Table of Contents

"Adrift in a Boat"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

"Adventures in Africa"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

"Adventures in Australia"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

"Adventures in the Far West"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

"Afar in the Forest"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

"The African Trader"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

"Alone on an Island"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

"Among the Red-skins"

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

Chapter Three.

Chapter Four.

Chapter Five.

Chapter Six.

Chapter Seven.

Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine.

Chapter Ten.

Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Twelve.

Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fifteen.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Adrift in a Boat"

Chapter One.

The Picnic on the Sands—The Midshipman—Harry Merryweather and David Moreton Caught by the Tide—The Alarm.

Few parts of the shores of old England present more beautiful and romantic scenery than is to be found on the coast of Cornwall. There are deep bays, and bold headlands, and wild rocks, and lofty cliffs, and wooded heights, and bare downs, and yellow sands full of the most minute and delicate shells, so delicate that it is surprising how they could have existed in the rough and boisterous ocean, and been cast up whole from the depths below. In one of those beautiful bays, many years ago, a large party was collected, on a bright afternoon in the early part of autumn. Among the party were persons of all ages, but most of them were young, and all were apparently very busy. Some were engaged in tending a fire over which a pot was boiling, and others were collecting drift-wood thrown up close under the cliff, with which to feed it. Two or three young ladies, under the superintendence of a venerable matron, were spreading a tablecloth, though the sand looked so smooth and clear that it did not seem as if the most dainty of people could have required one. Several were very eager in unpacking sundry hampers and baskets, and in carrying the dishes and plates, and bottles of wine, and the numerous other articles which they contained, to the tablecloth. Two young ladies had volunteered to go with a couple of pails to fetch water from a spring which gushed out of the cliff, cool and fresh, at some distance off, and two young gentlemen had offered to go and, assist them, which was very kind in the young gentlemen, as they certainly before had not thought of troubling themselves about the matter. To be sure the young ladies were very pretty and very agreeable, and it is possible that their companions might not have considered the trouble over-excessive. The youngest members of the party were as busy as the rest, close down to the water collecting the beautiful shells which have been mentioned. The shells were far too small to be picked up singly, and they therefore came provided with sheets of thick letter-paper, into which they swept them from off the sand where they had been left by the previous high tide. A loud shout from a hilarious old gentleman, who had constituted himself director of the entertainment, and who claimed consequently the right of making more noise than anybody else, or indeed than all the rest put together, now summoned them up to the tablecloth, to which at the sound, with no lingering steps, they came, exhibiting their treasures on their arrival to their older friends. The party forthwith began to seat themselves round the ample tablecloth, but they took up a good deal more room than had it been spread on a table. The variety of attitudes they assumed was amusing. The more elderly ladies sat very upright, with their plates on their laps; the younger ones who had gone for the water, and their friends of the same age, managed to assume more graceful attitudes; while the young men who had been to school and college, and had read how the Romans took their meals, stretched themselves out at the feet of the former, leaning on their elbows, and occasionally, when not actually engaged in conveying ham and chicken or pie to their mouths, giving glances at the bright and laughing eyes above them. The hilarious old gentleman tried kneeling, that he might carve a round of beef placed before him, but soon found that attitude anything but pleasant to his feelings; then he sat with one side to the cloth, then with the other. At last he scraped a trench in the sand sufficient to admit his outstretched legs, and, placing the beef before him, carved vigorously away till all claimants were supplied. The younger boys and girls, tucking their legs under them like Turks, speedily bestowed their undivided attention to the task of stowing away the good things spread out before their eyes.

“This is jolly, don’t you think so, Mary?” exclaimed a fine boy of about fourteen to a pretty little girl who sat next to him; “there is only one thing wanting to make it perfect—Harry Merryweather ought to be here. He wrote word that he expected to be with us this morning, and I told him where the picnic was to take place, that should he be too late to get home, he might come here direct. Oh, he is such a capital fellow, and now that he is in the navy, and has actually been in a battle, he will have so much to tell us about.”

Mary Rymer fully agreed with David Moreton, for Harry was a favourite with every one who knew him. Although Harry Merryweather had not arrived for the picnic, his friends appeared to be enjoying themselves very much, judging by the smiles and giggling and the chattering, and the occasional shouts of laughter which arose when old Mr Tom Sowton, and florid, fat Mr Billy Burnaby, uttered some of their jokes. Not that they were the only people who uttered good things, but they were professed jokers, and seemed to consider it their duty to make people merry; Mr Burnaby, indeed, if he could not make people laugh at what he said, made them laugh at what he did.

The party had come from various quarters in the neighbourhood, some from a distance inland, in carriages, and two or three families who lived on or near the coast, in two pretty yachts, which lay at anchor in the bay. One of them belonged to Mr Moreton, David’s father, and the other to Captain Rymer, with whose family David was as much at home as with his own; and he and his sisters looked upon Mary, Captain Rymer’s daughter, quite in the light of a sister. She was, indeed, a very charming little girl, well worthy of their affections. The first course of the picnic was concluded—that is to say, the chickens, and hams, and pies, and cold beef, and tongues, and a few other substantials were pushed back; the potatoes, which had been boiled in salt water, having been pronounced excellent. The tarts and cakes and fruit, peaches and figs and grapes, were brought to the front, and underwent the admiration they deserved, when suddenly David Moreton, looking up, raised a loud shout, and, jumping to his feet, clapped his hands and waved them vehemently. The shout was echoed in different keys by many others, and all turning their eyes in the direction David was pointing, they saw, on the top of the cliff a boy, on whose jacket and cap the glitter of a little gold lace and his snow-white trousers proclaimed him to be that hero in embryo, a midshipman. Having looked about him for a few seconds, he began to descend the cliff at so seemingly breakneck a speed, that several of the ladies shrieked out to him to take care, and Mary Rymer turned somewhat pale and stood looking anxiously as the young sailor dropped from one point of rock to another, or slid down a steep incline, or swung himself by the branches of shrubs or tufts of grass to the ledge below him, and ran along it as if it had been a broad highway, though a false step might have proved his destruction. Once he stopped. To go back was impossible, and to attempt to descend seemed almost certain destruction. Mr Sowton and Billy Burnaby jumped up, almost dragging away the tablecloth, upsetting tarts, and fruit-dishes, and bottles of wine, and all the other things, when Harry gave a tremendous spring to a ledge which his sharp eye had detected, and was in a few seconds afterwards standing safe on the sands and shaking hands warmly with everybody present. When he came to Mr Tom Sowton and Billy Burnaby, it might have been supposed from the way in which they wrung each other’s hands, that there was a wager pending as to which should first twist off his friend’s fist.

