg did duty for a buoy. Here he kept the boat's head while Lance leaned over the side to unhitch a piece of line and draw a spindle-shaped wicker basket along the side to the stern, where he made it fast to a ring bolt, the movement sending a score or so of eely-looking silvery fish gliding over one another and flashing by the thin osiers of which the basket was formed.

Then each seized an oar and pulled right away to get round the rocky buttress which was continued outward in a few detached rocks, that stood up boldly, to grow smaller farther out, and farther, till only showing as submerged reefs over which the sea just creamed and foamed.

It was out here that the tide ran swiftly, a favourite spot for the bass to play, and as they approached the familiar spot Lance handed his oar to his sturdy companion, while he took one of the lines, laid the hook and lead ready, and then drew the coorge in, opened a wicker trap-door in the top, inserted his hand, closed the lid again, and with deft fingers hooked the silvery writhing fish, popped it overboard, and let the line run out with the tide, while Hezz kept the boat carefully, as nearly as he could, in one place.

"There they are, Master Lance," he cried. "Be on the look-out; they'll take that bait pretty sharp perhaps."

The lad was quite right, for hardly five minutes had elapsed before there was a snatch at the line, and something was hooked.

"Got him!" cried Lance, whose face was glowing with excitement. "Oh, why didn't Alfy come? I say, Hezz, he's a whopper. He does pull. Shall I let him run?"

"Gahn! no. Haul him in fast as you can, 'fore he gets off."

The tackle was coarse and strong, and there was no scientific playing attempted. It was plain, straightforward pully-hauly work, and in a very short time the transparent water astern seemed to be cut into flashing streaks by something silvery which was drawn in hand over hand, till, just as Lance was leaning over to get his fingers close to the end of the snood where the hook was tied, the water was splashed up into his face, and he sat up with a cry of disappointment, seeing only a streak of silver flashing in the sunshine, for the fish had gone.

"Never mind: bait again," squeaked Hezz.

"Bait again," cried Lance, imitating him. "What! with that hook? Look at it. Nearly straightened out. I wish you wouldn't have such nasty soft-roed things. Why, that was a fifteen pounder."

"Take another hook, Master Lance. Look sharp; look at 'em playing."

Lance put on a fresh hook, baited again, and sent the sand-eel gliding off along the rushing tide, which played among the rocks like a mill-stream, and waited excitedly for another snatch, but waited in vain.

"Don't pull," he said at last; "let the boat run out a bit."

Hezz obeyed, cleverly managing so that the boat glided slowly after the bait in the direction of the broken water where the shoal of bass could be seen feeding; but they got no nearer, for so sure as the boat went farther from land, so did the fish, and in spite of fresh and tempting baits being tried there was no seizure made.

"That there one as got away has told all the others to look out," said Hezz, with a chuckle. "You won't get another bite."

"Stuff and nonsense! Just as if fish could talk! Let's go out farther."

The boat glided on, with the current growing less swift, and at last Lance drew in his line, sat down, and between them they rowed slowly in against the sharp current.

"It's no good now," said Hezz. "Let's go along yonder by the mouth of the caves, and try for a pollack among the rocks. If we don't get one we may ketch a rock-fish or two."

"Or a conger in one of the deep holes."

"Nay, you won't ketch none o' them till it's getting dark."

"Dark enough in the holes," said Lance.

"Very well; you try."

So the boat was rowed out of the sharp current, and then away towards the west under the cliffs, and about a hundred yards from the shore, where the tide ran slowly. Here Lance gave up his oar and began to fish again, trying first one and then another kind of bait, but with no greater result than catching a grey gurnard—"tub" Hezz called it—and soon after a couple of gaily-coloured wrasse, not worth having.

"Oh, this is miserable work!" cried the boy, drawing in his line and covering a large hook with half a pilchard. "Pull a little farther along, and I'll throw out in that dark quiet part. There'll be a conger there, I know."

Hezz uttered a croak, and his eyes said plainly, "No conger there"; but he rowed to the spot, which was where a rock rose up out of the water like a little island, on which a dusky cormorant which had been fishing sat drying its wet wings, paying no heed to the approaching boat till it was some twenty yards away, when the bird took flight and went off close to the surface.

"Now put her just in yonder," said Lance, "and be as gentle as you can, so as to keep her there without splashing."

Hezz obeyed cleverly enough; and his companion, after seeing that the line lay in rings free from obstruction, sent the heavy sinker and bait right away to where the water looked blackest, making Hezz chuckle loudly.

"Rev'nue cutter," said Hezz shortly.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You: telling me to be so quiet, and sending the lead in with a splash like that."

"Don't matter; it's only at the top. The fish deep down won't notice it. Look! it is deep too," for the line went on running out as the lead descended, and Lance seated himself to wait, with a self-satisfied look upon his countenance.

"I like fishing in the still water," he said. "You see if I don't soon get hold of something big."

"P'raps," said Hezz; "but I never caught anything here."

"Ah, you don't know everything. I say, what's that vessel out yonder?"

"Chasse-marée," said Hezz, shading his eyes to look at the long three-masted lugger with a display of interest.

"No, no; the one with all the white sails set."

"Rev'nue cutter," said Hezz shortly; and proof of his words was given the next minute, for there was a white puff of smoke seen to dart out from her bows, and a dull thud echoed from the cliff.

"Why, she's after that long lugger. She's a smuggler," cried Lance excitedly. "Is there going to be a fight?"

"Na-a-a-a-y!" growled Hezz. "She's only fishing."

"How do you know? She's a smuggler, and there'll be a fight. Let's row out and see."

But in obedience to the summons the long low vessel glided slowly round till her brown sails began to shiver and flap, and as the boys watched they saw the cutter run pretty close up, and a small boat was lowered and rowed across.

"They're French, and cowards," cried Lance, who was deeply interested. "They've surrendered without striking a blow."

"Arn't got nothing to strike blows with," croaked Hezz sulkily. "Didn't I tell you she was a fishing-boat?"

"Oh, yes; but I know what fishing-boats catch sometimes, Master Hezz," said Lance, laughing, his companion looking at him curiously the while—"brandy snappers, 'bacco biters, and lace-fins, Hezz. But they're French cowards, or they'd have made a run of it. I say, they'll make her a prize, and take her into port. Where will they take her—Plymouth or Falmouth?"

"Nowheres. They'll let her go."

The lads sat watching till all at once in the distance they saw the little boat row back, and the sails of the chasse-marée began to fill.

"Who's right now?" said Hezz, laughing.

"I am. They've put a prize crew on board."

"What! out of that little boat?" squeaked Hezz. "That they haven't. There was five in her when she put put off, and there's five in her now."

"You can't see at this distance."

"Can't I? That I can, quite plain."

"That's upset all my fishing," said Lance, "and it's getting on for dinner-time. Oh, what bad luck I do have!"

"You ketch lots sometimes, and you did nearly get a fine bass to-day. That was a good twelve-pounder."

"Twelve? Fifteen," said Lance, preparing to haul in his line.

"P'raps," said Hezz. "Going to try any more?"

"No; I mustn't be late for——Oh, look here! I've got one on."

For the line was tight, and as Lance began to haul, it was against a heavy persistent drag.

"Lead caught in the rocks," croaked Hezz contemptuously.

"Oh, is it! Look here! It's coming up."

"Weed, then," squeaked Hezz.

"'Tisn't," cried Lance; "I know by the heavy, steady pull. It's a big conger."

"No congers there."

"How do you know?"

"And if there were they wouldn't bite at this time of day."

"You mind your own business," cried Lance excitedly. "It's a thumping big one, and he isn't awake yet to his being hooked. He's coming, and he'll begin to make a rush directly to get in his hole. You begin rowing, and get him right out away from the rocks."

Hezz did as he was told, but only made two or three strokes and then stopped, for his companion had to give line.

"Slower," said Lance, panting, as he held on again. "Wait till he makes a rush. I say, did you bring the big gaff hook?"

"No; but that line'll hold any conger you can catch, and I've got the little chopper in the locker when he comes on board. But that isn't a conger."

"'Tis, I tell you. I can feel him trying to get back.—What is it, then?"

"Weed," croaked Hezz in his deep bass.

"You're a weed! It's a big conger, and he has got his tail round a rock or in a hole."

"Let him go, then."

"What? Why he'd shuffle back into his hole, and I should lose him. Wait till he gets a bit tired and gives way a bit."

"Let go, and if it's a conger he'll slack the line and come swimming up to see what's the matter. But you've only hooked a weed."

"Ha! ha!" laughed Lance. "You're a clever one, Hezz. Look, he's coming up quite steady;" and the boy drew in a couple of yards of line.

"It arn't a conger, or he'd begin to cut about now and shake his head to get riddy of the hook."

"Then it's some other big fish. Think it's a shark."

"No. What would a shark be doing there?"

"I dunno; but he's coming up. I say, put down the oars."

Hezz nodded, laid in his oars, and stood close behind his companion, gradually growing as excited for a minute or so, and then grinning.

"It arn't no fish," he said.

"It is, I tell you," cried Lance, as he kept up a steady haul, the boat having yielded till it was exactly over the line.

"I never see a fish take it so quiet as that," continued Hezz.

"It's only till he sees us, and then he'll make a desperate rush to get away."

"I'll be ready for him," said Hezz, laughing softly, as he gently rested the handle of the boat-hook on the side, thrusting it out towards the tightened line, which still came slowly in, though the strain threatened to make it part. "Hope it will be good to eat, Master Lance."

"I know what it is," cried the boy, in a low hoarse voice. "It's one of those great cuttles, the same as were washed on shore after last year's storm. It will come up all of a lump, with its feelers and suckers twisted round the line."

A sudden change came over Hezz. Instead of grinning, his face turned preternaturally solemn, and taking his right hand from the boat-hook he thrust it into his pocket, drew out a big jack-knife, to open it by seizing the blade in his teeth.

"That's right," whispered Lance, husky now with the excitement; "but don't use the knife if you can get a good hold with the hook. Look, look, here it comes! Oh, it is a monster!"

"A vigorous cut divided the fishing-line."

The boy had been steadily hauling till he had brought his capture nearly to the surface, and he now caught sight of what seemed to be its curved and rounded body.

"Now, Hezz—quick! down with the hook. Get a good hold at once. Snatch, lad, snatch!"

But at the crucial moment, when the dark back of the monster slowly rolled up to the surface, Hezz dropped the boat-hook, leaned over the side, hindering his companion's view, and plunged his knife-armed hand down under water.

The next moment there was a slight jar which ran from Lance's fingers right up his arms, the tension ceased, and a yard or two of the stout fishing-line flew up in the holder's face.

For, as if to save his companion from some danger, Hezz had reached down as low as he could, and with a vigorous cut divided the fishing-line, so that the dark round body sank down again like a shadow, leaving the two lads gazing fiercely at each other.

"Oh, I say!" cried Lance. "Only to think of that! Why, Hezz, it's——"

"Never you mind what it is," said the boy roughly.

"And you knew it was, then?"

"Swears I didn't," said the boy fiercely. "Think I should have let you fish there if I had knowed?"

"Why, there must have been a whole string of 'em tied together on a line and sunk there."

"You don't know nothing of the sort," growled Hezz. "You didn't see."

"I saw one; and another coming like a shadow."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did—brandy kegs—smuggled. Here, I'll hail the cutter."

"No, you don't," said Hezz fiercely; and as he stood with the knife in his hand he looked threatening. "They couldn't hear you if you did."

"Then I'll make signals."

"No, you won't. I shan't let you, and you wouldn't be such a sneak, Master Lance."

"It isn't the act of a sneak."

"Yes, it is. Your cousin would, but you wouldn't get poor men into trouble."

That hit hard, and Lance hesitated.

"Why, it must be your father's and your brother's doing. And just under our noses too! Oh, what a disgraceful shame! There, Hezz, I've done with you."

"I didn't know about it, Master Lance."

"You must have known."

"Wish I may die if I did. There!"

"Take the oars, Hezz," said Lance coldly.

"But, Master Lance——?"

"Take the oars," said Lance sternly. "I want to go home."

"To tell Squire Penwith what you've seen? O Master Lance! you don't know what you're going to do."

"No," said Lance sternly, as the lad took the oars and began to row back, "I don't."

"You make me feel as if I'd sooner kill you than you should do this. It means having my poor father took up and sent out of the country, and p'raps he didn't know the kegs was hid like that."

"Go on rowing, I tell you," cried Lance sharply, "make haste. Pull! do you hear? Pull!"

Hezz uttered a low sound something like a gulp, and dragged away at the oars with all his might till he ran the boat on to the sands, where Lance was perfectly aware, though he would not look up, that the four big fishermen were still leaning over the rail and looking out to sea, and he expected to hear a cheery question as to sport as he hurried up over the sands and began to climb the zigzag.

But no hail came, for the men's eyes were bent upon the revenue cutter, a mile away, watching every movement of that and the chasse-marée.

At least so thought Lance Penwith as he hurried home, pondering upon his cousin's words, and asking himself whether he was not doing wrong by associating with these fisher-folk on the cliff.

"I must tell father," he said to himself. "I ought to tell him," he said; and then he began thinking of what it meant, the severe punishment of pretty well every man in the cluster of cottages, some being sent to prison, the younger men to serve in King George's men-of-war; and ever since he could remember, they had all been to him the kindest friends.

CHAPTER II

"I can't help it," said Lance to himself, after a weary sleepless night; "I don't feel as if I could go and tell tales. I'm not sure; and if I was wrong, and these men were punished for what they did not do, I should never be happy again."

Lance had made up his mind that he would have no more to do with the people down by the cliff, for he felt now that they were not honest. But there was a bitter feeling of disappointment in coming to this resolve; for it had been so pleasant to get away from the refinements of home with its choice cookery, plate, glass, and fine linen, to the boisterous welcome he always had at Old Poltree's neat cottage. How delicious the baked hake was, and how luscious the conger pie!—though they were as nothing to the split and grilled fish he caught himself; and Hezz's mother was always ready to cook for the two boys.

And now it was all over; but still he might go and climb to the steep edge, from whence he could look down on the whitewashed cottages, the busy harbour, and the boats.

This he did, and grew quite excited as he saw that the revenue cutter was lying off the point, a couple of miles out, as if watching the place.

"Poor old Hezz!" he said to himself bitterly, "I hope they will not take him."

Then incongruously enough he smiled as he thought of the boy's breaking voice.

They'd laugh at him if they heard him croak and squeak as he does now, and perhaps let him off because he's only a boy. But it would be horrible for the other men.

"Why, father's a magistrate too," said the lad suddenly, "and he'd be with the others who punished them for smuggling if it was found out. Oh, I can't go and tell what I know! It would be horrid."

Lance lay there upon the warm cliff for some time thinking, and then he started and looked down, wondering at what was to him quite a marvel. For there, moving slowly, about a hundred feet below him, was his cousin, threading his way amongst the masses of granite tangled with brambles, in a part where there was no path, nothing more than a faint track or two made by the grazing sheep, and it seemed unaccountable.

"What's he doing there?" muttered Lance. "He must be looking for me. Well, let him look. I don't want him. If I shout to him he'll only come and begin to preach at me in his pompous way. When I'm in a good temper it only makes me laugh; but I'm in a bad temper now, and if he begins I shall feel as if I must punch his head."

So Lance lay and watched, making unpleasant remarks the while, all of a derisive nature. He watched till Alfred had disappeared beyond the chaos of rocks which had fallen from above, and at last he strolled back home, forgetting all about his cousin till he took his place at the luncheon-table, and felt surprised to see him there, looking quite cool and as if he had passed the morning reading in the shade.

There was another surprise for Lance before he left the table, the squire letting fall the announcement that Captain Barry was going to dine there at six o'clock that evening.

"So you boys will have to put on your best manners."

"Who's Captain Barry, father?"

"To speak correctly, he is Lieutenant Barry, my boy, and is in command of the revenue cutter lying on and off. They are giving us all a good hunt up, for he tells me that there has been a great deal of smuggling carried on along this coast; but I told him the only smuggling about here is the smuggling of fish."

Lance felt that the tips of his ears turned hot, and thought that they must be red. He knew that this was the opportunity for telling all he had found out, but somehow the words would not come.

The officer was rowed ashore from the cutter that evening, and the squire had walked down to the tiny harbour, with the two boys, to meet him, and find him a frank, pleasant, middle-aged man, who, for some reason, had never been promoted.

He shook hands, and Lance turned scarlet, and then glanced shoreward, to see that Hezz was busy turning the clumsy boat half inside the cavern, and that the big trousers and boots were up on the shelf, while the men inside them seemed to be gazing out to sea in search of a coming shoal.

The officer was very pleasant and frank during his stay. He chatted with the boys and asked them if they would like to go to sea; but somehow he found Lance dull and glum, and the boy's father bantered him that night after the visitor had gone back to the cutter.

CHAPTER III

A week had glided by, and fishing was in full progress below the cliff. Hezz and his people had enclosed a small shoal of mackerel in their seine, and at another time Lance would have been in the thick of the business, revelling in seeing the line of corks drawn in closer and closer till the shoal was dashing about seeking for a way of escape, before the tuck net was brought to bear, and the arrowy wave and ripple-marked fish were ladled out in baskets.

Lance had watched the movements of the cutter anxiously while she stayed off the point; but one fine day she had glided away west with all sail set to the light breeze, and the boy breathed more freely.

Then the days passed and nothing seemed to happen, except that when Lance went along the high cliffs, climbing from place to place till he settled himself down in some snug rift where he could scan the sea and note what was going on in the cove below, to see if there was any sign of smuggling, he found that his cousin came cautiously along no less than three times, and the boy laughed to himself from his hiding-place.

"He's watching me to see if I go down and join Hezz. How can any one be such a sneak?"

Lance often mused after this fashion as the days slipped by; but he kept away from the people down by the cliff, in spite of a wistful look or two he caught from Hezz, who came up to the house several times to sell fish.

"No," Lance said firmly, "I haven't told tales; but I won't have anything to do with smugglers."

One fine afternoon soon after dinner Lance saw his cousin go into the study and take down a book, rest his head on his hands, and begin to read.

Lance had followed him to propose that they should go inland and have a ramble in the woods, but his cousin's action checked him.

"It's of no use," he said; "he wouldn't come."

So the lad went off till he reached one of his favourite look-outs, just by a rift overgrown with brambles, where, when the tide was up, the whispering and washing of water could be heard, showing that one of the many caverns and cracks along the bold coast ran in a great way.

"Wish I knew which of them belonged to this," he had more than once said; and upon this particular occasion as he seated himself he began listening to the strange whispering sounds.

"I meant to have tried to find this out," he said, "along with Hezz. Why, I did say something about it once, and he only laughed and said it was a land-spring. Well, I can't get the boat now."

Somehow the place had a strange fascination for him that day, and after looking about a bit he picked up a piece of mossy granite as big as his head and pitched it among the bramble growth and ferns just where the whispering washing sound could be faintly heard.

To his surprise there was the fluttering of wings, and a jackdaw flew out and away.

"Nest there," he muttered; but his thoughts were divided by hearing the stone he had pitched down strike heavily, sending up a hollow sound; and directly after it struck again more loudly, and all was still.

He was in the act of rising to examine the spot, but he sank down directly, ducking his head behind a great tuft of ragwort.

"Well, he is a sneak," he muttered.

He sat close, and Alfred passed about twenty yards below, going on cautiously away to the right, and passing out of sight.

Lance sighed, rose, and looked away to the west; but there was no sign of his cousin, so he walked back home.

The night came on soft and calm, and after sitting reading a bit, and going over some translation ready for the vicar next day, Lance looked up, to see that he was alone, so putting away his books he strolled out on to the big sloping lawn to where he could see the sea; but it looked quite dark and forbidding, and the stars were half hidden by a haze. Still it was very pleasant out there, and after a time he turned to look back at the house with its light or two in the windows of the ground-floor, while everything else looked black, till all at once a little window high up in the centre gable of the old Elizabethan place shone out brightly with a keen steady bluish light which lasted while he could have counted twenty, and then all was blacker than ever.

"Why, it's a firework," said Lance to himself. "It must be Alf."

He had hardly thought this when the light shone out again, burned brightly for a time, and once more went out, leaving the boy wondering, till it once again blazed out sharply, and left all blacker than ever.

Lance's mind was just as black and dark, for he could make nothing of it. Alfred was not likely to be letting off fireworks. What could it mean?

Coming to the conclusion that his cousin had been amusing himself in some way or another connected with chemistry, he stood thinking for a minute and then went in, to find the object of his thoughts sitting by his aunt's side talking quietly, while the squire seemed engrossed in a book.

"Well, perhaps you had better," said Mrs. Penwith. "There's nothing like bed for a bad sick headache."

The boy sighed, said good-night, and went up to his room.

"He had too long a walk to-day," said Mrs. Penwith, "and the sun upset him. By the way, Lance, your cousin complains about your being given to avoiding him. Do, pray, put aside all sulkiness and be more brotherly."

"Why, it is Alf, mother, who never will come out with me."

"There, there, say no more about it," said Mrs. Penwith gently. "You know I wish you to be brotherly, so do try."

Lance felt too much aggrieved to say anything, and sat in moody silence till it was bed-time, when he said "good-night" and went to his own room, thinking the while about those lights.

There he lay, thinking and listening for above an hour, during which he heard the various sounds in the house of the servants shutting up and going to bed, and soon after his father and mother's room door closed, and he settled down to go to sleep.

He might as well have settled down to keep awake, for he turned and twisted, and got out of bed to drink water, and got in again. Then he turned the pillow and tried that. Next he threw off the quilt because he was too hot. And so on, and so on, till he sat up to try and face the question which haunted his brain: What did those lights in the little upper window mean?

"It's of no use," said the boy at last. "I shall never go to sleep till I know." He sprang out of bed and dressed himself, and then stood thinking. Did he dare go up in the dark to that little room in the roof and see whether he could find out anything?

Yes; and while the exaltation of brain was upon him, he softly opened his door, went out into the broad passage, and along it to the end where the little oak staircase led up to the three attic-like places in the three gables, rooms that were only used for lumber and stores.

The boy's heart beat heavily as he went up in his stockings, and twice over when a board cracked he was ready to rush back to his room; but he forced himself into going on, and stood at last at the centre door of the three, feeling that if he hesitated now he should never do it.

"A signal! came the next moment in answer."

So pushing the door it yielded, and he nearly darted back, for there was a peculiar sulphury smell in the dark room.

But Lance had made fireworks in his time, especially blue lights, and the smell was just the same as that, and he no longer felt scared, for the thought flashed across his brain that some one had burned some pieces of blue light there, and if such were the case there would be something on the window-sill on which they had been burned.

He stepped boldly in, and there, sure enough, he found what he expected—a little piece of sheet-iron about half the size of a slate.

But what for?

A signal! came the next moment in answer; and wildly excited now, he stepped back across the room, descended the stairs and went to the door of his cousin's chamber, tried the door softly, found it yield, and entered.

The bed was empty, and quite cold.

CHAPTER IV

A few moments elapsed, and then it was Lance who had turned quite cold. For his brain was wonderfully active now, as he seemed to grasp as facts that his cousin had not been watching him on the cliff, but had found out something about the smugglers and was watching them. Then, too, he recalled how friendly he had been with the captain of the revenue cutter, and how they had talked together.

This, then, was the meaning of the signal: Alf had found out something—of course; a long low chasse-marée had been lying off that day, he recalled, and the signal lights had been meant for the cutter, which must have crept in at dusk, and for aught he knew the King's men might be landing, in answer to the signals, to catch the fishermen and smugglers in the very act of landing a cargo.

Right or wrong, Lance paused to think no more. It was a time to act and try and warn his old friends. How could Alf be such a sneak?

Quickly and silently he stepped out and back to his own room, put on his boots, opened the window and lowered himself down the heavy trellis, reached the lawn, and ran to get to the zigzag and reach Old Poltree's cottage on the ledge.

"I'll tell Hezz," he said to himself—"just say the King's men are out, and then get back."

It is easier to make plans than to carry them out.

When Lance reached the long whitewashed cottage, meaning to knock till Hezz came to his window, he was caught by a strong hand, wrenched round, and a hoarse voice said in a whisper—

"Who's this?"

"I—Lance, Mother Poltree. I came to tell you I'm afraid the King's men are coming to-night."

"Whish!" she said, as she clapped another great hand over his mouth. "Who told tales—you?"

"No, no, I wouldn't."

"Whish! they're coming," she cried, as she stood listening. "They came after you."

"I—I didn't know," whispered Lance, as he made out steps descending the zigzag, showing that he was only just in time, for whoever it was had been close behind.

"This way," said the old woman sternly, and all thought of retreat was cut off, for she held the boy's arm firmly and hurried him to the end of the cottage and across the patch of garden.

"For there below him, lit up by a few lanterns, he could make out the hull of a great lugger."

The way was new to Lance, and thoroughly excited now, he allowed the sturdy old woman to half guide, half thrust him along, till the way was so narrow along the steep cliff slope that at her bidding he went on first, with the consequence that more than once he lost his footing, and would have fallen from the narrow track but for the help he received.

At one time they were ascending as if to climb to the cliff top, then down, and up again, till at the end of a few hundred yards a rift was reached, down which the old woman hurried the lad, uttering a peculiar hissing sound the while, which quite changed the aspect of the scene which had unfolded itself to Lance's astonished gaze. For there below him, lit up by a few lanterns, he could make out the hull of a great lugger, lying in the jaws of the rift down which they were hurrying, while men were wading waist-deep to and fro—those going out to the lugger's side empty-handed, these coming bearing bales and kegs, which they carried to a low rocky archway, so low that it must have been covered when the tide was up, while now they stooped and passed in their loads to other hands, which seized them and bore them away.

At the warning hiss uttered by the old fisherwoman the work ceased, and as a man, evidently the captain, swung himself down into the water, Old Poltree, his sons, and another man crept out from beneath the rugged archway.

Few words were spoken. The captain of the lugger gave an order or two, splashed through the water with his men, and climbed on board, where the lanterns were extinguished, hitchers and sweeps thrust forth on either side, and the English fishermen waded out to put their shoulders to the stern of the boat and help to thrust her out into the open water.

Their help did not last, for the water deepened rapidly and the great lugger was well on the move, and unless the boats of the revenue cutter were waiting for them her safety was assured. The danger was from the shore for those who had been breaking the laws.

"This your doing, young gen'leman?" growled Old Poltree fiercely, approaching Lance.

"No!" cried the boy eagerly.

"Nay, no lies, my lad. The French skipper saw three lights, and he thought it was our doing. You did it to bring 'em on."

"Indeed, no!" cried Lance. "I saw them too, and as soon as I guessed what it meant I ran down to warn you; didn't I, Mother Poltree?"

"Iss, my son.—You're wrong, old man, it was t'other youngster. I told you he was after no good."

"Then it warn't you, Master Lance?" squeaked a voice. "Hooroar!"

"You hold your row, Hezzerer," growled his father; and then quickly, "Look, they've found the way down. Someun's showing 'em with a light."

His gruff voice was evidently heard, for from where the dull yellow light of a horn lantern shone at the top of the gash in the massive cliff a stern voice shouted—

"Surrender, in the King's name, or we fire."

"Fire away, then," muttered Old Poltree. "Tide'll be up soon. In with you, my lads. In with you, missus, for you can't get back now."

"Come along, Master Lance," whispered Hezz, who had crept close to his old companion.

"No, no!" cried Lance, aghast. "I'm not coming with you; I must go back."

"Nay, my son; you can't now," growled Old Poltree. "In with you;" and he dragged the boy down into the water and gave him a thrust, while as Lance indignantly raised his head again to rush back, he saw by the light of a single lantern held by one of the men that he was in a spacious water-floored cavern which evidently extended for some distance; but what interested him most in his awkward position was the sight of the big old man on one side of the exit, his eldest son on the other, each armed with a piece of broken oar, ready to defend the natural door against all comers.

"Right away with that light," growled the old man, and its bearer splashed through the water farther and farther away.

"Come on, Master Lance," whispered Hezz, catching him by the arm.

"Let go," cried the boy angrily. "I will not be taken with you."

"Nay, you shan't be, young Master Lance," whispered the old woman. "My Hezz'll show you the way out, while my old man keeps the sailors back till the tide's up and they can't get in."

"Yes, that's right, Master Lance," whispered Hezz, and the boy unwillingly followed the lantern-bearer till at the end of a hundred yards the water had ceased and they were walking over the dry rocky bottom of the rapidly-contracting cave, where Lance noticed that a heap of casks and bales had been hurriedly piled up.

And now from behind him there came the shouts of men and the noise of heavy blows and splashing; but neither of those with him seemed in the least disturbed, Hezz even chuckling and saying—

"It's all right, old mother; father won't let no one pass. I say, we shall have to haul you up."

"'Fraid so, my son," said the old woman. "I'm too heavy to clamber now."

A wild feeling of excitement pervaded Lance all this time, mingled with indignation at what he mentally called his cousin's treachery. But he felt better at the thought that he was to escape, for the idea of being captured with the smugglers was horrible.

And now his attention was taken up by the movements of Hezz, who, while the man held the lantern up, took a coil of rope from where it rested on a big stone, thrust his head and one arm through it, and began to climb up a rugged narrow crack at the end of the cavern—climbing as if he had been up there before, and soon disappearing from their view.

But they could hear him plainly enough, his boots grating on the rock, and his heavy breathing coming whispering down for some minutes before all was still, but only for the silence to be broken by a curious rustling sound, and Lance caught sight of the rope uncoiling as it fell.

"Up with you," said the man with the lantern, and Old Poltree's second son seized the rope, and by its help climbed up in much less time than his brother; while Lance longed for his turn to come that he might hurry away, but felt an unwillingness to go before the woman with them was saved.

"Come on," was whispered, and the other man gave the lantern to Mother Poltree, while the shouting and splashing at the cavern entrance grew fainter.

In a very short time there was another summons from above, but at this moment they were joined by big Billy Poltree.

"All right, mother," he said. "Mouth's pretty well covered. I'll go next, so as to help pull you up. They can't get in now."

The man seized the rope, and as he disappeared in the dark crack Lance thought of the consequences if the King's men came now and seized them, so that he started round guiltily when he heard a sound behind him; but it was only the old fisherman.

"Hullo, young squire," he said; "not gone? Well, I'll go next, and then I can help with you both."

With a display of agility that was wonderful in so old and heavy a man, he directly after seized the rope and climbed up, leaving Lance with the old woman, who stood silently holding the lantern and gazing back.

"Tide's right over the mouth now," she said.

"Is it?" replied Lance; and anxiously, "Pray tell them all, Mother Poltree, that I didn't betray them. I wouldn't do such a thing."

"Needn't tell 'em, my son," said the old woman. "No one would believe it of you. But it's a bad job for us if they catch my folk. It means sending 'em across the seas. Now, then, up with you, quick; and then I'll dowse the light."

"No, you first," said Lance.

"Nay, my son, you. Don't waste time. They ought to be making for the moors by now."

Lance seized the rope and climbed actively, finding plenty of foothold, and soon after reaching the open air in the spot which he felt sure was where he had heard the splashing and thrown down the stone.

"Now quick, boys," whispered Old Poltree. "She's got the rope fast round her I can feel. Haul steady; give her time; and then we must make for the hills. They won't hurt the women."

"Quick! this way; I can hear them," cried a familiar voice out of the darkness, and from two ways there was a rush of footsteps and a scrambling sound.

Lance made a dart to dash away, but some one flung his arms about him, lifted him from the ground, and rolled with him over and over amongst the furze and brambles.

"Keep still," whispered a voice in his ear; and he lay quiet, for it was Hezz listening to the sounds of struggling and pursuit till they died away, and then he rose.

"Don't say naught to me, Master Lance—I'm too bad; but you keep close to me and I'll show you how to get back to the big house without the King's men ketching of you. Quick! here's one of 'em."

This on hearing a hoarse panting, but a voice whispered—

"Hezz!"

"You, mother! Got up?"

"Yes, my son, with all the skin off my hands. Have they got away?"

"I think so, mother. What are you going to do?"

"Get home to tell the girls. And you?"

"See Master Lance safe, and then get hid somewheres till they're all gone. I shall be all right, and they won't hurt you. Come on, Master Lance."

No more was said, Lance having his work to do in climbing after his companion, who led him by what by daylight he would have considered to be an impossible path; but it ended at the stone wall which bordered the cliff part of the home grounds, and when he began to thank his companion he was gone, only a faint rustling as of a rabbit telling of which way.

Ten minutes later Lance had climbed back to his bedroom window, closed it, and after regaining his breath he stole out into the passage to make his way to his cousin's room.

But all was silent there. Alf had not returned.

Lance crept back to his own bedroom, undressed, and lay down to listen for his cousin's return, undecided as to what he should do.

Nature decided it for him, sending him off fast asleep, wearied out by his exertions; but before dawn his door was opened and a light step crossed the floor and paused by his bedside, a low ejaculation as of astonishment being heard, and then the steps were directed to the door, which was softly closed.

CHAPTER V

Lance made his appearance at breakfast the next morning rather late, and as he entered the room, wondering whether his father knew of the events of the night, he saw at a glance that everything had come out, for the squire was speaking angrily to Alfred, who stood before him with his face cut and scratched, and a great piece of sticking-plaister across one hand.

"Oh," he cried, "there you are, sir!"

"You may have considered it your duty, sir, still I think it was very dishonourable of Captain Barry to make use of you as his spy without a word to me; but of course he would know that I should not countenance such a thing. It is quite time you went away from home, sir; so prepare yourself, and you will go to one of the big grammar schools as soon as you can make arrangements. That will do, sir: I do not want to hear another word. I am a magistrate, and I want to uphold the law, but all this business seems to me cowardly and bad.—Oh," he cried, "there you are, sir!"

"Yes, father," said Lance, drawing a deep breath.

"You know, I suppose, that the King's men have found a nest of smugglers here, under my very nose?"

"Yes, father."

"And you were in bed all night, of course?"

"No, father. I found out by accident that Alf was going to betray them."

"Betray, eh? And pray how?"

"He burnt blue lights at the top window as a signal to bring the French lugger ashore."

"Indeed! Worse and worse," cried the squire angrily. "And you, sir—pray what did you do?"

"Went and told Old Poltree and his lads to look out."

"You did, eh?"

"Yes, father."

"And pray why?"

"Because, father," said the boy boldly, "I thought it was such a shame."

"You hear this, my dear?" said the squire, turning to Mrs. Penwith.

"Yes, love," said that lady, looking at her son with tearful eyes.

"And I am a magistrate, and my son behaves like this! 'Pon my word, this is supporting the law with a vengeance. But here's breakfast. I'll think about it, and see what I ought to do."

But the squire was so taken up with a visit from the commander of the cutter, which had made its appearance off the point that morning, and going down and seeing the clearing out of the cave, in which there was a grand haul for the sailors, that he apparently forgot to speak to his son. He had no prisoners brought before him, for the smugglers had all escaped; and when Mrs. Penwith told him with a troubled face that their two boys had met at the bottom of the garden, quarrelled, and fought terribly, he only said—

"Which whipped?"

"Lance, my dear. Alfred is terribly knocked about."

"Oh," said the squire, and that was all.

A month passed away before Hezz was seen back at the cottage, and oddly enough that was the very day on which Alfred said good-bye to the place and was driven off with his box, his cousin going with him to the cross roads six miles away, where he was to meet the Plymouth waggon; and it was on Lance's return that he strolled to the cliff to look down at the cottage, and saw Hezz below on the sands once more tarring his boat.

CHAPTER VI

The cliff and the little harbour beneath looked as beautiful as ever; but there was an element of sadness about the place whenever Lance went down to see Hezz, for he was pretty sure to encounter one or other of the sad-faced women busy in some way or another.

There was no playtime for Hezz, whose big, open, boyish face had grown old and anxious-looking; but he always had a smile and a look of welcome for Lance whenever he went down, and rushed off to get the boat ready for a fishing trip somewhere or another.

But these were not pleasure excursions, for as soon as the boat was pushed off the two lads tugged at the oars or set the sail to run off to some well-known fishing ground, where they worked away in a grim earnest way to get together a good maund of fish, a part of which was always sold up at the "big house," and at a good price too.

As for the women, they worked hard in their patches of garden, or went out in couples to bait and lay the lobster pots, or set the trammel nets, sometimes successfully, more often to come back empty; but somehow they managed to live and toil on patiently with a kind of hopeful feeling that one day things would mend.

"Ever see any of the French smugglers now, Hezz?" said Lance to him one day.

The boy's eyes flashed, and he knit his brows.

"No," he said, in a deep growl, for there had been no squeak in his voice since the night of the fight; the last boyish sound broke right away in that struggle, and he seemed to have suddenly developed into a man. "No," he said, "nor don't want to. If it hadn't been for them the old man and Billy and t'others would ha' been at home, 'stead o' wandering the wide world over."

"Have you any idea where they are, Hezz?"

The lad looked at him fiercely.

"Want to get 'em took?" he growled.

"Of course," said Lance, smiling. "Just the sort of thing I should do."

"Well, I didn't know," said Hezz.

"Yes, you did," cried Lance. "Want me to kick you for telling a lie?"

"Well, you're a young gent, and young gents do such things. Look at your cousin."

"Now, just you apologise for what you said, or I'll pitch into you, Hezz," cried Lance. "Now then: is that the sort of thing I should do if I knew where the old man and the rest were?"

"No," said Hezz, grinning, "not you."

"Then just you apologise at once."

"Beg your pardon, grant your grace, wish I may die if I do so any more. That do?"

"Yes, that'll do. Now tell me where they are, just to show me you do trust me."

"Tell you in a minute, Master Lance," cried the lad earnestly, "but I don't know a bit. We did hear from a Falmouth boat as some un' had sin 'em up Middlesbro' way after the herrin'; but that's all, and p'raps they're all drownded. I say, I'll tell you something, though. What d'yer think my old woman said about your mother?"

"I don't know. What did she say?"

"Said she was just a hangel, and she didn't know what she should ha' done all through the stormy time if it hadn't been for her."

"Oh, bother! I didn't want to hear about that," said Lance hurriedly.

"But you ought to hear, and so I telled you. I say, what's gone of your cousin?"

"Never you mind. What is it to you?" said Lance roughly. "You don't want to see him again."

"Nay, I don't want to see him, Master Lance, 'cause I might feel tempted like; and I don't want to run again' him, it might make me feel mad."

"Ah, well, you won't feel mad, Hezz, for he is never likely to come back here again. He's at a big school place, and going to college soon."

"Well, I'm glad he isn't likely to come; not as I should fly out at him, but Billy's wife right down hates him, and there's the other women do too, for getting their lads sent away. You see they've the little uns to keep; and Billy's wife says to me, on'y las' Sunday as we come back along the cliffs from church with the little gal, 'Hezz,' she says, and she burst out crying, 'it's like being a lone widow with her man drowned in a storm, and it's cruel, cruel hard to bear.'"

"And what did you say, Hezz?"

"Nothin', Master Lance. Couldn't say nothing. Made me feel choky and as if my voice was goin' to break agen; so I give her luttle gal a pigaback home, and that seemed to do Billy's wife good. Hah, I should like to see our old man home agen, for it's hard work to comfort mother sometimes when I come back without my fish, and she shakes her head at me and says, 'Ah, if your father had been here!'"