“Fortunately, we haven’t eaten up all the good things, Harry,” exclaimed Mr Sowton, dragging the midshipman, nothing loth, to the well-spread cloth. “Now open your mouth, and Burnaby and I will try and feed you. What will you have first,—beef, or pudding, or a peach, or a tongue, or a cold chicken? Oh dear me, there is but a drumstick and a merrythought left. Which will you have? No! I see I am wrong again, the drumstick is in the dish, and the merrythought is in my head, with numerous companions. Does anybody wish to know what they are? I’ll fill my naval friend’s plate first with cold beef and mustard, and then inform you.” Thus the old gentleman ran on. He kept his word with regard to Harry, who very soon by diligent application caught up the rest of the party, and was able to commence on the tarts and peaches. All the gentlemen asked him to take wine, and the ladies were eager to hear his adventures. He briefly recounted them in an animated manner, for as he had been little more than a year at sea, everything he had seen and done had the freshness of novelty. He belonged to the gallant Arethusa frigate, which had put into Plymouth from a successful cruise in the Bay of Biscay, where, after capturing several minor prizes of considerable value, she had taken an enemy’s frigate of equal force. He had consequently got leave for a few days to come home and see his widowed mother. He was her only son; her husband had been an officer in the army, and was killed in battle; her daughter Jane could never be induced to leave her, but they had promised to send Harry on to the picnic after he had indulged them with a little of his society. He had come by a chance conveyance, knowing that he should be able to return with some of his friends.

In those days it was the custom to sit long after dinner, and even at a picnic people consumed a considerable amount of time round the cloth. At length, however, they got up and broke into separate parties. Some went in one direction, some in another. The elders were more inclined to sit still, or went only a little way up the cliff; but several of the grown-up young ladies and gentlemen climbed up by somewhat steep paths to the downs above. The younger ones, the tide being low, very naturally preferred scrambling out on the rocks in search of sea-anemones, and other marine curiosities. There were numerous projecting rocks forming small bays in the large bay, and thus completely hiding the different parties from each other. No two boys could have had a more sincere regard for each other than had David Moreton and Harry Merryweather. David was longing to go to sea with Harry, but his father was greatly averse to his going. He was the eldest son, and heir to a large property. As the boys had been separated for so long a time (long in their lives), they had a great deal to say to each other. They consequently strolled away, forgetting what Mary Rymer or the rest of their fair companions might have thought of their gallantry, in and out along the sands, round the points and over the rocks, till they had got to a considerable distance from the place where the picnic had been held. A dry rock, high above the water, which they could reach by going along a ledge connecting it with the mainland, tempted them to scramble out to it. There they chose a nice cosy, dry nook, where, sitting down, the water immediately around them was hidden from their sight. This circumstance must be remembered. It was very delightful. They had not yet said one-half of what they had got to say to each other, so they sat on talking eagerly, looking out seaward and watching the white sails which glided by coming up channel in the distant horizon. David was so delighted with the accounts Harry gave him, that he resolved to make a further attempt to induce his father to allow him to go to sea. It must be owned that Harry, full of life and happiness himself, had pictured only the bright side of everything. He had described the courage and determination to win with which he and his shipmates had gone into action, and the enthusiasm and delight they had felt on gaining the victory and capturing the prize; but he forgot to speak of the death of some cut down in their prime, and the wounds and sufferings of others, many maimed and crippled for life. Thus they talked on without marking how the time went by. Harry’s watch, which he had locked up carefully before going into action, had been destroyed by a shot which had knocked the desk and everything in it to pieces; and David had forgotten to wind his up. Suddenly it occurred to them that the sun was getting very low, and that it was high time for them to return.

They jumped up to scramble back over the rock, but no sooner had they done so than Harry cried out, “We are caught!” and David exclaimed, “The tide has risen tremendously, how shall we get to the shore?”

“Swim there,” answered Harry; “I see no other way. If we were to shout ever so loud we should not be heard, and I do not suppose any one knows where we are.” By this time they had got to the inner end of the rock, where they found that the distance between them and the shore was not only considerable, but that a strong current swept round the rock, and that though before the sea had been calm, it had got up somewhat, and caused a surf to break on the shore. What was to be done? David was a first-rate swimmer, and would not have had much difficulty by himself in stemming the current, and landing through the surf; but Harry, though a sailor, had not learned that art before he went to sea, and could swim very little. It is extraordinary how many sailors in those days could not swim, and lost their lives in consequence. They stood looking at the foaming, swirling waters, not knowing what to do.

“I would try it,” said Harry at length, “but I am afraid if I were to give in that I should drown you as well as myself.”

“I think that I might support you, and we should drift in somewhere a little further down, perhaps,” said David.

“Much more likely that we should be swept out to sea,” answered Harry. “No, no, David, that will never do. You can swim on shore before the surf gets heavier, and your father or Captain Rymer will send a boat for me very soon.”

“But these are spring tides, and if the sea gets up at all, it will soon wash right over this rock,” said David.

“The more reason for you to hurry to get a boat from the yachts,” observed the midshipman.

While they were speaking, they observed the two yachts, which had hitherto been hid by a point of land, standing out to sea. They had come from the east with a fine northerly smooth water breeze, but the wind had drawn off shore to the east, and as the tide was at flood running up channel, the vessels had stood off shore to get the full strength of it. This the boys at once understood, but how they should have gone off without them was the puzzle. Matters were growing serious. Even should David reach the shore, he might not find a boat, and it was a long way he feared from any house where he could get help, so that Harry might be lost before he could get back. They retraced their steps to the highest part of the rock, and waved and shouted, even though they knew that their voices could not be heard, but the yachts stood on at some distance from each other; it should be remarked, Captain Rymer’s leading. It was evident that they were not seen. The hot tide came rushing in, rising higher and higher. Both the boys became very anxious, David more on his friend’s account than his own. So many persons have lost their lives much in the same way, that it seemed probable the two boys would lose theirs.

We must now go back to the picnic party. Mr Sowton and Mr Burnaby, and a few of the other more elderly ladies and gentlemen, began at length to think it time to return home. The hampers were repacked and carried, some up the cliffs by the servants, and others on board the yachts; and Mr Sowton and Billy Burnaby acting, as they said, as whippers-in, began shouting and screeching at the top of their voices. Captain Rymer and Mr Moreton had gone on board their vessels to get ready, and thus there was no one actually in command. The boats to take off the party were rather small, and several trips had to be made. In the meantime, those who were returning home by land climbed up the steep path to the top of the cliff, where their carriages were waiting for them. When they were fairly off, each party inquired what had become of Harry and David. Captain Rymer’s yacht, the Arrow, was off the first, for the Psyche, Mr Moreton’s, fouled her anchor, and it was some time before it could be got up.

Mr Moreton thought that his son, and the young midshipman had, attracted by sweet Mary Rymer, gone on board the Arrow; while Mary, who, it must be owned, was rather sorry not to see them, took it for granted that Harry was returning, as he had come, by land, and that David had gone with him.

The yachts had a long beat back. As they got away from the land, the wind increased very much, and came in strong sharp cold gusts which made it necessary first to take in the gaff-topsails, and then one reef and then another in the mainsails. As the wind increased the sea got up, and the little vessels, more suited to fine weather than foul, had hard work to look up to the rising gale. Still there was no help for it. The tide helped them along, but by its meeting the wind much more sea was knocked up than if both had been going the same way. Had such been the case, the vessels could not have made good their passage. Darkness coming on made matters worse: poor old Mr Sowton became wonderfully silent, and Mr Burnaby, who was sitting on the deck of the cabin, holding on by the leg of the table, looked the very picture of woe. Mary Rymer, who was well accustomed to yachting, and a few others, kept up their spirits, though all hailed with no little satisfaction the lights which showed the entrance to Pencliffe harbour, into which they were bound.

Mr Moreton’s party had been at home some time, and most of the family had retired to their rooms, when they began to wonder why David had not appeared.

“He is probably still at the Rymers’, or has accompanied Harry to Mrs Merryweather’s,” said Mrs Moreton to her husband; still, as night drew on, she became somewhat anxious. Her anxiety increased when a servant came with a message from Mrs Merryweather to inquire why Mr Harry did not come home.

Mr Moreton himself now became even more anxious than his wife. Neither his daughters, nor some friends staying with them, remembered seeing either Harry or David for some time before they embarked.

Mr Moreton, putting on a thick coat, for it was now blowing very hard, went off to Captain Rymer’s house, which was close down to the bay, accompanied by Mrs Merryweather’s servant, and greatly alarmed the family by asking for his son and Harry.

“Why, did they not come back with you?” asked the captain. “No, we thought they were on board the Arrow,” answered Mr Moreton. “They may have gone with the Trevanians, but I do not think that Harry would have failed to come back to his mother. I will go back and see her. They must have set off by land, and there may have been an upset or a break-down. It will be all right tomorrow.”

The morrow, however, came, but the boys did not appear. Mr Moreton therefore rode over early to the Trevanians, but they knew nothing of the boys.

He now became seriously alarmed. As it was blowing too hard to go by sea, he sent a messenger to say that he should not be home for some hours, and continued on to the bay where the picnic had been held. Then he made inquiries at the nearest cottages, but no one had seen his son or Harry Merryweather. He went from cottage to cottage in vain, making inquiries.

At last a fisherman suggested that the beach should be searched. Mr Moreton at once set out with a party quickly assembled to perform the anxious task, dreading to find the mangled body of his son and his brave young friend. No signs of them could be found. Still his anxiety was in no respect lessened.

He stopped on his way back at one cottage which he had not before visited. He found the inmate, an old woman, in deep affliction. Her husband, old Jonathan Jefferies, a fisherman, when out on his calling, had perished during the gale in the night. He could sympathise with her, and as far as money help was concerned, he promised all in his power. With an almost broken heart he returned home to give the sad news to his wife and family.

Poor Mrs Merryweather, she was even still more to be pitied. To have her son restored to her, and then to find him snatched away again so suddenly, perhaps for ever!

Day after day passed by, and no news came of the much-loved missing ones.

Chapter Two.

On the Rocks—A Brave Lad—Saved—Tristram’s Fate—Still in a Boat.

“David, you must try to swim on shore, and save yourself,” exclaimed Harry Merryweather, looking at the foaming seas, which now began, with a deafening noise, to dash furiously round the rock on which he and his friend stood. “If you don’t go soon, you will not be able to get there at all. Leave me, I beg you. There is no reason why both should be lost.”

“No indeed, that I will not,” answered David, stoutly. “If I thought that I could get help by trying to swim on shore I would go, but I do not think there is a place near where I could find a boat.”

Harry did not speak for a minute or two.

At last he put his hand on David’s shoulder, and said, “I ask you again to swim on shore by yourself. I will pray for you as you are swimming, and you shall pray for me when you reach the beach. My dear mother taught me to pray when I was a child, and she has ever shown to me that God hears all faithful prayers, and in His good time grants them; so that I have always prayed since I went to sea, both when I was turning into my hammock, and when I was turning out; and I knew that my mother was praying for me too, for she is always praying for me; and I know that God hears those prayers, so you see that makes me very brave. I am sure that I can trust Him.”

“I am so glad to hear you say that,” answered David. “My father was teaching us just the same thing after reading the Bible at prayers the other night. It’s true—it’s true, I know.”

“Then trust to Him, and do as I ask you,” said Harry, earnestly. “Take off your jacket and shoes at all events—you will be back in time to save them and me also.”

“I don’t like leaving you at all, but I will do as you wish,” exclaimed David, after a moment’s further thought, taking off his jacket. As he did so he turned his head round seaward. “Hillo!—why, there is a boat,” he exclaimed. “She is under sail, standing this way.”

The boys together sprang back to the highest part of the rock, and David still holding his jacket waved it vehemently. It was a small fishing-boat, beating up from the westward. She was then standing in for the land, and Harry, whose nautical knowledge was not as yet by-the-bye very great, was doubtful where she would go about again before she got near enough for those on board to see them. All they could do was to wave and wave, and to shout—though their shouting, shrill as it was, would have been of no use.