"Poor old lady!" said Lance.

"You see, it's when she's hungry, Master Lance. She don't mean it, 'cause she knows well enough there was times and times when the old man come back with an empty maund; but then you see she'd got him, and now it's no fish and no him nayther.—No, I won't, Master Lance. I didn't say all that for you to be givin' me money agen."

"Well, I know that, stupid. It's my money, and I shall spend it how I like. It isn't to buy anything for you, but for you to give to the old woman."

"Nay, I won't take it. If you want to give it her, give it yourself. I arn't a beggar.—Yes, I am, Master Lance—about the hungriest beggar I ever see."

"You take that half-crown and give it to Mother Poltree, or I'll never speak to you again."

"No, I won't. You give it her."

"I can't, Hezz; she makes so much fuss about it, and kisses me, and then cries. Seems to do more harm than good."

"I won't take it," growled Hezz, "but you may shove the gashly thing in my pocket if you like.—Thankye for her, Master Lance; it arn't for me. And look here, mind, I've got it all chalked down in strokes behind my bedroom door, and me and Billy and the old man'll pay it all back agen some day."

"All right, Hezz," said Lance merrily. "You shall; so it's all so much saved up, and when you do pay it we'll buy a new boat, regular clinker-built, copper-fastened, and sail and mast."

"That we will, Master Lance," cried the lad eagerly. "One as can sail too, so's we can hold a rope astern and offer to give t'others a tow. I say, think the old man will ever come back?"

"I hope so, Hezz."

"Ay, that's what I do—hopes. Sent over the sea, I s'pose, if they did."

"Oh, don't talk about it, Hezz!" cried Lance bitterly. "Why didn't they be content with getting a living with the fish?"

Hezz made no reply, but trudged off to the long whitewashed cottage on the cliff, where as Lance watched he saw Mother Poltree come out and Hezz hand her the big silver coin with King George's head on one side.

The result was that the brawny old woman threw her apron over her face, tore it down again and looked down below, caught sight of the giver, and began to descend.

But Lance was too quick for her: he took flight and ran below the cliff, scrambling over the rocks, for it was low tide, and had a toilsome climb up a dangerous part so as to get back home.

CHAPTER VII

It was one bright spring morning after getting well on with his Latin reading with the vicar, that Lance thought he would go down to the cliff and see what luck Hezz had had with the trammel overnight.

Suddenly he stopped short and stood staring down at the cliff shelf, hardly believing it was true, for there below him in a row stood four great pairs of stiff flannel trousers in four pairs of heavy fisherman's boots, just as if the men's wives had put them out in the sunshine against the old wooden rail to sweeten and dry out some of the damp salt, in case their wearers should come back.

But Lance Penwith had lived there too long to be deceived by such a sight as that, and uttering a cry of amazement he began trying to break his neck by a heavy fall before he arrived safely on the broad shelf, to yell out, "Ship ahoy!"

Then, and then only, did the biggest and broadest pair of trousers begin to move, and a great shaggy head turned to show a dark mahogany face fringed with stiff white hair.

"Come back!" shouted Lance; "and you too, Billy; and you two."

"Master Lahnce, lad!" cried the old man, making a grab at the boy's hand with one of his huge paws, clapping the other upon it, and working it up and down slowly as he said, "The old 'ooman's told me all about it, and I says, humble and thankful like, God bless yer!"

"And so says all on us," chorused his companions.

"That's right, my sons; that's right," growled the old man.

"But you've come back," cried Lance, trying in vain to free his hand, for the others wanted to shake it, and Billy Poltree had to be content with the left, while the other men ornamented the boy with fleshly epaulettes in the shape of a hand apiece on the shoulders.

"Ay, my lad, we've come back," said Old Poltree solemnly, "for it's weary months and months as we four has been in desert lands up the eastern parts and up the norrard coasties; but it's allus been with a long look-out for the native land as we felt as we must see once more afore we died. We bore it all as long as we could, and then we said we'd get home and see our wives and bairns, and then they might take us and send us away across the main, for it arn't been living, has it, my sons?"

There was a tremendous No! and plenty of answering of eagerly put questions before Lance could get away and run panting up to where the squire and his mother were sitting at home.

"They've come back—they've come back!" he shouted, and then he stood as if struck dumb at the thought of what he had done—raced off to tell the only magistrate for miles round that the fugitive smugglers had returned as if to give themselves up.

"Master Lahnce, lad!" cried the old man, making a grab at the boy's hand.

A few questions followed, and Mrs. Penwith sat gazing anxiously from husband to son and back again, for the same thought occurred to her as had flashed upon her boy—"What will he say?" But it was something quite different from anything they expected.

"Come back, Lance? Yes, you've come back, and the dinner is getting cold. Come along."

Lance stared.

But his father said something more before they left the table.

"So those smuggling rascals have come back? Well, I always expected they would. A nice long lesson they've had. Well, knowing what I do, I shall not take any steps unless I am obliged by pressure from Falmouth. Then, of course, I must. They are your friends, Lance, not mine; and I suppose they have quite given up smuggling."

"Yes, father," cried the boy; "Old Poltree told me, with tears in his eyes, that if he had known what was to come of it he would never have touched keg or bale. They'll never smuggle again."

"Let them prove it while they have a chance, my boy; it may tell in their favour when they are arrested and sent for trial."

"But this is a very out-of-the-way place," he said afterwards to Mrs. Penwith, "and I don't think any one will trouble them, for the matter is almost forgotten now."

"But ought you to——"

"Where's that boy?" said the squire, frowning.

Lance had rushed off again to tell his friends on the cliff how his father had taken their return.

"BY DEFAULT OF THE ENGINEER"

BY FRANKLIN FOX

LATE CAPTAIN P. & O. CO. SERVICE

Author of "Conqueror Compass," "Frank Allreddy's Fortune," &c. &c.

I

"Ye'll hae the gudeness, Mr. Williams, to be vary parteecular in having the coals trimmed in the bunkers. I've nae been doon in yon bunkers mysel', and I hae nae time at this moment to gang there; but I mind hearin' tell that there's something peculiar about the construction of them, so I'll thank ye to gie your attention to the matter, as I maun gang awa' to the office the noo."

Mr. Williams, the second engineer, gave a rather gruff and surly response to the order of his chief, who immediately afterwards turned away and went on shore.

I, who was the third officer of the Serampore, upon the main-deck of which vessel the above colloquy took place, was standing in the main hatchway attending to the stowage of the cargo, and took but little heed of the circumstance at the time, though events which took place subsequently brought it to my mind.

Owing to some derangement of the Company's lines of service in the Red Sea, it had been necessary to bring forward for immediate duty the old Serampore, a side-wheeler, which, in consequence of the recent introduction of screw-steamers into our fleet, was beginning to be classed amongst the obsolete ones. Orders had been given by the agent at Bombay, where the ship was lying, to have the vessel got ready for sea at once and despatched to Aden and Suez, where her services were required to take the place of another ship in the regular line of Eastern communication.

The captain, officers, and engineers had all been hurriedly selected from other vessels and appointed to this ship, the second engineer having been the only officer in charge while she was laid up. He had expected, with much confidence, that he would have been made chief engineer in the event of the ship being wanted again, and, no doubt, felt a considerable soreness at a chief engineer from another ship being put over his head.

At this moment the chief officer called out to me—

"Have you got much more room there, Hardy? There are two more boat-loads of stuff coming alongside now."

"Yes, plenty of room, sir," replied I, and was soon busily engaged in superintending the safe stowage of boxes of tea, cases of indigo, and the other articles that composed our cargo. On the upper deck there was a constant stream of coolies shooting the baskets of coal down into the bunkers on both sides of the deck, through the small round holes which had been made for that purpose, and which were fitted with iron plates for covers let in flush with the deck, when closed.

From the fact that such a ship as the old paddle-steamer Serampore was still available for service, it will be readily understood that the incidents I am about to relate did not happen yesterday. In fact it was before the days when the Suez Canal was opened; and consequently, when it was known in Bombay that an extra P. & O. ship was put upon the berth, several officers and others who had come from up country, and were waiting for the regular mail to start to England, seized this opportunity, with the idea of getting a few more days in Egypt than they would otherwise have been able to secure.

In due time the Serampore was coaled and her cargo all in, so she slipped her moorings at Masagon and took up her berth off the Apollo Bunder, where her passengers were to join her. As it was in the end of the month of July, we anticipated meeting the south-west monsoon in its greatest force, and had prepared for this by sending down all the Serampore's upper spars, lowering the topmasts half-way down the lower masts, the backstays being "snaked" across and across the fore and main rigging on both sides, while the fore and main yards only were kept up aloft, and the trysail gaffs, with their respective sails.

"A quiet smoke."

The Serampore, as it was the fashion with steam-ships of that period, had a goodly show of top hamper when she was all a-taunto, and stripped in the manner which I have just described, she appeared, in my eyes, to present a melancholy aspect, something like a skinned rabbit. But as I had only recently been enjoying sea life as a midshipman in a large sailing-ship, that fact may excuse the comparison in which I indulged as to her appearance.

We were to sail next morning at nine o'clock, and the evening was passed by the chief and second officers and myself in a quiet smoke and a chat about things in general.

"What's the new skipper like, Mr. Urquhart?" said the second officer; "do you know anything of him?"

"Oh yes," replied the chief officer, "I think he's a very nice fellow."

"What's his name, sir?" said I.

"Skeed," replied the chief officer. "He was in the Navy once. I believe his nickname there was 'Donkey Skeed.'"

"'Donkey' Skeed?" said I, laughing; "what, on account of anything in his appearance?"

"Oh no; not on account of his ears," replied the chief, "but on account of his obstinacy. When he once gets an idea in his head, nothing in the world will ever knock it out of him."

"Where did you hear all this?" said the second mate.

"Oh, I remember hearing about him at home from a naval man I knew who was messmate with him on the West Coast."

"Well," said the second officer, "there isn't much to be obstinate about at present, except fighting the south-west monsoon."

"Exactly," replied Urquhart; "and from what he said to me to-day that's just the very thing he's got in his head. He's got a new idea, he says, which he is going to try."

"What is it?" said the second officer and I simultaneously.

"Well, he thinks that, instead of steering a direct course for Aden right in the teeth of the monsoon, it would be better policy to edge away across the Arabian Sea on a nor'-west course, making the monsoon a leading wind, because he declares it his opinion that on the Arabian coast the monsoon will be either much lighter or have drawn more to the southward."

"What did you say to that?"

"Oh, I said I thought it might be so, but that we should have to traverse considerably more distance; to which he replied that the speed at which the ship would travel under the improved conditions of weather would make up for that."

"I'm not at all sure about it," said the second officer.

"Nor I," said Mr. Urquhart. "But I believe he's going to try it this voyage anyhow. Good-night, you fellows; I'm going to turn in."

Early next morning several bunder-boats came alongside. The bunder-boats of Bombay, I may mention, are the most convenient water-carriages possible, and very suitable for the wet and blowy weather prevailing in the monsoon. They are large, roomy boats, with a covered-in cabin in the after-part, capable of holding four or five people comfortably. They are rigged with two short masts and a patémar, or lateen sail, and carry a strong crew. The first passengers to appear were two ladies, two children, and an ayah. These proved to be Mrs. Woodruff, her sister Miss Reed, and her two children, the lady having been ordered home from Allahabad, where her husband's regiment was stationed, on account of her health. A captain and subaltern of the same regiment, invalided; then two officers, Captains Thompson and Shaw, from Poonah, with their wives, going home on furlough; a professor from the university, named Spiller; and two more ladies, wives of civil servants, made up the number. While the fourth officer was busy looking after the baggage, and before he had well got it out of the gangway, the quartermaster of the watch called out—

"Look out, sir; captain's coming alongside."

"Shove that bunder-boat off, out of the way! Clear the gangway there!" and in another minute the Serampore's white gig flashed up alongside, and Captain Skeed sprang up the accommodation ladder.

All of us on deck saluted him, and turning hastily to the chief officer, he asked—

"Have you ordered steam, Mr. Urquhart, for nine o'clock?"

"Yes, sir."

"The ship appears to be down by the stern. Isn't she, Mr. Urquhart?"

"I believe she is, sir, a little. The carpenter hasn't given me the draught this morning."

"She appeared to me, as I pulled off in my gig, to be eight or nine inches at least, if not more."

"I thought she would do better in monsoon weather a little by the stern, but I'd no idea she was as much as that, and there's nothing in the cargo stowage that I'm aware of to account for it," said the chief officer.

"Well, I don't know that it matters very much," rejoined the captain; "at all events, we can't alter it now. See everything ready for slipping from the buoy at nine o'clock. Now we'll have breakfast," added he, as eight bells struck. "Has the purser come off with the ship's papers yet?"

"Not yet, sir; but he's been gone some time. I expect he'll be here every minute," replied Mr. Urquhart, as they entered the saloon together.

At the appointed hour the Serampore slipped from her buoy, and steaming away through the shipping at anchor, soon passed the light vessel, and leaving Colaba lighthouse on her quarter, began to breast the heavy seas and face the rain and spray that the fierce monsoon blast drove against her. In half-an-hour's time nothing was visible but the white-capped waves pounding against her bows, dimly seen at times through the thick driving rain that enveloped her, as it were, in a dreary and isolated world of her own.

"This is a pleasant prospect."

"This is a pleasant prospect," thought I to myself, as I buttoned up my oilskins and ascended the bridge ladder to relieve Mr. Urquhart at eight o'clock.

"Keep her west-sou'-west," said that officer, "and call the captain if there is any change."

"All right, sir," said I. "What's she going?"

"Five and a half," replied the chief officer; "twelve revolutions. Keep a good look-out for ships, Mr. Hardy."

"Ay, ay, sir," said I. "There's one comfort, that we can't change to much worse weather than we've got."

"No," said he with a laugh, as the Serampore buried her broad bows right up to the heel of her bowsprit, over an extra heavy sea.

The chief officer and his satellite, the fourth, who kept watch with him, after divesting themselves of their oilskins, betook themselves to the comfortable and well-lighted saloon, where such of the ladies and gentlemen as had not succumbed to the influences of the weather and the diving of the ship, were endeavouring to get up a show of sociability; though not even Miss Reed, who had struck me at dinner as being a lively, agreeable, and pretty person, had courage enough to attempt a performance on the piano.

"I wonder how many days we're in for of this," thought I to myself, as I paced the bridge, the pitching of the vessel jerking me against the rail at every other step. "Let me see—it's about 1700 miles to Aden, I think. At the rate we're going, we shall have nearly a fortnight of this. It's enough to make one savage;" and to relieve my feelings, I immediately yelled out to the two look-out men who were on the forecastle (Lascars, of course)—

"Koop dek agle" ("Good look out forward").

"Acha, sahib" ("Very well, sir"), came back like a shot from the men on duty, who were getting soused every now and then by the seas that broke over the bows.

The night was dark as well as thick. The wind howled shrilly through the Serampore's rigging, giving me a melancholy accompaniment to my march backwards and forwards across the bridge platform. I kept a bright look-out for any ships that might be about, as we were just now in the track of vessels bound up to Kurrachee or the Persian Gulf, and I knew that there would be scanty time to do anything to avoid a collision should we chance to meet one. Nothing, however, happened to disturb the dull monotony of what sailors would describe as a regular pile-driving business.

At eight bells (midnight) I was glad to deliver up my charge to Mr. Sinclair, the second officer, and betake myself to my comfortable cabin and repose, which not even the staggering and pitching of the Serampore, nor the dash of the spray and rain against my cabin, which was on deck, could disturb.

The next day the weather seemed to be, if possible, worse than it was when we started. The seas were heavier and more irregular, and the wind seemed to blow even harder than it had done. During my forenoon watch the log only showed five knots an hour, and the sky was so thick with rain and mist that we got no sights. Some of the passengers made their appearance on deck, and tried to take constitutionals, pacing fore and aft the raised quarter-deck, but soon gave the attempt up as hopeless, and went below to amuse themselves with books or chess, cards or conversation.

My night watch was only a repetition of previous experience, and I fear it would tire my readers if I favoured them with a longer description of the wind, the sea, and the weather. It is necessary to make a voyage in the south-west monsoon before any one can quite realise what it means. The best description of it I can give in a few words is, a lengthened duration of a south-west gale in the English Channel, with thick weather and a temperature of about seventy-five or eighty degrees.

On the fourth day out, I was keeping the forenoon watch as usual, and had left the bridge for a moment or two to compare the standard with the binnacle compasses, and as I passed the saloon companion, which had a hood over it facing aft, I saw Miss Reed with one of her sister's little girls standing at the top of the ladder. Of course I lifted my cap and wished her good-morning.

"Do you think we shall have any better weather soon, Mr. Hardy?" she asked. "I've been watching those great seas shoot up under the stern of the ship, and they do look so cruel and savage that it positively frightens one."

"I'm afraid there's not much chance of any real improvement till we get to Aden," said I; "but there's nothing that you need be frightened about, for the old ship is as sound as a bell, and is fighting her way on as well as we could expect under the circumstances."

"My sister's a very poor sailor," said she, "and I don't believe she'd have come if she had thought it was going to be anything like this."

I had taken a step aft towards the binnacle, remembering that I was in charge of the deck, and that talking to passengers on duty was not exactly in harmony with the Company's regulations, when the Serampore, after making a moderate dive, encountered an unusually heavy sea, which threw her nose up into the air, as it were, and Miss Reed, having for the moment relaxed her hold upon the companion-rail, was, with the child, shot out upon the deck as if she had been flung by a gigantic catapult. The child was rolling towards the rail, where there was only a slight netting, which, if it parted, as being old it very likely might with her weight, would leave nothing between her and the raging sea beneath, when I made a desperate bound forward and caught a firm grip of her dress. At the same time swinging myself round, I was able with my left arm to arrest the headlong rush of Miss Reed against the corner of the skylight, towards which she was helplessly thrown. But the impetus with which she was flung was so great that I could only save myself from falling by pressing my back against the skylight.

"Caught a firm grip of her dress."

In a minute she recovered herself, and seizing the child in her arms, she gave me a grateful look, and murmuring her thanks, allowed me to hand her down the companion.

I had scarcely done this when Captain Skeed popped his head out of his cabin door.

"Send for the chief officer and chief engineer, if you please, Mr. Hardy."

"Ay, ay, sir. Quartermaster, tell Mr. Urquhart and Mr. Stewart that they are wanted by the captain."

In a few minutes both those officers were closeted with Captain Skeed.

As I resumed my walk on the bridge, I confess I felt some curiosity to know what the subject of the colloquy going on in the captain's cabin might be, for I was sure that something or other of importance must be under discussion. I had not long to wait for one result, at all events, of the deliberations. Directly we made it twelve o'clock, and the second officer had handed in to the captain the ship's position by dead reckoning, for we had seen neither sun, moon, nor stars since we left Bombay, I received orders to alter the course.

"Keep her away to west-north-west, Mr. Hardy," shouted the captain from the quarter-deck; "and set the fore and aft sails with a single reef in them."

"Port four points, quartermaster," said I; "keep her west-north-west. Serang, sub adimee seeah carro seede mar" ("Boatswain, pipe all hands make sail").

In a few minutes the trysails were opened out, the reef points tied, and the sails set, together with the fore topmast staysail. The monsoon was blowing from about south-west by south, so that with the sheets hauled flat aft they were just clean full, the luffs only lifting a little as the ship dived over the heavy seas. The alteration in the course brought the sea much broader on the Serampore's bow, some of the waves, in fact, coming nearer her beam than her bow, but the canvas steadied her greatly. She only shipped half the quantity of water that she had been doing, and although her progress was not greatly accelerated, she went along much more steadily and comfortably than she had done hitherto. As soon as the sails were set and the men piped to dinner, Sinclair came up on the bridge to relieve me.

"What was the council of war about? Did Urquhart tell you?" asked I.

"Oh yes," replied Sinclair; "the captain's determined to try his plan of making the Arabian coast where the wind will help him, and then steaming up along the land to Aden. From what Urquhart said, he wanted to be sure about the coals, as we shall have a considerably longer distance to cover by the new route."

"I hope he hasn't made a mistake," said I; and leaving Mr. Sinclair in charge, I went off to work up the day's reckoning and have my lunch.

For the next five or six days the Serampore was kept on the same course with the same canvas set; and it certainly appeared that the captain's theory was an accurate one, for as we approached the coast of Arabia the monsoon blew rather less fiercely, and favoured our progress a little more, so that the Serampore had been making six and six and a half knots by the log, instead of five and five and a half as she had been making before the course was altered.

On the forenoon of the tenth day from our leaving Bombay the weather cleared up a little just before noon, as it frequently does, and gazing intently ahead, I fancied that I could see through the haze of rain that still remained, a darker appearance ahead than there would be with mere mist. At this moment the captain came up on the bridge. I pointed this out to him at once, exclaiming—

"That looks remarkably like the land to me, sir."

"So it does, Mr. Hardy," said the captain. "Unless I'm very much out in my reckoning, we ought to make Gebel Camar, or the Mountains of the Moon, as they are called, very soon, and probably what you see is really the land."

At this moment Mr. Stewart, the chief engineer, came up the bridge ladder in an excited and hasty manner. A glance at his face told me, before he opened his lips, that something was wrong.

"Captain Skeed, I've just made the discovery that the large pockets in both the foremost bunkers are empty, and we haena got more than a few hours' steaming in the ship."

"Good heavens! Why you told me the other day that we had eight or ten days' full steaming in the ship."

"I know I did, sir, but I reckoned upon fifty tons in the twa pockets. It appears now that that fellow Williams, who, I may say, has behaved more like a deevil than a mon all the voyage, never fashed himsel' to see the coals trimmed into the pockets, as I gave him orders to do in Bombay."

"What does he say about it?" said the captain.

"He actually tells me that it was no his business, and I ought to hae seen to it mysel'."

"I never heard of pockets in bunkers before," said the captain.

"Nor anybody else," said Mr. Stewart. "They're just bunkers within the bunkers. Ye can't get to them frae the deck, and to fill 'em with coal it has to be passed in by the trimmers through a hole that's cut in the bulkhead."

"Confound such contrivances!" exclaimed the captain, stamping his foot on the bridge. "Well, Mr. Stewart, we must make a sailing-ship of her, that's all. There's the land, and we shall have to keep clear of it under canvas. How long will it take you to disconnect?"

"I dinna ken, sir, that ye can disconnect the paddle-wheels at all; and anyhow, if it's possible to do it, the gear will be set as fast as a rock, for I doubt if they've been disconnected since she was built."

"If you can't disconnect, then, can you take the floats off?"

"There's muckle sea on for a job o' that sort; but maybe by lifting the paddle-flaps at the top we could take the upper ones off."

"Then keep enough steam so as to move the wheels as required, and set all your engineers to work to unscrew the bolts and take the floats off."

"Vera weel, sir," said the engineer, and in a few minutes the four engineers and the boiler maker with all the firemen mounted the paddle-boxes with spanners and hammers, and set to work unscrewing the nuts and removing the floats as fast as they could, the engines in the meantime having been stopped.

The chief officer was then summoned by the captain to commence immediately re-rigging the ship. As the top-masts had to be swayed up and fidded, topsail-yards crossed, and top-gallant mast sent up, besides all the sails being bent to the yards, every soul of the ship's company was fully occupied for the rest of the day.

During all this time the Serampore was gradually drifting towards the land, which became more distinct as we approached it.

By sunset the engineers had succeeded in getting off all the floats, the engines having been turned gently to move the wheels as required, and the sailor part of the ship's company had got matters so far advanced that we were able to set reefed topsails and courses upon the ship. The captain then summoned all of us officers to his cabin.

I could see that he had not even yet recovered from the exasperation caused him by what had taken place.

"I have sent for you all," he said, "to ask your opinions on the situation. It's no use to attempt to work the ship to Aden under canvas. I propose, therefore, to heave-to till daylight, and then run into one of the bays on the coast to leeward of us. I see there is one marked on the chart between Seger and Kalfat, near the town of Doan, and if I can make that without running up against any rocks I shall anchor the ship there. Has any one anything better to propose?"

We all said no, and the council broke up.

In accordance with the decision arrived at, the Serampore was hove-to for the night. At daylight next morning all sail was made on her, and with wind abaft the beam she ran in for the spot which Captain Skeed had indicated as suitable for his purpose.

The coast stood out barren and rocky, but there was a break in it visible right ahead. With the lead going, and a sharp look-out for rocks, we sailed into a small bight or bay under the lee of Seger Point, and let go her anchor in thirteen fathoms. As the cable was veered out she swung round head to wind and sea with her stern inland; but as she tautened her cable a crash sounded from aft, and we felt her stern bump upon a sunken rock.

"My God!" exclaimed Captain Skeed, "the ship is lost," and he fell upon the deck insensible. We carried him into his cabin, and the doctor was immediately summoned, but all his efforts to restore animation were unavailing. Captain Skeed was dead.

II

Although the position taken up by the Serampore was somewhat sheltered from the force of the monsoon by a projecting point of land, still there was a heavy swell in the little bight or bay where she was, which broke upon the rocky and barren shores around her with an incessant roar and clouds of spray. The swell lifted her stern again and again, causing her to strike heavily as each succeeding wave swept under her. At last with a final heavy bumping crash which carried away her after spars, she settled down upon the rocks, which were afterwards found to be the end of a reef stretching out from the land, partially visible above water at certain times of the tide.

The sudden and untimely death of Captain Skeed spread a feeling of consternation and horror through the ship, and aggravated the anxiety which the passengers felt at their situation.

Mr. Urquhart, of course, had to take the direction of affairs, and when he met the passengers at dinner he had a difficult task before him.

The ship appeared to be now fixed firmly upon the rocks at her stern, and her anchor kept her from moving in any direction. The water could be heard rushing in through the damaged plates at the stern, and in order to prevent her sinking altogether when the water filled her forward, Mr. Urquhart caused the after part of the ship to be blocked up with an old sail against the leaky places, and spare iron plates and boards wedged against it to keep the water back.

Mr. Urquhart had not been in the saloon a minute before he was assailed with questions.

"Can you tell us whereabouts we are, Mr. Urquhart? What part of the coast are we upon?" asked Professor Spiller.

"The ship is about one hundred and fifty miles south of the Kuria-Muria Islands in one direction, and between four and five hundred in the other from Aden."

"What in the name of Heaven did the captain anchor here for?" asked Captain Shaw.

"His idea was, that lying here in smoother water, he might be able to remove the ironwork of the paddle-wheels, which would render the ship unmanageable under canvas, and then he intended, I believe, either to sail her back to Bombay, or to wait until the monsoon broke, and try to reach Aden."

"Poor fellow, poor Captain Skeed, I'm sure he would have done the best thing possible," exclaimed Mrs. Woodruff.

"No doubt he was a good officer," said the professor. "But what's to be done now?"

"Of course," said Mr. Urquhart, "that plan is knocked on the head now. The ship is, to all intents and purposes, a wreck."

"What chance is there of our being seen and picked up?" asked the professor.

"Not a very encouraging one, I am afraid; there is no regular trade along this coast," replied Mr. Urquhart.

"But vessels pass this way occasionally, don't they?" said Captain Shaw.

"Sometimes country vessels, as they are called—ships that go trading about to all sorts of coast ports, in the employ of native merchants—may pass this way, bound to or from the Persian Gulf, but I can't say I know anything at all about them."

"And how about the natives?" said the professor; "are they likely to be friendly or hostile to us, do you suppose?"

"There, again, I am sorry I can give you no information; but I shall make it my business to see that we are prepared to give them as warm a reception as we can, should they attempt to molest us."

"And what is your idea that we should do eventually?" asked Captain Thompson.

"I'm afraid that we can do nothing at all at present. Fortunately we have plenty of provisions and water to last for a considerable time, and all the boats are in good condition, if the weather would permit us to make use of them. We can only prepare ourselves to resist any attack that the natives, should they be hostile, may make upon us, and keep a good look-out for any vessel that may be passing. If any of you, gentlemen, can suggest anything, else, I shall be quite pleased to adopt it."

The next day Captain Skeed's body was taken on shore to be buried. Mr. Urquhart had caused a grave to be dug in the sand, near a remarkable mass of rock about some five hundred yards from the beach. Several of the passengers, and all the ship's company, attended the funeral, all the ship's boats being lowered when the time came; and after the funeral service had been read by the purser, a heap of stones of all sizes, collected by the crew, was piled upon the grave.

I cast my eyes around me as I watched this melancholy performance, but I could see nothing in the distance in the shape of a living creature. It was all a trackless waste of sand and rocks.

After we returned on board, Mr. Urquhart sent for the chief engineer, and told him to bring Mr. Williams, the second engineer, on the quarter-deck. When he appeared, Mr. Urquhart said—

"It was Captain Skeed's intention to have disrated you from your position as second engineer, in consequence of your gross neglect in omitting to see the ship's bunkers properly filled with coal, and for your insubordinate conduct to the chief engineer."

"It was just as much Mr. Stewart's business to see to the coaling as mine," replied Williams.

"Silence if you please, sir. Under the present circumstances I do not propose to carry out the intention of the late captain; but I must tell you that entries relating to your conduct have been made in the official log-book of this ship, and that any further steps in the matter will be left to the decision of the managing directors of the Company when we are able to get away from this place. I hope, if you have an opportunity, you will endeavour to redeem your past misconduct, which has entailed such terrible consequences upon the Serampore, and everybody on board of her."

Mr. Williams made no reply, but turned and went below. After he had gone, Mr. Stewart remarked—

"He's nae such a bad chiel, I'm thinking, at bottom, but he was mad because he didna get the berth himsel'."

After these occurrences the days began to pass by with a dreary monotony. Every morning when I got up, it was with the expectation that something or other would happen soon, and every night when I turned in, it was with the same uneasy feeling of anticipation or dread hanging about me. Mr. Urquhart ordered the watches to be kept regularly, as if we were at sea, and during the day a look-out man was kept at the mast-head to watch for a passing sail. The mizzen-mast, with most of its gear, and the main-top mast had been carried away by the successive shocks of the ship bumping on the rocks, but everything stood forward.

The second officer was ordered to get up and examine what quantity of powder and ammunition there was in the ship. We had a stand containing a dozen muskets and also a few cutlasses, together with a dozen boarding-pikes. These were all the small-arms belonging to the ship, and there were two nine-pounder guns for signalling purposes mounted on the quarter-deck.

"Don't you think," said I, "'twould be a good plan to have some cartridges made, in case of anything happening?"

"Happy thought, Hardy," said Sinclair. "We'll get the powder up on the saloon table, and perhaps the ladies will help us. Hold on a bit, how about the bullets?"

"Ah, lucky thing you thought of that. We must get old Stewart to put his men on to cast some for us, if we can find any lead."

I ran off immediately to hunt up the carpenter, who fortunately found a big roll of lead in the bottom of his storeroom, which was soon in the course of being transformed into bullets by some of the firemen.

I remembered also that a couple of kegs of powder for our agent at Aden had been shipped with the cargo, and these were soon got out and the contents utilised for large and small cartridges. After all this had been done, time hung heavy on our hands. Nobody seemed to be in good spirits enough to start any amusement, and a week of the most depressing inaction passed away. All this time not the vestige of a native had been seen anywhere in the vicinity of the ship.

The military men on board seemed to feel the situation almost unbearable.

"I'll tell you what it is," said Rivers, the subaltern of Colonel Woodruff's corps, to the other military passengers one morning, "I can't stand this sort of thing any longer. Let's make up a party and try and ascend that mountain there."

"I don't mind," said Captain Thompson.

"We might find something to shoot," said Captain Shaw. "We've all got our rifles with us, haven't we?"

"Yes," said Thompson; "or we might get shot at instead of shooting something."

"What are you talking of doing?" asked the professor, coming up at this moment.

"Oh! we're thinking of doing a kind of picnic up the mountain yonder. Will you join us, professor? You might be able to enrich science with specimens of the flora and fauna of this howling wilderness," said Rivers.

"I doubt if there's any great surprise for science hidden about here; but I shall be very pleased to join the party. When is it to be?" said the professor.

"Oh! shall we start to-morrow?"

"Yes, let it be to-morrow. What do you say, Thompson?" said Shaw.

"Agreed!" cried the rest.

"Very well, then," said Rivers. "You fellows get your rifles all ready, and revolvers if you've got any, and I'll go and interview the purser for a hamper of prog. And look here, Thompson, just ask Urquhart to let young Hardy come with us, and half-a-dozen Lascars."

"To carry the game, eh, Rivers?"

"Just so; we may find them useful."

"Don't you want some of the ladies to go too?" asked Shaw.

"I've no objection, I'm sure," said Thompson.

"I think you'd better leave the women out of it," said Captain Staveley; "I shouldn't like to have the responsibility on my mind if anything did happen, you know, and I fancy we're going to make rather a leap in the dark."

"All right," rejoined Rivers. "Then we'll start at daylight to-morrow. What do you say, you chaps?"

Everybody agreed to this proposal; and I shortly had a message telling me that the chief wanted me.

"There's a sporting party going out to-morrow, Hardy. You take six hands with you, armed with cutlasses, and go with the party. You must use your own discretion and act according to circumstances."

Next morning we all set off at the appointed hour, having been landed on some rocks at a little distance from the ship. The Lascars appeared to enjoy the chance of stretching their legs, and followed in the steps of the party led by Mr. Rivers, chattering like schoolboys out for a holiday.

"We'll make for that spur that sticks out seawards half-way up the mountain," said Rivers. "I've got a compass on my watch-chain, and it bears just a little to the west of south from us, so we shall know the opposite bearing will take us back to the ship."

"That's a very sensible precaution of yours," said the professor. "How many miles do you reckon we are from the foot of the mountain?"

"Five or six miles," was the reply.

"Come on then, step out; we shall have the sun directly, and climbing will be no joke then," said Shaw.

So we all trudged along at a round pace. I had taken the precaution to bring a revolver with me that Mr. Urquhart lent me, and a fowling-piece and a pocketful of cartridges of my own.

After we had tramped along for about an hour over the sandy plain, and lost sight of the ship, which was hidden by projecting rocks, we reached the foot of the mountain, and found a sort of track which led us into a narrow gorge overhung by rocks on each side. We penetrated through this for about a quarter of a mile. At the end of it there were two tracks visible, one leading up the side of the mountain, and the other, branching to the left, seemed to lead to habitations of some kind, for the road was a beaten track, and the professor declared that he could see smoke in the air at a distance.

"Here's a parting of the ways," said Rivers. "Shall we start to ascend the mountain? Shall we follow the road, which may lead us to some habitations? or shall we sit down and have our tiffin?"

Rivers' proposals being put to the vote, that for tiffin was carried unanimously; so finding the softest stones for seats, we very soon disposed of the provender in our hamper, the Lascars refreshing themselves in their own fashion.

"Now, I think," said Rivers, "as we haven't met with anything of interest during our walk, we'd better go and see if there really is a village there, and what it's like."

"Uttering a wild yell, rushed off towards the nearest hut."

Accordingly we set off upon the track leading to the left, and after a quarter of an hour's walk, turning an abrupt corner formed by a huge boulder, we came upon a number of huts clustered together. There were some palm-trees growing in the midst. No doubt this was one of the oases that are said to be dotted about the country. We had not made many more steps in the direction of the village, when a wild-looking figure, half naked, his long reddish-coloured hair standing upright on his head, darted out from behind a boulder ahead of us, and uttering a wild yell, rushed off towards the nearest hut.

"Gentlemen, let me advise all of you to look to your arms, and see they are ready for use," said Rivers, "for we shall soon know now whether we have fallen amongst friends or foes."

We all halted for a moment and examined our rifles and guns, and I called to the Lascars to keep close to us and be prepared to use their cutlasses at a moment's notice. A few more steps brought us amongst the huts of the village, from which men, women, and children stared at us with looks of wonder. The fellow who had first descried us still ran on ahead, and we followed him until we were in the centre of what appeared to be a considerably large settlement. He had never ceased uttering his hideous yell as he went along, and on entering an open square, which had a hut bigger than the rest on one side of it, probably the abode of the chief, a crowd of at least fifty natives, similar in appearance to the one we had first seen, but all armed with spears and matchlocks of a very ancient construction, leapt as it were from the ground, and stood in a compact body before us in front of the large hut.

As we neared them some handled their spears and some their matchlocks, and I thought that the critical moment had come when we should have to fight for our lives.

"Halt," said Rivers to our party. "Form double line," and the twelve of us drew ourselves up.

"Now, professor, you speak Arabic, don't you? Try them with a little soft sawder first, will you. We don't want to fight unless we're obliged. There isn't much to be gained by it."

The professor immediately stepped three paces in front, and calling out, "Salaam, Aleikum," addressed a sentence in Arabic to the group.

The only answer to this was a wild yell and a chatter of gibberish.

"What was it you said?" asked Rivers.

"We are friends, and want to see the chief," answered the professor. "But I can't understand a word of their talk. I fancy these people of the Seger region have a distinct dialect of their own."

"Try 'em in English," said Thompson. "Where's your chief, you silly beggars, you?"

The only response to this was another wild yell and another shower of gibberish, accompanied by a flourish of the spears.

At this instant a noise was heard from the hut in the rear of the rows of natives drawn up in front, and the line opened in the middle, when a tall grey-bearded Arab, with a long camel-hair burnoose over his shoulders, and a polished wooden spear in his hand, stepped forward a few paces.

The professor immediately addressed him with the ordinary Eastern salutation, of which the chief took but little notice, making a remark which the professor understood to mean that our presence was not welcome. Unwilling to leave matters in this unsatisfactory position, the professor harangued the chief in Arabic, uttering the most friendly sentiments, and expressing a desire to purchase dates or any commodities that his highness the sheik might have to dispose of.

I was unable to gather whether the sheik understood this speech or no. I am disposed to think that he did; but the only answer he vouchsafed to it was to extend his spear in the direction whence we had come, and to utter three words in such an unmistakable tone of wrath and contempt that we all understood it to mean, as the professor afterwards said it did, "Infidel dogs, begone!"

After this there was nothing for it but to retreat in as good order as possible. Rivers gave the word to march, telling us to look behind us at every other step. Before we had taken three steps the sheik uttered a loud command, and the natives vanished from the square in the same rapid manner in which they had presented themselves.

As we passed by their huts we were greeted with shrill cries of derision by the women and children standing in the entrances.

From a hasty glance I threw at them the women appeared not by any means bad-looking, but very similar in character to those you may see in the native town at Aden, light copper colour, with a profusion of dark hair and large dark eyes.

As we entered the narrow defile or gorge by which we had reached the village, Rivers, who was bringing up the rear, called out to us, "Look out now, and be steady. If they're going to molest us it will be here."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the hideous yells, now familiar to us, arose on either side.

"Halt!" said Rivers. "Form two lines back to back facing the sides of the gorge. Make ready, they'll be on us in a minute," and as he spoke, about fifty of them on each side dashed towards us. When they were within five yards of us, Rivers gave the word to fire, and down went four or five of the leading savages on each side. This gave them a momentary check, and Rivers instantly called out, "Give 'em your second barrels, sharp."

This we did promptly, and the natives stopped and seemed as if about to fly, for our volley had done great execution.