David, who really knew more about boat-sailing than his naval friend, expressed his opinion that she was beating up for the little boat-harbour of Penmore, about two miles to the eastward. How anxiously they watched her, as the tide sweeping her along she drew nearer and nearer! The wind, having—as the expression is—backed into the south-east, enabled her to lay up well along shore, or their hope of being seen would have been small indeed. For some minutes longer she stood on almost directly for them; then at length she went about—high time, too, for she was getting near the breakers. Now was the moment for them to shout and wave, for if they were now neither seen nor heard they must abandon their hope of help from her, as by the next tack she would be a long way to the eastward. How eagerly they watched her! Again and again they waved and shouted.

“Yes, see—she is about,” cried Harry, joyfully. He was right—the boat was evidently standing towards them. Harry, forgetting all past dangers, shouted and danced for joy. Life was very sweet to him. He thought nothing of the ordinary risk of losing it which he was every day running—but this was out of the way, and he had almost made up his mind that he should not escape. There were two people in the boat—an old man and a boy. The sail was lowered, and getting out their oars they approached the rock cautiously. It would have been excessively dangerous to get close, as a heavier sea than usual might have driven the boat against the rock and dashed her to pieces. This Harry and David saw. The old man stood up in the boat, and beckoned to them. He was shouting also, but the thundering noise of the sea against the rock prevented them from hearing him.

“He wants us to swim out to the boats,” said David. “I am sure that I could do it, and I will bring in a rope for you.”

“Oh, I do not think that you could,” answered Harry. “The sea rolls in so heavily that you would be driven back. They might let the end of a rope, made fast to a cork or a float of some sort, drift in, and haul us off.” The plan was clearly a good one, and they made signals to the old man to carry it out; but either he did not understand them, or had not a rope long enough.

“I must go,” cried David, throwing off his coat and shoes. “Pray for me, remember.” He had been watching his opportunity: a heavy sea had just passed, and, before Harry could even say another word, slipping down to the edge of the rock, he glided in, giving himself all the impetus he could with his feet, and almost the next instant was breasting a sea at some distance from the rock. Harry watched him anxiously, not forgetting to pray. Now he seemed almost driven back, and now a foam-crested sea rolling in looked as if it would inevitably overwhelm him. Alas! yes—he disappeared.

“He is lost—he is lost!” cried Harry. But no. Directly after he was again seen on the surface, working his way up another advancing sea.

Harry was now guided chiefly by the gesticulations of the people in the boat,—that is to say, by the way the old man waved a hand, or looked out, for they had to keep their oars moving with all their might and main to avoid being driven dangerously near the rock. At length Harry, with thankfulness, saw David close to the boat but she seemed to be going from him—then the old man stood up—stretched out his arm, and David, well-nigh exhausted, was dragged into the boat. Harry saw that he was talking to the old man.

“What will he do? I hope that he will not attempt to swim back to the rock,” thought Harry; yet he felt very sure that he should never reach the boat by himself. As the boat rose on the top of a wave, Harry saw that David was employed in fastening several ropes together. The task which the old man and the boy could not perform, as they were obliged to continue rowing, he was able to do. Harry saw him very busy in the bottom of the boat, and now he lifted a water-cask into the sea, and veered away the rope over the stern. For some time Harry did not regain sight of the cask; at last he saw it on the top of a sea, but still a long way from the rock. He watched it anxiously; but still he doubted whether he should be able to get hold of it. It might, even if it reached the rock, be dashed to pieces. He got down as close to the water as he dared go, for the seas were dashing so high up the rock that he might easily be carried away by them—indeed, he was already wet through and through with the spray, which was flying in dense sheets over the rock, and in a few minutes more it seemed to him that it would be completely overwhelmed—indeed, any moment a sea might sweep over it. Harry had a brave heart, and as long as he had life was not likely to lose courage. He showed his coolness, indeed, for believing that the cask would soon reach him, he deliberately tied David’s jacket and shoes round his waist, that he might have the pleasure of restoring them to him. He had observed how David slipped into the water. There came the cask, nearer and nearer. Before it had time to touch the rock, he slid down into the sea, and struck out boldly for it, and throwing his arms over it caught the rope to which it was made fast, and drew himself up till his chest rested on it.

He then shouted at the top of his voice, “Haul in—all right.” David, however, could not hear him: but having watched him with intense eagerness, now began slowly to haul in the rope, while the old man and boy pulled the boat further off the rock. Harry held firmly on, though he almost lost his breath by the waters, which dashed in his face. He kept his senses, however, and had the wisdom to strike out with all his might with his feet, which greatly helped him on, and took off the drag from his arms which they would otherwise have felt.

As he rose to the top of a sea he again shouted out every now and then, “All right—haul away.” He was, however, not much inclined to shout by the time he got up to the stern of the boat. David, with the help of the old man, then quickly hauled him on board.

“And you have brought me my jacket and shoes,” exclaimed David, gladly putting them on, for he felt very cold directly the exertions he had just gone through ceased. The boys sincerely thanked God in their hearts that they were saved—though but a very few audible words of thanksgiving were uttered. No time, indeed, was to be lost in getting away from the rock.

The old man told David to go to the helm. “And you other young master take my oar and pull with all your might, while I sets the sails,” he added. A sprit-mainsail, much the worse for wear, and a little rag of a foresail were soon set. It was as much sail as the boat in the rising gale could carry, and away she flew seaward. The old man took the helm, and the boy, who had not spoken, laid in his oar, and facing forward, put his hand on the foresheet to be ready to go about when the word was given. The boat was somewhat old and battered, like its master,—the rigging especially seemed in a bad condition.

The old man saw the boys examining her, and divined their thoughts. “She’s not like one of your fine-painted yachts, young masters; but she has helped to save your lives, and she’ll serve my time, I’m pretty sure of that,” he observed. “She’ll be tried, howsomever, not a little to-night, I’m thinking. We were late as it was coming up from ‘Put off shoal,’ and this work with you made us still later, so that we shall have to be thankful if we get into Penmore harbour before the tide turns.”

“She is a good boat, no doubt, and at all events we are most thankful to you for having by her means saved our lives,” said David; and Harry repeated what he had said.

“No, young masters, it wasn’t I saved you, it was God. Don’t thank me. Man can do no good thing of himself, you know, and I couldn’t have saved you if it hadn’t been His will.” The fishing-boat went careering on over the foaming seas, guided by the skilful hand of the old man. It is surprising how much sea a small boat with good beam will go through when well managed. The old man was far more loquacious than the young one, who sat quite still forward, only every now and then turning his face aside as the spray dashed in it, and shaking the water from his sou’-wester.

To the boys’ inquiry of the old man to which place he belonged, “Little better than a mile to the eastward of where I took you aboard,” he replied; “but when the wind blows as it does now, there’s no place for landing nearer than Penmore harbour. That matters nothing, as we get a good market for our fish near there, and we have a good lot to sell, you see.” He pointed to the baskets in the centre of the boat, well filled with mackerel and several other kinds of fish. He told them that his name was Jonathan Jefferies, that he had married a Cornish woman, and settled in the parish, and that the lad was his grandson. “Not quite right up there,” he remarked, touching his forehead; “but he is a good lad, and knows how to do his duty. We call him Tristram Torr, for he is our daughter’s son. She is dead, poor thing, and his father was lost at sea, we suppose, for he went away and never came back.”

The old man thus continued giving scraps of his family history, till the gloom of evening gave way to the darkness of night. His chief regret at being out so late was that his old woman would be looking for him, as he had told her that he expected to be home earlier than usual. The darker it grew the less talkative, however, he became; indeed, all his attention was taken up in steering, for with the darkness the wind and sea increased, till the boat could hardly look up to it. At last Harry and David began to suspect that though they had escaped from the rock, they were in no small danger of being swamped, and thus, after all, losing their lives. Every now and then a heavy sea broke into the boat and half filled her. Still the boy Tristram said nothing, but turning round took a bailer from under the thwart, and began energetically bailing away. Harry and David did the same with their hats, till old Jefferies handed them a bucket, with which they more rapidly cleared the boat. They had to be quick about it, for scarcely was she free of water than another sea came in and again half filled her. It seemed also pretty evident to them that instead of going to windward she was making leeway, though, as the tide was still running to the eastward, she was going in that direction. The two boys were feeling thoroughly chilled and uncomfortable; they were, of course, wet to the skin, and the wind was strong and keen, and even when they sat down, by the old man’s advice, in the bottom of the boat, their legs were in water. Still they kept up their spirits, and when the water washed into the boat they were glad to jump up and bail it out again. Besides that they were in danger of being swamped, it appeared to the midshipman and his friend that there was a great risk of being run down. Already two or three phantom-like forms had suddenly appeared out of the darkness, and gliding by were soon lost to sight.

The boy, however, had made no remark about them; suddenly he shouted, “Grandfather, a sail on the weather-bow.”

“About, then,” cried the old man. Harry and David looked out, and saw, almost ahead of them, towering to the skies it seemed, a dark pyramid of canvas.

“She is a big ship running down channel,” said Harry. “She will be over us! she will be over us!” The boat was at that moment in stays, going about. Scarcely had he spoken, when there was a loud crack. The mast went by the board, and as it came down struck the old man on the head. He would have fallen overboard had not Harry and David seized his coat and dragged him in.

“Here, pull, masters,” cried Tristram, trying to get out both the oars. In doing so he let one of them go overboard; both would have gone had not Harry, springing forward, seized the other. But poor Tristram, in endeavouring to regain the one he had lost, overbalanced himself, and met the fate his grandfather had just escaped. Harry threw the oar over to the side on which he had fallen, but the poor lad in vain endeavoured to clutch it. There was a piercing cry; Harry thought he saw a hand raised up through the darkness, and then he neither saw nor heard more.

How came it that the boy’s cry did not rouse the grandfather? Sad to say, he lay without moving at the bottom of the boat.

“This is fearful,” cried David, feeling the old man’s face and hands; “I am afraid that he is dead, and the poor lad gone too. What are we to do?”

“Keep the boat’s head to the sea as long as we can with one oar, and then up helm and run before the wind,” answered Harry, who knew that such was the way a big ship would be managed under similar circumstances. David sat at the helm, and Harry vigorously plied his oar—now on one side, now on the other, and thus managed to keep the boat from getting broadside to the sea. It was very hard work, however, and he felt that, even though relieved by David, it could not be kept up all night. Several times David felt the old man’s face; it was still warm, but there was no other sign of life. The boat was broad and deep, or she would very quickly have been turned over. This, however, made her very heavy to pull, while from the same cause the sea continually washed into her. At length they agreed that she must be put before the wind. They waited for a lull, and then getting her quickly round, hoisted the jib, which had been before taken in, to the end of the spreet, which they lashed to the stump of the mast. The wind blew as strong as ever, but the tide having turned there was less sea than before, and thus away they went down channel, at a far greater rate than they supposed.

“It is going to be only a summer gale,” observed Harry. “When the morning comes we shall be easily able to rig a fore and aft sail, and stand in for the shore. The poor, good old man, I am very sorry for him, and so I am for the boy; but for ourselves it does not so much matter, except that we shall have to breakfast on raw fish, and perhaps after all not get home to dinner. My dear mother, too, and Jane, may be frightened, and I don’t like the thought of that.”

“Yes, to be sure, I forgot that; I am afraid those at my home will be frightened too, when they hear nothing of us,” said David. “One comfort is, that we did not keep away intentionally, though, to be sure, it was thoughtless of us to be caught by the tide as we were. But don’t let us think of ourselves; better let us see what we can do for this poor old man. I believe that he is still alive, though how to bring him round I don’t know. If we had any liquor to give him we might pour it down his throat, but as we have nothing we must keep his head up and let him lay quiet till daylight,” said Harry.

David was thoroughly accustomed to boat-sailing, so that he was well able to keep the boat dead before the wind. The sea came curling up astern, but none broke over her; had even one done so it would have sent her to the bottom. A very little conversation took place after this. Only Harry, fearing that he and his friend might lose heart, every now and then said something to keep up their spirits. It was somewhat forced, it must be owned, for they both saw that their position was very critical. The hours passed slowly by—now the one, now the other took the helm. Morning broke at last; they looked out, expecting to see the land aboard on the starboard hand, but not a glimpse of land was visible—nothing but sea and sky on every side around of a leaden grey hue—not a streak in the horizon showed where the sun was rising. They could only guess by the wind the points of the compass. Harry proposed hauling up for where they supposed the land to be, but David considered that such a proceeding would be dangerous, and that it would be safer to run on till the weather moderated and they could get sail on the boat. They neither of them sufficiently calculated the strength of the tide, which, running for six hours, had carried them many miles to the eastward. The old man was alive, but sat perfectly still at the bottom of the boat. It seemed indeed doubtful if, after remaining in that state so long, he would ever recover. Their anxiety prevented them from feeling hungry; indeed, as yet, they fancied that they could not bring themselves to eat raw fish. They now tried various means to bring the old man to consciousness, by rubbing his hands and his feet, and occasionally his forehead. It is difficult to say whether these means had any effect. At length, at all events, he slowly opened his eyes; then he closed them again, and they thought that he was dying. Then once more he opened them, and looked about him with a puzzled and pained expression of countenance. Now he gazed inquiringly at David—now at Harry.