"Now, then," said Rivers, "run for it before they recover themselves, but keep together."

As we started to run the natives hurled a shower of spears at us. One grazed Rivers' arm, making the blood come; another pierced the Lascar by my side to the heart, and the poor fellow fell dead; another went through the professor's solar topee, causing him to utter exclamations of rage and despair. But we pushed on as hard as we could go for the ship. The natives, we could see, hung behind us in a cloud, their numbers appearing to have been considerably augmented; they, however, took care to keep out of the range of our guns.

In an hour's time we regained the deck of the Serampore, the natives still following in the distance.

I rushed up to Mr. Urquhart, and in a few words explained to him what had occurred, whereupon he instantly ordered all hands to be called, and got our two nine-pounders aft loaded, and pointed towards the shore opposite the stern of the ship. The ladies behaved with wonderful coolness and courage when they heard that an attack might be expected from the natives, and offered their services as nurses or in any other way in which they might be useful.

In the meantime a great crowd of natives were assembling on the shore opposite the ship, at which their leaders were pointing and uttering wild cries of defiance. Their only means of approach was either by swimming, or by the irregular causeway that the rocks of the reef provided, and that would not admit of a large number walking abreast. After a brief pause, however, they made a forward movement, and with loud cries dashed, some through the water and some on the reef, with the evident idea of boarding the ship. Those who had matchlocks fired them off at us, but without doing any damage. Every man in the ship for whom there was a musket, or who possessed a rifle or gun of any description, was employed under the second officer in picking off the men on the reef or those in the water. But as fast as they dropped off the rocks they were replaced by others, and the numbers on shore seemed to be augmented from time to time by men coming in various directions from one knew not where.

"Mr. Urquhart tried the effect of the nine-pounders."

After a time Mr. Urquhart tried the effect of the nine-pounders, which did great execution amongst the crowd; but he was obliged to be very careful, on account of the limited number of shot he had, and the not very large supply of powder. The shot we supplemented with small canvas bags of old nails and iron bolts, which made a very good substitute for grape-shot. The fight lasted under these conditions till sunset, not one of the natives having got nearer the ship than to touch her on the outside. The attack then ceased for a time, and we had leisure to refresh ourselves.

When I took my watch I could hear the sound of the multitude on shore, who would no doubt recommence the attack in the morning. The night was calm and still, for the monsoon had broken, and now only blew at intervals in moderate breezes.

I had an opportunity of exchanging a few words with Miss Reed when she came up on deck for a few moments.

"I hope you are not hurt, Mr. Hardy," she said.

"Not at all," said I. "I trust you'll keep your spirits up. I've no doubt we shall settle these fellows in the morning."

"I hope you will; and oh how I pray for a ship to come and take us away from this terrible spot!"

"Perhaps we shall see one sooner than you expect; but keep your courage up, dear Miss Reed, all will be well."

At early daylight, as the enemy was all massed together, Mr. Urquhart loaded both the nine-pounders to the muzzle with his own particular grape, and pointing them carefully into the midst of the crowd, where the leaders were to be seen, discharged both simultaneously with terrible effect, many natives being killed.

At this moment the look-out at the mast-head shouted out at the top of his voice, "Sail O! a ship in sight near the land."

"Take one of the cutters, Mr. Hardy, and pull out to that vessel. Take a flag with you to wave in the boat. Tell them our condition, and beg them to assist us and take the people off the ship."

With what eager delight and anxiety I proceeded to obey this order the reader can well imagine. As the weather was fine, and nearly calm, I succeeded, after a long pull, in getting alongside the vessel. She proved to be a "country" trader on a voyage from Bombay to Zanzibar, whence she was now on her way to Bassora. She was called the Cowasjee Family, and commanded by a smart young officer named Wilkinson, who willingly proffered every assistance that might be required. He brought his ship in as close to the Serampore as he could, and the natives having been demoralised by our fire, we proceeded to embark the passengers and crew of the Serampore on board his ship. He told us that it was quite a chance he was in that locality, but he had been set out of his course by a strong current. Every effort that Captain Wilkinson could make for the comfort of our passengers and crew was made, and in due time we all safely landed at Bassora. Luckily a steamer was starting the next day for Kurrachee and Bombay, in which we all took passage, and where we safely ended our eventful voyage.

It may be of interest to some of my readers to know that since I got my command Miss Reed has changed her name for mine, and that we are very happy.

There was a court of inquiry held at Bombay to ascertain the cause of the loss of the Serampore, and the finding of the court was that Captain Skeed and his officers were exonerated from all blame, the ship having been lost "by default of the engineer."

THE KING OF SPAIN'S WILL

BY JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON

CHAPTER I

I can tell you there was a pretty bustle around Paris that night when the news came of the downfall of the old Fox—the fox being none other than Cardinal Alberoni, who had just been turned out of Spain for his intrigues, King Philip V. having had enough of him. Not that the man, who had been a gardener's son, and a sort of buffoon once to the Duke of Parma, was so wondrous old, since in this year of grace 1719 he was but fifty-five. Only, when a man is a scheming knave, who has passed his full prime, and is also a fox—why, one generally calls him an old one.

Now, the news of Alberoni's disgrace at Madrid came first to us at Versailles, just about four of the afternoon, what time we of the Grey Musketeers were going off duty, our place till midnight being taken by those of the cavalry regiment of Vermandois, which had arrived a week ago from Blois—came at the hands of the Comte St. Denis de Pile, who had been sent off post-haste to Paris with the information, and also with another piece of intelligence, at which, I protest, not one of us could help laughing, serious enough though the thing was. This news being none other than that the crafty old Italian, who was on his way to Marseilles, there to embark with all his wealth for his native land, had absolutely carried off in his possession the will of the late King of Spain, Charles II., in which he bequeathed his throne to the very man who now sat upon it.

"And," exclaimed St. Denis de Pile, as he drank down a flask of Florence wine which we produced for him in the guard-room, "I'll be sworn that he means to send that will to the Emperor of Austria, who, if he is not a fool, will at once destroy it. And then, poof! poof! poof!" and the Count blew out his moustache in front of his lip, "what becomes of all that we fought for in the War of the Succession? Tête de mon chien! it will have to begin all over again. Your countrymen, my boy," and he slapped me affectionately on the shoulder, for we had met often enough before, "your countrymen, the English, will want another war, King George may be willing enough to oblige them, and the Treaty of Utrecht may as well be used to light a fire."

Now here was what some of my countrymen call a pretty kettle of fish. Peace was expected to be proclaimed in Europe at this moment, since the war of the Pyrenees was over. France and England were sworn allies and bosom friends, otherwise be sure that I, an Englishman, young and enthusiastic, would not have been holding the commission of a cornet in the Musketeers, and serving the Regent, or, rather, the boy king for whom he ruled. And all in a moment it was just as likely as not that that war might break out again through the craftiness of the Cardinal, who, since he had fallen, evidently did not mean to do so without pulling others down with him. For Austria had never willingly resigned her claims on the throne of Spain, remembering that the old French King had once formally waived all the claims of his own family to it, Will or no Will, and had then instantly asserted them on the death of Charles; while for my country—well! we English are not over fond of retreating from anything we have undertaken, though, for widely-known considerations not necessary to set down here, we had at last agreed to that peace of Utrecht, our having thoroughly beaten the French by sea and land before we did so, being, perhaps, the reason why we at last came in.

"What's to be done?" said old D'Hautefeuille now, who was in command of the Grey Musketeers at this time.

"What? What? Le Debonnaire is at the Palais Royal—he must know the news at once. De Pile, you must ride on to Paris."

"Fichtre for Paris!" exclaimed the Count. "I am battered enough already with my long ride. Think on't—from Madrid! Through storms and burning suns, over mountains and through plains, over two hundred leagues and across half a score of horses' backs. Also, observe—the letter is inscribed to the Regent's Grace at Versailles. I have done my duty——"

"But——"

"No 'buts,' D'Hautefeuille. My work is done. Let the King's lieutenant of Versailles, who commands in his and the Regent's absence, take charge of the paper. For me a bottle and a meal, also a bed."

"Then take it to the lieutenant," said fiery D'Hautefeuille; "hand it to him yourself, and bid him find a courier to Paris. Peste! you, a royal messenger who can ride from Madrid here, and yet cannot finish the journey to Paris! Bah! go and get your bottle and your bed—and much good may they do you."

Whereon the old fellow turned grumpily away, bidding some of the younger ones amongst us not to be loitering about the galleries endeavouring to catch the eyes of the maids of honour, but, instead, to get off to our quarters and be ready to relieve the officers of the Vermandois regiment at midnight.

Yet, one amongst us, at least, was not to hear the chimes of midnight summoning us to the night guard, that one being myself, as you shall see. Nay, not one hour later was to ring out from the palace clock ere, as luck would have it, I was called forth from my own quarters—or rather from the little salon of Alison de Prie (who was a maid of honour, and who had invited me in to partake of a pâté de bécasse which her father had sent her from his property near Tours) by an order to attend on D'Hautefeuille in his quarters.

Whereon I proceeded thither and found him in a very bad temper—a thing he suffered much from lately, since he also suffered from a gout that teased him terribly. Then, immediately, he burst out on my putting in an appearance.

"Now, Adrian Trent, it is your month of special service, is it not?"

"It is, monsieur," I answered, wondering what was coming next.

"So! very well. Here then is something for you to do—that is, if the turning of my officers into couriers and post-boys and lackeys constitutes 'special service.' However, three creatures have to obey orders in this world, soldiers, wives, and dogs, therefore I—and you—must do so. Here, take this," and he tossed to me across his table a mighty great letter on which was a formidable red seal—"have your horse saddled and be off with you to Paris. Give it into the Regent's hand. It is the account of Alberoni's disgrace which that fainéant De Pile could bring all this way, but no farther. Away with you! The King's lieutenant seems to think that De Pile is discharged of his duty here. Away with you! What are you stopping for? You know the road to Paris, I suppose? You ought to. It's hard enough to keep you boys out of it if I give you an afternoon's leave. Be off!"

So off I went, and five minutes afterwards my best grey, La Rose, was saddled, and I was riding swiftly towards where the Regent was at the present moment.

Now, who'd have thought when I went clattering through Sèvres and Issy, on that fine winter afternoon, in all the bravery of my full costume—which was the handsomest of any regiment in France, not even excepting our comrades of the Black Musketeers—who'd have thought, I say, that I was really taking the first steps of a long, toilsome journey, which, ere it was ended, was to bring me pretty near to danger and death? However, no need to anticipate, since those who read will see.

An hour later I was in Paris, and then, even as I went swiftly along amidst the crowds that were in the streets, especially in those streets round about the Palais Royal, I found that one thing was very certain, namely, that though I might be now carrying on De Pile's message from the Court of Spain to the Court of France, the purport of it was already known. Near the Palais Royal were numerous groups gathered, who cheered occasionally for France and England, which did me good to hear; then for Spain and France, which did not move me so much; while, at the same time, I distinctly heard Alberoni's name mentioned, with, attached to it, expressions and epithets that were anything but flattering. Also, as I made for the entrance opposite the Louvre, people called attention to me, saying, "Voila le beau Mousquetaire—chut! doubtless he rides from Versailles. Brings confirmation of the old trickster's downfall. Ho! le beau Mousquetaire." While a strident-voiced buffoon cried out to me, asking if all my gold galloon and feathers and lace did not sometimes get spoilt by the damp of the wintry weather, and another desired to know if my sweetheart did not adore me in my regimental fallals?

However, La Rose made her way through them all, shaking her bridle-chain angrily if any got before her, breathing out great gusts from her fiery nostrils, and casting now and again the wicked white of her eye around; she was a beauty who loved not to be pestered or interfered with. And at last I was off her back, at the door near the Regent's apartments on the south side, and asking for the officer of the guard; and half-an-hour later I was in the presence of the Regent himself, who sat writing in a little room about big enough to make a cage for a bird. Yet, in spite of the way in which his Highness spent his evenings and nights, and also of his supper parties and other dissipations, he did as much work in that little cabinet as any other twelve men in France.

Because he was a very perfect gentleman—no matter what his faults were (he answered for them to his Maker but a little while after I met him)—he treated me exactly as though I were his equal, and bade me be seated while he read the letter calmly; then, looking up at me, he said—

"I knew something of this before. Even my beloved Parisians know of it—how they have learnt it Heaven alone can say. Still it is known. Alberoni was to leave Madrid in forty-eight hours from the time of receiving notice. But——"

Here he paused, and seemed to be reflecting deeply. Then he said aloud, though more to himself than to me, "I wonder if he has got the will?"

It not being my place to speak, I said nothing, waiting to receive orders from him. And a moment later he again addressed me.

"You mousquetaires have always the best of horses and are proud of them. I know; I know. I have seen you riding races against each other at Versailles and Marly. And, for endurance, they will carry you far, both well and swiftly, in spite of your weight and trappings. Is it not so?"

"It is so, monseigneur," I answered, somewhat wonderingly, and not quite understanding what way this talk tended.

"How fast can you go? Say—a picked number of you—ten—twenty—go for two days?"

"A long way, monseigneur. Perhaps, allowing for rest for the animals, nearer forty than thirty leagues."

"So! Nearer forty than thirty leagues. 'Tis well."

Here he rose from his chair (I, of course, rising also), turned himself round, and gazed at a map of France hanging on the wall; ran, too, his finger along it from the Pyrenees in the direction of Marseilles, while, as he did so, he muttered continually, yet loud enough to be quite audible to me—

"Ran his finger along a map of France."

"He would cross there—there, surely. Fifteen days to quit Spain, two to quit Madrid—seventeen altogether. From the fifth. The fifth! This is the twelfth. Ten days still."

Then he continued to run his finger along the coast line of the Mediterranean until it rested on Marseilles, at which he stood gazing for some time. But now he said nothing aloud for me to listen to, though it was evident enough that he was considering deeply; but at last he spoke again.

"His Eminence must be met and escorted—yes, escorted—that is it—escorted in safety through the land. Ay, in safety and safely. He must not be molested nor—" while, though he turned his face away to gaze at the map again, I would have been sworn that I heard him mutter—"allowed to depart quite yet." Then he suddenly said, "Do you know the house of the Chevalier de Marcieu? It is in the Rue des Mauvais Garçons."

"I know the street, monseigneur. I can find the house."

"Good! Therefore proceed there at once—the number is three—you are mounted, of course? Give my orders to him that he is to come here instantly; then return and I will give you some instructions for your commander."

Whereon I bowed respectfully as I went to the door, the Regent smiling pleasantly upon me. Yet, ere I left him, he said another word, asked a question.

"You mousquetaires gris have not had much exercise lately at Versailles, I think. Have you?"

"No, monseigneur, not our troop at least. The men have been but recently remounted."

"So. Very well. You shall have some exercise now. 'Twill do you good. You shall have a change of billet for a little while. In any case, Versailles is too luxurious a place for soldiers. Now, away with you to Marcieu's house and bid him come here. Return also yourself. Forget not that."

CHAPTER II

A GIRL CALLED DAMARIS

A week later, or, to be exact, six days, and the troop of Grey Musketeers, commanded by Captain the Vicomte de Pontgibaud—which was the one in which I rode as cornet—was making its way pleasantly enough along the great southern road that runs down from Paris to Toulouse. Indeed, we were very near that city now, and expected to be in it by the time that the wintry evening had fallen. In it, and safely housed for the night, not forgetting that the suppers of Southern France are most excellent and comforting meals, and that the Lunel and Roussillon are equally suited to the palate of a soldier, even though that soldier be but twenty years old; as I was in those days, now, alas! long since vanished.

But, ere I go on with what I have to tell, perhaps you would care to hear in a few words how I, Adrian Trent, an Englishman, am riding as cornette or porte drapeau in a corps d'élite of our old hereditary enemies, the French. Well, this is how it was. The Trents have ever been Royalists, by which I mean that they and I, and all of our thinking, were followers of the House of Stuart. Now, you who read this may be one of those—or your father may have been one of those—who invited the Elector of Hanover to come over and ascend the English throne, or you may be what my family and I are at the present moment, Jacobites. Never mind for that, however. You can keep your principles and we will keep ours, and need not quarrel about them. Suffice it, therefore, if I say that our principles have led us to quit England and to take up our abode in France. And if ever King James III. sits on—However, no matter for that either; it concerns not this narrative.

My father was attached to the court of this King, who was just then in temporary residence in Rome—though, also, he sojourned some time in Spain—but, ere he followed his sovereign's errant fortunes, he obtained for me my guidon in the Musketeers, which service is most agreeable to me, who, from a boy, had sworn that I would be a soldier or nothing; while, since I cannot be an English one, I must, perforce, be in the service of France. And, as I trust that never more will France and England be flying at each other's throats, I do hope that I may long wear the uniform of the regiment. If not—But of that, too, we will not speak.

To get on with what I have to tell, we rode into Toulouse just as the winter day was coming to an end, and a brave show we made, I can assure you, as we drew up in the great courtyard of the old "Taverne du Midi," a place that had been the leading hostelry ever since the dark ages. For in that tavern, pilgrims, knights on their road to Rome and even the Holy Land, men of different armies, wandering minstrels and troubadours, had all been accustomed to repose; even beggars and monks (who paid for nothing) could be here accommodated, if they chose to lie down in the straw amongst the horses and sing a good song in return for their supper.

And I do protest that, on this cold December night, when the icicles were hanging a foot long from the eaves, and bitter blasts were blowing all around the city—the north-east winds coming from away over the Lower Alps of Savoy—you might have thought that you were back again in those days, if you looked around the great salle-à-manger of the tavern. For in that vast room was gathered together a company which comprised as many different kinds of people as any company could have consisted of when met together in it in bygone ages. First, there was the nobleman who, because he was one, had had erected round his corner a great screen of arras by his domestics; such things being always carried in France by persons of much distinction, since they could neither endure to be seen by the commoner orders, nor, if they had private rooms, could they endure to look upon the bare whitewashed walls of the rooms, wherefore the arras was in that case hung on those walls. This great man we did not set eyes on, he being enshrouded in his haughty seclusion, but there was plenty else to be observed. Even now, in these modern days of which I write, there were monks, travellers, a fantoccini troupe, some other soldiers besides ourselves, they being of the regiment of Perche, the intendant of the solitary lord, and ourselves. Our troopers alone numbered twenty, they having a table to themselves; while we, the officers, viz., the captain (De Pontgibaud), the lieutenant (whose name was Camier), and I (the cornet), had also a table to ourselves.

Yet, too, there was one other, and, if only from her quaint garb, a very conspicuous person. This was a girl—and a mighty well-favoured girl too—dark, with her hair tucked up all about her head; with superb full eyes, and with a colour rich and brilliant as that of the Provence rose. She made good use of those eyes, I can tell you, and seemed nothing loth to let them encounter the glance of every one else in the room. For the rest, she was a sort of wandering singer and juggler, clad in a short spangled robe, carrying a tambour de basque in her hand, while by her side hung a coarse canvas bag, in which, as we soon saw, she had about a dozen of conjuring balls.

"Who is that?" asked De Pontgibaud of the server, as he came near our table bearing in his hand a succulent ragôut, which was one of our courses—"who and what? A traveller, or a girl belonging to Toulouse?"

"Oh!" said the man, with the true southern shrug of his shoulders, "that!—elle! She is a wandering singer, a girl called Damaris. On her road farther south. Pray Heaven she steals nothing. She is as like to if she has the chance. A purse or even a spoon, I'll wager. If I were the master she should not be here. Yet, she amuses the company. Sings love ballads and such things, and juggles with those balls. Ha! giglot," he exclaimed, seeing the girl jump off the table she had been sitting on, talking to a bagman, and come towards us, "away. The gentlemen of the mousquetaires require not your company."

"Ay, but they do though," the girl called Damaris said, as she drew close to where we sat. "Soldiers like amusement, and I can amuse them. Pretty gentlemen," she went on, "would you like a love song made in Touraine, or to see a trick or two? Or I have a snake in a box that can do quaint things. Shall I go fetch it—it will dance if I pipe——"

"To confusion with your snake!" exclaimed the waiting man, "we want no snakes here. Snakes, indeed——!"

"Well, then, a love song. This pretty boy," and here she was forward enough to fix her eyes most boldly on me, "looks as if he would like a love song. How blue his eyes are!"

Alas! they are somewhat dim and old now, but then, because I was young and foolish, and because my eyes were blue, I felt flattered at this wandering creature's remark. However, without waiting for an answer, she went on.

"Come, we will have a trick first. Now," she said, pulling out three of the balls from her bag, "you hold that ball, mon enfant—thus," and she put one red one—the only red one—into my hand. "You have it?"

"Yes," I said, "I have it;" and, because it was as big as a good-sized apple, I closed my two hands over it.

"You are sure?"

"Certain."

"Show it then." Whereon I opened my hands again, and, lo! it was a gilt ball and not a red one that was in them.

"Show that trick to me," said a voice at my back, even as De Pontgibaud and Camier burst out a-laughing, and so, too, did some of the people in the great hall who were supping, while I felt like a fool. "Show that trick to me." And, looking round, I saw that it was the Chevalier de Marcieu who had spoken; the man to whom the Regent had sent me, and who had ridden from Paris with us as a sort of civilian director, or guide; the man from whom we were to take our orders when acting as guard to Alberoni when he passed this way, presuming that we had the good fortune to encounter his Eminence; he who was to be responsible for the safety of the Cardinal.

Now, he knew well enough that we of the mousquetaires gris did not like him, that we regarded him as a spy—which, in truth, he was, more or less—and that his company was not absolutely welcome to us. Wherefore, all along the road from Paris he had kept himself very much apart from us, not taking his meals at our table—where he was not wanted!—and riding ever behind the troop, saying very little except when necessary. But now he had evidently left the table at which he ate alone and had come over to ours, drawn there, perhaps, by a desire to witness the girl's performances.

"No," she said, "I shall not show it to you. I do not do the same trick twice. But, if you choose, I will fetch my little snake. Perhaps that would amuse you."

"I wish to see that trick with the red ball," said De Marcieu quietly, taking no notice whatever of her emphasis on the word "you." "Show it to me."

For answer, however, she dropped the balls into the bag, and, drawing up a vacant chair which stood against our table—she was a free and easy young woman, this!—said she was tired, and should do no more tricks that night. Also, she asked for some of our Roussillon as a payment for what she had done. Whereupon Camier poured her out a gobletful and passed it over to her, which, with a pretty little bow and grimace, she took, drinking our healths saucily a moment later.

Meanwhile I was eyeing this stroller and thinking that she was a vastly well-favoured one in spite of her brown skin, which, both on face and hands, was a strange colour, it not being altogether that wholesome, healthy brown which the winds and sun bring to those who are always in the open, but, instead, a sort of muddy colour, so that I thought, perhaps, she did not use to wash overmuch—which, maybe, was like enough. Also, I wondered at the shapeliness of her fingers and hands, the former being delicate and tapering, and the nails particularly well kept. Likewise, I observed something else that I thought strange. Her robe—for such it was—consisted of a coarse, russet-coloured Nîmes serge, such as the poor ever wear in France, having in it several tears and jags that had been mended roughly, yet, all the same, it looked new and fresh—too new, indeed, to have been thus torn and frayed. Then, also, I noticed that at her neck, just above the collar of her dress, there peeped out a piece of lace of the finest quality, lace as good as that of my steinkirk or the ruffles of a dandy's frills. And all this set me a-musing, I know not why.

Meanwhile Marcieu was persistent about that red ball, asking her again and again to try the trick on him, and protesting in a kind of rude good-humour that she did not dare to let him inspect the ball, since she feared he would discover some cunning artifice in it which would show how she made it change from red to gilt.

"Bah!" she replied, "I can do it with anything else. Here, I will show you the trick with other balls." Whereon, as she spoke, she drew out two of the gilt ones and said, "Now, hold out your hands and observe. See, this one has a scratch on it; that one has none. Put the second in your hand and I will transfer the other in its place."

"Nay," said the chevalier; "you shall do it with the red or not at all."

"I will conjure no more," she said pettishly. Then she snatched up the goblet of wine, drank it down at a gulp, and went off out of the room, saying—

"Good-night, mousquetaires. Good-night, Blue Eyes," and, I protest, blew me a kiss with the tips of her fingers. The sauciness of these mountebanks is often beyond belief.

The chevalier took the vacant chair she had quitted, though no one invited him to do so, his company not being desired by any of us, and Pontgibaud, calling for a deck of cards, challenged Camier to a game of piquet. As for me, I sat with my elbows on the table watching them play, though at the same time my eye occasionally fell on the spy, and I wondered what he was musing upon so deeply. But, presently, he called the drawer over to him and gave an order for some drink to be brought (since none of us had passed him over the flask, we aristocratic mousquetaires not deeming a mouchard fit bottle-companion for us), and when it came he turned his back to the table at which we sat, and asked the man a question in a low voice; though not so low a one but that I caught what he said, and the reply too.

"Where is that vagrant disposed of?" he asked. "With those other vagabonds, I suppose," letting his eye fall on the members of the fantoccini troupe, "or in one of the stables."

"Nay, nay," the server said, "she is not here, but at the 'Red Glove' in the next street. She told me to-night that that was her headquarters until she had visited every inn and tavern in Toulouse and earned some money. Then she will go on to Narbonne."

"So! The 'Red Glove.' A poor inn that, is it not?"

Whereon the man said it was good enough for a wandering ballad-singer anyhow, and went off swiftly to attend to another order at the end of the room, while Marcieu sat there sipping his drink, but now and again casting his eye also over some tablets which he had drawn out of his pocket.

But at this time nine o'clock boomed forth from the tower of the cathedral hard by, which we had noticed as we rode in, and Pontgibaud gave the troopers their orders to betake themselves to their beds; also one to me to go to the stables and see that all the horses were carefully bestowed for the night, since, though the troop-sergeant had made his report that such was the case, he required confirmation of it. Wherefore I went to the end of the room, and, taking my long grey houppelande, or horseman's cloak (which we mousquetaires, because we always had the best of everything, wore trimmed with costly grey fur), I donned it, and was about to go forth to the stables when I heard Pontgibaud's voice raised somewhat angrily as he spoke to the chevalier.

"We are soldiers, not——"

"Fichtre for such an arrest!" I heard him say, while the few strangers who had not gone to their beds—as most had done by now—cast their eyes in the direction where he and Marcieu were. "Not I! Body of my father! what do you take my gentlemen of the mousquetaires to be? Exempts! police! Bah! Go to La Poste. Get one of their fellows to do it. We are soldiers, not——"

"I have the Regent's orders," Le Marcieu replied quietly, "to arrest him or any one else I see fit. And, Monsieur le Vicomte, it is to assist me that your 'gentlemen of the mousquetaires' are here in Toulouse—have ridden with me from Paris. I must press it upon you to do as I desire."

Now, I could not wait any longer, since I had my orders from Pontgibaud to repair to the stables and see that the chargers were comfortable for the night, and as, also, I saw a glance shoot out of his eye over the other's head which seemed to bid me go on with my duty. Upon which I went out to the yard, noticing that the snow was falling heavily, and that it was like to be a hard winter night—went out accompanied by a stableman carrying a lantern.

"Give it me," I said, taking the lamp from him, "I will go the round myself. Also the key, so that I can lock the door when I have made inspection."

"Nay, monsieur," he answered, "the door cannot be locked. The inn is full; other travellers' horses are in the stable; they may be required at daybreak."

"Very well," I replied, "in that case one of our men must be roused and put as guard over the animals; they are too valuable to be left alone in an open stable," and, as I spoke, I thought particularly of my beautiful La Rose, for whom I had paid a hundred pistoles a year ago. Then I gave the fellow a silver piece and bade him go get a drink to warm himself with on this winter night, and entered the stable.

The whinny which La Rose gave as I went in showed me where all our horses were bestowed, and I proceeded down to the end of the stable, observing when I got there that they were all well housed for the night, and their straw clean and fresh; while, as the glimmer of the lamp proclaimed, they had been properly groomed and attended to. Everything was very well. Wherefore, giving my own mare the piece of sugar I had brought for her, I made for the door again, observing that Le Marcieu's red roan, a wiry but serviceable beast, was in a stall nearer to the entrance.

"Not so fast, mademoiselle, not so fast. What are you doing here?"

Then suddenly, as I raised the lantern to give a second glance at it, to my astonishment I saw the singing-girl, Damaris, dart out swiftly from near that stall and endeavour to push by me and escape through the door; which, however, I easily prevented her from doing, since I seized her at once by the arm and held her, while I exclaimed, "Not so fast, mademoiselle, not so fast. What are you doing here?—you, who are at the 'Red Glove' and have no business whatever in these stables."

CHAPTER III

"WHEN THE STEED HAS FLOWN"

At first she struggled a little, then all of a sudden she took a different tack, and exclaimed, "How dare you touch me, fellow. You—a common mousquetaire—to lay your hands on me! You! you! Let go—or——"

However, I had let go of her by now through astonishment at her impertinence. A common mousquetaire, indeed!—a common mousquetaire!—when, in all our regiment, there was scarce a trooper riding who was not of gentle blood—to say nothing of the officers.

"I may be 'a common mousquetaire,'" I replied, as calmly as I could, "yet, all the same, commit no rudeness to a wandering ballad-singer whom I find in the stable where our horses are; and——"

"Why!" she exclaimed, with a look (I could see it by the rays of the lantern) that was, I'll be sworn, as much a pretence as her words—"why! 'tis Blue Eyes. Forgive me; I thought it was one of your men—I—I—did not know you in your great furred cloak. It becomes you vastly well, Blue Eyes," and the hussy smiled up approvingly at me.

"Does it?" I said. "No doubt. Yet, nevertheless, I want an explanation of what you are doing in these stables at night, in the dark, when you are housed at the 'Red Glove';" and I spoke all the more firmly because I felt certain that she had not taken me for one of the troopers at all.

"Imbecile!" she exclaimed petulantly, and for all the world as if she was speaking to an inferior. "Imbecile! Idiot! Since you know I am at the 'Red Glove,' don't you know too that they have no stabling for us who put up there, and that the travellers' cattle are installed here? Oh, Blue Eyes, you are only a simple boy!"

"No, I don't know it!" I exclaimed, a little dashed at this intelligence; "but, pardon me, I would not be ill mannered—only—do ladies of your calling travel on horseback? I thought you wandered on foot from town to town giving your entertainments."

"I do not travel on horseback, but on muleback. There are such things as four-footed mules as well as two-footed ones, Blue Eyes. I assure you there are. And here is mine; look at it. Isn't it a sorry beast to be in company with the noble steeds of the aristocratic mousquetaires?"

"Oh, it's 'aristocratic' now, is it?" I thought to myself, "not 'common' mousquetaires," running my eye over the mule she pointed out, even as I held the lantern on high. Only, as I did so, I saw it was not a sorry beast at all; instead, a wiry, clean-limbed Pyrenean mule, whose hind-legs looked as though they could spring forward mighty fast if wanted; in truth, an animal that looked as if it could show its heels to many of its nobler kin, namely horses. But, also, I observed that its saddle was on, and that the halter was not fastened to the rack.

"Well, you see?" she said, looking at me with her mocking smile, and showing all her pretty white teeth as she did so. "You see? Now, Blue Eyes, let me go. I am tired and sleepy, and I want to go to bed."

This being sufficient explanation of her presence in the stables, there was no further reason why I should detain her and I said she might go, while, even as I spoke, I fastened up the halter for her. After which we went out into the yard, where we bade each other a sort of good-night, I doing so a little crossly since I was still sore at her banter, and she, on her part, speaking in still her mocking, gibing manner.

"And where do you go to," she asked, "after this? Eh, Blue Eyes? I should like to see you some day again, you know. I like you, Blue Eyes," and as she spoke I wondered what impish kind of thought was now in her mind, for she was standing close to me, and seemed to be emphasising her remarks about her liking for me by clutching tight my houppelande in her hand.

"That," I said, "is, if you will excuse me, our affair. Good-night; I hope you will sleep well at the 'Red Glove.'" Then, because I did not want to part in anger from the volatile creature, and because I was a soldier to whom such licence is permissible, I said, "Adieu, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart!" she exclaimed, turning round on me. "Sweetheart! You dare to speak to me thus—you—you—you base—" But, just as suddenly as she had flown out at me like a spitfire, she changed again, saying, "Peste! I forget—I am only a poor wandering vagrant. I did not mean that. I—I am sorry." And, as she vanished round the corner of the yard into the street, I heard her laugh and say softly, though loud enough, "Good-night, Blue Eyes; adieu—sweetheart;" and again she laughed as she disappeared.

Now, all this had taken some little time, as you may well suppose, so that the great clock of the Cathedral of St. Etienne was striking ten as I re-entered the inn and went on to the large guests'-room, or salle. It was empty at this time of all the sojourners in the house, except the captain, Pontgibaud, who was sitting in front of the huge fire, into which he stared meditatively while he drank some wine from a glass at his elbow.

"All well with the horses?" he asked, as I went up to him. "I thought you were never coming back." Then, without waiting for any explanation from me as to my absence, he said, "We go towards the Pyrenees, by Foix, to-morrow, thereby to intercept Alberoni if we can. That fellow, that mouchard, Marcieu, says he is due to cross into France from Aragon. Meanwhile—" but there he paused, saying no more. Instead, he gazed into the embers of the fire; then suddenly, a moment or so after, spoke again. "Adrian," he said, "it is fitting I should tell you what Marcieu knows, or rather suspects, from information he has received from Dubois, who himself has received it from Madrid. Camier has been informed; so must you be."

"What is it now?" I asked, my anxiety aroused.

"This. Alberoni, as Marcieu says, has all the old Spanish aristocracy on his side, simply because the King, Philippe, is a Frenchman. They are helping him—especially the ladies. Now, it is thought one of them has carried off the will of the late King Charles, and not Alberoni himself."

"Who is she?"

"He, Marcieu, will not tell, though he knows her rank and title. But—" and now Pontgibaud looked round the room, which was, as I have said, quite empty but for us, then lowered his voice ere he replied—"but—he is going to arrest that girl called Damaris to-morrow morning," and as he spoke he delivered himself of a grave, solemn wink.

"Is he?" I said; "is he?" and then fell a-musing. For this opened my eyes to much—opened them, too, in a moment. Now, I understood her indignation at a mousquetaire seizing hold of her, a high-born damsel, probably of some old Castile or Aragon family, instead of a wandering stroller as we had thought her to be—understood, too, why I had seen that piece of rich lace peeping out at her throat; why her dress of Nîmes serge, which was a new one, was artfully torn and frayed. Also I understood, or thought I did, the strange colour of her face and hands, which were, I now made no manner of doubt, dyed or stained to appear dirty and weatherbeaten, and why the saddle was on her mule's back and the halter loose from the rack;—understood, I felt sure, all about it. Then, just as I was going to tell Pontgibaud this, we both started to our feet. For, outside, where the stables were, we heard a horse's hoofs strike smartly on the cobble-stones of the yard; we heard the animal break into a trot the moment it was in the street outside.

"Some one has stolen a horse from those stables," cried Pontgibaud, springing towards the door and rushing down the passage; "pray Heaven 'tis not one of our chargers."

To which I answered calmly, "I think not. There are other animals there than ours, horses and mules belonging to people staying at other inns. It is a traveller setting forth before the city gates are closed at midnight."

And, even as I spoke, I could not help laughing in my captain's face, as well as at the look upon it.

CHAPTER IV

ANA, PRINCESA DE CARBAJAL

We were riding through one of the innumerable valleys which are formed by the spurs of the Pyrenees running almost from where the Pic du Midi rises up to the city of Toulouse; a valley which was bordered on either side by shelving hills that were covered with woods nearly up to their summits. And now we were looking forward eagerly to meeting his Eminence, the Cardinal Alberoni, of whose arrival in this neighbourhood we had received certain intelligence from more than one of the innumerable spies whom both the Regent and Cardinal Dubois maintained ever in this region—a region dividing Spain from France.

As for Marcieu, who, as usual, rode behind the troop, he had been in such a towering rage ever since the morning of our departure from Toulouse, and had used such violent language, that I for one had been obliged to tell him to keep a civil tongue in his head, while Pontgibaud, who was an aristocrat to the tips of his fingers as well as captain of a troop of mousquetaires, told him he must be more respectful in his language or altogether silent. For, as naturally you have understood, it was the girl who was pleased to call herself Damaris, and to assume the disguise of a wandering juggler and singer, who had ridden off that night on her mule, and was, no doubt, far enough away from us in the morning.

And she had got the late King of Spain's will in her pocket! of that Marcieu swore there could be no doubt—the will which, in truth, was the principal thing that brought the nations to agreeing that the Duke of Anjou should sit as King Philippe V. on the throne of Spain—the will which, if it once fell into the hands of Austria, would instantly disappear for ever and set all Europe alight with the flames of war again. She had got it, and when Alberoni was searched it would not be found. Perhaps, after all, it was not strange that Marcieu's expressions were writ in a good round hand. He had missed the chance of his life!

"I know her," he stormed in the morning, when he found how abortive his attempts to arrest her had proved, "I know her. Dubois sent me intelligence of everything. She is the Princesa Ana de Carbajal, of an ancient and illustrious Catalonian house, a house faithful to all the interests of Austria before the days of Charles V. and of Philip. May the pest seize her! She came ahead of Alberoni disguised thus, and never thought she would encounter us. And I do believe she has the will in that accursed red ball. Such things have been used as hiding-places before. Even Alberoni once used his crook as a receptacle wherein to hide a slip of paper. And the late King's last will in favour of Philippe was itself but a slip of paper, signed when he was close to death." Then, again, he used strong language.

However, she was gone, and, on the frail chance of his being misinformed after all, and because he also had orders to meet Alberoni in any circumstances, and to escort him to the Mediterranean coast without allowing him to hold converse with any one, we set off to find him. For Dubois' spies had met us and said that Alberoni was on his way, that he was close at hand.

So we rode along, nearing rapidly the pass into Spain by which he was coming, and expecting every moment to meet the Cardinal's coach attended by all his servants and following. But suddenly, while we marched, there happened something which put all thoughts of the Cardinal and his devoted friend, the Princess Ana, out of our heads—something terrible—awful—to behold.

A house, an inn, on fire, blazing fiercely, as we could see, even as we all struck spurs into our horses and galloped swiftly towards it—a house from the upper windows of which we could observe the faces of people looking. The upper windows, because all the lower part was in flames, and because they who were inside had all retreated up and up and up. Only, what could that avail them! Soon the house, the top floor—there were two above the ground—must fall in and—then! Yes—then!

We reached that burning auberge—'twas terrible, ghastly, to see the flames bursting forth from it in the broad daylight and looking white in the glare of the warm southern sun, although 'twas winter—reached it, wondering what we could do to save those who were perishing; to save the screaming mother with her babe clasped to her breast, the white-faced man who called on God through the open window he was at to spare him and his, or, if not him, then his wife and child.