“Where is Tristram? where is my grandson?” he asked, speaking very slowly. “Gone! gone! oh, don’t say that. What have you done with him, my young masters?”

With sad hearts the boys told him how the accident had happened.

“Then may God take me to my boy, my poor boy,” he exclaimed hiding his face in his hands, and sinking back once more into the bottom of the boat.

Chapter Three.

Where were they?—Raw Fish—Sleep—The Brig without a Crew—An Aged Christian.

The gale continued blowing harder than ever, and had not the boat been built especially to encounter heavy seas, she would very soon have been swamped. It was only by careful steering, indeed, that this could be avoided, while the two boys took it by turns to bail out the water which occasionally came in over the gunwale in rather alarming quantities. Still they did not lose courage. They, however, grew very hungry, and began to look wistfully at the hamper of fish.

“I wish we had a stove of some sort, that we might cook some of these fish,” said David, holding up a mackerel. “I am getting fearfully ravenous.”

“Just scrape off the scales and take out the inside of one of them, and hand it to me,” answered Harry, who was steering. “I have seen seamen eat raw fish, and raw meat too, and the islanders in the South Seas I know do, so we must if we are not to starve.”

David prepared the fish as directed, during the intervals of bailing. Still he could not bring himself to eat any. Harry’s inside was more seasoned. A midshipman’s berth in those days did not allow of any squeamishness.

“Just pour a little water into the tin mug, it will help it down,” he said, after he had taken a few mouthfuls of the fish.

They had found a tin mug, with a jar of fresh water. They husbanded the water carefully, and David poured out very little, lest it should be jerked out of the mug as the boat was tossed about. Harry dipped the bits of fish into the water before eating them. It took away somewhat of the raw taste, he fancied. Still he very soon came to an end of his meal.

“I shall do better another time,” he observed, putting the remainder of the fish down by his side, and drinking up the water.

David sat for some time very silent, bailing out the water. At last he looked into the basket and took out a fish, which he began to scrape with his knife. He held it in one hand while he bailed with the other, then he scraped a little more, and finally cleaned the fish completely. He looked at it, his lips curled, as is often the case when a person is about to take nauseous physic. A pang came into his inside. He could stand the hunger no longer, and, putting the fish between his teeth, he began to gnaw away at a great rate. He far outdid Harry. When the water rose to the side of the boat, he dipped the fish into it. It added to the flavour, and made it more digestible. The boys were thankful that there was not much risk of their starving as long as the fish kept good and the water lasted. It was not food that would keep them in health for any length of time; yet it stopped the pangs of hunger, and that was a great thing. All this time they were looking out for some abatement in the gale, but not a break appeared in the mass of dark lead-coloured clouds which formed a canopy above their heads, reaching down to the horizon on every side.

“Whereabouts do you think we are?” asked David, after a long silence.

Harry thought for some time.

“Somewhere in the chops of the British Channel, to the westward of Scilly, I fear,” he answered. “Possibly, if the wind shifts to the southward, we may get driven up the Irish Channel, and then it will be a tremendous time before we get home; I may be wrong, but I fear not.”

“That’s what I think too,” said David. “I wish that the old man was sensible. We might consult him what to do.”

Old Jefferies, however, continued in the same unconscious state as before. They had some hope of getting assistance from any vessels which might pass them, but though they saw a number at a distance gliding quickly by, not one came near them. On they drove, further and further they feared from land. Again darkness came on. They were very drowsy, but they feared, should they yield to sleep, that the boat would be swamped. Harry had, he said, more practice in keeping awake, so he insisted that David should lie down on one of the thwarts and take an hour’s rest, while he could steer and bail out at the same time.

“I can manage it,” answered David, with a yawn, stretching himself out on a seat, and in less than half a minute he was sound asleep.

Poor Harry had very hard work to keep awake. He could not venture to remain sitting. More than once his eyes closed. Phantom shapes passed before his eyes, strange sounds came into his ears, shrieks, cries, and groans; sometimes he heard, he thought, shouts from afar. His brain swam round. In another instant he would have lost all consciousness. He had to spring to his feet, and to bail away with one hand while he held the tiller with the other. He would not venture to sit down again; indeed, the high, green, rolling, froth-topped seas, by which he was surrounded, were sufficient to keep him awake. At last, putting down the skid, he looked at his watch. It was past six o’clock. David had slept more than his allotted hour, and yet he could scarcely bring himself to awake him.

“Poor fellow, he is not so accustomed to this sort of work as I am,” he said to himself. “After that long swim, too, he requires rest, and had it not been for his courage I should no longer have been in this world. I’ll try and keep awake a little longer.”

Harry did his best to do as he intended. He kept moving his feet, he talked aloud, he sang even. He looked at old Jefferies. He thought he was nodding his head and answering him, but he could not make out what was said. At last he felt that, if David did not wake up and come to his relief, he should drop down, and the boat would broach to, and they would all be drowned.