What could we do—what? Bid them leap down to us, fling themselves upon us—yes, at least we might do that. One thing at least we could undoubtedly do—bid them throw down the babe into our arms. And this was done. The troopers sat close upon their horses, their arms extended; a moment later the little thing was safe in the great strong arms of the men, and being caressed and folded to the breast of our great brawny sergeant. Then, even as I witnessed this, even, too, as I (dismounted now) hurried round with some mousquetaires to discover if, in God's mercy, there was any ladder behind in the outhouse or garden whereby the upper part might be reached, I myself almost screamed with horror; for, at that moment, on to the roof there had sprung a woman shrieking; a woman down whose back fell coils of long black hair; a woman, handsome, beautiful, even in her agony and fear; a woman who was the girl called Damaris.

"Damaris!" I called out, "Damaris!" for by that name I had come to think of her, had known her for a short hour or so, "Damaris! be calm, do nothing rash. We will save you; the walls will not fall in yet. Be cool." But in answer to my words she could do nothing but wring her hands and shriek.

"I cannot die like this—not like this. Oh, Blue Eyes, save me! Save me! Save me! You called me your sweetheart. Save me!"

Then, at that moment, I heard a calm, icy voice beside me say—it was the voice of Marcieu—"Does your highness intend to restore the late King of Spain's will? Answer that, or I swear, since I command here, that you shall not be saved."

In a moment I had sprung at him, would have pulled him off his horse, have struck him in the mouth, have killed him for his brutality, but that Camier and two of the troopers held me back, and, even as they did so, I heard the girl's voice ring out, "Yes! yes! yes! 'tis here;" while, as she spoke, she put her hand in the bag by her side, drew out the red ball, and flung it down from the roof to where we all were.

But by now, Heaven in its mercy be praised! some of the others had found a ladder and brought it round, and were placing it against the walls. Only, it was too short! God help her! it but reached to the sill of the top-floor window.

And now I was distraught, was mad with grief and horror, when again that cold-blooded creature, Marcieu, spoke, saying, "What matter? can she not descend from the roof to the room that window is in?" and at the same moment Pontgibaud called out to her to do that very thing, which she, at once understanding, prepared to accomplish.

Meanwhile, some of the men, who were all now dismounted, had sprung to the ladder, eager to save, first the girl, I think, then next the woman of the house, and then the man. But I ordered them back. I alone would save her, I said, I alone. Princess or stroller, noble or crafty adherent of a wronged monarchy, whichever she might be, I had taken a liking to this girl; she had called on me to save her, and I would do it. Wherefore, up the ladder I went as quickly as the weight of my great riding boots and trappings would permit me, while all the time the flames were shooting out from the lower windows—up, until I stood at the top one and received her in my arms, telling the woman and the man they should be saved immediately, which they were, the troopers fetching down the woman, and the man following directly after by himself; yet none too soon either, for, even as he came down, the flames had set the lower part of the ladder afire, so that it fell down and he got singed as he came to earth. But, nevertheless, all were now saved; and Damaris stood trembling by my side, and pouring out her thanks to, and blessings upon, me.

"I—I—did not mean what I said," stammered Marcieu. "I meant you should be saved. But I meant also to have that will, and I have got it." While, as his eye roved around us, he saw the disgust written upon all our faces, on the faces alike of officers and men.

"You have got it," she answered contemptuously. "You have! Much good may it do you, animal!" and again I saw the beautiful white teeth gleam between her lips.

"But why here, Dama-Señorita?" I whispered; "why here? You came the wrong way if you wished to escape with the precious document."

She gave me somewhat of a nervous, tremulous smile, and was about to answer me, and give me some explanation, when, lo! there came an interruption to all our talk. The long-expected Cardinal was approaching. Alberoni had crossed the Pyrenees.

But in what a way to come! We could scarcely believe our eyes. There was no coach, nor heavily-laden mules to bear him and his followers and belongings. He was on foot; so, too, were his attendants. He, a cardinal; the arbiter of Spain, while ostensibly only the political agent of the Duke of Parma; a prince of the Church; a man who had intrigued for, and almost secured, one of the greatest prizes of that Church, the primacy of the land from which he had now been expelled—on foot! so that, if he had not had on his head his cardinal's hat—which he doubtless wore in his arrogance—none would have deemed him the great man he was, even in his downfall. All doffed their own hats as he came near us, Marcieu doing so as respectfully as any, while, as we removed ours, I saw him steal a glance at her whom we had known as Damaris. Such a glance, such a sly, cunning one! Then, as she sprang forward to take his hand, meaning, I think, to kiss it, he prevented her from doing so by, instead, raising that hand above her head and muttering, as I supposed, a blessing. But now, even as he looked somewhat wonderingly at the still burning house, he turned to Marcieu and said—

The Rescue.

"You are the man, I imagine, and those your troopers, whom Philippe the Regent has sent to intercept me. Ha! you are surprised that I know this," he went on, seeing the start that Marcieu gave when he heard those words. "Are you not? If you should ever know Alberoni better, you will learn that he is a match for most court spies in Europe."

Now the chevalier did seem so utterly taken aback at this (which caused Pontgibaud to give me a quaint look of satisfaction out of the tail of his eye—for every one of us hated that man mortally) that he could do nothing but bow, uttering no sound. Whereon the Cardinal proceeded:

"Well! What do you expect to do with me? Your comrades of Spain—the knaves and brigands whom the King sent after me from Madrid—have pillaged me of all. Some day I will pay his Majesty for the outrage—let him beware lest I place Austria back upon his throne. 'Twas a beggarly trick!—to take my carriages and mules, my jewels and wealth—even the will of the late King, which was most lawfully and rightfully in my possession."

"What!" broke from several of our lips, "what!" while from Marcieu's white and trembling ones came the words, "The late King's will! It is impossible. This girl—this lady—has handed it to me!"

For a moment the Cardinal's sly glance rested on the Princess, then on Marcieu, and then—then—he actually laughed, not loud, but long.

"Monsieur," he said at last, "you are a poor spy—easily to be tricked. You will never make a living at the calling. The will that lady gave you was a duplicate, a copy. It was meant that you should have that—that it should fall into your stupid hands. And, had I not been robbed on the other side of the mountains, you would not have seen me here."

"It is so," the Princess said, striding up to where the chevalier stood; "it is so. You spy! you spy! you mouchard! if that worthless piece of paper in the red ball had been the real will, I would have perished in the burning house before letting it fall into your hands." Then, sinking her voice still lower, though not so low but that some of us could hear what she said, she went on: "Have a care for your future. The followers of Austria have still some power left, even at the Court of France. Your threat to let me burn on the roof was not unmeant. It will be remembered."

And now there is no more to tell, except that the Princess knew that Marcieu meant to take the real will from the Cardinal if he met him, and so it had been arranged that, through her, the paper which he would suppose was that real will was to fall into his hands, and Alberoni would thus have been enabled to retain the original and escape with it out of France. She had preceded us to the foot of the mountains from Toulouse, meaning, when we came up, to let Marcieu obtain the red ball and thus be hoodwinked; and the accident of the fire at the inn only anticipated what she intended doing. The unexpected following of, and attack upon, the Cardinal, ere he quitted Spain and descended the Pyrenees into France, had, however, spoilt all their plans.

"A friendship that eventually ripened—"

Here I should attempt that which most writers of narratives are in the habit of performing, namely, conclude by telling you what was the end of Ana de Carbajal's adventure, of how she won and broke hearts and eventually made a brilliant match. That is what Monsieur Marivaux or the fair Scuderi would have done, as well as some of the writers in my own native land. But I refrain, because this strange meeting between me and the beautiful and adventurous Spanish lady was but the commencement of a long friendship that eventually ripened—However, no matter. Some day, when my hand is not weary and the spirit is upon me, I intend to write down more of the history of the high-bred young aristocrat who first appeared before me as a wandering stroller, and passed for "a girl called Damaris."

A NEW ENGLAND RAID

BY E. F. POLLARD

Author of "Roger the Ranger," &c.

The first glow of morning was creeping over the land as an Indian emerged from the forest. He ran swiftly, with that easy swing of the body and lightness of foot for which his race is remarkable. Leaping a wooden fence, he paused and stood, for the space of a second, looking up at a large square house, plain and unornamented, such as the early settlers in New England were wont to build for themselves.

The inhabitants were still buried in sleep, and the Indian's approach had been so noiseless that it had failed even to rouse the watch-dog. Taking a handful of gravel he threw it with unerring aim at a window on the second floor. An instant afterwards the lattice was opened and a young man's head thrust out, a voice asking, "What's up, Will?"

The Indian made a peculiar sign, which might easily be interpreted into "Come down."

"All right," said Josiah Blackstone, and disappeared.

Then Josh, as he was familiarly called, came down the broad staircase, removed noiselessly the bars and bolts which secured the front door, and slipped out into the porch, against the great oak post of which the Indian was leaning. A huge mastiff came bounding round from the back of the house with an ominous growl, but he evidently recognised the Indian, for he ran up to him wagging his tail and fawning upon him with unmistakable signs of pleasure.

"What has brought you, Will? I thought you were off fishing in the Great Lakes," said Josiah. Then eyeing him carefully, he added, "You look as if you had travelled far and fast."

"So Will has," answered the Indian in English. "Will Narburton ran a day and a night to bring news, bad news."

"Sorry to hear it," said Josh. "Is Philip up to mischief?"

The Indian made a sign of assent.

"Tobias, the Sachem of Nipmuck's son, and two others, have slain John Susaman, the missionary," he said.

"Killed gentle John!" exclaimed Josh—"are you sure, Will?"

"My own eyes saw it," said the Indian. "They waylaid John, knocked him on the head, and thrust him dead into the pond near Middleborough. I was on the other side and watched the Sachem's son, Tobias, and the two others, do the deed. Knowing they do not love the men of my tribe, I was afraid, and hid myself in the long rushes. They struck John from behind, so that he did not see. He never moved again. Then they put him into the hole. I waited till the wicked ones were on their way back to tell the Sachem the evil work was finished, then I ran all day and all night to warn you. King Philip is angry; he has sworn he will drive the white man out of the hunting grounds."

"I know it," answered Josh. "I fear this means war."

"As the arrow flies through the air swiftly and slays, so the Indian will drop down into your midst, and the scalps of the white men will be his reward," said Will Narburton.

"Hush!" said Josh, "I hear my mother's step on the stairs; she must not be alarmed."

The Indian raised his head and whispered: "No tell missis, she woman, she frightened; tell master."

"I was afraid, and hid myself in the long rushes."

He had hardly given utterance to this sentiment when a tall comely woman, in the close cap, plain black gown, and white bibbed apron of the New England matron, came out into the porch, and seeing Will Narburton, smiled a welcome.

"I wondered who you might be entertaining at this early hour, Josh," she said, laying her hand on her son's arm. "Has Will come to tempt you to go fishing or hunting with him?"

"No, mother; but he has brought some important news, which I must communicate to my father. Will you see that Narburton has food and drink, for he has travelled a long distance to do us service?"

"Gladly," answered Mrs. Blackstone. "Go ye round to the kitchen, Will; if Mary be not there, I will open to you and see to your needs myself. Your father will be down directly, Josh," she added, addressing her son, and then she hastened away intent upon her household duties.

The Blackstones had been amongst the first settlers on the borders of Connecticut. By the banks of the river Seek-ouk they had built a house and named it "Study Hill"; they had also planted orchards, and the fruitful land rewarded their labour with rich harvests. It was but a few weeks since the grandsire had been laid to rest among his apple-trees, and his son, Nathan Blackstone, now reigned in his stead. Josh was the only surviving son of this third generation; he dwelt at home, and was his father's right hand. Nathan was an elder of the Church and a civil magistrate, revered by the settlers, and scarcely less so by the Indians, to whom he had always been well inclined; declaring the safety of the English lay in a just recognition of the natural rights of the natives, and attaching much blame to those who would have had the red man rooted out as being of the accursed race of Ham. Nevertheless he deemed it necessary they should be watched, feeling by no means assured that they were other than the children of the devil, more especially as the effects of Christianity and civilisation on the Indian were far from conducive to virtue.

The Puritan fathers were remarkably unsuccessful in their efforts to propagate Christianity, may-be because of the harshness of their doctrines; but it is a fact that after fifty years' labour amongst the thousands of natives in New England, less than 1500 Indians were converted. These were known as the "Praying Indians," and their position was far from enviable, they being despised by their own people, and not wholly trusted by the colonists themselves. Will Narburton and the murdered John Susaman belonged to this class—indeed the latter was employed as a missionary, and was much esteemed by the Brethren; his death, therefore, was an event not likely to be passed over.

Hearing his father's step coming down the stairs, Josh turned and greeted him, and the two went out together, pacing side by side along the garden-walk in front of the house, as was their wont when they had any matter under discussion. They resembled each other greatly, being of the same height, broad-shouldered, and powerful of limb; their features were strongly marked; their complexions ruddy, deep-set grey eyes and dark-brown hair; Nathan's, however, was cropped short, after the fashion of the Puritan fathers, but Josh wore his somewhat longer; also Nathan was clean shaven, but his son had both beard and moustache.

They were fine, well-built men, with honest, open countenances, God-fearing and true-hearted, ready to do their duty alike to God and man.

As Nathan listened to the news Will Narburton had brought, his face grew serious.

"I foresee trouble," he said. "John Susaman has warned the men of Boston for some time past that the Sachem of the Wampanoags was disaffected, and they paid no heed to his words; I fear it is now too late. We have been at peace with the Indians for many years; but if war were to break out now, it would be far worse than in the early days, because the red man has possessed himself of firearms in addition to his own weapons. It is a serious matter."

"It were well that the news should be carried to Boston without delay," said Josh. "If you be willing, father, I will ride in at once and take Will with me, he being an eye-witness to the deed."

"Certainly, I think it desirable," said Nathan; "but you must go well armed, for there is no saying what the Indians may be up to, now they are roused. They are as likely as not to waylay you, if they suspect you to be carrying news of their misdoing to Boston."

And so accompanied by Will Narburton, both mounted on good horses, Josh left his peaceful home, never doubting but that he should return thither within a few days and find it even as he had left it. He wore the New England Ranger's dress, namely, a deep ash-coloured hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins; he was armed with a rifle-barrelled gun, a small axe, and a long knife, which served for all purposes in the woods; a broad-brimmed hat completed this somewhat sombre attire, which nevertheless became him well, at least so his mother and Rena, his young sister, thought as they watched him ride away. Josh and his companion reached the city without hindrance, and on Will's testimony the three murderers were arrested within a week. They were tried before a mixed jury of Indians and English, and Tobias was hanged. Now the Sachem of Mipmuck and King Philip, or Metacomet, as the men of his own tribe called him, Sachem of the Wampanoags, were allies, and they were therefore united in their anger against the settlers. So it came to pass on a certain day King Philip summoned to his camp at Mount Hope the chiefs, not only of his own tribe, but of all those with whom he was on friendly terms, to consult whether it was to be war or peace with the white man.

The Sachem sat in his chair of state (a common wooden chair with a straw bottom), surrounded by his counsellors and captains in full battle array, with their war paints and feathers, their tomahawks in their belts, their bows and arrows slung across their naked shoulders. Standing before the King was a woman. The skins of beasts of prey hung from her shoulders and were girded round her waist, strings of beads encircled her neck, her long black hair hung loosely to her waist, and on her head was a high crown made of the plumage of all manner of birds. Her attitude was majestic, as with outstretched arm, tears streaming from her eyes, she addressed the assembly.

"O brother of my murdered husband! I bring you three hundred warriors, to war against the white man, who slew my beloved, not on the battlefield as a warrior should depart, but by treachery. Long years have I waited to avenge him, but now surely the time has come. The white men are driving us from our hunting-fields; they destroy our forests, so that the wild beasts forsake their lairs, and soon we shall lack food for our children. Let us unite and drive them across the sea from whence they came! I am but a woman, made to carry burdens and to bear sons; but my husband has been slain, and the son I bore him died on my bosom. Shall I not avenge them? Is the time not come?"

Thus spake the squaw, Sachem Weetamoo, the widow of King Philip's brother Alexander, who, being accused of plotting against the English, had been taken as a prisoner to Plymouth, where he died, his people said of poison, but in truth of a fever brought on by anger and vexation at his position.

This had happened upwards of fifteen years ago, but the widowed squaw, Sachem, had never ceased wailing, and importuning Philip to avenge her husband, and now, hearing that he had been called to account for the murder of the missionary, she hastened down with three hundred warriors from the fort on the Pocasset shore, where she dwelt, and urged him, with all the passion of a woman's deadly hatred, to take up arms and drive the white man out of the land.

She had chosen her time well, for but a few days previously Philip had been summoned to Boston and compelled to promise that he would deliver up all English arms in the possession of his tribe, and both he and his chief men were angered, so that Weetamoo's arguments, and the presence of the armed warriors she had brought with her, fired them, and they shouted that she spoke with wisdom.

Philip assented, and straightway swift messengers were sent forth with the wampum belt from village to village, from tribe to tribe, and Weetamoo went to her wigwam triumphant. Before the people of New England had time to realise the fact, the flames of burning homesteads, the flight of terrified women and children, spread terror far and wide.

But even then the elders, the men of Boston and New Plymouth, made an effort to maintain peace, promising to all Indians who would lay down their arms, life and liberty. Further, they decided to send a deputation to Philip with offers of conciliation.

It was a dangerous mission, and there was some hesitation in asking any one to undertake it; but the matter was settled when Josh Blackstone came forward and proposed being the bearer thereof. He and his father were on friendly terms with the Indians, especially with Philip; Josh had often been a guest at Mount Hope for weeks together during the hunting season. He declared he had no fear; he would go alone to Philip. His assurance had the effect of encouraging others, and six young men offered to accompany him.

"That is too many; it looks distrustful," he said, and chose three, with whom he set forth at once, sending Will back to Study Hill, with a letter to his father, telling the errand upon which he was bound, and assuring him he anticipated no danger. Nathan was not quite so well satisfied, but he refrained from saying aught which might alarm his wife and Rena.

"The lad is doing his duty; it will be well whatever betides him," he said, and he went about his farm cheerfully, encouraging his neighbours, and taking all due precaution against the enemy.

The country over which Josh and his companions had to travel to Mount Hope was so well known to the former that he was able to lessen the distance by short cuts across country. For the most part it was thickly wooded, but sometimes they had to skirt vast tracts of swampy land overgrown with reeds, bulrushes, and long grass. Josh knew that such places were usually resorted to by Indians when they wished to waylay their enemies; he therefore kept a sharp look-out.

Within a few miles of the Mount they came upon a great lake. On one side was an almost impenetrable forest, and on the other an immense swamp.

Unfortunately it was evening, and as there was no path they dismounted and were leading their horses, when suddenly a wild unearthly yell rose on the still air, and a horde of Indians came scrambling up the banks of the lake; in a second they were upon the English.

"Run!" shouted Josh to his companions, "it's your only chance." He, slipping his horse's bridle, placed himself with his back to a tree and fired into the enemy, to keep them, if only for a few minutes, at bay. He knew from the first that resistance was hopeless. The savages literally swarmed upon them. He saw two of his three men fall, their skulls cloven; then an Indian, taller than his fellows, with bigger feathers on his head, felled him to the ground. He did not even then lose consciousness, expecting to feel the sharp scalp-knife do its cruel work, when, to his surprise, he was dragged by the hair of his head out of the fray, hoisted on to one of the horses, an Indian sprang up behind him uttering a loud whoop, and they were scouring through the forest out into the open plain. The natural instinct of self-preservation made Josh cling desperately to the horse's mane, as the animal, terrified by the Indian's savage yells, leaped through the thick undergrowth, waded across streams, then bounding over a high barrier, was drawn suddenly up, almost on to his haunches, and so stopped short. Josh would have been done to death, scalped then and there, but for his captor, to whom, according to the laws of war, he belonged solely. The natives leaped and yelled around them as the chief flung himself to the ground, spoke a few words to them which elicited shouts of delight, and strode away. Amidst loud jeering and yells, to say nothing of two or three heavy blows, Josh was overthrown, his limbs bound with strong reeds, and in this helpless condition he was dragged some distance and thrust into an empty hut. He lay for a time insensible from the ill-usage and blows he had received; but gradually he recovered consciousness, and the horror of his position rushed upon him. He knew that, as a prisoner, he would be subject to frightful tortures before he was even allowed to die—surely it was a refinement of cruelty to have spared his life!

As the cold dews of night crept on, strong man as he was, he shivered, and the smarting of his wounds, the soreness of his bruises, became almost intolerable. It was many hours also since he had tasted food. That did not trouble him; as a hunter he was accustomed to long fasts. But his thirst was growing more and more intense, his lips were parched, his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. To add to his misery, as he lay on the damp ground, he could see the fires of his enemies, and hear their unearthly deafening yells, as they feasted and made merry. Once, nay, twice, he tried to break his bonds; but it was useless, they were too tightly woven. Probably from sheer exhaustion he dropped asleep. Surely he was dreaming, for he felt a hand laid upon him and heard a voice whisper, "Fear not, but drink;" then his head was raised, a gourd put to his lips; he drank eagerly a long draught of pure water, and sank back refreshed.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Thusick, King Philip's daughter," answered the same voice. "I do not hate the white men; they are wise and brave, have taught us many things; therefore I have brought you water, knowing that the fever must be on you."

Thusick's voice was gentle, and the hand she laid on his head was wondrous cool and soft, so that a wave of renewed hope and vigour came to Josh, and he said eagerly—

"It is good of you to bring me water, but it were kinder still to unloose my bonds and help me to escape."

It was night, so he could not see how pitiful the dark eyes grew.

"It were useless," she said, "the camp is too well guarded; you could not escape. My father has saved your life; he does not will that you should die, because you were his friend. If you have courage you may live. To-morrow at dawn your bonds will be cut, and you will be brought forth to run the gantlet. If you are swift of foot, and are not beaten down, but reach the King and touch his knees, they will spare you. Three separate times must you run that race, and afterwards you will be adopted by our people, in place of the Black Hawk, whom your men slew to-day; you will take a wife from amongst us, and it will be well with you."

Josh did not, even under present circumstances, see it in the same light as Thusick, but he was young, and the mere chance of life was welcome. He was in no mood to trouble about the future; the present hour was too fraught with anxiety. He knew from hearsay what was meant by the cruel ordeal of the gantlet, and how not one man in ten came forth from it alive, and overpowered as he was with a sense of physical weakness, his heart sank within him.

"This girl has brought me water; surely she could also bring me food to strengthen me," he thought, so he spoke out.

"I shall never run to-morrow, for I have had no food, and I shall faint."

"I have brought food," she answered, "also wherewith to dress your wounds and make you strong."

Cautiously she raised a corner of the matting which hung over the entrance of the hut, so that a glimmer of light from the now dying fires crept in. Then she fed him with meat, and afterwards she bathed his head, and stripping his shirt as best she could, washed his wounds. When all was finished, she put a nut into his mouth, saying—

"It is bitter to the taste, but it is sweet, for it will give you strength; let it lie all night in your mouth, and to-morrow you will run swiftly. Our warriors eat thereof when they go on the war trail, and they are strong. Now, farewell!"

Through the dimness he saw the tall, lithe figure glide out and disappear into the night. Then a sort of lethargy stole over him; his eyelids closed and he slept.

A prolonged whoop, and Josh awoke with a start. The sun was creeping into the hut, and he knew it was morning. If he had needed any reminder of what lay before him, it was there unmistakably, in the presence of half-a-dozen red men, who stood talking and gesticulating, whilst one of their number cut the thongs which bound him, and by a sign bade him rise. He obeyed, and instantly heavy hands were laid upon him, his clothes were torn off his back, and he stood stark naked in their midst.

A momentary feeling of the utter hopelessness of his position swept over him; as he looked at the savages, armed with tomahawks and scalping-knives, he felt that his chances of life were indeed small.

"Have good courage, be swift of foot, and it will be well with you;" Thusick, the King's daughter, had so spoken, and he believed her; moreover, he was conscious that the fatigue of the previous day had passed away. His limbs felt light and strong. He tossed back his head defiantly, and a flash of determination lighted up his blue eyes.

"I'll not give in without a good try," he thought, remembering those at home—"father, mother, Rena!"

A push from behind sent him out of the hut into the broad sunlight of a July morning. Amidst hundreds of dark skins he stood forth in his naked whiteness alone, a target for all eyes. Shrieks, yells, whoops, greeted his appearance from the vast crowd gathered to witness the torture of the white man.

He might well be excused if the horror of the situation caused his cheek to pale and a tremor to run through his whole body.

"Drink, drink quickly!" and a gourd was thrust into his hand. Instinctively, without hesitation, he put it to his lips and drained the contents, then threw it on the ground. The action was so rapid that it passed unperceived, but the effect of the liquor was almost magical. It was like an electric shock coursing through his veins. The mist which had obscured his vision was cleared away; he saw the road stretched out before him along which he was to run, savages on either side waving thongs and sticks wherewith to scourge him, and at the farther end, surrounded by his chiefs, King Philip, with feathered crests and beaded trappings. The rising of the King to his feet was the token that the ordeal was to begin.

Strange as it may seem, all sense of fear had left Josh; he was quite calm now. Setting his teeth tight, he gathered himself together, and with one foot forward, awaited the signal.

"Others have done it, so, please God, will I," he murmured. A clash! a wild shout rang out through the summer air, and he was driven forward. Over the ground he flew, with the steady pluck of a practised runner, his nerves wrought to their highest tension, heedless alike of the blows which hailed upon him, of the thongs which tore his flesh. Faster, ever faster, on he went, blood pouring down his body until the white skin was red and mauled. As he neared the goal the yells of rage grew louder, the onslaught fiercer, but he never wavered, though his breath came short and hard; verily, they were beating it out of him.

A blow struck him high up on the neck; he staggered, but the yells of delight which greeted this sign of failing strength so maddened him, that with a supreme effort he leaped forward, threw out his arms, and caught at something which stayed his course. A rushing sound as of the incoming tide surged round him, died out, and stillness as of death crept over him as he slipped unconscious to the ground.

That last spurt saved Josh Blackstone's life. His outstretched arms had clasped neither pillar nor post, but King Philip's knees! and straightway Thusick sprang forward and pleaded that the white man should be delivered to her, that she might heal him, and so he would once again afford them sport. Her words were greeted with shouts of approval, for he had done bravely. Usually victims failed to traverse half the appointed space before they succumbed, but he had fallen at the goal and was still living! So Thusick's prayer was granted, and he was delivered into her hands.

Hardly had the judgment been passed when a messenger arrived bringing news to Philip that the Boston men were sending troops against him, and that it were well for him to hasten and destroy the nearest villages and homesteads before they came up to give him battle. Philip needed no urging; in an incredibly short time the camp of Mount Hope was left to the old men, women, and children, and before the mid-day sun was high in the heavens the last plumed savage had disappeared. Strange stillness reigned where, but a short time before, shouts and yells had filled the air. On the outskirts of the camp, close to the wooden palisades, was a solitary wigwam; thither, by Thusick's orders, the unconscious Josh was carried, and laid on a bed of fresh rushes.

Indian women had much knowledge of medicinal herbs and plants, and Thusick was skilled even more than others. Quickly she washed his wounds in fresh water, covered his body with unguents and newly-plucked leaves, so that when he recovered consciousness and opened his eyes it was to a sense of comparative comfort. He tried to raise himself, but Thusick bade him lie still.

"Philip is gone," she said; "have no fear, the chiefs are with him."

"Gone to kill my people, and I am helpless! Let me go too," he said, and again he strove to rise; but the movement caused his wounds to break out bleeding afresh, and in utter despair he threw himself back on his couch of reeds, and broke out into bitter weeping, the outburst of mental agony long restrained, and great physical pain.

"Father! mother! Rena! they will be done to death!" he cried, "and I cannot strike a blow to save them."

"The days are long," said the Indian girl; "by night the great pain will have passed away, and, brave man, you can go. If you have courage and can walk till dawn, you will come to an Indian village, friends of your people; they will save you."

"Is it true? Shall I be able to do this?" he asked wearily, feeling so helpless.

"Yes, if you are strong," said the girl. "Now sleep, for sleep gives strength." She handed him a gourd, saying, "Drink!"

Suddenly a great passion took possession of Josh, a feeling of deadly hatred until now unknown to him. All the suffering, all the indignity he had undergone, seemed to madden him.

"Why do you try to save my life," he said, "when I hate your people, and if I live will slay them? I will never rest day or night till I have overcome your father and exterminated his warriors. I will not take life at your hands and give you death."

Thusick shook her head; her unreasoning mind could not follow him. She was but a savage, guided by instinct. She gave no name to her actions. Mercy and love were unknown in her vocabulary. Out of her own gentle nature she did the deeds of mercy.

"Drink," she repeated in answer to his angry words, and sullenly he obeyed. "Now sleep, Thusick will watch," and sitting down beside him with a bunch of gorgeous feathers in her hand, she waved them over him to keep the noxious flies and insects from settling on his wounds.

When again he awoke it was night, and Thusick was standing beside him.

"It is time you went forth," she said, holding out her hand to help him to rise. He was astonished to feel no pain, and that his limbs obeyed his will so that he was able to stand erect.

"Clothe yourself and come forth," said Thusick; "fear not, the old men and women are sleeping; they will not hear," and she went to the door of the wigwam.

By the light of an oil lamp Josh saw a portion of his own clothing lying in a heap within his reach. He noticed also that a gun and a hatchet were placed beside them, food and drink were on the ground. He did not know that throughout that long day, whilst he slept, the Indian woman had so tended him, that, not only the pain of his wounds had ceased, but they were fast healing. A few seconds later, he stood at the entrance of the wigwam by Thusick's side. She raised her hand, pointed to the west, and speaking in a low voice, said—

"The summer nights are short; before dawn you will reach the Mohawks' village." Josh looked down at her, and even in that supreme moment, when his soul was still bitter within him, he remembered what he owed her, and speaking gently, said—

"Quiet! Josiah Blackstone."

"Your men I will not spare, I will slay them; but for your sake, Thusick, I will protect every woman of your race, so help me God!"

"It is well," she answered; "now depart."

He obeyed, and Thusick watched him until he had disappeared down the side of the Mount; then she returned to her own wigwam, with a dull pain at her heart.

As Josh reached the bottom of the hill, he heard a horse neigh, and at the same moment a hand was laid upon his shoulder.

"Caught again," he thought, instinctively making a supreme effort to escape from his invisible foe, but the grip was of iron, and he knew at once who it was that held him down, when a voice said, speaking in English, but with a soft Indian intonation—

"Quiet! Josiah Blackstone, do you think, if I had not willed it, you would be alive now? Twice I have saved your life, and now a third time, because we have been friends and you have smoked the calumet in my wigwam; but from henceforth we are as strangers. I know you no more." As he spoke he loosed his hold, and Josh, turning, saw the gigantic form of the Sachem King Philip, with the crested plume on his head, looming forth, a huge shadow in the darkness.

"You have saved me from death, but you have subjected me to indignities worse than death," said Josh; "nevertheless I thank you, for surely you meant well."

"If I had not carried you off they would have killed you as they did your companions," said Philip, "and a prisoner's fate is torture and death; only to the few is it granted to run the gantlet and to live. I gave you a chance, you have won, and I let you go forth free. Would your people have done as much for me? Have you not driven us out of our own lands, where our fathers hunted? When the white men first trod our shores we bade them welcome, offering, in exchange for a few cartloads of cloths, trinkets, and guns, to share the land with them and dwell together in peace. We were foolish, not knowing that where the white man sets his foot he must be sole master. You clear our forests, you build houses, you make towns, and we are driven farther and farther into wilds, and our familiar hunting-grounds know us no more. We have suffered much, and so we have risen, and will burn your houses and your towns, and send you back from whence you came. I will show your people that the red man can fight for his own and conquer."

"Fight you may, but you will not conquer," said Josh. "I do not say you are wrong, Philip; if I were in your stead I should doubtless feel as you do. But the time is past for you to drive us out; we have made this land our own, rightly or wrongly, and we shall keep it. Be wise while it is yet time; do not light a torch which will set your forests on fire and destroy your people."

"It is too late; I am bound," answered the King. "Farewell, Josiah Blackstone. There is your horse, ride quickly south, and warn your people; avoid the great forest." And having so spoken, the huge form leaped up the Mount, bounding from hillock to hillock, and so disappeared.

"A child of nature, a man with a big heart, worthy to be a king. I am sorry to lose him for my friend!" sighed Josh. Then mounting his horse, he rode in the direction Philip had indicated. As Thusick had said, the summer nights were short, but the day had not yet dawned when Josh perceived flames and smoke rising in various directions. The settlements and homesteads were far apart, there were few roads, and communication was difficult. Checking his horse, Josh looked around, and was startled by the lurid redness of the sky, and by every other sign of a vast conflagration near at hand.

"I must be approaching Brookfield," he thought; "I have ridden farther west than I imagined."

Suddenly the flames shot up, shrieks of agony filled the air, and by the fierce light he saw a crowd of men, women, and children coming in the direction of the forest. He remembered Philip's words, and knew the danger lay there. Riding quickly forward he placed himself in front of them, shouting, "Back! back! for God's sake, keep out of the forest!"

At the same moment a gust of wind dispersed the smoke, and showed him a few hundred yards distant a house, which, owing to its isolated position, away from the burning town, was untouched by fire.

"Follow me," he cried, and dashed towards it.

His sudden appearance, his assurance of voice and manner, had the desired effect; the fugitives crowded round him, some even clinging to his stirrups. All vaguely in their terror wondered from whence he had sprung. "Surely he must have been sent to save them from the heathen." So he drew them on until they reached the house, entered the courtyard, and some one closed the gates, thus ensuring safety for a short time at least.

The day was just dawning, but it was hardly perceptible because of the fierce light from the burning town, which reddened land and sky with a deeper glow than the rising sun. Coming ever nearer and nearer they heard the yells of the savages, and the children clung in terror to their mothers, who, in their anguish, called upon the men to save them.

"Quick to the house and barricade doors and windows," said Josh.

"You are driving us into a trap; we shall be either murdered or burnt alive," cried a farmer.

"You will at least have a chance of defending yourselves," answered Josh; "in the forest you would have been slaughtered. I do not say we shall escape now, but at least we can fight and die like men."

"He's right," said James Carter, the owner of the house. "My father built the homestead; it is strong and well seasoned. Comrades, if we must die, we will sell our lives dearly. Quick, do as the young man bids you," and throwing open the doors, he hurried the women and children within.

Josh still sat on his horse looking round, considering rapidly the possibility of holding the place against such terrible odds. The physical and mental sufferings through which he had passed had told upon him in no ordinary degree: his face was drawn and perfectly colourless, his eyes were sunk deep in his head, and his lips cracked with a consuming fever; from a bright, happy-looking man, he had grown stern and forbidding. Truly the iron had entered into his soul.

"I must find some place for my horse; I cannot let him loose, we may need him. Do you know where I can put him with any degree of safety?" he asked a young man of about his own age who for the last few minutes had been watching him attentively.

"If you will dismount, I will stow him away," was the quiet answer.

Josh made an effort to throw himself off, but as he reached the ground he staggered and almost fell.

"Are you hurt?" asked Stephen Carter, eyeing him curiously.

"Only stiff," answered Josh with an effort, pulling himself together. "We must hurry up. Do you hear? The Indians are close at hand."

"This way then," said the young man, preceding him to an inner courtyard, where there was a shed. "He will be all right here."

"Are you acquainted with this house?" asked Josh.

"I ought to be; it is my father's," was the short answer. "I am Stephen Carter."

"That is well; then you have a right to command. Will you see that the doors and windows are closed? All the men who have arms must guard the entrances. Those who have none, with the women, must draw water from the wells and fill every bucket and utensil, for the Indians will try to burn us out; it is their way."

He had hardly finished speaking, when the frantic yells of the savages, the shots pouring in on all sides, told only too plainly that the siege had already begun.

"Young man, whoever you may be," said the farmer, who had at first protested, "you brought us into this trap, and you must get us out."

"I'll do the best I can for you," answered Josh, and he went off one way, Stephen Carter another, to organise the defence.

They were indeed in a desperate strait; to enter the house and massacre every white man, woman, and child, was the determined object of the besiegers, and they left no device untried to accomplish this.

"The devils! I told you they'd fire us," said Josh to Stephen, as looking through a chink he saw the Indians piling wood and other combustible materials up against the walls of the house.

"Quick, make a chain and give them a shower-bath," he shouted.

He was obeyed with right good-will, and the flames were extinguished.

Then firebrands, fastened on long poles, were hoisted against the cornices and projections, in the hope of setting them on fire. Then arrows wound round with burning rags filled with sulphur were shot down on to the roof; whilst the savages swarmed on to the window-sills and balconies, trying to find some unguarded place; but they were thrust back, more often shot down, and falling on those below, created great confusion.

The first terror over, the besieged entered heart and soul into the spirit of the defence, and at every turn, by every device and cunning, baffled the Indians. Josh was indefatigable, Stephen following close on his heels, for his daring, unceasing energy excited the latter's admiration and fascinated him. He was seen to tear the firebrands from the poles and dash them amongst the enemy, then mounting on the roof he hurled the sulphured arrows back to whence they came; and his example being quickly followed by others, no wonder if the savages lost heart, so that when at last Josh and Stephen, with a dozen other men, dashed into their midst, an almost hand-to-hand fight ensued, and they gradually gave way and fled to the shelter of the forest, leaving many dead and wounded behind them on the ground. Then the besieged had a short respite, and were able to take counsel together. Men pressed forward to shake Josh by the hand, forgetting he was a stranger. His white set face now begrimed with smoke was ghastly to behold. Stephen brought him food. "You are doing the work of half-a-dozen men," he said; "your strength will fail you if you do not eat." Silently Josh acquiesced, thanking him.

A man came up to him.

"Have you heard that Colonel Willard of Boston has been despatched westward?" he asked.

"No; how should I?" said Josh. "If that is a fact, and our plight were made known to him, he might come to our rescue."

"It is a fact; he was sent to punish Philip for the murder of the deputation," said the man.

Josiah started. "All were not murdered," he said, "for I, Josiah Blackstone, am here amongst you. I was taken prisoner, carried to Mount Hope, and—" he paused—"with Philip's aid I escaped." He would not tell of the torture he had undergone; but continued, without noticing the astonishment his words occasioned, "If Colonel Willard is anywhere within reach we must get at him."

"Impossible, the Indians are all around; if we attempt to move they will start up again."

Josh made no answer. The subject was discussed generally, and unanimously decided to be impracticable; any man leaving the house would be seen and murdered. There was nothing to do but to wait, on the chance that a fugitive from Brookfield would carry the news to the colonel.

Night fell, and still the savages remained quiet. Stephen was on guard at the back of the house when Josh appeared leading his horse.

"Surely you are not going to do it?" he said.

"I am going to try," answered Josh grimly. "I guess about where I can catch Willard. It will be sharp work; but if I succeed by to-morrow at this time he may have given those red devils a lesson which they will not forget in a hurry. I am afraid they will wake up and worry you to-morrow; be on your guard, and do your uttermost to hold out till evening. Good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Stephen. "It is awfully plucky of you. I hope you will get through; it is our only chance. But you hardly look fit for such a ride."

"I am tougher than you think," said Josh; "most men would look worse than I do if they had gone through what I have done," and he held out his hand.