“David! David!” he tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. Still he kept the tiller in his hand, striving steadily. He made one more effort. “David! help! help!” he shouted. David’s mind was far away in his father’s garden, with his sisters and sweet Mary Rymer. He was telling them about Harry being in danger, but he had forgotten he was with his friend. At last he heard himself called. He started up, and was just in time to seize the tiller, which Harry had that instant let slip from his grasp, as he sank down to the bottom of the boat. In another second of time the boat would have broached to. The gloom of evening was coming on rapidly, and there was but a dreary prospect for poor David. He still felt very sleepy, and had almost as much difficulty in keeping awake as before. He managed to drag Harry to one side, and to place some of the nets under his head as a pillow, but no moving had the effect of rousing him up. David felt as he had never felt before; sitting there, the only being conscious of external affairs in that lone boat, running on amidst those huge billows. As long as the gale continued, on the boat must go, he well knew, or run almost the certainty of being swamped. The short sleep he had enjoyed had refreshed him, and he thought that he should now be able to keep awake. He felt very hungry, though. No wonder! Most people would have been hungry who had eaten nothing but raw fish during upwards of twenty-four hours. He, however, would now have been very glad to get some more raw fish, but he could not reach the hamper, and he dared not leave the helm for an instant. There was a locker under where he sat. He had just bailed out the boat, when stooping down, he put his hand in, and, feeling round, discovered to his great joy a large piece of bread, the best part of a quartern loaf. It was very stale, but he was not inclined to be particular. Never had he tasted bread so sweet. He took, though, only a small portion, as he did not like to eat more without having Harry to share it with him, or old Jefferies, if he could be aroused. The bread, with a little fresh water, greatly revived him. He thought, indeed, that he should be able to keep awake all the night, if Harry should sleep on. He tried his best. He stood up, then he bailed, but as much less water came into the boat than before, he had but little to do in that way. He tried to sing and whistle, but the tunes were somewhat melancholy. The wind was certainly decreasing, and the sea going down. “I must wake up Harry, and then, if we can but manage to rig a fore and aft sail, we might haul our wind, and stand to the north-east,” he said to himself. “But which is the north-east, I wonder? The wind may have changed, and there is not a break in the clouds. Without a compass, how can we find our way? If the clouds clear away, the stars would help us—at least, I suppose Harry knows all about them. I wish that I did. But I was lazy, and to this moment am not quite certain as to the look of the Polar Bear. I remember that the North Star is in that. However, we could not do much yet, and, with her beam to the sea, the boat would not be steady enough to rig our mast properly. We must wait patiently till morning. Dear me, how heavy my head feels! They must be all wondering what has become of us at home. I hope they don’t think we are lost. That is the worst part of the business. It will not be pleasant to live upon raw fish for very long, but I suppose that it will keep us alive, and probably we shall fall in with some vessel or other, which will tow us home. That will be very nice. What a pleasant picnic we had, and Harry to come home just in time, and Mary Rymer, and what a dear—oh! how pleasant—how—” Poor David was asleep. No wonder, after having been awake for so many hours, and only just a little more than one hour’s rest on a hard plank. He still held the tiller, and instinctively moved it to or from him, as he felt the boat inclined to broach to. His eyes, indeed, were not quite closed, so that in reality he saw the seas as they rolled before him, and perhaps steered almost as well as he had done before. Meantime the old man remained in a state of stupor, and Harry slept as soundly as a “church door,” or rather as midshipmen are generally supposed to do. Thus the boat must have gone on for hours. Happily, the wind and sea were going down, or it would have been a serious matter to the boys. It will be understood that, after an easterly gale in the Channel, the sea goes down more rapidly than after a westerly one, when there has been a commotion across the whole sweep of the Atlantic. Suddenly a loud concussion and a continued grating sound made both David and Harry start to their feet, and they saw what seemed a huge black mass towering above them. What could it be?

“A ship! a ship!” shouted Harry. “Heave a rope here!”

No one answered. As the boat was slowly rubbing by the side of the ship (for Harry was right in his conjecture), he found a rope hanging overboard. With the activity of a seaman he secured the end round the fore-thwart of the boat, while David hauled down the sail—not that that was of any consequence, as the wind had fallen almost to a calm. Again Harry, joined by David, shouted loudly, but no one answered.

“I believe the ship is abandoned,” he observed. “Yes, I am sure she is, for I see no masts. She is not quite so large, either, as I thought at first—a brig probably. However, we shall soon have daylight, and know all about it.”

The dawn was already breaking, but no roseate hue was seen in the sky, to indicate the position of the rising sun. Although the sea had gone down greatly, still the boat struck heavily every now and then against the vessel, as she rolled slowly from side to side. There was, indeed, great danger that she would be stove in, if not altogether swamped. The boys, therefore, agreed that the sooner they could get on board the better.

“We shall find some food, at all events; and if we can get nothing more, we may shove off again,” observed David.

“Oh! I hope we shall get much more than that,” exclaimed Harry, in a confident tone. “What do you think of a compass, and sail, and spars, and rigging for our boat, and if so we shall without difficulty be able to find our way home. Hurrah! what do you think of that?”

“I did not fancy that we were likely to be so fortunate,” answered David. “To think that we should have run directly against a ship out in the ocean here! What shall we do now?”

“Why, get on board ourselves, and then hoist the old man up,” answered Harry. “We must not leave him in the boat, lest she should get stove in.”

The boys quickly scrambled up the ship’s side. Both her masts were gone, and the bowsprit had been carried away, with a considerable portion of the bulwarks, when the masts fell, and all her boats and caboose. Altogether she had a very forlorn appearance, while there was no sign of a human being on board. Their first care was to get up the old man. Harry leaped down into the cabin of the brig, and instantly returned with a long horsehair sofa cushion. “We must pass straps round this, and parbuckle him up,” he observed. Fortunately a davit remained. To this they secured a tackle, and David, jumping into the boat to pass the cushion under old Jefferies, they soon had him up safe on deck. They then, having got up the hamper of fish, with the bread and the jar of water, veered the boat away with a hawser astern. They were now able for the first time to attend to the old man. They examined his head, and finding where he had been struck, bathed the place with water, and they also poured a few drops of water down his throat. This seemed to revive him greatly, and at last they thought that they might leave him, to examine the vessel. The cold dull grey light of the early morning enabled them to do so. The brig had not long been deserted, and great was their satisfaction to find all sorts of things to eat on board—biscuits, and even soft bread, though it was rather stale, and a box of eggs, and bacon and cheese, and even some cooked meat, and there were also melons, and oranges, and dried figs, and grapes, and other fruits, which showed that she had probably come from a warm country, where these fruits grew; indeed, they afterwards learned from some papers they found, that she was the Fair Ianthe, and was from the Mediterranean, homeward bound. While Harry and David were examining one of the lockers, they felt something moving against their legs. They looked down, and saw a fine white cat, which by her movements, and the pleased purrs she gave when she saw that she was noticed, seemed to welcome them.

“She must be a fairy, or the good genius of the ship,” exclaimed David. “Or, if she is a mere mortal cat, she must be very hungry, as I am sure I am, so let us go up and breakfast on deck, and try and get the old man to eat something.”