Stephen wrung it, saying, "I'll unbar the back gate for you, it opens on to the water-meadows; the ground is soft, so that the horse's hoofs will not be heard if you walk him, and I believe the savages are on the other side in the forest. It is less than half a mile to the river, and a mile farther up it is so shallow that you can easily ford it; on the other side you will be comparatively safe."

"Thanks," said Josiah. "The night's dark; that is in my favour," and he disappeared.

Throughout that night and the following morning the Indians remained quiet; but soon after noon they emerged from the forest, dragging and pushing forward a sort of cart of enormous dimensions mounted on rudely-constructed wheels. Bundles of hay, flax, and hemp, besides other combustible materials, were piled in it to a great height. They brought the thing within a short distance of the house, screening themselves behind it from the shots which the besieged fired down upon them. Then a party of Indians with long poles came running, shouting, and yelling triumphantly out of the forest; evidently they felt sure now of victory.

"Be on your guard."

The besieged watched these preparations with painful anxiety, not daring to give expression to their fears.

Suddenly a cloud of smoke arose, tongues of fire leaped up, and the Indians, using long poles, began pushing the cumbersome vehicle nearer to the house. Then indeed the English knew they were lost. The men turned pale and looked aghast at the awful sight, and the women in their terror cried aloud to God to help them. Their doom was sealed; either they must perish in the flames, or rushing out, be murdered by the savages. Slowly but surely the horrible machine came on, long tongues of fire already licked the front of the house, and the small amount of water the besieged were able to throw upon that great mass of combustible substance was of no avail; besides, the heat would not allow of their opening the windows or ascending to the roof.

"Let us out, let us out!" shrieked the terror-stricken women.

"Nothing but the bursting of the clouds from heaven can save us," exclaimed Stephen in despair.

At that moment, above the cries of the women and children and the yells of the savages, there was heard a distant rumbling.

"What is it? what new horror is coming upon us?" cried several voices at once. Again it came rolling nearer and nearer, and some one said, "It is thunder!" Then an aged woman, raising her wrinkled hands, cried with a loud voice, "The Lord is with us; who shall be against us?"

But the rain, the blessed rain from heaven, would it fall and extinguish the flames, which kept rising higher and higher? The trees of the forest waved, bowing before the coming storm; the wind rose, and the house rocked under the fury of the elements; and the women, falling on their knees, prayed, "Good Lord, deliver us!" and the men, uncovering their heads, prayed also. They were powerless; God alone could save them!

If the rain held off only a little longer, it would be too late! Already a buttress had caught fire, and at the risk of their lives the two Carters, father and son, with the aid of several other men, hewed at it to separate it from the main building. Suddenly a flash of lightning, so lurid that the whole heavens were illumined, followed by a crash of thunder, rolling as it seemed in the nethermost parts of the earth and in the heavens above, struck English and Indians alike with terror. The latter, throwing themselves with their faces on the earth, lay as if stunned. And then the clouds burst, a sheet of water poured down, a perfect deluge! In the space of a few minutes the land was submerged, the fire was extinguished, and the burning mass reduced to smoking embers.

The besieged knew that for the present they were saved, and the Indians knew they were conquered by the "Great Unseen," and so, rising half drowned, they fled to the forest. As suddenly as the storm had risen so suddenly did it abate.

Then another sound reached the ears of the besieged, the tramping of horses' hoofs coming at full speed through the deserted village, and a troop of some fifty or sixty horsemen pursued the Indians, shooting and hewing them down. Many were slain, and those who escaped dispersed. Before sunset all fear was over for that brave little garrison, the house-doors were thrown open, and they came forth to welcome their rescuers.

"Josiah Blackstone? where is Blackstone? We owe our lives to him," said James Carter.

"Ay, verily we do!" shouted a chorus of voices.

"You say truly," responded Colonel Willard. "When he arrived at my camp this morning both he and his horse were dead beat; he could not have ridden back with me. There comes a time when even the strongest man has to give in, and Josh Blackstone had reached that stage. Do you know where he came from?"

"From Mount Hope; he was made prisoner by Philip, and escaped," said Stephen Carter.

"After running the gantlet, and coming out of it alive, which not one man in fifty succeeds in doing," said the colonel; "and it seems to me he has been on the go ever since. No marvel if he dropped from his horse in a dead faint after he had delivered your message. He's a Spartan! A cheer for brave Josh Blackstone!"

And the cheer went up right gladly, whilst the women brushed the tears from their eyes, and the men muttered in their beards, "He's a brave lad! a right brave lad!"

All through that winter and the following spring and summer the war raged; a reign of terror spread over the land.

When Josiah Blackstone reached his home he found the house burnt to the ground, the trees in the orchard felled, only the trodden-down grave of his grandsire left to mark where his inheritance had been.

Father, mother, Rena, were no more! He stood desolate and alone. His father, he was told, had defended himself bravely; more than one Indian had fallen by his hand; but at last overpowered by numbers, he had been slain. Of his mother and Rena's fate he failed to learn anything; they had disappeared. One thing he discovered, namely, that it was not the Wampanoags, Philip's tribe of Indians, who had wrought this destruction, but the squaw Sachem Weetamoo's, and Josh there and then made up his mind that he would follow her up and discover the fate of his mother and sister. The Plymouth Colony had put the conduct of all military affairs into the hands of Colonel Church, a friend of the Blackstones, and straightway Josh offered him his services, which were readily accepted, and he was enrolled in the corps, and rapidly rose to the rank of captain. The knowledge of Indian warfare he had gained from his friend was only equalled by Colonel Church himself, and these two men, working together, became an absolute terror to the Indians, for they not only fought them with their own weapons of cunning and ruse, but with the superior arms of the trained soldier.

Gradually but surely the red men felt the weight of the white man's arm; they lost many of their best chiefs and warriors; they could no longer undertake large expeditions, but were reduced to a sort of predatory warfare. Twice in the course of a few weeks Philip was nearly captured; he fled, escaping in disguise, no one knew whither. But even then he would not yield. One of his chiefs venturing to propose that peace should be asked for, Philip ordered him at once to be put to death.

The sorely-tried population of New England would gladly have made peace. The strain of never-ceasing anxiety had whitened the heads of men still in their prime, and young men had even grown to look old. They could bear to die and suffer themselves, if need be; but their hearts ached for the women and children, above all for those who were missing and whose fates were dark mysteries.

"It will never end until that she-devil Weetamoo and her tool Philip are taken or killed, Josh," said Colonel Church, as they paced together in front of their tent, they having during the last few days pitched their camp near Tiverton in the North.

"If you can devise any plan by which this can be accomplished, I am ready," said Josh. "As far as it has been consistent with my duty, I have avoided Philip. I have told you how he saved my life. But for this squaw Sachem I have no such feeling, and I believe she is at the bottom of all this mischief."

Even as he spoke, an Indian came out from amongst a clump of trees and stood before them.

Always on his guard against treachery, Josh raised his musket.

"Stand!" he shouted.

"No fear; I have come to speak with you and tell you what you desire to know," said the Indian, halting at a safe distance.

"Who are you?" asked the colonel.

"I am the brother of the chief whom Philip slew because he spake of peace. I have lost two sons in the war; I have but one left, and he is a babe. I also would dwell at peace, so have I come to you that you may slay the squaw Sachem Weetamoo. She has but a few men left of her three hundred warriors, and when she is conquered I will lead you to Philip's hiding-place."

"How are we to know that you are true, and will not rather lead us unto our death?" said Colonel Church.

"My squaw and my babe are here with me," and he pointed to the clump of trees; "take them and slay them if I lie."

"Let it be so," said Church, with a glance at Josh; "fetch them."

The Indian disappeared.

"He's true; I know the man," said Josh.

Leading a fine boy of five, and followed by a squaw, the savage reappeared.

"It is well," said Church; "let them remain yonder. Now, what have you to tell us? We will reward you, and your wife and child shall be cared for; therefore speak without fear."

"The Sachem Weetamoo is camped on the banks of the Matipoisett; her warriors are dead; she has but a score of men left. I will lead you to her this night."

"Let me go with him, colonel," said Josh eagerly. "This woman laid my home waste, slew my father, and has, may-be, kept my mother and sister in captivity; it is but right that I should capture her. Above all things, I would not run the risk of her being killed, I must question her."

"I am quite willing you should go; I am expecting reinforcements, and cannot move forward myself. Take twenty men, and let the Indian guide you," said the colonel.

In the briefest possible space of time, Josh was on his way with a small but well-armed force, for they reasoned the Indian might be numerically mistaken, and Weetamoo be stronger than he represented. The Indian led them along roads known only to native hunters, creeping through the forest stealthily as the tiger ready to pounce upon his prey; then they worked their way up towards the far-away river, where Weetamoo had taken refuge. The day was dawning when they came in sight of her camp, the outlines of the tents just visible through the river mist resting in white clouds over the marshy land. Quickly, noiselessly, with practised skill, Josh disposed his men along the river front and round the camp, in such a manner as to render escape almost impossible. The orders were, not to kill the savages, but to make them prisoners. This order applied more especially to the squaw Sachem; she of all others was to be taken alive. Then headed by Josh, a rush was made into the midst of the camp.

Aroused from their slumbers, wholly unprepared and unarmed, this last remnant of the three hundred warriors made but a faint resistance, and finding they could save their lives by yielding, they did so. At the first alarm a woman crept out of her tent through the long rushes. Quickly as a serpent she glided down towards the river. "Cowards!" she had hissed when she saw her people yield, and yet in her heart she knew they could not well do otherwise. Favoured by the mist, she had evaded the guard, reached the water's edge, when suddenly she lifted her head and looked back. Josh, feeling sure she would make for the river, was close at hand, and saw the passionate face and angry eyes flash out upon him. He sprang forward; but before he could reach her, with a shout of triumph she leaped into the water and was swimming rapidly down with the current. To throw himself in after her was the work of a second. He saw her disappear, thought she was lost, when lo! she rose again far ahead of him. She had but dived, swimming under the water to scare him. Throwing out all his strength, he was gaining upon her, when to his horror he became aware they were approaching some rapids, where the river fell from a great height into a lake. The noise was terrific. He slackened speed, shouted to her, but either she did not or would not hear. She must have known full well the fate which awaited her; but on she went, swept forward by the strong current, down over the brink into the dark lake below, and the rushing of the waters was the dirge of Weetamoo. It was with much difficulty that Josh succeeded in reaching the bank and walking back to the camp. His men were for giving him up as lost, especially when the Indians told them how and where that river ended; his reappearance was therefore greeted with enthusiastic cheers, though the general disappointment at the escape of the squaw Sachem was great.

It had been agreed between Josh and Colonel Church that the latter should advance as soon as he had received the expected reinforcements, and that together they should go on to where the Indian stated Philip had taken refuge, namely, on a bit of upland at the south end of the swamp at the foot of Mount Hope. The day following the capture of Weetamoo's camp Church arrived, but without the promised reinforcements; they had been delayed.

"I decided to come on all the same," said the colonel; "for if we are to take him at all, it must be done quickly, or he will get wind of our movements and escape us."

"You are right," replied Josh; "we must just do the best we can."

The following day they moved forward, and by night were within a short distance of the swamp. Josh, knowing the ground, went on in front with about twenty men, and stationed them, as far as their numbers would permit, at every outlet; then guided by the Indian, he and Church, with a mere handful of soldiers, crept up the hillside. The Indians were sleeping. They were roused by the firing of a shot; instantly all was confusion. Philip sprang to his feet, seized his gun, and rushed straight down the hillside towards the swamp, to the very spot where the Indian who had betrayed him stood, with an Englishman on guard. They both saw him and fired simultaneously. The Englishman missed the mark, but the Indian's bullet entered Philip's heart. He fell forward dead in the black swamp.

"With a shout of triumph she leaped into the water."

"I am glad I did not do it," said Josh, as he stood with Colonel Church looking down on the dead body of the King.

"And yet," said Church, "through him your house has been made desolate."

"That is our view of the war," answered Josh; "in his eyes we are the intruders. He but fought for what he considered to be his own, and where he could be generous he was. He did not slay my father; it was Weetamoo. I have no personal grudge against Philip; he was my friend. To such a nature as his our yoke was insupportable. It is well his spirit is set free; he could not have brooked captivity." And with a last look at the dead warrior Josh turned away.

So ended this great struggle, known as "King Philip's War." The white man had conquered; the Indian power throughout southern New England was broken; whole tribes and families of Indians had been destroyed; the remnants fled farther west into the unexplored wilds, whither the white man's foot had not yet strayed. The settlers gazed sadly around upon the ruins of their towns and homesteads; but they were brave men and women, and looked the future steadily in the face. They had fought and bled for this New England, even as they would have done for the "old countrie," and they loved it all the better for the sacrifices they had made.

So Josiah Blackstone stood beside old William Blackstone's grave and thought. He was alone. "Should he build a new house, where the old one had stood? Should he replant the orchard with trees, in the hope of seeing them blossom and bear fruit?" It seemed dreary work; but a voice whispered that such as he, with youth and health and strength, were the marrow of the land, to build up and make strong with Christian faith what the heathen had overthrown; and taking up a pickaxe he struck it into the ground, saying in his heart: "So help me, God! I will rebuild my father's house; it is my duty." He set to work and laboured diligently, and a fair new house arose, and young saplings were planted where the old trees had been hewn down; and still men said, "Josiah Blackstone is a sad man!" and truly by day and by night he mourned. "If only my mother, and Rena, my little sister, had been spared to me!" but he could hear nothing of them, and they were to him as dead.

Friends counselled him to take a wife, and he pondered thereon; but no maiden pleased him, and he waited.

The weeks and months passed by, the harvest was gathered in, and it was very plenteous; and when the labourers had gone to their homes, Josh sat smoking in the porch of the new house, because it seemed less lonesome than in the empty rooms; and as he sat the sound of wheels fell on his ear, but he paid no heed thereto, until they stopped at his gate. Then looking up, he saw a covered cart. Out of it sprang a girl, tall and slim; then another. And last of all an older woman laid her hands on those young shoulders; but Josh, pushing them on one side, took her in his arms, crying, "Mother! my mother!" and he carried her over the new threshold to the living-room and placed her by the hearth; and she kissed him weeping, with her arms about his neck, and Rena did likewise. But the maiden stood apart gazing wistfully, and Josh saw that it was Thusick, King Philip's daughter! A moment he hesitated; seeing which, his mother arose, and taking Thusick's hand, said: "She is my daughter; but for her we had all perished. Now she has no home among her people, for they are all dead; she must dwell amongst us, our God must be her God, our people her people. Shall it not be so, my son?"

"He fell forward dead in the black swamp."

"It shall," answered Josh, "she is welcome. Philip was my friend, and she is a king's daughter."

And Thusick dwelt with them and was as one of them. When the orchard was white with apple-blossom, Love passed that way, and under the eaves of the new homestead was whispered an old, old story!

SIR RICHARD'S SQUIRES

BY C. W. WHISTLER

Just one month after I became squire to Sir Richard de Courci, then of the Castle of Stoke Courci, that lies between Quantock Hills and the sea in our fair Somerset, I met Alan de Govet, about whom my story mostly is.

We had been to Taunton, and were riding homewards across the hills, and valley and river lay straight before us—as fair a view as any in all England is that rich country between Mendips and Quantocks—yet I suppose that Sir Richard thought of it hardly at all, for he, as Queen Matilda's steward, was deep in all the new plans that were to set our exiled queen on her father's throne, and he rode thoughtfully after meeting De Mohun of Dunster that day.

But when we saw a gay little party of men in hunting dress, with hawks and hounds, come up the deep narrow lane to meet us, he roused, and turning to the twenty well-armed men behind us, asked who these were who came now.

None of them knew: but as they came nearer, I saw that the handsome young leader of the party wore the badge of the De Govets—a family from Yeovil, and well-known and loyal followers of King Stephen.

"Why, then," said my knight, "if this is young De Govet, I must have a word or two with him. Bar the road while we speak."

The men grinned, and closed up so that the lane was full. There was little love lost, since Matilda's failure of two years ago, between the parties of King and Queen.

"He came heavily to the roadside grass, where he lay stunned."

When we met, therefore, the hunting party must needs rein up, for they could not pass us.

"Pardon me, sir knight, but you bar the road," said the leader, raising his cap courteously.

"Only for the pleasure of speech with you," said my knight, saluting in turn. "I am De Courci, and I believe that I speak to Alan de Govet?"

The young man's face darkened as he answered, "Let me go my way, Sir Richard. I have nought to say to disloyal men."

"There are two sides to every question, young sir," the knight answered. "And since I am a Queen's man, and the De Govets are King's men, we have different views of what loyalty is. However, just now Stephen is king."

"Well, what would you with me?"

"Some time since I had a fair offer to make to your noble father—touching yourself—that is, if you are Alan de Govet. I have as yet had no answer."

The young man's face flushed angrily.

"Stand aside, sir," he said. "This is discourteous."

"Not if you are the man I take you for. Which, by the way, you have not owned as yet."

"I will own nothing, if thus asked," was the answer, and the stranger turned to his men.

But they had gone hastily at the first word about the rival claims of King and Queen, knowing what mostly came of such arguments nowadays.

Seeing which, he turned his horse leisurely, and without sign of fear, to follow them, and Sir Richard laughed, and rode alongside him, laying his hand on the horse's bridle.

"Stay—I must ask you to come to Stoke Courci with me, as your men have left you," he said.

In a moment the young man's sword was out, and at the same instant he seemed to rise from his saddle, lose his balance, and fall away from Sir Richard. His blow was wasted on air, as he came heavily to the roadside grass, where he lay stunned.

"Bring him home carefully," said Sir Richard to his men. "If he is Alan de Govet, we must have had him as a hostage sooner or later. If he is not—well, a De Courci can but apologise."

So we rode on, and I asked Sir Richard, wondering, why so good a rider fell, as did this young man.

"'Tis an old trick," the knight said; "you do but get your foot under his and lift him at the right moment. But I would not advise you to try it with one heavier than yourself."

Now when we reached the castle, our prisoner was brought in after us, seemingly not much the worse for his fall, and the Lady Sybilla, Sir Richard's ward, and mistress of the castle since his wife died, asked me who he might be. And when I told her that he was thought to be Alan de Govet, but that he would not own his name, she flushed a little, and said no more. Next day I had reason to think that she had heard of him before this. Very fair was this young lady, and heiress of many broad acres. She seemed much older than myself, but a boy of sixteen will think anything over twenty a great age.

After breakfast on the next day I fed the hawks, and then came back into the great hall to see if my knight had any commands for me. There I found some sort of council on hand, and, from all appearances, no very peaceful one. Jehan of Stowey, the head man-at-arms, and one of his men guarded the two doors, and our chaplain, Father Gregorius, sat by the hearth, smiling uneasily. Sir Richard sat in his great chair on the daïs, facing his prisoner, and by his side was the Lady Sybilla, who was plainly in a towering rage, for her eyes flashed, and her little hand was clenched as if she was holding herself in check. And when I looked at De Govet, I saw that he was as angry as the lady. As for Sir Richard, he seemed to be enjoying what was going on immensely, watching his prisoner with something of admiration for his fearlessness. Well built and square he was, though not so big as our knight, who was almost a giant, as the De Courcis often are, and he looked like a warrior, even in his hunting gear, which was stained with red Quantock mud from his fall when he was taken.

"Sir Richard sat in his great chair on the daïs."

Sir Richard took up the matter where he had broken it off when I entered.

"'Tis a mercy, Alan, that De Mohun of Dunster did not get hold of you. For that humour of yours of last night, when you would not own your name, would surely have landed you in the sachentege he keeps in his castle wherewith to wring answers from the silent. I would fain fit a more pleasant yoke to your neck," he said in a meditative way, watching De Govet's face amusedly.

Now of all the tortures that a Norman can invent, that of the sachentege is the worst; for the engine is made of a great beam of wood, fastened round the man's neck with a rough iron collar. As the beam is too heavy for one man to lift, and too long to be set on end, it is apt to wring confession of anything needed from him who is set therein after a time. Therefore I was surprised to hear the Lady Sybilla say suddenly—

"Borrow De Mohun's sachentege, I pray you."

"Fie, daughter," said Gregorius, shaking his head, but half smiling at the girl's anger. "It were a shame to set so gallant a youth in such bondage."

"Set me in the hateful thing rather," she said. "It were better than to marry me to this man of Stephen's, who would not own whatever name he has—being doubtless ashamed thereof."

At that De Govet started, and his face grew crimson. But Sybilla went on, growing more angry still.

"When Queen Maud comes I will go to her. She will see that I——"

"Hold," said Sir Richard suddenly; "enough of this. Go to your bower, girl, until you can be more patient with your guardian."

"Willingly," she said, with a proud toss of her head, and she swept out of the hall without a glance at us, and her waiting-woman followed her.

Then there was silence, and the knight and his captive looked at one another until a faint smile crossed De Govet's face. The chaplain looked anxious and disturbed, and it flashed of a sudden across my mind that if Queen Matilda was indeed coming to England shortly, it was the last thing that a King's man should have heard as yet.

Sir Richard tried to laugh, but it was uneasy.

"When do King Stephen and Maud his Queen come this way?" he asked Alan de Govet.

"When does Maud the Empress cross from Normandy?" retorted Alan.

Then both laughed. They understood one another by this time.

"Well," said Sir Richard, "shut up you must be, Alan, for a time at least. But if you will take my advice you will do as I wish you, and so find freedom and fortune as well."

"This is a pretty plan," said Alan. "Having caught a loyal King's man, you must needs marry him to your ward, you being Matilda's steward, whereby you save her fortunes when your new plots fail."

"Or yours when they succeed," answered Sir Richard. "Truly this is a pretty plan, as you say, and I am a benefactor to you both. Moreover, I think that you might seek further and fare worse."

"What is the benefit to yourself?" said Alan scornfully.

"Being a De Courci, I look for none, except may-be that to have a damsel in my charge hampers me somewhat; also, it is my duty to provide for her welfare as best I can. This is no new plan of mine, Alan. De Mohun or I were to take you sooner or later as a hostage, to ensure that your good father will bide quietly when there is a little fighting on hand presently. I have only caught you by chance rather sooner than I hoped."

"Well," said Alan, "the lady seems to think ill of your plans for her welfare."

"That is because her advice was not asked," laughed Sir Richard. "Now, what say you?"

"It is plain that I have heard too much to be let loose," said Alan, "and I will not be married against my will. Wherefore you have me in your own power."

"The choice is between the bonds of matrimony and the small dungeon I have here, unless you prefer to be sent to Dunster, where De Mohun will take good care of you. I think the first choice is best."

"What sort of dungeon have you here?" asked Alan coolly on this. "I have no mind for Dunster."

"Let him see it," said Sir Richard to Jehan, and Alan turned on his heel and followed the man-at-arms from the hall without a word.

"One would have thought that the looks of the Lady Sybilla would have needed no comparison with those of any dungeon," said our knight with a great laugh, when he had disappeared. "But it is a good youth, and I am glad that De Mohun got him not, else he would have been in the rack by this time. But we may not let him go, now that yon headstrong girl has let out what she has."

Presently Jehan brought Alan back. The former was grinning, but the latter was cool as ever. His gay cordovan boots were wet and muddy, as if he had been over the ankles in water.

"'Tis a good dungeon," he said, "and no chance of escape therefrom. I have no mind to dwell in it, therefore I will offer ransom for myself."

Sir Richard shook his head.

"I took you, Master de Govet, for weightier reasons than those of gain."

"That is to your credit," answered Alan. "It is discourteous to take an unarmed man by force, save for weighty reasons. Then I will pledge my word of honour not to escape if allowed reasonable liberty."

"Ho!" said Sir Richard, "is there no word about the Lady Sybilla?"

"We will not discuss that point further," said Alan loftily. "I do but seek to evade the dungeon."

"It seems that you know your mind, young man," Sir Richard said, "and I am willing to meet you as far as I may. If I take your word, you must promise also to hold no communication with the King's party."

"I will consider myself in the dungeon for that matter. They will not miss my help."

"I am not so sure," said the knight thoughtfully. "If you are my guest you may hear and see much that they would be glad to learn."

"Turn me out, then," said Alan promptly. "I know nothing as yet."

Again Sir Richard shook his head and laughed.

"I must keep my hostage, for I am not alone in this matter, and have to answer to others. Now, do I have your word not to escape, and to be silent?"

Alan stepped forward and held out his hand.

"The word of a De Govet," he said.

Now from that time forward Alan took his captivity in good part, sending by a chapman some message to his father which Sir Richard approved, and which satisfied those at home, for shortly after they sent him all that a guest could need, even to his helm and mail and charger. I do not know what his people thought of his being a guest with so noted a Queen's man as our knight, but at that time the great plans were secret, and none seemed to have any suspicion of them beyond the circle of the leaders of Matilda's party.

I soon learnt, having often to ride with messages to one leader or another, what these plans were, and I can put them into few words. Earl Robert of Gloucester, our Queen's half-brother, was to rise at the head of all the nobles in the west, while King Malcolm of Scotland, her uncle, was to invade England from across the Border. Two years ago he had done the same, but failed for want of well-planned assistance, so that King Stephen was able to make terms with him. This had seemed the death-blow to Matilda's hopes at the time, but now things would surely go better. Stephen would be taken between two fires, and then the Queen would come from Normandy, and all would end in her favour.

So the great plotting went on, and meanwhile Alan de Govet and I grew to be great friends, for he was a good warrior, and took pains to teach me many things. Which pleased Sir Richard well, so that he seemed to forget that Alan was his captive, treating him always as a welcome guest.

The only person in all the castle, and village also, who did not like Alan was the Lady Sybilla, and she made no secret of her dislike. I thought it good of Alan to take the trouble to please her that he did, for we must needs see much of her. However, she was always most pleasant to me, and I liked to serve her in any way that I could. Father Gregorius was another friend of mine, and I learnt many things that a squire should know from him. He, too, liked Alan, and would often pass a sly jest on him about his choice between the dungeon and the lady's hand, at first. But as time went on Alan seemed to grow tired of the old jest, and waxed angry when it came. So Gregorius forgot it.

It was in April, towards the end, that I came to Stoke Courci, and from that time forward messengers came and went in much secrecy. Once Earl Robert came for a day from Dunster, with De Mohun; and once we rode to Wells to meet Roger, Bishop of Salisbury, the Justiciar, from whose help the Queen hoped much.

Now, in the beginning of July, I had been out with Sir Richard, and did not go into the castle when I had led the horses round to the stables, but sought Alan in the tiltyard, some one telling me that he had gone in that direction. And there I saw a thing that puzzled me, for it was unlike what one might have expected.

Two people walked under the trees on the far side of the tilting-ground, and they were the Lady Sybilla and Alan himself in deep converse. Alan seemed to be speaking a great deal and getting short answers; which was not surprising, as the lady was always proud and disdainful with him, so that Alan always seemed discomfited when she appeared. Just at this time, however, he did not seem so.

They did not see that I came, at first; and before they heeded me, I heard a few words.

"I will have nought to say to a man who is ashamed to own his own name," quoth Lady Sybilla.

"It was not shame, but policy," answered Alan.

"Ay—to escape from me."

Alan was silent for a moment, and then said—

"I have learnt to prize what once I had no thought of."

Then Sybilla saw me, and flushed.

"Ay—your name, you mean," she said to Alan, whose face was away from me. "Go to—win your name back by some deeds of arms, and then you may be worth speaking with."

With that she passed him and came towards me, beginning to hum some old tune or other lightly. As for Alan, he bided where she left him, not caring to follow.

"Come away," she said to me; "your comrade is in an evil temper."

"That is the first time I have seen him so," answered I; "needs must that I stay to cheer him; for I am not the cause of his ill-humour," and I laughed.

"Well then, go your way for an unmannerly squire," she retorted, turning away towards the castle.

"Nay, but, lady—" I began. But she went on quickly, with one last remark flung over her shoulder, as it were—

"I know where I am not wanted, at least."

"Now," thought I, "it is plain where the ill-temper lies." So I went to Alan, and asked what was amiss.

"Well," said he—for though he was five years or more older than I, we were close friends by this time—"maybe I am a fool to think twice of the matter; but, on my word, friend Ralph, one would think that I was in love."

I laughed heartily.

"Did you tell her so?" I asked.

"She has set me a task which, as a good squire, I am bound to undertake, whatever I may have said; and what chance a prisoner like myself has to do it, I cannot see."

"Winning a name to wit. I heard that much," I said. "But that we have often talked of. It does not need the words of a sharp-tongued damsel to set your thoughts in that direction."

"Your Saxon wits need sharpening with Norman whetstone," he answered gravely. "Know you not that the word of a fair lady has double weight in the matter of winning renown? So that one must straightway seek for what one might else have left to chance and good fortune."

"My Saxon mother-wit would tell me that all depends on who the lady who speaks the word may be," I answered, being used to a gentle jest of this sort from Alan, and by no means minding it, since I had well beaten him about the Norman pate with our good old Saxon quarter-staff—the one weapon whose use he disdained until I persuaded him to a bout with me. After which he learned to use it, because he said that it belonged to good forestry.

"Above wit comes the law of chivalry," he said then. "It matters not if the lady is queen or beggar-maid, so that her words be a spur to great deeds and knightly."

"I know where I am not wanted, at least."

Now, when Alan began in this strain he was apt to wax high-flown, causing Sir Richard to laugh at him at times. So I said—

"This sounds well. But there is nought for you to undertake, that I can see."

After that we sat and looked out to the long line of the blue Quantocks and spoke of foreign wars. But the time for brave deeds was nearer than we thought, for that night came a messenger with stirring news, and after speaking with him Sir Richard sent for us two.

"Alan," he said, "I have strange news for you, and I do not know how you will take what I have to tell you. Nor do I rightly know what to do with you now. The other leaders of our cause will not suffer me to let you go free, as I would willingly, because they do your father the honour of thinking that his hand must be held. As for myself, I have forgotten that you are aught but a guest, and you please me."

Alan smiled, and made a little bow at that, but said nothing.

"Now I must go northwards," said the knight; "and at once. Ralph must see to my arms, and he will go with me, all the better squire for your companionship. There is a campaign on hand, as you may guess."

"Northward," said Alan thoughtfully. "Are the Scots on foot across the Border?"

"Ay; that they are."

"Why, then, let me go with you and help fight them, Sir Richard. That is England's quarrel—whether king or queen has right to the throne."

Sir Richard smiled grimly.

"Mostly that is so. But now Malcolm comes again as ally of his niece, and with his help we mean to set her on the throne. I fear you will not fight on my side."

"I cannot," answered Alan. "I had hoped this was but some new Border raid or public quarrel."

He was silent for a while as my knight told me what I had to prepare for the journey. But presently he spoke again—

"Let me go with you, Sir Richard," he said. "You are most generous in your own wish to let me go free, and it is possible that in the far north, where there will be none to hinder you, you will let me join in one battle for my own king. I would return to you either in victory or defeat, if not slain. And if slain, any further trouble in keeping me is over."

"This is a strange request," said Sir Richard, watching Alan's eager face. "You must be tired of our little castle."

But I thought I knew why Alan was so ready to go north for a mere chance of fighting.

"Alan has a mind to do some mighty deeds or other," I said. "We spoke thereof this afternoon."

"When I came here I denied my name, as it were," said Alan quickly, preferring not to be questioned perhaps, "and I must needs win it back. Let me prove that I am not to be ashamed thereof."

"Nay, Alan. You withheld your name somewhat foolishly, may-be; but you denied it not. None can blame you," said Sir Richard kindly.

"Nevertheless it has been said that I must win it back, and, I pray you, let me have this chance."

"Ralph," said Sir Richard sternly, "is this your foolishness?"

"Not mine," I answered. "'Tis but a poor jest of the Lady Sybilla's."

The knight looked at Alan and began to smile. Alan grew red and then angry, and Sir Richard laughed.

"So!" he said. "If that is the lady's word, there is no help for it. But I knew not that you had used your leisure so well."

Now why Alan had not a word to say for himself at this I could not tell, but so it was. At last, after shifting from one foot to the other uneasily, he ceased his pretence at anger, and said—

"I am asking much, Sir Richard. But may it be so?"

"Come north at least, and we will see about the rest. If you fight for Stephen, however, you and I may be running tilt against one another unawares in some melee."

"You have unhorsed me once, Sir Richard," said Alan, in high glee, "and out of your way would I keep. Now, I do not know how to thank you."

"Why," said Sir Richard, "I am wont to need two squires, and have but one. If you are not too proud, journey as my second, and if aught is wanting in your gear I will supply it."

"It is honour for any squire to serve the De Courci," said Alan. "Your squire I will be in all good faith, until I must needs ask you to let me have one fight for whom I will."

I was glad enough that Alan was to go with us, as may be supposed, and gaily went to work to set my lord's armour in order, while Jehan of Stowey saw to mine. And presently, while I sat alone in the armoury singing as I polished the heavy, flat-topped, war helm, the Lady Sybilla came in, and sitting in the window-seat, began to talk with me about our journey.

By-and-by I told her that Alan de Govet was to go with us at his own request, and that because of her words this afternoon. She seemed to care little, for she looked out of the window and spoke of somewhat that she saw thence in the meadows by the stream.

Yet presently she said—

"So this Alan must needs blame me for making him eager to run into danger?"

"Your words, he says, are weighty, as being those of a lady. But I do not think that he blames you at all, Lady Sybilla."

"She seemed to care little."

"Well," she said, rising up suddenly, "as he must charge my words with his going, give him that to remind him that they are weighty."

She threw me a blue silken scarf she had worn all day and went out of the armoury, and I saw her no more. I was glad that she seemed at least to be inclined to make amends for her haughtiness and ill-considered words.

Presently I gave the scarf, with the message, to Alan, and he seemed pleased with both, asking me for more of the sayings of the haughty damsel, which amused me.

"Verily, Alan, I believe that you spoke truth just now when you said you were in love," I said, laughing.

"Nay; but I hardly said so much," he answered. "Well, it is war first, and anything else afterwards, just now."

Nevertheless, when we rode away next morning, with forty well-armed and mounted men-at-arms and a little train of pack-horses after us, Alan had the blue scarf round his sword arm, and his eyes were over his shoulder so long as we could see Sybilla standing on the drawbridge watching us go. May-be he had had another word or two with her, but I thought it foolish to pay so much heed to the gibes of a damsel, however fair.

Now I am going to say nothing about our long, pleasant journey northward, with the camping in forest or among hospitable farm folk, or, later, on wild moorland, for if I began I should not know how to leave out all the things that were new and strange to me.

But presently, when we were in Lancashire, we came to the tracts of desolation left by the Scots two years since, and a sort of dread grew up in my heart of men who could thus mar our fair land. Yet they were to help to set our Queen on her throne again, and those who had sent for them were wiser than I.

We went into no great towns, for Sir Richard did not wish men to inquire too closely into his journey and its object. But as we drew near Lancaster we learned that the gathering of the Scots to invade England was well known, and already word had gone round to the sheriff from Archbishop Thurstan of York to bid them gather their men to him.

Then Sir Richard thought it time to give Alan his freedom, as he had half promised, for he himself must needs cross the Border to speak with the King of Scots. And it so happened that near the old town he fell in with a knight, whom Sir Richard knew to be a Queen's man, riding towards Lancaster with twenty men at his heels.

"Ho! De Courci, what brings you so far north?"

"The same errand that brings you out, most likely," our knight answered. "We will go further north yet in company, as I hope."

The knight stared for a moment, and then a grim look crossed his face, which was scarred here and there.

"If you mean to march with Thurstan, well and good—but if you are going to join the Scots, as is likely, you and I shall be on opposite sides for once," he said bluntly.

"How is this?—where is your loyalty?"

"Loyalty, forsooth!" the knight answered. "My first loyalty is to England—and I care not who sent for the Scots. We of the north will give life to keep them back." So these two talked, angrily at times. But at last the strange knight said—

"I tell you, De Courci, that if you of the west and south knew what Malcolm's host is like as well as we northerners, you would give your right hand sooner than bring them to England. Go and see them, and then mind my words."

So the talk ceased. But presently Sir Richard told Alan that if he would, he might ride in company with this knight, who would give him a worthy place as his squire, and with whom he might remain until we returned after the campaign.

"I can say to De Mohun and Earl Robert that I have left you with this Sir John, and they will be content. May-be we shall meet again shortly, and then pass me by, I pray you, for the sake of comradeship, and—of that blue favour—however hot the battle may be."

So Sir Richard jested, but we were sorry to part from Alan, and he from us, when we left him with his new friend in Lancaster. I think that his soreness on being a captive had long passed, for now he could only thank our knight for his many kindnesses.

We crossed the Border, and made for the gathering place of the Scots. And when I saw them I knew that the northern knight spoke the truth, and that the worst thing for our Queen would be that she should have the blame of bringing this wild crowd of savage Galloway Picts and Highland Gaels into England.

And our knight knew it also. He gave his message to Malcolm, as in duty bound, and then would bide with the Scots no longer. Truly there were a few good Lowland and Norman knights with the King and his son, Prince Henry, but not enough to keep that untrained force in any sort of control.

"Sir John of Swaledale is right," Sir Richard said to me as we saw the wild clansmen gathered round their fires on the open hillside. "I am going to Archbishop Thurstan that I may do what I can to help to repair the wrong to England that we have done in calling in Malcolm again. You and Alan will fight for England side by side after all."

That was most welcome news for me, and for all our western men. I do not know how Sir Richard made excuse for returning to England, but none hindered our going, and we were welcomed at Durham by the knights who were gathered there, King's men and Queen's alike having foregone their quarrel at the bidding of the wise archbishop, whose words I heard read in the open market-place.

Then the Scots began to come on very swiftly, and at last we fell back from Durham to the place where our chiefs, the Earl of Albemarle, and Walter de Espée, chose to check their advance, at Northallerton in Yorkshire, where they had made some weak entrenchments on a gentle hillside that commanded the road from the north.

There was Alan, and one need not say how he rejoiced to see us, and take his place as Sir Richard's squire again.

"After all," our knight said, "I and my two squires will fight on the same side for one cause. And I think that Sybilla will be pleased to hear from us how her champion bore himself."

"I said nought of pleasing the Lady Sybilla," said Alan gruffly.

"Why—no more you did! Yet I thought that something of the kind brought you north," laughed our knight.

Then Alan tried to excuse his little discourtesy, and the more he did so the more we laughed, until he must laugh with us.

Now the reports of the vast numbers of the Scots would have left little heart in our men, if it had not been for the wise words and devices of Bishop Ralph of the Isles, who was here in the sick archbishop's place. He had a great mast stayed up in a waggon that stood in the midst of camp, the top of which was surmounted by a flashing silver pyx that held the consecrated wafer, and under that floated the banners of the patron saints of York and Beverley, Durham and Ripon, that this northern host might see the tokens of all they held holiest and dearest, and fight manfully to uphold them. Then he was wont to stand in the waggon and speak to us, promising help spiritual to those who fought for their land and homes, and bidding us have no fear of a host whose very greatness would hinder it, for want of discipline and order, either in victory or defeat.

So all were cheered, and though there is nothing at which men wonder more than at the swiftness of the advance of the Scots, we were ready for them before they came. Yet, but for Alan, it is certain that our army would have been surprised, and may-be cut to pieces, before any battle array could have been drawn up.

As the Scots came, they burnt and plundered on all sides, and at last our outposts could see the light of burning farms on the skyline, and we knew they were very near. Next night none were to be seen, and it seemed as if the Scots had halted and drawn together on finding that we were ready. Then the day following broke darkly and grey, with a dense fog everywhere that seemed to make it impossible that an army could move through it. Yet every horseman who could be spared was sent to patrol the hills to our northward, and Alan and I rode out together to our appointed stations with the rest, in the early morning.

We crossed valley and stream by tracks we knew well by this time, and as it happened, went further that day than any other, for one could see nothing but a few yards of stony track before one, and the cries of the curlews sounded wild round us, like the whistle of men to one another in the fog.

"What water is that I hear?" I said presently. There was a sound of a heavy rushing, but I knew of no brook here that would make that sound.

"It is more like the sound of a great flock of sheep," answered Alan, "but we have driven every one for miles."

Then our horses pricked their ears, and stared into the mist to our right front in a way that told us that other horses were near.

Alan held up his hand, "I hear voices!" he said. We listened, and presently I knew that what we heard was the thunder of the feet of a vast host of men, and now and then a voice came faintly, though whence we knew not, for nothing confuses sound so much as fog.

"The Scots!" said Alan, turning to me with his eyes shining under his helm.

"It is not possible," I said; "how could they find their way through this mist?"

"Any shepherd they have caught could guide them. Anyhow, we must see if I am right."

"Let us ride back to camp and give the alarm," I said.

"And be laughed at—for every one would say as you, that it is not possible. And all believe that the foe has halted. Bide here while I ride on, and if I shout 'De Courci!' ride back for your life and give the alarm."

"Faith," said I, "where you go, I go. If we cannot see them, neither can they see us. We may get near enough to hear what tongue they speak, and that is all we need."

"Come then," said Alan.

So we rode, as the keener senses of our horses bade us, down the hill towards our right more or less. We had to leave the pathway, but in returning we could not miss it if we breasted the hill anywhere, for it ran all along its crest. At the foot of the long hill we stayed again and listened, and now the sound of the marching host was deadened, because they were yet beyond some rising land.

What happened next was sudden, and took us unawares, for all the warning we had was a little crackle of deerskin-shod feet, and the snorting and restlessness of our horses.

Out of the mist seemed to grow half-a-dozen men silently and swiftly, and for a moment I sat and stared at them in amazement. They were the wild scouts of the enemy, the tartan-clad Pictish men of Galloway, belted with long claymores, shield on back, and spear or pole-axe in hand.

They halted suddenly, each where he stood and as he stood, staring at us, startled may-be as we were. Then one whistled shrilly, and cried in an eager voice, "Claymore!" and their weapons clashed as they went on guard and made for us in silence.

The whistle rang clear and echoed back, and then came a long roar of voices, and the sound of marching swelled up for a moment and then ceased altogether. The host had halted at the first sign of the enemy.

One minds all these things when in peril, and even as I noted this, Alan leant forward and snatched at my horse's bridle, swinging him round.

"Back!" he said. "What, are you dreaming? We have seen enough."

But a Scot was hanging on the other rein also, and only the plunging of the horse saved me from a blow from his long-handled axe.

"Be off, Alan," I cried; "I am hindered." And I drew sword and cut at the man who held me back, only wasting a good blow on his hide target.

But he left the horse's head and I turned him, to find that the wild figures were swarming round us, and that Alan was wheeling his great charger in a circle that no Scot dared enter.

"Uphill," he cried, seeing that I was free.

Then we spurred the horses and charged side by side, and they yelled and fell back before us. They feared the horses, and were unused to fighting with mounted men, and we won through them easily and galloped on up the hill.

Nevertheless the men of the heather were not to be shaken off so easily, but ran and leapt on either side of us, and as they ran, I saw one or two who had unslung bows, and were waiting, arrow on string, for a chance shot at us.

We began to distance them very soon, and at last only two grey figures strained to keep pace with us, and then an arrow rattled on Alan's mail, shot from not more than five paces' range.

"The next thing I knew was that my good steed was down on his nose among the stones."

"A weak bow enough," said Alan.

But if the Scottish bow was weak against mail, it could harm a horse, for the next thing that I knew was that my good steed was down on his nose among the stones, and I was lying half stunned before him, while those two wild Galloway kernes shouted and rushed at me.

Alan had shot on ahead as I fell, but in a moment he was round and back, saving me from the dirk of one man who was almost on me, with a quick lance-thrust. The other man, who was not so near, fled as he came, and we were alone. Alan dismounted and came to my help.

"Are you hurt?" he said, lifting me.

"Not much,—but the horse—how about him?" I asked.

"Not much either—for he has gone."

And indeed he had picked himself up and fled into the mist towards the foe.

"Mount behind me," said Alan, helping me up. Then I groaned and reeled against him. My ankle was sorely bruised by a rock on which it had been dashed in my fall, and at that time I thought it was broken, for I could not stand.

"Hold up, and I will help you mount," said Alan. And then the Galloway men swarmed out of the fog again, cautiously at first. Some waft of wind had thinned the hanging clouds for a moment, and Alan saw them sooner than before.

"Leave me—warn the camp," I said.

"The honour of a De Govet——"

And that was the last I heard of what Alan was about to say, for with the first step towards the saddle I fainted.

When I came to, with the cold air rushing on me, the first thing I saw was Alan's steadfast face above me, stern set and anxious, but unfaltering in gaze forward, and under me bounded the free stride of his great charger as though the double burden was nothing. Alan's left arm was round me, and I was across his saddle, while he was mounted behind it. He had no helm, and a stream of blood was across his face, and an arrow, caught by the point in the rings of his mail, rattled from his breast. His lance was gone, and his red sword hung by the sling from his wrist as he managed the bridle.

I stirred, and a smile came on his grim face.

"Art thyself again?" he said. "We are close on the camp."

Then he lifted his voice and shouted—I had a dim remembrance then that that shout had rung in my ears just as I came round—the old war-cry of his forebears at Hastings—and our knight's name.

"Dex aïe—De Courci—ho!"

And a murmur and then a shouting rose as our men heard and understood, and a dozen knights spurred forward to meet us and brought us in, scattering to take the news to the leaders as we passed the line of entrenchments, so that our tidings went before us.

Alan took me to our tents, and there was Sir Richard waiting, as he buckled on his sword. With him were two or three more knights, who gazed constantly at the mist as if trying to pierce it. The men were getting to their appointed posts as the alarm spread, with a quietness that told of anything but panic.

"Ho, Alan, you have been in close action," our knight said anxiously. "Are you or Ralph hurt?"

"A brush with some wild Galloway kernes, nought more," Alan answered, lowering me carefully into the strong grasp of Jehan of Stowey. "Have a care of the hurt foot, Jehan. That is all that is amiss, Sir Richard."

But I could not have Alan's doings set aside, and I told Sir Richard plainly how he had rescued me from the swarm of wild men who followed us.

Then came one whom I knew well by sight, our leader, the Earl of Albemarle, eager to hear from the mouth of Alan himself what he had learnt of the Scots.

And even as Alan told him, the mist began to lift under a breeze that sprang up. The white hanging cloud-wreaths fled up the hillsides whence we had ridden, and left them clear and bright—and already on the nearer rises the Galloway scouts were posted, and our pickets were coming in at full speed.

Then the Earl grasped Alan's hand and said—

"No time for more now—but you have saved a panic, and what comes therefrom. I will see you hereafter, if we both outlive this day; and if I fall and you do not, I will have left orders concerning you with others."

Then, as he saw the great waggon with its wondrous banner being drawn to the centre of our line, followed by Bishop Ralph and his clergy in their robes, he said—

"To your posts, knights—it will not be long that we have to wait now."

He rode away, and the men cheered him as he passed along the front of the line.

Then a squire said to Alan ruefully—

"I would I had as fair a tale to tell my lady as have you. She of the blue favour has whereof to be proud in her champion."

For there is little jealousy among the honest northern knighthood.

Then I saw that Sybilla's blue kerchief was round Alan's sword hilt, stained and rent, and Sir Richard caught my eye, and we both smiled. Alan made no answer, as the squire rode away after his lord.

Jehan brought Alan a new helm, and he and our knight went to their places in haste.

"Follow if you can sit a horse," Sir Richard said to me kindly.

And it is not to be supposed, that with Jehan's help in getting into the saddle, I would be anything but able to do so. One is not so dependent on stirrups as one is apt to think sometimes.

Now so many have written about the Battle of the Standard that I will not tell it again. It was all confused to me, and I could see but little of all that went on from where I was, just behind our knight, in the close ranks of the horsemen who were massed before the standard itself, where Bishop Ralph and his clergy remained unmoved, though the arrows rattled round them at times. It had been wonderful to see the whole army kneel as the good bishop blessed and shrived us all, and wonderful, also, to hear the "Amen" that rolled like low thunder down our ranks.

After that we bore for two long hours the shock of the wild clansmen, whose chief had sworn to go as far through our ranks that day as any of the mailed Lowland knights who despised his tartan. I think he kept his oath, for our footmen were borne back at first, and for a while things looked black for us.

Then the bowmen of the north shook themselves free from the confusion, and got to work, and the terrible rain of the long arrows drove back the Scots, whose rallying cry of "Albyn—Albyn!" failed them at last, and then our charge broke them and ended the day.

As we swept forward I saw a group of mail-clad knights round one whose helm was circled with gold, and I knew from the heather-topped spear that was his standard, that Prince Henry was before us. And I saw him turn to fly.

Presently, as we rode back, the Earl beckoned to Sir Richard.

"I would fain knight that brave squire of yours, De Courci, but——" he said, and stopped short.

"I know your difficulty, Lord Earl," our knight said, with a grim smile. "I am too well-known a Queen's man, and you must answer to Stephen for what honour you bestow. However, Alan de Govet is as good a king's man as yourself——"

They rode apart, and how much more Sir Richard told the Earl I cannot say, but they were merry over whatever it was. And the end of it all was in the solemn knighting of my comrade, together with some half-dozen others, before all the host, and at the foot of the great standard; of which I was as proud as if the golden spurs had been put on my own heels. The Earl spoke kindly to me also, telling me that I had yet a deed or two to do before I was old enough to win the same honour, so that I was well content.

The army began to break up in a few days, when all fear of rallying by the Scots was over, and then Sir Richard spoke to Alan of what was to come next.

"I took Alan the simple squire," he said, "and here is Sir Alan de Govet, my friend and good comrade. Wherefore old promises may be foregone, and I will only ask one thing instead, and that is that you will bide with the Earl, who will see to your advancement; for I must at least keep you away from De Mohun and the rest, else they will blame me."

Alan grew grave for a moment, and I saw his eyes go to where his sword hung on the tent-pole. Sir Richard saw that also, so he went on—

"I will tell your father what honour you have found here, and Ralph will tell—other folk at Stoke Courci. Have no fear that there will be trouble because you have not returned."

Alan smiled then.

"It was a good day when you took me, my knight," he said. "If only I may be counted as your friend when the troubles are over, I am well content."

"Ay, there will always be welcome for you with us."

So we parted, heavily enough, not knowing when we should meet again. There was trouble over all the land as we rode westwards; yet Stoke Courci was safe and quiet, because it was held by a lady only.

And when Sybilla, standing by the drawbridge, saw us come home, her bright face changed as she missed Alan from among us. Presently I told her all that he had done, but she was too wilful to seem glad that he was honoured.

"Well, there is some good in him, after all," she said, and so left me. Unless it was that she repented her old injustice to Alan, I could not tell why she had been weeping when I met her an hour or two later.

We might not stay long at Stoke Courci, for there was fighting over all the land. And at last, far away under Lincoln walls, where I won my spurs at the taking prisoner of King Stephen, I met Alan face to face in thickest fight; whereat we laughed and saluted, and passed to either side. I heard Sir Richard hail him also. There were many such meetings in those days.

Presently I saw Alan again—brought in as a prisoner taken with the King, downcast and almost despairing, for all his cause seemed lost. Then Sir Richard made himself surety for his safe keeping, and he was content to promise to bear arms against our Queen no more.

"Now, I must bestow you somewhere," said our knight. "And we have, as you know, a good dungeon at Stoke Courci. There was also a fair alternative to the said dungeon, if you have not forgotten."

Alan laughed a little then.

"I am a ruined man, Sir Richard, now, and can surely make choice no longer."

"Why, Alan, should I have spoken of it had I not meant to tell you that you may yet choose?"

One might see from Alan's face what he thought, but he said, looking at me—

"I am not so sure that I should be welcome at Stoke Courci."

"Come and see," quoth I, having reason to believe that he would be more than welcome, as one might say.

So we rode homewards together, and Sir Richard's plans fell out as he had wished, and that with no unwillingness on either side.

But, as every one knows, we had not done with King Stephen yet, and there were many years of trouble to come after he escaped. Presently he gained the day, and then it seemed likely that my knight and I might lose our lands. But, for the sake of the Battle of the Standard, we were passed over; and now, with the coming to the throne of King Henry, we are high in favour, with broad lands here in Somerset for me, and lands and castles here and in Kent for the De Courci who had served the Queen so well through good and ill.

THE SLAVER'S REVENGE

BY HARRY COLLINGWOOD

Author of "The Log of a Privateersman," &c. &c.

CHAPTER I

THE BEGINNING OF THE ADVENTURE

You ask me to relate to you the most terrible adventure I ever experienced? Well, my whole life, from the time when, as a lad of fifteen, I first took to the sea, has been one of adventure, and I have passed through several rather thrilling experiences, so that it is not quite so easy a matter as you may imagine for me to say, off hand and at a moment's notice, which was the most terrible of them all. But, as you seem anxious for a yarn, I will tell you of an adventure that befell me shortly after I received my first command.

I was serving on the West Coast at the time, and, when this yarn begins, held the position of third lieutenant on board the Narcissus, a corvette belonging to the slave squadron. It was in the year 1826, just two years after slave-trading had been declared to be piracy in the eye of the law, and its perpetrators subject to the punishment of death if caught in the act. Popular feeling at home was very strong upon the subject; the sympathy of the nation had been powerfully aroused by the stories which from time to time found their way into the papers of the sufferings inflicted upon the blacks in the process of converting them into slaves; strenuous orders had been sent out to us to be unsparing in our efforts to suppress the infamous traffic; and we were all as keen as hounds in our endeavours to run down and bring to book the rascals who openly laughed at and defied us.

My adventure may be said to have commenced with a slice of luck that befell us in this wise. We were cruising at the time in the neighbourhood of Cape Lopez, standing close-hauled to the northward under easy canvas, when, about three bells in the afternoon watch, the look-out aloft reported a sail broad on our starboard bow. We could see nothing of her from the deck, so I took my glass and went up on to the fore top-gallant-yard, from which position I made out the craft to be a smallish schooner, with stumpy but very raking spars upon which was spread an enormous show of canvas. My first look at her satisfied me that she was a slaver; and the fact that she was steering to the westward under every thread that she could show to the hot, languid breeze, was proof enough that she had a cargo of slaves under her hatches. Of course I lost no time in reporting my convictions to the skipper, and in another instant all was bustle and activity on board the corvette as we crowded sail in chase.

As the afternoon wore on, the wind fell light; but so well was the corvette handled that when at length the sun went down in a clear sky, giving promise of a breathless night, we had the satisfaction of seeing that the slaver was helplessly becalmed, as was our own case soon afterwards.

Some time before this, however, I had observed Captain Pascoe and our first luff in close confabulation; and shortly after the golden orb of the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon the former beckoned to me and said—

"Mr. Farmer, I believe we are about to have a fine, calm night; I have therefore determined to send the boats away to capture that schooner; and I intend to put the expedition under the command of Mr. Richardson"—the first lieutenant—"with you to second him. Have the goodness, therefore, to proceed at once with the necessary preparations, as the boats will shove off the moment that it is sufficiently dark to conceal your movements. I have no doubt the fellow will expect you, but it is hardly worth while to tell him plainly what our intentions are."

Our preparations were soon made and I then dived below, snatched a hasty substitute for dinner, in the shape of some cold meat and pickles, and was all ready, with my sword belted to my side, and a brace of freshly-loaded pistols stuck in my belt, in time for the skipper's inspection of our little party prior to shoving off.

Captain Pascoe waited patiently until the darkness had closed down upon us sufficiently to completely hide the chase from even his penetrating gaze, and then he gave the word to shove off; whereupon away we went, with muffled oars, and the boat binnacles so carefully shrouded that we felt perfectly secure against our presence being betrayed by any stray glimmer of light emanating from them. The master had taken the bearings of the schooner with the utmost nicety just before she disappeared in the darkness, and he gave us the course which we were to steer.

Our expedition consisted of the first cutter and the gig, under Mr. Richardson, and the second cutter and the jolly-boat, under my command; the whole mustering forty-eight hands, all told, including two venturesome mids who, preferring the excitement of a scrimmage to the more solid delights of dinner, had begged permission to be placed in charge of the gig and jolly-boat respectively.

We had been pulling about half-an-hour when the dull muffled roll of sweeps became audible, and upon listening intently we discovered that the schooner was sweeping away in a southerly direction, or at right angles to the course which we were steering. We therefore shifted our helm to cut her off.

The men now bent to their oars with a will, keeping up a steady but fairly fast pace for an hour, by which time we were able not only to distinctly hear the roll and splash of the sweeps, but also to see the schooner as a small, vague, indefinite shadow of deeper blackness against the dark background of the overcast sky. The rascals had taken in every thread of canvas, so that it was only her hull we saw; but having once sighted this, we never again allowed our glances to stray from it.

We had arrived within about a quarter of a mile of our quarry, and were congratulating ourselves upon having so far escaped detection, when a voice from the shadow hailed us in Spanish, demanding who we were and what we wanted.

"Oars!" murmured the first luff, in tones of deep but suppressed excitement; "do not answer! not a sound, for your lives!"

About half a minute of intense anxiety now ensued, when the hail was repeated; and immediately afterwards the ghastly blue-white radiance of a portfire lit up the scene, distinctly revealing the hull, spars, and rigging of the schooner, with the figure of the man who held the firework standing by the fore rigging, one hand grasping a backstay, and the other holding the portfire high above his head, with sparks shooting and dropping into the water alongside, and the white smoke curling lazily upward between the naked masts.

"Boats ahoy!" hailed the voice again, "if you do not instantly sheer off I will open fire upon you! Do you hear?"

"What does the fellow say, Farmer?" demanded Richardson; "you understand that lingo, don't you?"

I translated; whereupon he murmured—

"Oh yes, my hearty, we hear well enough; but we shall just have to take our chance. Give way, men, with a will! At them before they have time to recover from their surprise! You will board on the port side, if you please, Mr. Farmer."

"Ay, ay, sir!" answered I. "Bend your backs, my lads, and let's get alongside! Marines, stand by to return their fire if they open upon us!"

I was in hopes that, having recognised our strength, they would see the folly of resisting us; but they did not; on the contrary, they gave us a broadside of four guns—six-pounders they sounded like—and at the same time opened upon us a confused fire of musketry. One of the men in my boat gave a gasping groan as he dropped his oar and reeled off his thwart into the bottom of the boat; but we had no time to attend to him just then, for in another minute we were alongside, and I sprang over the low bulwarks of the schooner, closely followed by the men of my own division, as Richardson, with his two boats, swept under the stern to board on the starboard side.

We were met by a ragamuffin crowd of swarthy, black-haired, fierce-eyed ruffians, rendered visible by the light of a second portfire which a burly negro held aloft, who greeted us with a lively popping of pistols, followed by a great brandishing of cutlasses and knives. But our fellows meant making short work of the job, and laid about them with such energy and good-will that the Spaniards almost instantly gave way before us, only to find themselves attacked in the rear by the first luff and his party. This was altogether too much for them: they flung down their weapons and bolted incontinently for the fore-scuttle, down which they tumbled helter-skelter, one on the top of another; and almost before we were able to realise our success we were in possession of the schooner.

"We were met by a ragamuffin crowd of swarthy, black-haired, fierce-eyed ruffians."

CHAPTER II

THE CAPTURE OF THE "ST. IAGO DE CUBA"

Our prize turned out to be the Don Cristoval—a craft notorious alike for her astounding sailing powers, for the insolent daring of her commander, and for the success with which she had hitherto eluded all our efforts to overhaul her. Her capture, therefore, was quite a feather in our caps, altogether apart from the fact that two hundred and forty-four negroes were stowed under her hatches, for whom we should in due course receive head-money. Brief as the struggle for her possession had been, it had not been altogether bloodless; for when we came to investigate, it was discovered that we had three men wounded, while, on the side of the slavers, their loss amounted to two killed and seven wounded, one of them being their skipper, the infamous Captain Lenoir—a Frenchman—whose skull I had cloven upon the instant of boarding, and who was found to be so desperately hurt that there appeared but little prospect of his surviving to take his trial.

Having secured our prisoners, and made the wounded as comfortable as possible, we made the pre-arranged signal of success by hoisting three lanterns, one over the other, at the mainmast-head; after which we got the canvas set, and then disposed ourselves to wait as patiently as might be for a breeze to spring up and enable us to close with the corvette. Meanwhile, having nothing better to do, we released the cook and bade him go to work to cook the best dinner—or supper—for us that the resources of the ship would permit.

It was not until some time after midnight that a soft, warm air came stealing out to us from off the land; and then we obtained an insight into the marvellous sailing powers of our prize that was a revelation to us. With a breeze so light that it had not strength to keep the mainsheet taut, the little witch sneaked along through the water at a good four and a half knots, with scarcely a ripple under her sharp bows to indicate that she was moving! We closed with the Narcissus about an hour later, when Mr. Richardson went on board—taking the wounded with him—to report, and to receive the skipper's instructions in reference to the prize. Shortly afterwards a boat came alongside with a request that I would proceed on board the corvette, leaving the prize in charge of one of the midshipmen. This I did, and, upon my arrival, discovered that our good-natured "first" had spoken so highly of my conduct that I was appointed prize-master, with instructions to select a crew of ten men, to return to the schooner with all speed, and to make the best of my way to Sierra Leone, there to await the arrival of the Narcissus. These orders I carefully carried out, arriving in the roadstead two days later, and exactly thirty hours in advance of the corvette.

The Don Cristoval having been captured with negroes actually on board, the Mixed Commission promptly condemned her, while her crew were committed for trial; and upon the day following her condemnation I learned that the schooner had been purchased into the service for use against some of her equally notorious sisters. There was one craft in particular—a barque named the Josefa—that we were especially anxious to lay hands upon, as hitherto she—or rather, her skipper—had simply laughed at and defied us; but now, with the Don Cristoval in our possession, it was confidently believed that we should at length succeed in capturing the too-successful barque, and bringing her insolent commander and crew to justice.

To capture such a craft would be fame indeed, and would almost certainly mean promotion as well—imagine, therefore, if you can, the delight with which I shortly afterwards received the intelligence that, through our skipper's representations, I had been appointed to the command of the Don Cristoval!

So rapidly did I push forward our preparations that on the eighth day after our arrival we sailed again, my instructions being to thoroughly beat up every known spot frequented by slavers, and especially to keep a sharp look-out for the Josefa.

"From information received" I had been enabled to accurately fix the date of the barque's last visit to the coast, from which I had no difficulty in calculating pretty closely when she might be expected in those waters again; and finding that I had plenty of time, I determined to stand to the southward and take a look in at the Congo, gradually working my way northward again from there.

We made rather a long passage of it, taking things very quietly, in the hope that we might encounter some slave craft either making or running off the coast, in which case I hoped that ignorance of the fact that the Don Cristoval had fallen into our hands might enable us to make one or two very easy captures. But no such luck befell us, and it was not until we arrived at Banana—a small trading settlement at the mouth of the Congo—that we sighted a craft of any kind. There, however, anchored off French Point, at the mouth of Banana Creek, we came upon quite a little fleet, numbering eight sail in all, three of which were undoubtedly honest traders, beamy, round-bowed, motherly-looking craft, the best of which might possibly be capable of going seven—or maybe eight—knots with a gale of wind over her quarter; while the remaining five—consisting of a slashing brig, two smart brigantines, and two as wicked-looking schooners as I ever set eyes on—were as undoubtedly slavers. But in hoping, as I did, that I should catch some of these gentry napping, I was reckoning without my host; whether news of the capture of the Don Cristoval had already got wind and been spread along the coast, or whether there was something in the set of the schooner's canvas or our method of handling her that aroused their suspicions, I could not tell, but certain it is that when I boarded them their skippers one and all produced papers which certified to their absolute honesty, while they were virtuously indignant at the doubts which led me to intimate that I must nevertheless take the liberty of overhauling their holds. Of course no opposition was raised—they were fully aware that anything of that kind would have been worse than useless—but many a scowling look did I intercept, and many a muttered execration reached my ear as I proceeded with my search. Needless to say that my labour was all in vain; the rascals had been too smart for me; I found neither irons, nor farina, nor any excess of water-casks on board any of them to give colour to the suspicion that they were otherwise than honest; but all the same I was perfectly well aware that there was neither palm-oil nor ivory in anything like sufficient quantity in Banana to account for the presence of so many craft off its wharves. And upon my hinting as much to one of the traders ashore, he frankly admitted that such was the case, but he explained that large quantities of both were on their way down to the coast, and might be expected to arrive at any moment. I remained at anchor there for the next three days, prowling about on shore—taking the precaution to always go well armed—and exploring in a boat the intricate network of creeks in the neighbourhood, but I made no discoveries; and the only incident worthy of note that occurred during this period was the sudden sailing of one of the schooners within three hours of our arrival.

On the evening of the third day I weighed and stood out to sea under a press of canvas, hauling up to the northward as soon as I had cleared the mouth of the river, carrying on until dark, in the hope of impressing those who I knew were watching me, with the belief that I had somehow obtained important intelligence upon which I was acting. But as soon as the night had closed down upon us sufficiently to conceal our movements, I wore round and stood to the southward again, finally anchoring in seventy fathoms of water at a distance of some twenty-two miles north-west of Padron Point. Having done this, I ordered the royal, top-gallant, and topsail yards to be sent down, and the fore-topmast to be housed, after which there was nothing for us to do but to possess our souls in patience and wait for some of the slavers to come out and fall into our clutches, as I felt confident they would in the course of a day or two, provided that in the meantime no inward-bound craft hove in sight to tempt us from our watching-place, or to slip past us and give the alarm. And I had every justification for this feeling of confidence, for two nights later, as I was in the very act of going below to turn in after chatting with the youngster who acted as my "first," and who was in charge of the deck, the look-out aloft hailed—

"On deck, there!"

"Hillo!" I responded; "do you see anything?"

"Well, I ain't quite certain yet, sir, but for the last ten minutes I've been thinkin' that there's a small spot of darkness showin' out again' the sky right ahead, and I thought I'd better let you know, sir," was the answer.

"Quite right, my lad," I responded. "Keep your eye on it, and I will send up the night-glass to you by way of the signal halliards."

"Ay, ay, sir," the fellow answered; and in another half-minute the glass was bent on and making its way aloft to the gingerly swaying away of the quartermaster, while a faint murmur of eager anticipation came floating aft from the forecastle upon the heavy, damp night breeze, which was blowing off the land.

For several long minutes after the instrument had reached its destination we were kept upon the tenterhooks of suspense; but at length another hail, in low, cautious tones, came down from the mast-head—

"On deck, there! there's something coming out of the river, sir! No mistake about it this time, because her canvas has just shut out a star that's risin'. And she's comin' along fast, too, sir; I can make her out quite distinct with the naked heye."

"Capital!" I exclaimed; "that is good news indeed! Can you make out how she is heading?"

"Well, only in a general sort of way, sir," was the reply. "She's steerin' this way, o' course, but she's edgin' away to the nor'ard too. I reckon that if we stays where we are now, she'll pass us about a matter of three or four mile to the nor'ard."

"Very well," I responded. "Keep your eye upon her; do not lose sight of her for an instant. Now, Mr. Adams," I continued to the midshipman in charge of the deck, "have all hands called, if you please, and let some of them man the capstan and get the anchor to the bows, while the rest get the fore-topmast on end and the yards across. And, remember, they will have to see with their hands, for no lights whatever must be shown. With only ordinary care we ought to nab that fellow easily."

And we did, regulating our movements so accurately that, although we were soon afterwards discovered, we contrived to get alongside her within an hour, ranging up on her weather quarter and hailing her to heave-to, which she did without attempting any resistance; and a few minutes later we found ourselves masters of the St. Iago de Cuba—the brig I had boarded in the river—with three hundred and eighty-four slaves in her hold! I could spare but a very small prize crew to take her into Sierra Leone, I therefore took the precaution to put the whole of her people in irons; having done which, I sent her away in charge of my senior mid and ten men, giving him instructions to carry on day and night until his arrival. This done, we parted company, and I returned to my former lurking-place off the mouth of the Congo, where I was next day fortunate enough to capture a fine brigantine with three hundred and twelve slaves under hatches.

CHAPTER III

"CAPITAN ST. CROIX"

The prize crew necessary to man this second capture left me so very short-handed that, after due consideration, I decided to escort her to Sierra Leone in the schooner, which would enable me to get my men back quickly, and would at the same time afford me an opportunity to replenish my stores and water. This I accordingly did, arriving only a few hours later than the St. Iago de Cuba. I soon had reason, however, to regret the decision at which I had arrived, for several unexpected difficulties arose over the adjudication of my prizes, involving so serious a delay that when at length we got to sea again I was tormented with anxiety lest the Josefa should have arrived upon the coast, shipped another cargo of slaves, and slipped off again ere I could obtain news of her. I had been given to understand, however, that, although somewhat erratic in her movements, she chiefly frequented the Congo; I determined, therefore, to make the best of my way back to that river in the first place, trusting to chance for information as to her whereabouts upon my arrival.

I was not destined, however, to wait so long, for while slipping across the Gulf of Guinea, in the latitude of the island of St. Thomas, we sighted a small felucca, to which we at once gave chase. This craft, however, instead of attempting to avoid us, promptly bore up and came running down to meet us. She ran down across our stern, and, in response to my hail, rounded to on our lee quarter, lowered her single lateen sail, and launched a boat from her gangway, in which her skipper, with two hands as boat's crew, presently pulled alongside us. The man—a bare-footed, decidedly unclean, and rather disreputable-looking Frenchman, attired in a suit of once white nankin, topped by a broad-brimmed straw hat—appeared to be labouring under much ill-repressed excitement as he climbed our low side and stepped in on deck, casting quick, anxious glances about him as he did so. When, however, his gaze encountered me—I was wearing my uniform cap at the moment—his anxiety appeared to subside to a considerable extent, and he at once doffed his hat as he made me a sweeping bow, exclaiming at the same time—

"Bon jour, monsieur! Have I ze honour to address an officer of Grand Bretagne?"

"Yes, sir, you have, if you choose to put the matter that way," I replied. "This vessel is his Britannic Majesty's schooner Curlew, late the Don Cristoval; and my name is Farmer. Am I correct in supposing that you have boarded me because you stand in need of assistance?"

"Ah, oui, monsieur, it is so," was the reply, given with much gesticulation. "I have been hoping to fall in wiz a Breetish man-o'-war evaire since I have sailed from ze Congo; it is two day since. Saire"—here the fellow's excitement began to grow upon him again—"I desire revenge! I have been rob, saire, by one rascal pirate who come alongside my leetle sheep, as I sail out of ze Congo; he board me, saire, with un bateau full of men, arm to ze teeth, as you Angleesh say, and he take from me all my cargo of ivory and caoutchouc, leaving me wiz only my leetle eighty barrel of palm-oil. Saire, I am ruin unless you will get back my ivory and caoutchouc for me!"

"I shall be very pleased to do my best for you, certainly, if you can put me on the track of the pirates who robbed you," answered I. "Where did they go after they had cleared you out?"

"Saire," answered the Frenchman eagerly, "dhey did sail right into ze Congo river, where dhey are doubtless now shipping a cargo of esclaves. I know ze sheep well, for I have often see her when I have been waiting for my ivory to come down."

"Oh!" exclaimed I interestedly, "so she is a slaver as well as a pirate, is she?"

"Yais, yais, pirate and slavaire both, monsieur," answered the Frenchman. "She is a large—what you call, eh?—un—un-barque—oui, monsieur, a barque call ze Josefa, commande par un coquin——"

"The Josefa?" interrupted I. "Are you quite sure of what you say, monsieur?"

"Oui, oui, monsieur," answered the fellow, "I am quite certaine; I have made no mistake; I know ze barque well as I know my own poor leetle Muette. I am not likely to make ze mistake when they have rob me of all my ivory and caoutchouc!"

"Very well, sir," responded I; "I will make a bargain with you. Guide us to where you suppose the Josefa to be; and should I find her with your assistance, I promise you that you shall have all the ivory and caoutchouc that we may find on board her."

The man clasped his hands rapturously. "Bon, mon cher monsieur; bon!" he exclaimed. "It is ze bargain; it is agreed!"

"Then that is all right," I remarked. "And now, monsieur, having made our bargain, I shall be very pleased if you will do me the honour to remain on board and dine with me; we can then talk over matters a little more in detail, and you can explain to me where the Josefa is to be found."

The Frenchman—who, by the way, now introduced himself to me as "Capitan St. Croix"—at once accepted my invitation; having done which, he sent his boat back to the felucca, with instructions to his mate to make sail and keep close in our wake, whereupon we filled upon the schooner and resumed our course to the southward.

By the time that dinner was served in our hot, stuffy little cabin that evening, I had succeeded in extracting from M. St. Croix the information that the Josefa would be found concealed in a certain creek of the Congo, which had been so thoroughly fortified as to be practically impregnable. This was bad news; moreover, I found it a little difficult to clearly follow some of St. Croix' descriptions; but by the time that he left me that night to return to his felucca, I had learned enough to clearly understand that I must depend upon stratagem rather than force for success.

All this threw me into a perfect fever of impatience to get back to the river, which was not lessened when I discovered that the wretched little felucca seemed incapable of doing anything better than five knots under the most favourable conditions that we were likely to meet with on our voyage. I stood it for twenty-four hours, during which we in the schooner jogged along under nothing but a double-reefed mainsail, fore staysail, and jib, in order that we might not run away from our slow-moving consort; and then my impatience so far mastered me that I proposed to St. Croix that he should take up his quarters aboard the Curlew—as we had renamed the Don Cristoval—and leave the felucca to follow at her leisure. For two whole days the Frenchman obdurately rejected my proposal; but on the third my perseverance triumphed, and late in the afternoon we parted company with the Muette, having St. Croix on board the schooner, and with him one of his Krumen—who, he assured me, knew every creek on the river, from Shark Point up to Boma—and a small canoe, which I understood him to say would be an absolute necessity if we wished for success in our hazardous attempt.

We arrived off the mouth of the river on the following evening, about half-an-hour before sunset, and, nothing being in sight, at once stood in to make the entrance. The sky was overcast, and the night promised to be dark; but this was all in our favour, since the darkness would help to conceal our presence, while the mouth of the river being free from dangers, we could easily feel our way in with the lead.

Fortunately for my impatience, a fresh breeze happened to be blowing from the westward; we therefore crowded sail upon the schooner, and, despite the strong current, fetched up abreast of Shark Point about three bells in the first watch, when we rounded to and came to a single anchor in three fathoms in Diego Bay, just inside the river's mouth.

In accordance with the plans which I had already made, it now became necessary for me to leave the schooner, and to accompany St. Croix on a reconnoitring expedition which I was given to understand would occupy the whole of the next day, and, including the time necessary to return to the schooner, a good part of the succeeding night. I had not made up my mind to this very decisive step without due consideration, for I fully recognised the exceedingly perilous character of the adventure; but I felt convinced, from all St. Croix had told me, that my only hope of success lay in taking the Josefa and the slave factory by surprise—so preventing the possibility of the slaves being driven off to a place of safe hiding at the first alarm—and, to accomplish this surprise successfully, it was absolutely necessary that I should make myself fully acquainted, by personal observation, with every feature of the position. Attiring myself, therefore, in an old suit of slops, I embarked, with St. Croix and his Kruman, in the small canoe, leaving the schooner in charge of young Adams; when, under the impulse of a small sail, we shoved off and sped rapidly in the darkness up the river.

CHAPTER IV

TRAPPED!

The Kruman who acted as pilot undoubtedly appeared—as St. Croix had asserted—to know the river thoroughly, for dark as the night was, he evinced no sign whatever of doubt or hesitation. Perched up in the stern of the canoe—which he steered with a short paddle laid out over the quarter—he sat silent and motionless as a bronze image, holding the boat's head straight for some unseen point, and never swerving a hair's-breadth from his course until, at the expiration of about two hours, we suddenly found ourselves entering a tolerably wide creek, only distinguishable as such by the deeper and more palpable darkness that enveloped us as the canoe slid in between its bush-lined banks. We were a taciturn trio, St. Croix having scarcely uttered a word since we shoved off from the schooner; while as for me, my thoughts were too full of the adventure before me to leave me much inclination for speech.

We navigated this winding creek for about three quarters of an hour, passing several branches on our way, and then, as the Kruman brought the canoe noiselessly alongside a low, gravelly bank, St. Croix leaned forward, and, laying his hand upon mine, remarked in a whisper—

"We land here, mon ami; the remainder of our journey we must perform on our feet if we desire not our throats to be cut. Tread cautiously, for ze bush it is full of snakes!"

That was a pleasant little item of news, truly, to be told on a dark night while feeling one's way along a bush path so narrow and so overgrown that the darkness was absolutely a thing to be felt! But it was a part of the adventure, so I murmured an acknowledgment of the caution and stepped over the gunwale of the canoe on to the bank, the gravel of which crunched under my feet with alarming loudness in the oppressive silence of the hot, damp night. As I did so, St. Croix said something to the Kruman in a language which I did not understand, and the next instant I received a crashing blow on the head from some hard, heavy instrument, a thousand stars danced before my eyes as I reeled forward under the impact of the stroke, and then I knew no more.

When I recovered consciousness, the first thing of which I became aware was that I was suffering from a splitting headache; the next, that I was again afloat, for I could hear the soft gurgle of water close to my ear on either side; and the next, that it was still as dark as ever. I was occupying a very cramped and uncomfortable position, lying on my right side, or shoulder, rather, with my hands behind me, and my legs doubled up so that my heels seemed to be tucked into the small of my back; but, upon attempting to move, I made the unwelcome discovery that I was lashed hard and fast, hands and heels together. Then, before my bemuddled brain had time to do more than suggest an inquiry as to what had happened, I heard St. Croix' voice.

Thereupon I spoke. "Are you there, St. Croix?" I inquired.

"Ay, I am here!" he answered, in a tone curiously suggestive of exultation.

"What has happened?" I next demanded.

"Happened?" he reiterated. "Why, you have simply fallen into ze tr-r-r-ap zat I set for you, scélérat, and are now in my power!"

"Your power?" I repeated. "I don't understand. Pray explain yourself. But, first of all, if you are free yourself, just cast off these lashings of mine, will you? They hurt most abominably!"

"Ha! ha! zhey hurt, do zhey?" he retorted. "Bon! so much ze better-r-r; I am glad! Listen, mon bon capitan! I am not Jules St. Croix at all; I am Jules Lenoir, ze elder brother of ze man you killed vhen you capture ze Don Cristoval, and I am also ze capitan of ze Josefa! Vhen I hear zhat my brother vhas kill, I svear zhat I vill have my revanche; and vhen ve hear zhat you have capture ze St. Iago and ze Mercedes" (the brigantine) "it vhas agree zhat you make yourself too troublesome, and zhat you must be remove out of our way. So I plan vone leetle plan, and go to sea in ze Muette to look for you; and behold! here you are!"

"So!" ejaculated I; "I begin to understand. And, now that you have me, pray what are you going to do with me? Murder me?"

"Non! non!" answered my captor, "I vill not stain my hands vith your dirty blood; I vill make a present of you to my good friend King Plenty. He vill know vhat to do vith you!"

King Plenty! I had heard of him as a most ferocious savage inhabiting a spot on one of the creeks on the southern bank of the river, a potentate who, thanks to his dealings with the slavers, had accumulated a vast store of wealth in the shape of rum, muskets, and ammunition, and who, with the aid of the two latter, had become quite a power among his neighbour kings. Naturally, therefore, the objects of his deepest and most concentrated hatred were those pestilent white men who were making such strenuous efforts to suppress the slave-trade; and it was rumoured that when, at rare intervals, one of these hated beings had the misfortune to fall into his hands, the event was celebrated by a festivity the principal feature of which consisted in putting the captive to death with every refinement of torture that the savage imagination could devise. And this was the individual into whose power I was to be delivered, bound hand and foot!

And this—a cruel, lingering death at the stake, most probably—was to be the end of all the high hopes and aspirations with which I had entered upon this disastrous adventure! What a fool I had been to allow myself to be so easily trapped, I reflected; and yet when I recalled all that had passed between this villain Lenoir and myself, I could remember no single word or look in the least calculated to arouse my suspicion; the whole plot had been woven with such diabolical skill, the story told had been so cunningly plausible, that, as it seemed to me, no man anxious to do his duty could fail to have been caught by it. Well, I could at least die game; I would not disgrace myself and my cloth by showing fear or pleading for mercy; and, having come to this resolution, I turned a deaf ear to all the revilings, the sneers, and the brutal jocosities to which Lenoir treated me. Then, just as day was breaking, I suddenly became aware of a group of tall trees towering overhead, and the next instant the canoe gently grounded on a sandy beach. Lenoir at once sprang to his feet and shouted something in a language that I did not understand; and presently a great crowd of jabbering savages came swarming round the canoe, and I was lifted out and carried off to a palm-leaf hut, upon the floor of which I was unceremoniously flung. But in the short interval of my transit from the canoe to the hut I managed to catch a fleeting glimpse of a broad creek, with the Josefa and a schooner at anchor on its placid bosom, a native town of probably a hundred and fifty huts, and two immense barracoons standing under the shadow of a clump of enormously tall trees. Lenoir quickly followed me into the hut, to examine my lashings, turning me over unceremoniously with his foot to do so; when, having satisfied himself that I was absolutely secure, he walked out again without uttering a word.

I was now left undisturbed for about a couple of hours, during which I strove my utmost to loosen my lashings; but I might as well have striven to fly, I was bound with new ratline, and it had been drawn so tight and knotted so securely that I was as helpless as though chained.

All this while I was conscious of the sounds of many feet passing to and fro outside the hut, and of a perfect babel of jabbering, excited tongues; and at length a couple of natives entered the hut and by significant gestures indicated that I was to rise and follow them. But, bound as I was, the thing was impossible; so after prodding me ineffectually several times with their spears they cut my feet loose, and, seizing me by the arms, half led, half dragged me from the hut.

Once in the open air, I was immediately surrounded by a crowd of laughing, shouting, gesticulating savages, who seemed to be vastly entertained by my helpless appearance—for my limbs had become so completely benumbed by the tightness of my bonds that I had no feeling or strength in them. Thus surrounded, I was dragged for about a quarter of mile to a great open space in the centre of the town, and there securely bound to the trunk of an immense tree, the scorched, blackened, and leafless branches of which told me only too well to what fiendish purpose it was from time to time put. And here for the remainder of that terrible day I was kept bare-headed, exposed to the full blaze of the relentless sun, without either food or drink, while the natives swarmed round me, discussing with great delight and animation what from their looks and gestures I divined to be the subject of my approaching torments.

What my sufferings, mental and physical, were during those few brief hours, language has no words to express; but you may guess something of what it was when I tell you that at last I actually longed for death to come to my relief, although I was well aware that the death for which I longed was to be one of fiery torment!

"A gang of some fifty negroes appeared."

At length, when the sun had declined to within about two hours of his setting, a gang of some fifty negroes appeared, each bearing either a heavy log or a large bundle of brushwood upon his shoulder, which they forthwith began to arrange in a wide circle round the tree to which I was bound. These fellows were speedily followed by others similarly burdened, so that within half-an-hour I was hemmed in by a compact wall of logs and brushwood standing about breast-high. I needed no explanation of these sinister preparations; but, that I might be left in no possible doubt, Lenoir made his appearance outside the barrier, over which he shouted the intelligence that some time that night it would be fired, and, when well ablaze, would be gradually pushed forward, so that I might be slowly roasted to death!

The heat that afternoon was positively frightful, for the wind died away to a breathless calm, and while the savages were building my funeral pyre, I noticed the upper edge of a great bank of purple-grey cloud soaring gradually into the western heavens, and spreading as it soared, the sure precursor of one of those terrific thunder-storms to which the Congo district is subject at certain periods of the year; so that, as I reflected dismally, I was likely to go to my fiery doom in a sufficiently picturesque and dramatic manner. When the sun at length plunged behind this livid curtain, the latter had spread in a crescent shape until a full quarter of the firmament was obscured, and I observed that it was rising and spreading with great rapidity.

The darkness gathered early that night, and as it did so the savages provided themselves with torches, gathering in such vast numbers round the circle of combustibles that hemmed me in that it soon became almost as light as day again, although not so light but that I could detect through the yellow, smoky glare the flickering lightnings wherewith the coming storm heralded its approach.

By-and-by the slow, measured beat of a tom-tom became audible through the noisy chattering of the vast crowd that had gathered about me, and immediately the excited jabbering subsided into an almost breathless silence. Then another tom-tom joined in, and another, and another, until there must have been a full dozen of them going, the beating becoming momentarily more rapid, until my throbbing brain fairly reeled with the giddy sounds, above which the low, sullen rumble of distant thunder now made itself heard. Presently I became aware, by the increasing loudness of the savage music, that the tom-tom beaters were approaching, and two or three minutes later they wheeled into the open space in front of me, and squatted down upon their haunches, with their tom-toms—now being most furiously beaten—between their knees. They were followed by about a hundred men fully armed with spear and shield, in the midst of which, borne aloft on a sort of rude throne supported upon the shoulders of eight stalwart negroes, sat an enormously fat man, black as ebony, naked save for a leopard skin apron about his loins, armed with some half-dozen long, broad-bladed, cruel-looking spears. This potentate, whom I rightly surmised to be King Plenty, halted his bearers square in front of me, scrutinised me curiously, and with a savage leer of delight upon his bloated features, for fully ten minutes. Then he made a sign by raising his right hand in the air, and on the instant some thirty or forty savages sprang forward with a shout and thrust their blazing torches into the heart of the combustibles by which I was surrounded.

"Thank God," thought I, "it will soon be over now!" and I only regretted that there was no wind to blow the smoke my way and suffocate me out of my misery. But the air was breathless, and the brown wreaths of pungent smoke went curling straight upward to the black heavens in an unbroken circle.

Meanwhile the storm was gathering apace; the lightning was rapidly becoming more vivid and frequent; the thunder louder, deeper, and nearer every moment; and I remember wondering whether the fire, when fully ignited, would have power enough to withstand the pelting torrents of rain that would by-and-by come, and whether I should be still alive to feel its refreshing coolness.

"Borne aloft on a sort of rude throne supported upon the shoulders of eight stalwart negroes."

But, rapidly as grew the storm, the fire grew more rapidly—for the savages had been careful to collect only thoroughly dry wood—and within ten minutes of its ignition the zone of flame which encircled me had become a roaring furnace, giving out an amount of heat that was already scarcely endurable, while fresh supplies of wood were being thrown upon the blazing pile, and the savages were pushing it slowly inward toward me with long poles.

Another ten minutes and I could tell by the smell that my clothing was scorching on my body, while the skin of my face and hands began to blister here and there under the influence of the fierce heat that now played upon me, and the air that I breathed burnt my nostrils like flame. The tom-toms were still being furiously beaten, the lightning was flashing and quivering continuously athwart the black heavens, and the thunder was booming overhead like the salvoes of artillery from hostile fleets in close action, but I was only dimly conscious of it all. I had attention for but one thing—the fierce, intolerable heat that played about me, searing my eyeballs, and leaping toward me in long, crackling tongues of roaring flame that momentarily threatened to envelop me as a garment.

I was tottering upon the very verge of insensibility—or was it death?—when I was aroused by the splashing of a few heavy drops of delicious coolness upon my upturned, blistering face; another breathless moment, during which a terrific flash of sun-bright lightning clove the darkness and dimmed even the fierce light of the flames that encompassed me, and down came the rain in true tropical style, a perfect cascade of sweet, tepid water that in an instant drenched me to the skin, and revived me as though the shower had been the very elixir of life. I opened my mouth and allowed the blessed drops to fall upon my cracked lips and parched tongue; and so great was the refreshment of them that I actually forgot the fire that roared and crackled and hissed about me! In a moment I found myself enveloped in a dense cloud of steam, through which the leaping flames flickered and dwindled, growing less and less, until, almost before I had time to realise what was happening, the fire was extinguished, and I found myself plunged in darkness and silence, save for the frequent glare of the lightning, and the almost continuous crash of the thunder. The storm having extinguished the fire, the natives had beaten a hasty retreat to their huts, leaving me to the tender mercies of the elements. A few minutes later, however—by which time the storm was raging furiously, thunder and lightning, wind and rain, seeming to be striving together in one tremendous effort of destruction—Lenoir, wet to the skin, and with the rain literally streaming off him, suddenly appeared beside me, and in another moment I felt him trying my lashings. Apparently they were secure enough to satisfy him, for presently he came round in front of me, and, watching me by the continuous flickering glare of the lightning, remarked—

"So ho, mon ami, how do you like dis after your roasting? Quite cool and refreshing, eh? Ah, but perhaps it is too cool! Veil, nevaire mind, mon cher, it vill not last long; ze sun vill rise again to-morrow and warm you, and to-morrow night ze good King Plenty he vill light anoder fire for you! You vill not mind staying here all night, eh? No, of course not. But I—I am afraid of ze fevaire, so I vill go aboard, dry myself, and turn in; because, you see, dere is a big cargo of esclaves coming down for me to-morrow, and aftaire I have shipped dem I vill only stay to see ze last of you, and den I vill be off. Bon soir, mon cher! A pleasant night and happy dreams I vish you!"

And, so saying, he bowed ironically, and disappeared in the darkness.

I was, however, not destined to endure the sufferings to which this scoundrel so exultingly looked forward; for scarcely had he disappeared when I became aware of the presence of another visitor. I suddenly felt that some one was manipulating the lashings that Lenoir had so carefully scrutinised a few minutes previously, and presently, to my inexpressible surprise and delight, I discovered that I was free. At the same moment a small, soft hand grasped mine, and gently drew me round to the other side of the tree, where I found myself confronted by a young native girl, who promptly intimated the necessity for caution by placing her finger on her lips. We waited where we were for a few seconds, until an unusually vivid flash of lightning rendered the whole scene as bright as day, and then, in the opaque darkness that followed, I felt myself being led swiftly out of the circle of half-burnt logs into the concealing shadows of a dense clump of bush that grew at no great distance. Here we paused again for a few brief seconds, taking advantage of the short and uncertain intervals of darkness that followed the lightning flashes to flit from clump to clump of bush, until in a few minutes we found ourselves deep in the heart of the bush, secure from discovery by prying eyes, and moving rapidly along a bush path that I presently discovered was winding round toward the river. Ten minutes later we emerged upon a small strip of sandy beach occupying the angle of a bend of the creek, about a hundred yards or so above the spot where I must have been landed, for below me I just caught sight indistinctly of the Josefa and the schooner, riding dark and silent on the rain-lashed bosom of the creek. There were a dozen or more canoes, of different sizes, drawn up on this strip of beach, and, selecting the smallest of them, my companion slid it gently into the water. Then motioning me to enter, she placed a paddle in my hand, pointed up the creek, and with a vigorous push sent the canoe surging a dozen yards toward mid-channel, motioning me to paddle hard. I lost no time in obeying her behest, paddling first on one side and then on the other, and managing the canoe with little or no difficulty. As soon as my deliverer saw that I was all right, she waved her hand above her head by way of farewell, and at once disappeared into the bush again.

"She waved her hand above her head by way of farewell."

I was by this time chilled to the marrow with the drenching to which I had been exposed, and so stiff from being tightly lashed for so many hours that I could scarcely move, while I was still dazed at my sudden and unexpected deliverance from a cruel death; nevertheless I had sense enough to understand that my situation was still one of the utmost peril, out of which I must extricate myself without loss of time, so I paddled away with all the vigour I could muster, and presently had the satisfaction of shutting in the Josefa and her consort round the bend of the creek, without the occurrence of anything to indicate that my escape had been discovered. The exertion of paddling soon restored my circulation, and I made fairly rapid way down the creek, observing, by the glare of the lightning, that the waterway broadened rapidly as I went. I kept on thus for about twenty minutes, and then, to my great joy, discovered that I was nearing some very considerable expanse of water, which a few minutes of further paddling convinced me must be nothing less than the main stream of the Congo, into which I presently shot. But at the junction of the creek with the main stream I sheered the canoe in alongside the bank, and, holding on by the branches of an overhanging bush, securely lashed my pocket-handkerchief to a bough in such a manner that it could readily be seen at some considerable distance. Then I shoved off again and turned the canoe's head down stream.

The wind was blowing more than half a gale by this time, but it was fortunately from the southward, so that by hugging the southern bank pretty closely I was fairly well sheltered; and fortunate was it for me that it was so, for at the distance of a quarter of a mile from the bank the whole surface of the river was a boiling caldron of breaking seas, that would have swamped the canoe in five minutes. I managed fairly well, however, venturing as far out as I dared, so as to secure the utmost benefit possible from the strong downward current; and so well did this befriend me that in little more than an hour and a half I sighted the Curlew riding at anchor where I had left her; and in another ten minutes I once more stood on her deck, free and safe!

Late as was the hour, I found everybody wide awake and on the look-out aboard the schooner, with young Adams, clad from head to heel in oilskins, anxiously pacing the deck—for, although I was by no means overdue, he informed me that he was already growing extremely anxious as to my safety—and it was pleasant, indeed, to observe the air of relief that seemed to pervade the ship upon the discovery that I had returned safe, and apparently not much the worse for wear. I quickly told my story, and, ere I had well finished it, all hands were on deck, and, without waiting for orders, were busying themselves in getting the schooner under way; and from a few muttered remarks that I overheard I gathered that the men had made up their minds to visit with dire retribution the treachery that had involved me in such deadly peril and suffering. Adams—spirited lad that he was—implored me to go below and turn in, pledging himself faithfully that not one of the slavers should escape him; but, of course, that was not to be thought of for a moment, so I contented myself with a change of clothing and a fairly hearty meal off the viands that the steward had immediately produced, and then returned on deck to take charge.

By the time that I was once more in the open air the schooner was under way and foaming up the river under all the canvas she dared show to the piping breeze. The rain had ceased, the storm had swept across the river and was now flashing and muttering intermittently some seven or eight miles away, and a few stars were peeping out here and there overhead and to the southward. It took the schooner but half-an-hour to traverse, against the current, the distance that I had taken three times as long to cover in the canoe, and I had not been on deck many minutes when a hail came from the forecastle of—

"There's somethin' white flutterin' from a bough in-shore there on our starboard bow! Is that your handkercher, sir?"

"Likely enough," I answered, peering over the rail at the dark shadow to windward. "Can you see anything like the opening of a creek near it?"

"Yes, sir," came the answer; "there's a blackness just to the east'ard of it that looks like a break in the bushes."

"Then that will be it," I remarked to young Adams. "Ay, I can see the handkerchief now—there it is! Clew up and furl your topsail, Mr. Adams, and settle away the peak and throat of your boom foresail. Ready about!"

The men sprang to their stations; the topsail and foresail were taken in; the schooner was hove round on the port tack, and two or three minutes later we were gliding up the creek under mainsail and jib, with the wind scuffling wildly overhead among the bush and trees that bordered the creek on either hand. Once fairly within the creek, I ordered the remainder of our canvas to be taken in, feeling assured that the schooner would hold her way long enough to carry us alongside the Josefa; and, this done, the men, with drawn cutlasses, stood by to heave the grappling-irons and board, my hope being that I should take both craft by surprise. But as we rounded the bend in the creek which brought us within sight of our quarry, a low hum and clamour of voices became audible, and a glare of torches shone through the bushes from the shore; moreover, the creek was full of canoes paddling excitedly hither and thither. Unless I was greatly mistaken, my escape had been discovered, and the savages were all out in pursuit of me.

"Before he could pull the trigger I had struck up the weapon."

A great shout went up from the occupants of the canoes as the schooner glided round the bend, and there was an instant and general retreat toward the shore. There was also a sudden shouting and confusion aboard the barque and the schooner; but before anything could be done we were alongside and fast to the Josefa, with our lads pouring over her rail after me. The first individual I encountered was Lenoir, who was raving at his crew like a madman in an unavailing effort to rally them. Upon seeing me he snatched a pistol from his belt and levelled it at my head, but before he could pull the trigger I had struck up the weapon, and the next instant he crashed to the deck, struck senseless by a blow fair between the eyes which I let him have with all the energy and good-will of which I was capable. That settled the matter so far as the Josefa was concerned, for her crew, taken by surprise, could do nothing against our people, they simply retreated to their forecastle and were there promptly battened down. Nor did the schooner fare any better, for although her people cut her cables and tried to get the canvas on her, young Adams—who with a few men remained by my orders on board the Curlew to take care of her—at once opened fire with his larboard broadside with such effect that her people were compelled to run her ashore to save her from sinking under them. They made good their escape into the forest, but we set fire to the schooner and burned her to the water's edge. As for King Plenty and his people, they evacuated their town at the first sound of the firing; but as soon as I had secured the Josefa's people I landed with a party of bluejackets, and we burned the slave barracoons and the King's "palace"—a collection of some thirty huts surrounded by a strong palisade. I felt sorely tempted to destroy the entire town, but refrained for the sake of the girl who had taken compassion upon my helplessness and set me free.

Five days later we arrived at Sierra Leone with the Josefa in company, and in due course the latter was condemned and her crew committed for trial. But I knew nothing of it, having succumbed to a sharp attack of fever within a few hours of clearing the Congo; and when I regained my senses it was to find myself in hospital, weak as a new-born babe, but high in favour with everybody for what they were pleased to term my "dashing exploit," and with my commission as commander in my pocket. Lenoir and nine of his companions were subsequently hanged for piracy and murder upon the high seas upon evidence of the most convincing character.

ON A MEXICAN RANCHE

BY G. A. HENTY

There were few wider estates in Texas than that of Don Garcia Novales. It lay on the western frontier, and indeed nearly half of it lay on the Mexican side of the frontier line. Thousands of horses and tens of thousands of cattle ranged over its broad expanse. It is true that, with few exceptions, the whole of these animals were almost, if not quite wild. That was indeed rather an advantage, as they gave but little trouble to their owners till the time came when they were wanted for the market. Ten years before they were almost valueless, for there were no purchasers; but with the severance of Texas from Mexico a great change had taken place. American enterprise was changing the whole state of things. Capitalists were taking up great tracts of hitherto almost useless land, purchasing the titles for a trifle from the Mexican owners, and stocking them with cattle which they purchased from great ranches like that of Don Garcia Novales.

Speculators bought herds to drive east into the border States, breaking them up and disposing of them by scores or hundreds to settlers there. The animals, therefore, which had hitherto been so valueless that they had scarcely been reckoned as one of the sources of income of their owner, now became an important item in his possessions. Don Garcia himself would gladly have dispensed with the addition. Like most of his countrymen, he hated the men who had disturbed the sleepy tranquillity of life in Texas. His income from his tobacco plantations, his mines in Mexico, the hides, and his cotton-fields, was larger than sufficed for his needs. His table was supplied from the estates. Horses, when required, could be lassoed, brought in, and broken in in any numbers. Indian corn, rice, sugar, the chief items of food of the slaves, were all raised on the estates, while meat was forthcoming to any amount. Save for dresses and jewels for his daughter, and a few imported luxuries, such as wine, the calls upon his purse were insignificant.

The changes, then, that went on were a source of almost unmixed annoyance: there were complaints from his herdsmen, of cattle being driven off by parties of reckless whites; disputes arose with the cowboys of an American company which had purchased a large tract of land to the north, and more than one fray had taken place between his peons and their men, owing to the cattle of one or other party straying beyond their limits and getting mixed with those of their neighbour. He had, so far refused to resort to the method adopted by many other Mexican proprietors, of engaging several white overlookers and cowboys. These were paid but a small salary, but were given a fixed proportion—a third or a fourth—of the increase of the herds they looked after. It was therefore to their interest to guard them closely, and to protect them both from cattle-stealers and from the cowboys of other ranches. It was found that much trouble was saved by this method, and quarrels avoided with their unwelcome neighbours, while the profits were larger than those made when matters were looked after by the indolent natives. Don Garcia had for some time refused to adopt this method; but he hated trouble, and there were such constant complaints of theft from his herds that he began to feel that it would be necessary to adopt the practice, at any rate on the northern part of his estates. He had now, with his daughter, been paying a visit to a friend whose estate lay eighty miles to the south. The trip had its business side. Don Ramon de Vaga had a son, and the two fathers had agreed that an alliance between their houses would be a desirable matter.

"Horses, when required, could be lassoed."

Some months before, Don Ramon and his son Don Pedro had paid a visit to the ranche of Don Garcia, but the result had not been altogether satisfactory. Pedro, a hot-headed young fellow who had never been thwarted in a single wish, had indeed been greatly struck with Isabella Novales. But the young señora had by no means been favourably impressed with him; his temper was an ungovernable one, and the violence with which on two or three occasions he treated his grooms for some trifling act of disobedience or forgetfulness, had excited her indignation and disgust. In her home, slaves were kindly treated; her father was of easy temper; he was proud of his race, which was of the purest Spanish, without the admixture of a single drop of Indian blood, and very proud of his daughter. He would have resented any slight upon the part of his equals; but so that everything went on with its usual regularity at the hacienda, he was content, and left its entire management to his major-domo, Sancho Valdez, in whom he had implicit confidence.

The return visit was intended to undo the bad effect of the first. Don Ramon had assured his friend that he had spoken very strongly to his son, and pointed out to him that unless he put some restraint on himself, there was no probability that the match on which he had already set his mind would come off. Their visit, however, had not been altogether a success. Don Pedro had been most attentive to Isabella, and had studiously kept his temper in check; but the girl saw plainly enough that the slaves were all in the greatest fear of him, and that they shrunk as if expecting a blow when he addressed them.

"It is no use, father," she said one day before the termination of the visit, when she was alone with Don Garcia, "for you to promise my hand to Don Pedro; nothing could induce me to marry him. I would rather a thousand times enter a convent, though I have always thought that anything would be better than a life between four walls, brought up as I have been, to mount my horse and gallop across the country as I choose; but even that would be preferable to a life with Don Pedro. He is handsome and can be agreeable, but he is a tyrant among his own people, and I should be most wretched; and I am convinced that the idea had better be altogether abandoned."

Isabella was now between fourteen and fifteen, an age at which girls are not unfrequently married in Mexico, where they reach maturity some years younger than among Northern people. She was strikingly pretty, even for one of her race and age, and bade fair to be a beautiful woman in another year or two. She had lost her mother when she was but a year old, and had been the constant companion of her father from the time when she had learnt to sit on a quiet pony. By the time she was ten she could ride any broken horse on the estate, and was absolutely fearless in the saddle. Thus, while her figure retained the grace so general among the women of her race, her life in the open air had given it a firmness and vigour rare among them. She was a good shot with the rifle, and was often away on horseback with her dogs from early morning until dusk, when she would return with her game slung from the saddle behind her.

Her position as the young mistress of the hacienda, within whose wide limits she reigned as a little queen, and her close intercourse with her father, had given her a certain decision and firmness in strong contrast to the languor and love of careless ease of Mexican girls. She was acquainted with every man on the estate, and was so thoroughly acquainted with its working, that her father frequently consulted her as to any changes he proposed making in the arrangements; and when she affirmed, with even more than her usual decision, that nothing could induce her to marry Don Pedro de Vaga, her father acquiesced in her decision, saying—

"Was often away on horseback with her dogs."

"Well, Isabella, if that is so, there is an end of the matter. I own that I am not myself altogether pleased with the young man. When I gave my word to his father that he should marry you, it was some years ago, and it appeared a very suitable match in all respects; but I guarded myself by saying that 'while I agree most heartily, Don Ramon, to your proposal, and will do all in my power to bring the match about, I say fairly that I have made up my mind that when the child comes to an age to know her own mind, I shall in no way force her inclination. My estates now are larger than one man can well manage, and it is not to increase them that I would marry my daughter to your son, but because you and I are old friends, and that I would gladly see our families united by a closer bond; therefore, while I will in every way further your son's suit, I will put no force upon her should she in time, though I have little fear of such a thing happening, feel repugnance to the match.'"

"Thank you, father. I am sorry indeed that in this case I cannot do as you would wish me, but Don Pedro is absolutely hateful to me; he is a tyrant, and I would rather pass my life as the poorest peon on the estate than trust myself to him. I believe him to be capable of anything, and the very thought of a life spent with him frightens me."

"Well, we will say no more about it, dear. I have already told Don Ramon that I feared it could never be, but I am sorry to say that my old friend would not take the refusal as final, and insisted that it was but a girlish freak on your part, and that in time you would come to look at matters more sensibly."

"Well, father, he will get the same answer whenever he comes, and the more seldom he comes the better I shall be pleased; but if he came once a month until I am a hundred, his answer would be always the same."

"At any rate, Isabel, we must receive him hospitably when he comes. I could not all at once explain the full extent of your dislike of the match to Don Ramon, and though I said that I did not think that you would alter your mind, I told him that at any rate his son would be welcome when he came, and if as time went on you should look more favourably on his suit, that matters could go on as we proposed. An abrupt statement of your views would have led to an estrangement between the families, which would be very painful to me, and I should be sorry indeed to have a quarrel with my old friend. In time I will write to him and tell him that your resolve is immovable."

Don Garcia and his daughter started on their return journey in the family carriage drawn by six mules. Isabella's maid sat on the box with the driver, and four well-armed servants rode beside it. On the second day of the journey, as they were passing through a wood in a narrow valley, a shot was fired, and one of the servants fell from his horse; it was followed by a scattered discharge, and six men sprang out from the trees. Another of the servants was shot, the other two were pulled from their horses, while a man climbing on to the box with a pistol in his hand compelled the driver to alight and lie down in the road. The Spaniard and his daughter were then ordered to alight. As the former's pistols were unloaded, he was forced to obey, and was in the act of handing Isabella out when the sound of a horse's tread at full gallop was heard, and a moment later a young man dashed up. He was armed with a revolver, at that time a novel weapon; the pistol cracked twice, and two of the Mexicans fell, both shot through the head. Their companions with loud imprecations rushed at him, discharging their pistols and drawing their knives. He shifted the revolver to his left hand, and two more of the Mexicans fell, while the others with a shout of terror plunged into the wood.

"You had better loose your servants, señor," the young man said quietly. "I don't think the fellows will return; but it is as well to be prepared for them, and just at present I am not up to further fighting."

The Don at once released the two servants, and angrily commanded the maid, who had been screaming loudly from the moment the first shot was fired, to be silent; gave the coachman a kick and told him to rise, and then turned to thank their rescuer. He had dismounted and was leaning against his horse, and Isabella was eagerly inquiring as to his injury.

"Do not alarm yourself, señora," he replied, "it is of no consequence. My right arm is broken by a pistol bullet, and I have got another somewhere near my hip, I think; but do not trouble about me. I know some people a few miles away, and shall manage to get there somehow."

"I cannot think of such a thing, señor," Don Garcia said; "you have most nobly saved us from a great peril, and I cannot dream of leaving you here. You take your place in the carriage again, Isabella. I will see to this gentleman's wounds; I have had some experience that way, as you know."

The arm was broken a short distance above the elbow. By Don Garcia's direction the coachman cut a strip of bark a foot long from a tree some four inches in diameter. The wound was first carefully bandaged, and then laid in the case of bark, which was tightly wound round it; a similar piece of bark was used as a sling to the forearm. To the other wound, which was an inch or two in front of the hip, nothing could be done save applying a bandage to stop the bleeding, which was, however, but slight.

"Now, señor," he said, "you must let us place you in my coach. I am Don Garcia de Novales; my hacienda is three days' journey, but by pressing the mules we will get there by to-morrow night, then you will have every care and attention, and I will send off one of my servants to-morrow morning, so that he may get a surgeon there by the time we arrive. The journey is a long one, but I think that you will do well to come with us; you certainly cannot sit your horse, and can hardly be so well attended to in any place about here."

The young man murmured something about not liking to give trouble, but he was too faint to offer anything like a vigorous protest. Isabella was called out of the carriage, two pieces of wood were laid between the seats, and on these one of the cushions was placed, so that he could rest, and indeed lie down, for the carriage was a large one. While the Spaniard had been dressing the wound, the two servants had dug a shallow grave by the roadside, and in this they placed the bodies of their dead comrades and covered them with earth. They now assisted Don Garcia and the coachman to lift the young man into the coach, where he was laid in a reclining position, with blankets and rugs under his head and shoulders. The Spaniard took his place beside him, and Isabella occupied the remaining seat. The servants then mounted.

"We shall not stop where we intended," Don Garcia said to the coachman, "we must get home to-morrow evening. We had best stop for the night at San Lorenzo, we can find accommodation at the priest's there. Be careful how you drive; you must go fast, but avoid all stones and rough places."

The young man who had so opportunely come to their rescue was apparently scarce twenty years old, and though bronzed to a deep brown by the sun, his hair showed that his complexion was naturally fair. He was attired in a coloured flannel shirt, Mexican trousers with fringed sides, and high riding-boots. On his head he wore one of the thick stiff hats with wide brim, encircled with a scarlet and gold cord, in use alike by the cowboys and Mexican vaqueros. Isabella filled a cup with water and acidulated juice of fruit from a bottle hanging from the roof of the carriage, and handed it to her father, who held it to the young man's lips. He drank it eagerly.

"I am ashamed to be of so much trouble," he said faintly.

"Why should you be ashamed?" Don Garcia asked heartily; "you have rendered us an invaluable service. Doubtless they would have put us to a very heavy ransom, if worse had not befallen us. You are an American, I presume?"

"No, I am English, señor; my name is Harry Denham; but I have been knocking about this country for the last five years, sometimes working on a ranche, sometimes hunting. I have been staying for the last few days with a vaquero and his family. I was just starting north to look for work, as I could hear of none here, and as I came down upon the road I saw your coach ahead of me. I was a quarter of a mile behind when I heard some shots fired, and thinking that I might be of some use, I rode on at full speed, and of course did what I could."

He was speaking very faintly now, and Don Garcia said, "We will talk it all over later on; at present it would be best if you could doze off to sleep."

Harry Denham, although still little more than a lad, had led a life of adventure for the past five years. He was but fourteen when his father, a consulting physician, died suddenly. Harry had been a year at Rugby, and would have returned to school in the course of a few days, when his father's death deranged everything. His mother had died some years before, and his brother Tom, who had now been a year at Cambridge, was his only near relative. The day after the funeral Tom returned from a visit to the office of his father's trustee, with whom he had had a long talk.

"What day do you think I had better go down to school, Tom?"

"Well, Harry, I am sorry to say that I think there is very little chance of your going back at all, or of my returning to Cambridge."

Harry opened his eyes in surprise—"Why not?"

"Well, because as far as I can see at present we are in a hole altogether. Mr. Ellerman has been telling me that, so far as he knows, there is really no property whatever. You see father had for years very uphill work. When ten years ago he moved into Harley Street, and set up as a consulting physician, he thought that, having made his mark as one of the staff of Guy's, and having a good private connection, he could soon obtain a practice. However, for the first three or four years it came in but slowly. Of course his expenses were heavy with this house and his carriage and all that sort of thing, and he had to borrow money. Things got better, and gradually he paid, I believe, most of this loan off. Still, he saw his way and was able to send me to Harrow. Then, of course, you have been for the last four years at an expensive school, preparing for Rugby, and everything was going on well till eighteen months ago he fell ill, as you know, and had to go away to the south of France for four months. That, of course, meant not only a heavy expense, but the loss of practice.

"He told me something about it before I went up last year, and, of course, I said at once that I would give up going to the 'Varsity, and would go in for the army or anything else he liked. I said that I would enlist for a year or two, and then, if things went on all right, he could buy me a commission—anyhow I did not want to be an expense to him; but he said, 'There is no occasion for that, Tom, things will soon improve again; I have no doubt that in a few months I shall be straight again.' Well, he was right, as far as the practice was concerned. I spoke to him about it when I came down last, and he said that he was now doing better again, and that there was no occasion for him to make any alteration in his plans for me or for you, and that in the course of a few months he expected that he should be a free man again, and could calculate upon making a clear £2000 a year.

"Well, you see, Harry, he did not have more than two months, and the result is that I was not surprised to-day, on talking the matter over with Mr. Ellerman, to hear that, although the loan he had obtained on his furniture is partly paid off, there is practically nothing left but the balance of what the furniture and the horses and carriage will fetch. Of course there are bills to be paid, and one thing and another, and I fancy that a couple of hundred pounds is about all that we shall have between us. The question is, What is to be done? It has not come quite as a surprise to me. For the last year, you see, I have known that everything depended on his health, and though I never thought of this, I did think that he might be obliged, as he was before, to give up practice again and go away to a warm climate, and I made up my mind that if he did so I would go out to America and rough it there.

"I spoke to Mr. Ellerman about it to-day—he was father's solicitor as well as trustee, you know—and he says that he thinks that it is about the best thing that I could do, and that a client of his has a large ranche down in Texas, and that he is sure that if he speaks to him about it he will give me an introduction to his agent, and that he will put me on to some work. That is all straightforward enough. The question is, What is to be done with you?"

"Why cannot you take me out with you, Tom? I could do something, you know—I don't know what, but I suppose a boy is worth something out there, just as he is here; at any rate, I might earn my food, and not be much bother to you. Even if there were money to keep me at school, I would a thousand times rather do that than be here all by myself. Besides, I could not go to a good school, and I should hate to go to some beastly little place after being at Rugby. Besides, what could I do when I left school?—get a place in an office? I would a thousand times rather go out with you if you will take me."

"Well, you are a little beggar for that sort of thing, Harry," his brother said, looking at him as if estimating his strength.

"I am not little at all for my age, Tom; and I could thrash any fellow in my form at Rugby, anyhow."

"Well, I must think it over," Tom said. "Of course I should like to have you with me; as you say, you might be able to earn your grub, and anyhow that cannot cost much out there, and I dare say there will be something left after paying our passage out; but it will be rough work for you, you know—precious hard work."

"Well, it will be much pleasanter work, at any rate, Tom, than grinding away at Greek and algebra."

Tom did think it over, and the result was that after a consultation with Mr. Ellerman he told Harry that he would take him with him. Their trustee had fallen in with the idea at once. He was a man with a large family of his own, and the problem what to do with Harry had been on his mind ever since his client's death, and this solution of the difficulty was very welcome to him. Two months later Tom and his brother arrived at the ranche in Texas. Tom was at once attached to one of the parties of cowboys, and Harry was kept at the home station, and was to make himself generally useful in aiding the men in looking after the horses and herds maintained there.

It was not long before he learnt to sit the most vicious broncho, and to throw a lasso fairly; then he was sent out as boy with one of the outfits. Here his duties were to look after the bunches of cowboy horses. He was earning wages now, whereas at the home station he had only got his grub; and when not engaged with the horses, he practised continually with his revolver—the greatest ambition of all the boys out on the plains being to become first-rate pistol shots.

Six months later he received the sudden news that his brother Tom had been shot by one of the other cowboys in his outfit, a man who was notorious as one of the best shots there, and who in a quarrel had shot Tom down before the latter could even lay his hand on his pistol. This was a terrible blow to Harry, who had only seen his brother a few times since they came out, and who had hoped ere long that he should be posted to the same outfit with him. He learned that the deed had aroused such indignation among the other cowboys that Jake Swindon had been obliged to leave the ranche.

Had the occurrence been altogether opposed to the rules governing the conduct of the cowboys in such matters, he would have been shot down at once; but there had been a serious quarrel, and according to their notions Tom should have been ready to draw when his companion did so; still, it was felt that as dealing with a young hand who had never been engaged in such an affair before, Jake had not given him a fair chance.

Tom's belongings were handed over to Harry. For the next three years Harry practised assiduously with his revolver, and at the end of that time was acknowledged as being the best shot in his outfit. He was now regarded as no longer a boy, but took his place as a cowboy; he was now nineteen, and the life he had led had hardened and strengthened him exceedingly; he stood five feet ten, he was lithe and sinewy, and the muscles of his arms and shoulders stood up in cords through his clear skin.

It now came to his knowledge that Jake was at work in an adjoining ranche, and taking two of his comrades with him, he rode over there. As usual, they were at once, on their arrival, invited to sit down and join the others at supper.

"I cannot do that," Harry said, "until I have settled accounts with one Jake Swindon."

A figure sprang at once to his feet with his hand behind him, but already Harry's pistol was levelled at his head.

"Hands up," he shouted. "Now," he went on, "I am not going to murder you in cold blood, as you murdered my brother, Tom Denham; I am going to give you a fair chance—more than a skunk like you deserves. Now, Dick, do you take thirty paces; we will be placed that distance apart, with our backs to each other, and when the word is given we will shoot as we like. That is fair, isn't it, boys?"

There was a murmur of assent.

"Very well. Now my two mates will walk with that fellow to his mark, I would not trust him not to shoot directly my back is turned. Two of you can walk with me if you like; but as I have not shot him now when I could do so face to face, I am not likely to do so when his back is turned. Now I want two others of you to stand close to us, pistol in hand, till the word is given, and if either of us moves before that, shoot him down. I want a third to give the signal; when you say one, the men standing by will draw back, and the two with pistols will level them at us; at the word three we turn round and can fire as we like. No one can say that I have not given this fellow a fair chance."

"No; that is fair enough," the other cowboys agreed, all greatly interested in this arrangement for a duel of a kind quite unknown to them, as in cowboy disputes the custom is for each to draw at once and fire as quickly as he can. Jake was led off, livid with rage. As a matter of formality, two of Jake's companions walked with Harry to the firing point, and two others drawing their colts, placed themselves a couple of yards from the combatants. There was a dead stillness for a moment, and then a voice asked, "Are you ready? One," and the four men standing by the combatants stepped back; "Two," and then after a pause, "Three."

As if moved by a spring, Harry and his opponent faced round. Both were confident in their skill, and neither held their fire a moment. Two shots rang out as one. Harry felt as if a hot iron had passed along his cheek. Jake's passion at being thus bearded by a mere lad had slightly unsteadied his hand, while Harry's arm was as steady as if carved in marble. Jake fell back with a bullet in the centre of his forehead. Even among the man's comrades there was no feeling of regret at his death; he was disliked and feared among them; he had in the course of his career killed a dozen men, and the retribution that had fallen upon him was felt to be richly deserved.

A week later Harry rode in to headquarters, and told the manager that he had better send another man out to take his place, for that he wanted a change for a bit, and intended to go shooting. He drew the hundred pounds remaining after paying their expenses out, and which Tom had deposited in the manager's care, and paying for the horse that he had ridden in, which was the best of those he had used at his work, he rode to the nearest town, some sixty miles away, bought a rifle and a large store of ammunition, some tea, sugar, and flour, and started out again for the plains. Here for six months he hunted game, taking the skins in for sale occasionally to the towns, paying his expenses and enjoying the life. Then he rode down south in search of employment on one of the Mexican ranches, but failing to find anything to suit him, was returning north when he came upon the band engaged in the attack on Don Garcia's carriage.

It was a month before Harry Denham was convalescent. The surgeon had fortunately found and extracted the ball from his hip on the day following his arrival at the hacienda; but he had for several days lain between life and death. Then youth and a constitution hardened by hard exercise, and the life he had been leading, triumphed, and he slowly recovered. Don Garcia had been unremitting in his attention to him; Isabella had visited his sick-room several times each day, and had seen to his comforts. When he began to recover, the father and daughter talked over what should be done for him.

Many times indeed they had discussed how they could best recognise the service that he had done for them. After hearing from him his story they felt that he would strongly resent the offer of any pecuniary payment. But one day when he had been saying that he liked the life he had been leading, and that although without capital it could not be said to be a paying one, it seemed to him that there was a fascination about the constant adventure and excitement, the life in the open air, and the hard exercise, that as soon as he got well enough to take part in it again, he should look for a fresh berth, Don Garcia said to his daughter, "Do you know, last night a scheme occurred to me by which he will better his fortunes without hurting his feelings."

"What is that, father?" she asked eagerly.

"You know that we have been having constant bothers with the new people of the north, and several of our vaqueros have been killed, and I can obtain no redress, for the white cowboys all declare that the vaqueros are the aggressors. This young fellow is accustomed to the work, and I don't think that I could do better than place him in charge of the northern herds, paying him by commission on their increase, giving him say a third. The thing would be mutually advantageous to us. I should let him choose his own hands, and he could either take vaqueros or American cowboys, and I should get rid of a great deal of trouble, while he, in a few years, would have a good chance of making a fortune. I believe there are some 20,000 head of cattle up there, for the most part cows, and the increase, if they were well managed, should be 15,000 a year. Perhaps the best way would be to give him half, and let him pay his own hands."

Isabella's face showed that she heartily approved of the plan, and the next day, when Harry was called into the veranda, Don Garcia proposed it to him. "It will be a mutual accommodation to us, Señor Denham," he said, after unfolding the plan. "I have had continual trouble there for the last three years, and it has lately been getting intolerable. The Americans care nothing for our vaqueros; but if we work cattle on their system with white men or with a mixture of whites and vaqueros, we should have no more trouble. What do you say?"

"I can only say that I gratefully accept your offer, señor; it is a magnificent chance for me, far better than anything that I have ever dreamt of. I know that herds are often worked on shares, but not a herd so large as yours. I accept your offer gratefully."

"Well, you must make haste and get strong again, so as to take charge before I have any fresh troubles. Here comes my daughter, she will be pleased to hear that the matter is arranged."

A month later Harry Denham entered upon his duties as overseer of the northern herds. He had already sent a message to some of the best men on the ranche on which he had worked, and they had at once thrown up their berths and joined him. He had also six vaqueros chosen from those working on the estates; these he had only selected after he had gained strength enough to ride out with the herds, and had seen them at work. A negro cook completed the outfit. Don Garcia had advanced him a sum of money for the payment and keep of the men, until the sales of animals should commence. One of the cowboys who had before been boss of an outfit was appointed as head of the party. Harry himself had to look after the general supervision and provisioning; for although able to sit on a horse, he was unfit for the hard work of a cowboy's life, and in order to avoid the heat of the plain he erected a hut for himself among the hills some five miles from the headquarters of the outfit.

Here he would be able to do a little hunting and shooting, so as to vary the diet of the camp, while he was conveniently situated, riding over to the hacienda seven miles away to procure supplies. Six months passed; everything had gone well; the work of branding the calves was over, and had passed off without trouble. He had found that it was impossible to prevent the cattle at times from wandering from the limits of the estate or to restrain others from entering it; he had therefore, with Don Garcia's approval, adopted the system in use at the American ranches, by which the cattle were by no means confined to a certain tract of land, but wandered indiscriminately, sometimes mixing with other herds, and being separated only once in six months, on the occasion of the great assemblage of all the cattle, known as the round up.

"The great assemblage of all the cattle, known as the round up."

At the hacienda Denham was received most cordially by Don Garcia, who always insisted on his coming in and smoking a cigar with him, and who, after the usual report as to the state of the herd, asked many questions as to his own country. Isabella was generally present, or if out of the room when he first came, was sure to appear, shortly followed by a servant with a jug of cooling drink, which she would herself pour out and place before her father and Harry. Six months after he had commenced his duties as overseer, Don Garcia said to him, "I told you the errand from which we were returning when you rescued us from those brigands."

"Yes, señor, it was the question of the marriage of the señoretta."

"That affair is quite over now; the young man wrote very handsomely, saying that he would do everything in his power to curb his hasty temper, assuring her that he loved her passionately. I was touched by his letter, which my daughter showed me, and by one which I myself received from his father, and was in favour of giving the young man a chance; but as my daughter is even more determined than before to have nothing to say to him, I fear that it will cause a quarrel between the two families."

"I should say that that was of very slight consequence compared with the happiness of your daughter, señor. In our country a father may object to his daughter marrying a person of whom he does not approve, and may even, according to law, prevent her doing so before she comes of age; but he would never dream of compelling her to marry a man to whom she objected—he would have no shadow of right to do so."

"With us matters are settled by the parents, Don Henry," the Spaniard said gravely, "and I think it is far better so in most cases; but having lost my wife many years ago, and Isabella being my only child, I have been too indulgent, and let her have too completely her own way, and I certainly could not bring myself to offer her the alternative of taking the veil or marrying the man I choose for her."

"But I understand, señor, that although you at first thought of this Don Pedro as your son-in-law, you yourself, on closer acquaintance with him, felt that he would not make the Señoretta Isabella happy."

"Yes, that is so; but I think that I was a little hasty and harsh; his letter is a charming one."

Harry Denham remained silent.

"No one could have written better," the Don went on, and there was an interrogation in his tone.

"I do not know Don Pedro, señor. As for writing a charming letter, it seems to me that any one could do that. I cannot help thinking that the señoretta, who is good and kind to every one, would not have taken such a strong objection to him without there being some good reason for so doing."

"It is a caprice on her part," the Don said irritably; "he has good manners, he is handsome, rich, and of a family equal to her own. He is passionate, I admit, and I do not like his ways with his slaves and peons, but, after all, I suppose there is no one perfect."

"I should think, señor," Harry said quietly, "that your daughter, who loves you dearly, as all can see, would not have opposed your wishes upon a mere caprice; a man who is harsh to his servants, or even to a horse or a dog, would be likely to be harsh to his wife."

"Well, at any rate, it is settled," the Spaniard said, lighting a fresh cigar with short irritable puffs; "I have this morning sent off a letter of regret to my friend, saying that my daughter's inclinations remain unchanged, and that, as her happiness is my first consideration, it is impossible that the proposed match can take place. Now, I suppose, I shall have trouble. It is too annoying, coming just when I have got rid of the troubles with the Americans. Somehow one never seems to have peace."

Looking round the luxuriously furnished room, and thinking of the wide possessions and easy life that he led, Harry had difficulty in repressing a smile at the querulous tone of the complaint. The conversation was in Spanish, which Denham had learned to speak fluently during his five years' residence on the plain, where, among his companions, were generally a proportion of Mexicans.

The next evening, as he was sitting with his men after his supper was over and their pipes lighted, he said, "By the way, do any of you know anything about a young Mexican named Pedro de Vaga? His father's hacienda is some eighty miles to the south."

"I know the place," one of the men said: "it is a big estate, not so large as this in point of size, but better land, and he owns a good many more slaves than Don Garcia does. I was working down near there two years ago, and I heard a good many stories of this Don Pedro. The old man, they say, is a kind master; but the young one is a tyrant, and his people are looking forward with dread to the time when he will be boss of the estate. Fortunately for them he is not very much there, being fond of going to the big towns, where he gambles, they say, heavily. I have heard that when he comes into them it will require a large slice of the estates to pay off the money-lenders, though his father has paid large sums for him over and over again. I heard that he was at New Orleans three years ago, and was lucky in getting off on board a ship before he was arrested; so that it must have been something pretty bad, as they are not squeamish at New Orleans."

"He is a very bad man," one of the vaqueros, who spoke a little English, put in. "I worked on the estate four years back, and he was the worst sort of a fellow. He has had a slave flogged to death more than once. A man pretty nearly put an end to him; he struck him one day in a fit of passion, and Lobe pulled out his knife and laid his shoulder open with the first blow, and would have killed him with the next had he not pulled out his pistol and shot him dead. It was a pity that Lobe bungled the first stroke. There was a rumour some months ago that our señorita was going to marry him; he and his father came over here, and Don Garcia took her down there. Caramba! I would have put my knife between his ribs, if I swung for it afterwards, rather than see a pretty young lady sacrificed to him."

"Right you are, Nunez," the cowboy who had first spoken said; "you may count me in; the señorita is a daisy, you bet, and if there is any talk of this marriage, I am with you in anything you may do to stop it."

Donna Isabella was indeed immensely popular among the men, and on the occasion of a round up, or of any assemblage of the herds, she would be sure to be there, with her attendant behind her, watching the proceedings with the greatest interest, and flushing with excitement over any deed of daring horsemanship. She had several times been out to the northern camp since it had been formed, and would stand by her horse, by the circle round the fire, asking questions as to the work, and chatting brightly with the men, all whom she knew by name, and before she rode away would be sure to produce from a basket a bottle or two of pulque, a quantity of fruit, or some other luxury.

"I am glad to tell you, Don Henry," the Mexican said one day a month after his conversation with Harry Denham, "that the matter I spoke to you of has passed off without trouble. I received an answer shortly afterwards from Don Ramon, saying that he deeply regretted my daughter's decision, but that, as I was unwilling to use my authority as her father, he could but acquiesce in it. Three days ago I received a manly letter from his son, saying that deeply as he regretted the destruction of his fondest hopes, he trusted that the circumstance would not lead to any breach in the friendship between the two families, and he hoped to be allowed to pay me a visit in order to assure me of his undiminished regard. Nothing could be more excellent than the tone of his letter, and of course I have answered it in the same spirit."

Harry Denham made no remark, but when alone that evening in the hut he thought deeply over it. The style of letter was in such entire contradiction to what he had heard of Don Pedro's character, that it filled him with distrust. The man was probably fond of Donna Isabella; that he could easily understand; but he doubtless had reckoned upon the dowry he would receive with her to repair his own fortune, and perhaps to silence pressing creditors, until at the death of Don Garcia he would come into a noble inheritance. It was therefore certain that his decisive rejection would not only humiliate him, but rouse him to fury. This letter, then, could only be a cloak to hide his real sentiments, and his proposed visit certainly foreboded no good to Isabella.

Harry Denham was perfectly conscious that he loved the Spanish girl. Her kindness to him when ill, her bright companionship during his convalescence, and the frank welcome that she gave him whenever he went to the hacienda, completely won his heart. He did not for a moment dream that anything could come of it. She and her father were grateful to him for the service that he had rendered them. They were good enough to treat him as a friend rather than as an inferior, and the position that they had given him was a substantial proof of their gratitude; but that he, her father's overseer, could aspire to the hand of one of the richest heiresses in Texas, was simply absurd.

That, however, need not prevent his doing what he could to shield her from being molested or annoyed by this Don Pedro, who was, by all accounts, in every respect unworthy of her. There was no saying what such a fellow might do. Her fortune was evidently of the most importance to him, and heiresses had been carried off in Texas and Mexico as well as elsewhere. One day a month later he shot an unusually fine mountain lion in a ravine a mile from his hut, and having carefully skinned the animal, he had it prepared by the wife of one of the vaqueros, who was famous for her skill in such matters, and then took it over on his next visit to the hacienda as a present to Isabella. The girl was in the garden as he rode up, and was delighted with the skin.

"It is one of the finest that I have ever seen," she said, "and there is not a single scratch on it. Most of the skins are disfigured by the wounds the animals give each other in their fights."

"I fancy he must have been a young one," Harry said, "though so immensely large."

"I do not even see a bullet mark."

"No, it does not show. I came upon it suddenly, and had just time to drop my rifle in my hand and fire, as it was about to spring. The ball struck it just in the centre of its throat, so that when the skin was divided the cut passed through the bullet hole."

As they were speaking there was a step behind them, and turning, Harry Denham saw a remarkably handsome man who had just come out of the house unnoticed. He was regarding him with an evil look, but the expression vanished at once, as Isabella also turned, and he said courteously, "I have come, señora, on the part of my father, who is somewhat indisposed, or he would have accompanied me to pay my respects to Don Garcia and yourself."

"You are welcome, Don Pedro," the girl said coldly; "my father will always be glad to see the son of his old friend, Don Ramon de Vaga. This is Don Henry Denham, the gentleman who saved my father and myself when attacked by brigands on return from your father's. Don Henry, this is Don Pedro de Vaga."

"Shot an unusually fine mountain lion."

It seemed for a moment that the Spaniard was going to speak, but he pressed his lips together and made the slightest inclination of his head in reply to the equally distant salutation of Harry.

"Let us go into the house," the girl said. "You will come in, of course, Señor Denham, and show my father the beautiful skin that you have brought me."

"Thank you, señora, but I have to ride out to the camp at once; there are several matters I have to attend to at once." So saying, he sprang on to his horse and lifted his solbero and rode off.

Don Pedro did not speak as he re-entered the house with Isabella. He knew that if he did so, he should ruin any chance that he might have of winning her by fair means. A feeling of passionate jealousy had seized him as he saw the girl standing by the side of this stranger and heard her chatting pleasantly with him, and the changed manner and tone as she had addressed him added to his anger. By the time that they entered the room where Don Garcia was sitting, he had mastered himself.

"Look at this lovely lion's skin that Don Henry has brought me," she said, going over to her father and showing him the skin, that she had got over her arm.

"Yes, it is a beautiful skin," he said, examining it closely; "there is not a blemish in it. He shot it himself, I suppose?"

"Yes, in that ravine that runs from the valley half a mile from this house. Fortunately the shot struck it in the centre of the throat, and so you see it did not hurt the skin."

"Who is this gentleman?" Don Pedro asked quietly of the haciendorer. "My father heard from you on your return that you had got into some trouble with some rough men, and that there was a skirmish between them and some young fellow—I think you said an English cowboy—who intervened in the matter."

"I did not put it at all in that way, Don Pedro, nor was the affair so trifling as you represent. Two of my servants were killed, and the other two bound. I myself had alighted from the coach, and was handing my daughter out under the pistols of these five ruffians, when this gentleman arrived. He shot four of them, and himself received wounds that for some time seemed likely to be fatal. I may at that time have written of him as a cowboy; but I had not at that time learned, as I have since done, that he is a gentleman of an honourable family in England. He is now overseer of the northern herds on my estates, and in addition to my gratitude for the immense service he rendered us, I have the fullest confidence in him, and esteem for his character."

"Oh, he is an overseer, is he? I thought his attire would hardly be in accordance with the title of Don, by which the señora introduced him. I suppose you have other evidence besides his word as to his family. I believe most of these cowboys claim to be members of noble families."

Don Garcia was about to reply when Isabella broke in passionately: "You are insulting the man who saved my father and myself from the greatest peril, and whom I introduced to you as my friend, Don Pedro. We have the best evidence that he is a gentleman—that of his own manners and conduct, sir—who might be imitated in both these respects with advantage by men who do not hesitate to boast of the purest Spanish blood."

"Silence, Isabella," her father said sternly; "I am here, and able to defend my absent friend. I should have thought, Don Pedro, that professing, as you do, a regard for our family, you would have shared to some extent our gratitude towards a young man who had done us such signal service, instead of sneering at him. With your feeling towards him, however, I have nothing to do; but I expect, at any rate, that courtesy will be shown in my house to any guest I and my daughter choose to invite here."

Don Pedro bowed in silence, and then the Spaniard went on more cordially: "Do not let us make too much of this, Don Pedro. Of course, you were not fully aware of our obligation to this gentleman, or you would not have spoken as you did. Let us forget the matter altogether," and he at once began to talk upon another subject.

Three days later Don Pedro left, after a stormy interview with Isabella.

"I see that it is of no use remaining longer," he said. "I came here in hopes that, in spite of your prejudice against me, I might still succeed in winning your love. I see now that it is useless, and can understand the real reason of your refusal of it. I am not blind; and when I heard you speaking to that young Englishman as you had never spoken to me, I comprehended the whole matter."

The girl flushed angrily.

"You insult me," she said. "I am not one of your slaves, Don Pedro; and my father will not forgive any one, whosoever he may be, who insults his preserver. As to your insinuation, it is contemptible. You know full well I informed my father, after your first visit here, that nothing would induce me to marry you, and I would rather enter a convent than do so. My visit to your house confirmed me in that determination; but at that time I had never even seen this Englishman. Your insinuation proves to me how rightly I judged your character. I would rather marry the lowest peon on my father's estate than you. You are here on false pretences, sir. You declared in your letter to my father that you acquiesced in his and my decision, and that you wished to come only as a friend; it seems now that this was false."

"It was false, señora, and I intend to make you my wife. You may be cruel, you may be unjust, you may even love another, but that will not turn me from my purpose. Mine you shall be, by all the saints;" and, without waiting to hear the indignant reply, he left the room.

"I am going, Don Garcia," he said abruptly, as he met the latter coming from the stables. "My love is stronger than my power of repressing it. I had hoped that I had to some extent conquered it, but I cannot do so, and it may be, Don Garcia, that you may some day be sorry that you did not give my suit the support that my father and I hoped and expected. I understand now the reason of my refusal. There is another more fortunate than I am, and you may some day bitterly regret that your kindness of heart led you to open your doors to an adventurer;" and without waiting he hurried forward to the stable, called for his horse, and ordered the three men who had accompanied him to saddle at once and follow him, and then rode furiously away. He drew rein after riding a mile, and waited until his followers came up. He called one of them up to him, and with him went slowly on, the other two falling behind.

"You have followed the orders I gave you the first day we came here, Juan?"

"I have, sir; I have found out all about him: he does not live with the others at the camp, but has a small hut in a lonely valley some miles from here; he shoots and hunts early in the morning, and then generally he breakfasts, and afterwards rides over to the camp."

"That is excellent. I want you to stay behind here, Juan, and put a stop to his riding—you understand. You will be well paid for the business."

The man nodded. "I will do it, señor. It is rather risky, for they say that he is a first-rate shot."

"Well, then, you must manage so that he doesn't get a shot at you, Juan. He is alone in the hut?"

"Yes, except that he has a dog Don Garcia gave him, a fierce beast that would let no one into the hut without awakening its master. It cannot be done that way. When he is away I must hide in the bushes near his hut, and shoot him as he returns."

"Well, don't blunder over the business, Juan. If you are doubtful about yourself, hire a man or two to help you, there is never any difficulty in picking up a man for that sort of work."

"I can put my hand on the men. My brother was one of those who made the attack on Don Garcia and his daughter, and this Englishman shot him, therefore I should be ready to do the job without being paid for it, though I don't say it is not sweeter to get both gold and revenge at one stroke. I know where the two men who got away are, and they will be glad to join me; they are but two days' ride away, but I suppose a few hours earlier or later would make no difference to you. It is on the road back to the hacienda."

"That will do very well. Mind you do not bring my name into the matter with them; simply say you want to revenge your brother's death."

"I understand, señor," and Juan dropped back to his comrades. Before the end of the day, however, Don Pedro had formed another plan, which he communicated to Juan that evening.

"You understand," he said, "you will get those two men you spoke about, and half-a-dozen others; I shall get eight or ten of our own men, say twenty in all—that will be enough. My business must be settled first; after we have gone, you and the other two can carry out this affair with that accursed Englishman. There will be no risk in it, for when I have once got the girl, Don Garcia will be glad enough to hush up the affair."

Three weeks afterwards Harry Denham was preparing his breakfast, which consisted of slices of venison that he had shot an hour before, when the dog suddenly pricked up its ears with a low warning growl.

"What is it, Don? Is some one coming? Yes, you are right," he went on, after stopping to listen for a moment, "I can hear horses' hoofs." He went to the door, and opening it, looked out; then he gave a sudden exclamation, ran in and seized his rifle, and then ran out again. At a distance of a hundred yards Isabella Novales was riding at full gallop, while half that distance behind were some twenty horsemen, evidently in hot pursuit of her.

"Go in, Don," he said sternly as the dog was about to leap forward; "go in and lie down."

"I struck Violetta sharply and she galloped off like an arrow."

The girl drew up her horse suddenly as she reached the hut, and leaped off.

"Lead the horse in, señora," Harry exclaimed, as levelling his rifle he fired, and one of the horsemen fell from his saddle, while a yell of rage broke from the others. There was not a moment to be lost, and running in he closed the door and fastened the stout bar across it; then catching up a double-barrelled gun, he thrust it through the window and discharged both barrels into the crowd as they rode up. Two more men fell. The rest dismounted, and flung themselves against the door, but three shots of a revolver through a small sliding panel caused them to draw back, and a moment later, in spite of the angry shouts of one of their number, they ran off with their horses, and taking refuge in the bushes, opened a straggling fire on the hut.

"What does it all mean, señora?" Harry asked, turning to the girl, who had without a moment's hesitation seized the rifle he had dropt, and began to load it from a powder-horn hanging from a peg in the wall.

"I don't know," she said. "I was out for a ride this morning, when a number of mounted men suddenly dashed out from a clump of trees, and I saw another party ride out of some bushes farther on, evidently intending to cut me off. From the glimpse I had of them it seemed to me that their faces were all blackened. I turned my horse to ride back, but some more men had posted themselves there. I struck Violetta sharply and she galloped off like an arrow. I had to pass close to one of the party, and I was afraid they might lasso me. One man did take up his lariat as he galloped, but another shouted, 'No, ride her down,' and I shot by them, though they were within a few yards of me.

"I thought of the camp, but I knew that at this hour most of the men would be out with the herds. Then I thought of your hut. I knew it was up this valley, though I had never been here. I was sure that if you were in you would protect me; if you were not, I should have ridden on. They must be brigands who intended to carry me off to get a ransom for me; but it seemed to me when that man shouted to the others not to lasso me, that I knew his voice, and I feel almost sure it was Don Pedro. He said when he went away he would marry me some day, and I cannot help thinking that perhaps he has made up his mind to carry me off. What is to be done, señor? I would kill myself rather than fall into his hands. Why should he want to marry a girl who hates him?"

"Because, as I hear, he wants money, señora. I hear that he has very heavy debts, and has already gambled away much of the estate that will come to him at his father's death. Now, señora, I must send a few shots back in answer to their fire, or they will be making another rush, and the door was never made to stand a serious assault. I only hope that if Don Pedro is there he will let me get a shot at him."

He took out some moss that had been thrust into several chinks in the wall, and fired several shots into the bush. A loud yell told that at least one had taken effect.

"That will do for the present," he said; "now let us think over what had best be done. I fear there is little chance of this firing being heard; the herd is eight or ten miles away. Your horse is fast, and you might possibly get there before you were overtaken; but some of these men will be well mounted, and it would be a risk. They have stopped firing, but are certainly round the hut, and might lasso you before you had gone twenty yards. If I had my horse here I could have ridden with you, and could have beaten off any well-mounted men who might come up; but he was grazing a hundred yards away when I came in, and there is no getting at him. I see nothing to do but to wait and see what they intend to do next. If they were only brigands they might give it up; but if your suspicions are correct, and they have Don Pedro with them, I fear there is no chance of that. I know a cave, four miles away, that I could hold against them for any time, while this hut is not meant to stand a siege, but there is no getting there."

"What are you growling at, Don? Do you hear some one creeping up there?"

A moment later there were three crashes as a heap of faggots were thrown down against the end of the hut. He sprang towards that direction, pushed the moss from a loop-hole, and thrusting his rifle out, shot a man who was approaching with a blazing brand.

"Too late," he exclaimed bitterly a minute afterwards, "it has fired the dry grass; the wind is towards us, and those faggots will be kindled, and the flames will light the dry shingles."

"I will go out and surrender," Isabella said suddenly; "you shall not throw away your life, Don Henry."

"Your surrender would not save my life, señora, even if I were to venture to make the sacrifice. I have killed five or six of them, and you may be sure that they would not spare me."

"Then let us both get on to my horse and try to escape; she is very fast."

"We should be overtaken before we had gone half a mile, even if we had a fair start. She is a pretty thing, but light, and would soon tire under the double weight. Let me think for a minute;" he closed his eyes and stood in thought.

Already the pungent odour of the smoke filled the room, and there was a cracking noise, increasing in volume every moment, that told the faggots had caught fire. Suddenly he looked up.

"I have it, señora, if you will not mind doing it."

"I will do anything you tell me to do," she said quietly.

"The horse is getting restive; I will hold him as you go to the other end of the room and take off your dress, and wrap in it the pillow and blankets as quickly as you can. As soon as you have done so, I will mount your horse, open the door, and ride out with the dummy in front of me. Seeing your dress, they will naturally suppose that it is you, and will all dash off in pursuit of me. I shall make for the cave I spoke of. They are principally below us, and would cut me off from making either for the hacienda or the camp. The moment they are fairly after me, do you make your way off on foot. If you can catch my horse, you might get me help from the camp."

"You will be throwing away your life, señor."

"Not at all. I am a heavy weight for your mare, but I think she will carry me as far as the cave, and they will not like to fire lest they might, as they would suppose, hurt you. At any rate it is a chance for us both, and I see no other. Pray do not lose a moment."

"I will do it," she said.

The hut was full of blinding smoke, the dog barked and howled, and the mare struggled so violently that he had the greatest difficulty in pacifying her. When at last he did so, she was trembling from head to foot. It was not two minutes before Isabella stood beside him and thrust the bundle into his arms.

"I have pulled the blankets up above the dress," she said, "and pinned my riding-hat on the top. Quick, it is stifling here." Then she passionately threw her arms around his neck. "The Holy Virgin shield you!" she exclaimed. "I love you, Harry, I love you. I have brought this upon you, and if you die I will remain a widow all my life for your sake."

"God bless you, Isabella," he said hoarsely.

Isabella took down the bar and unlocked the door. The mare for a moment refused to move. He leaned forward on her neck and struck the spurs into her, and she flew like an arrow through the door, at which the dog had already rushed out with a joyous bark. Harry Denham had slung his double-barrelled gun across his shoulder. In one hand he held his revolver, which he had recharged after using it; in the other the reins, and pressed the dummy figure against him. A loud shout burst from the bushes as he issued out.

"A loud shout burst from the bushes as he issued out."

"Don't fire, on your lives, don't fire," a man shouted; "you might hit the lady."

A dozen horsemen sprung out, but most of them were just below the hut, being sure that when the defenders sallied out they would make that way. There were but three that barred the way up the valley. Harry rode right at them. One made a grasp at his rein, but the revolver cracked out and he pitched head foremost out of the saddle. When he was past them, turning round he fired again, and one dropped the reins with an oath as the ball struck him in the shoulder. The other reined in his horse until joined by his comrades from below.

"Steady, steady, keep together," their leader shouted. "We must have them; the mare will soon tire."

To their surprise, although they were riding their hardest, the mare for three miles maintained the lead of some seventy yards that she had gained.

"Caramba!" the leader of the pursuers muttered, "she must be the devil; no horse her size could carry double weight so far without failing." But although far less heavily loaded than her pursuers imagined, Harry's weight was telling, and he could feel that the mare was beginning to flag. He cheered her on with hand and voice, abstaining from using the spur, for the gallant little horse was doing her best. He would not look round, for that would have encouraged his pursuers, and they might press their horses to make a rush; but listening intently, he was sure that they were gaining somewhat upon him, and he was confirmed in his belief by a shout of triumph behind. The cave, however, was now but a short distance away. The valley had narrowed to a ravine, occupied in the rainy season by a torrent. The pursuers, confident that the end was not far off, and that the mare would ere long founder, had not pressed their horses, and as they could no longer ride more than two abreast, they had fallen somewhat farther back.

Those in front gave a yell of exultation as they saw the mare suddenly stop and the rider leap from its back, but were astonished when they saw him go to the horse's head and apparently lead it into the solid rock, followed by the dog, which had kept close to its heels. They rode cautiously now, not knowing what to expect, and checked their horses, when they saw an opening no more than a yard wide in the face of the rock, and realised that the fugitives had taken refuge within it. Volleys of execrations poured from the leader of the band. He at once ordered the men to dismount, which they did willingly enough, but they refused to attempt to enter the cleft.

"It would be certain death," one of them said; "he has got a double-barrelled gun and that pistol, and he can shoot us down the moment we appear before the hole."

The fact was so evident that the leader, although half mad with passion, saw that it was useless to urge them to the attack at present.

"Well, we must think of some plan," he said. "There is no hurry, they cannot escape us; we are in the heart of the hills, and no one dreams of what has taken place. We burnt them out of their last place, and if we can find no other way, we can starve them out of this. They can eat the horse, but they can't go very long without water. You may as well get some food out of your sacks and make a meal while we think the matter over."

The men obeyed sullenly. They had entered on the affair solely for the money they were to receive for it, and it had turned out most disastrous: there were twenty of them to begin with, while there were now but thirteen—six had been killed and one wounded. They were, however, somewhat cheered when their leader told them that their comrades' shares would be divided among them, and that each would therefore get half as much again as he had expected.

"I will double that," he said, "if you will attack the place."

But there was no response. Presently one of them went up to the leader, who was sitting apart.

"Why not try fire again, señor; we could not burn them out, but we might smoke them out."

"That is a good idea, Juan. Directly the men have finished eating, do you go down with four of them and cut faggots and bring them up; there are plenty of bushes half a mile lower down. Put plenty of green wood in it; it is smoke we want and not fire. They will come out quickly enough as soon as we light them; but if they don't, we must pull the faggots away and drag her out—she would be of no use dead."

Five men went off, the others taking their post, pistol in hand, near the mouth of the cave, should the fugitives try to escape. The men had taken their horses with them to bring up the faggots, and half-an-hour later the sound of horses' hoofs was heard coming fast up the ravine.

"They have been wonderfully quick about it," Juan said to the leader uneasily.

"They have; they may have found bushes enough on the lower side of the ravine without going right down to the bottom."

"I did not notice any, señor—and listen, it seems to me that noise is more than five horses would make."

"So it is. Stand to your horses, men."

A moment later the head of the party came in sight. There was a shout in English of "Come along, lads, here are the skunks." For a moment the men could not believe their eyes, for by the side of a cowboy rode a female figure. She was in her white petticoats, and had on a scarlet shirt, strapped at the waist by a belt; her head was bare, and though nearly a hundred yards away, Don Pedro recognised at once Isabella Novales. A terrible oath broke from his lips.

"Forward, men," he shouted, "ride for your lives; we have been duped, and the girl has brought these cowboys upon us."

At the head of his men Don Pedro dashed up the ravine, but as he passed the opening to the cave, a flash of fire spurted out and struck him on the side of the head with a full charge of heavy shot, and he fell dead from his horse. The man Juan, who followed him, met with the same fate; but the others dashed past, and a minute later eight cowboys galloped in pursuit. Isabella Novales drew her horse aside to let them pass, and then sprang to the ground. Her fears of Henry's safety had been allayed. She learned from one of the five men whom they had seized just as they began to cut brushwood, that he had gained the cave, and that, not daring to attack it, his foes were about to smoke him out. The news had gained him his life. The cowboys were afraid to fire lest the sound should reach the ears of the brigands, but they had without a moment's loss of time strung the other four up by their lariats to a tree growing close to the spot where they had been captured.

"Are you safe, my beloved?" she said, as she threw herself into Harry's arms with the passionate abandon of her race.

"Quite safe," he replied; "you have saved me, Isabella. I was close to the mouth of the cave and could hear them talking, and I knew that unless help came in time it was all over. Your mare carried me splendidly; but another half-mile and they would have had me. I and my gun made up nearly twice the weight she is accustomed to carry. And you, how did you manage? I see that you went to the camp."

"I threw myself down close to the door for a moment to get fresh air, then I ran out. At first I thought of making for the hacienda, but it was two miles farther; they would be too long in getting ready. I luckily came upon your horse, mounted it, and galloped to your camp. When I rode in, the men had just finished their breakfast, and had already mounted; another two minutes and they would have gone. I told my story. One of them ran into the tent and brought me a shirt and a belt, which I was very glad to put on, though till then I had never thought for a moment about being so undressed before a number of men. We galloped as if we had been racing. We passed the hut, or what was the hut, for there was nothing of it but a smoking beam or two. Just above that we passed a dead man lying on the ground, and the cowboy who was riding next to me said, 'Cheer up, señora, that is Harry Denham's handiwork; he has ridden through them here.'

"Is not that," she broke off, as she looked at the two dead men lying close to her, "Don Pedro? it looks to me like his figure."

Harry went and turned the bodies over.

"You are right," he said, "it is he; Don Pedro will never trouble you again. Now let us mount and go slowly down; the others will overtake us presently. I doubt whether they will overtake the brigands. They have ridden nine miles at full speed, and the other horses have had more than one hour's rest."

They mounted, and rode down the ravine, the dog trotting behind them.

"I can hardly believe that I have not dreamt what you said in the hut, dearest."

She coloured brightly.

"You knew it before, and I knew what you thought." Then she added shyly, "I shall tell my father directly we get in."

"I am afraid that he will never consent," Harry said gravely.

"He loves me," she said confidently; "I am his only child, and he will do as I wish him. You are a gentleman by birth, Harry—what can he want more? If you were as rich as I am, what good would it be?"

Harry shook his head.

"That is true enough, Isabella; but fathers do not see things in that light. However, I will ride with you home, and leave you to tell your story. If he says no, as I fear he will, I must leave here; I cannot remain as his overseer after this."

"If you were as faint-hearted in fighting as you are in love," the girl said with a bright smile, "you would never have won me. I do believe you would never have spoken had not I spoken first."

"I am sure I never should," he replied. "I have known for months that I loved you. It would not have been right that I, one of your father's overseers, should ever speak of my love to his daughter."

The cowboys came up presently and crowded round Harry Denham, shaking hands with him warmly.

"We wiped out five of the skunks," one of them said, "but the others were too well mounted for us. If we had had time to choose our horses, not one of them would have got away."

"It does not matter," Harry said; "the man who was the author of all this has fallen. The rest were only hired brigands, and they have paid heavily for it."

"Are you coming to the camp, Harry?"

"Not at present, I must conduct the señora home; but I may be out this evening."

The men exchanged a significant glance, and when the way separated at the charred remains of the hut, one said, "We shall not see much more of Denham at the camp. I don't know what the Don will say about it, but there is no mistake about the señora. Poor little thing, how white she was when she rode up! She looks all right again now, and has got plenty of colour in her cheeks; but she was as pale as death then. She didn't say much, but there was no question where her heart was."

When Harry Denham left Isabella, he promised her that he would return in two hours and wait at the gate until she came to him. She was there before him, and he saw at once that she had judged her father better than he had.

"Come in, Harry," she said, "my father is expecting you."

Don Garcia came out to meet them as they approached the house.

"Don Harry, you have saved her life, at the risk of your own, twice," he said, "and you have fairly won her; I give her to you willingly. It would have been a blow to my pride, had you not been a man of good family, but I could not have said no to her even then. As it is, there is nothing I can wish for better. Money she has no need for; but she has need of an honest gentleman as her protector, and such she has found in you."

Three months later they were married. Till Don Garcia's death ten years later, they lived with him always at the hacienda. After that Harry Denham took his wife to Europe for six months, and then returned to Texas, into which a flood of immigration was pouring. There he still lives, one of the richest and most popular land-owners in the State.

THE END

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

Edinburgh & London.

Transcriber's Notes:

The text contains some inconsistent hyphenation (i.e. "firearm" vs. "fire-arm"; "warship" vs. "war-ship"); these have been retained, as they may reflect the preferences of different authors within the collection. Additionally, archaic spellings (i.e. "sticking-plaister") have been retained.

Page x, added missing period after "Mr" ("Mr. Urquhart tried the effect of the nine-pounders")

Page 20, changed "possesion" to "possession" ("One of these took possession of the tug, while the other, in which sat the exulting spy, ranged alongside the dumping scow.")

Page 49, added missing period and changed "Who's" to "Whose" ("Yes, he seems inclined to remove us one by one. Whose turn next, I wonder!")

Page 59, changed "Berthas" to "Bertha" ("Truly a derelict vessel; no living thing, save a few birds, was near her until the "Bertha" approached.")

Page 104, added missing close quote ("La la ha il Allah! Vras! Vras!")

Page 112, changed "aint" to "ain't" ("... the Turkish orficer ain't a Turk at all, but a Frenchman.")

Page 121, removed duplicate "before" ("And then, before the stranger had time to answer, he added...")

Page 124, added missing close quote (after "There it is, hanging up with that Lochaber axe upon the wall.")

Page 135, added missing close quote ("Alan refused to accept this offer of friendship.")

Page 139, added missing close quote ("... in company with his son Neil.")

Page 147, changed "Bendding" to "Bending" ("Bending his head, he crept upward, holding the lantern in his extended hand.")

Page 157, changed single quote to double quote at end of sentence ("Will you leave off interrupting me?")

Page 161, added missing open quote ("Come on.")

Page 175, removed extraneous quote at start of paragraph ("They'd laugh at him if they heard...")

Page 183, changed "himsel" to "himself" ("... he forced himself into going on...")

Page 272, removed extraneous quote at end of paragraph ("As the arrow flies through the air swiftly and slays, so the Indian will drop down into your midst, and the scalps of the white men will be his reward," said Will Narburton.)

Page 352, changed "Josepha" to "Josefa" ("There was one craft in particular—a barque named the Josefa—that we were especially anxious to lay hands upon...")

Page 364, changed "you they" to "you? They" ("... cast off these lashings of mine, will you? They hurt most abominably!")

Page 422, added missing close quote ("... might get me help from the camp.")

Table of Contents

In the Hands of the Malays, and Other Stories

Through Three Campaigns

Tales of Daring and Danger

The Golden Canyon

Yule Logs