“Do you know, I think that he would do much better down below, if we could take off his wet things, and put him to bed,” observed Harry.

To this David agreed, and, after they had eaten a little bread, for they would not give themselves time to take more, they contrived, with considerable exertion, to lower old Jefferies into the cabin, and to put him into bed. This done, they lighted a fire in the cabin stove, and made tea and boiled some eggs, and did some rashers. They wisely, also, took off their own wet things, which they hung up to dry, while they put on some clothes which they found in the cabin. What a hearty breakfast they made!—and if it had not been for the thoughts of the poor lad who had gone overboard, and the anxiety of their friends, they would have pronounced themselves very jolly. As it was, it cannot be said that they were very unhappy. At last they contrived to get old Jefferies to swallow some tea, and a little substantial food, for which he seemed much the better, and in a few minutes they had the satisfaction of seeing him drop off into a sound sleep.

Harry and David returned to their meal, for they still felt somewhat hungry. They soon began to nod, and at last David’s head dropped on the table.

“I shall be off too, if I don’t jump on deck and look after the boat, and see how the weather is,” said Harry. He found the boat secure, but the weather very dull and far from promising, though there was then but little wind. He scanned the horizon. Not a sail was in sight, and unless with a stronger breeze than then blew, none could approach for some time to come. On examining the vessel he thought that there was no danger of her sinking; indeed, except that she had lost her mast, he could not make out why she had been deserted. He judged by the way she rolled that she was slightly leaking, and had made some water. “We’ll pump her out by and by, and she will be all right till we get a fair breeze to return home,” he thought to himself. “Perhaps we may carry her in, and obtain salvage. That would be very fine, better than all the prize-money I am likely to make for a long time to come.” Such were the ideas that floated through his mind as he returned to the cabin. A comfortable-looking bed invited him to rest, and rousing up David for a moment, he made him crawl half asleep into another. Both of them in half a second were soundly sleeping, and had the tempest again arisen, they would not probably have awakened then.

Very different would have been the case had Harry been a captain, but the cares and responsibilities of midshipmen are light, and their slumbers sound. Hours passed by, when they both started up, hearing a voice crying out, “Where am I? What has happened? Ah me! ah me!” It was old Jefferies who spoke. They went to him. He had returned to consciousness, and now remembered the loss of his grandson. They did their best to comfort the old man. They felt that they had been remotely the cause of the lad’s death. “No fault of yours, young gentlemen,” he answered to a remark one of them had made; “it was God’s will to call the boy home. We must never murmur at what God chooses to do. He knows what’s best for us. Ah, if you had heard Mr Wesley preach, as I often have, you’d understand these things better than you do, perhaps.” They were glad to let him talk on, as the doing so seemed to divert his mind from his grief. He told them much about the great preacher, and among other things that he was never stopped by weather from keeping an appointment, and that though wet through, with his high boots full of water, he would deliver his message of love to an assembled congregation before he would change his garments.

While they were all asleep the fire had gone out. They relighted it, and cooked an abundance of their fish, and spread their table with it, and several other things they had discovered. They little knew how the time had gone by, and were therefore greatly surprised to find darkness again coming on. The two lads hurried on deck, followed by old Jefferies. The sky was still obscured. No land was in sight, and only two or three sails could be observed in the far distance. They watched them, but they were steering away from the ship. It was evidently too late, even if old Jefferies had been strong enough, to leave her that day. They therefore made up their minds to pass another night on board, and to leave early the next day.

“If the sky is clear we may do so,” observed Harry. “But I have hunted everywhere, and can find no compass; so that unless we can see the stars, we shall be unable to steer a right course. If we venture to make the attempt, we may perhaps find ourselves far away in the Atlantic, and never be able to return.”

Chapter Four.

A Storm—The Boat lost—A Discovery—Harry saves David’s Life—Pumping—The Strange Sail.

Another night began on board the wreck. The boys, however, saw nothing unpleasant in the prospect. They had plenty of food and firing, their clothes were dry, old Jefferies appeared to be recovering, and they hoped he would be able to assist them in navigating the boat homeward. They agreed that they would be up by daylight, and fit the boat with a mast and sails and oars, besides loading her with as many provisions as she could carry. They felt rather chilly, so they made up a fire, and sat chatting over it quite comfortably, till they almost forgot they were out on the ocean, no land in sight, in a dismasted vessel, and all by themselves. Harry again broached the idea of carrying in the ship herself, but David doubted whether they could manage to do so. Harry then explained that they might form jury-masts out of a number of spars lashed together, and that sails might be hoisted on these, fixed in different parts of the deck.

“The rudder is in good order, so that we may just as easily find our way to the land, and into port, I hope, in the ship, as in the boat; while we shall be far more comfortable, and not much longer about it, I should think,” he remarked. “I only fear lest an enemy’s cruiser should see us, and either take possession of the brig, or burn her, and carry us off prisoners.”

“Not much chance of that, I should hope,” answered David. “We should not prove a prize of much value, after all.”

“Oh, indeed! they would think it no small thing to capture a British naval officer,” remarked the young mid, drawing himself up to his full height, which was not very great; “and I vote we do not give in without a fight for it.”

“But I only saw two guns on deck, and I do not think that we should be able to work them, even if we can find powder and shot,” said David.

“Oh, there is a store of both on board, depend on it, and if we put on a bold face, we may drive off an enemy, provided he is not a very big one,” answered the midshipman.

Some time was occupied in these discussions. They then went on deck and looked about them. Though a long slow swell swept as it were occasionally across the ocean, the surface was otherwise perfectly smooth; indeed, there was not a breath of air to disturb it, but a thick mist hung over the sea, which prevented any objects from being seen even at a short distance off. This was as likely to prove advantageous to them as the contrary; and so, having taken a short walk on dock, they went below, said their prayers, found that the old man was asleep, turned in and followed his example. Harry knew perfectly well that, according to strict discipline, a watch ought to have been kept, but he and David agreed that, as there was a calm, they could not be run down, and that the wreck was not likely to drift far from where they then were, while it was clearly far pleasanter to be asleep than walking the deck. Hitherto they had not had time to examine the hold or the fore part of the vessel. This, however, they purposed doing in the morning. Happy time of youth! They slept very soundly and comfortably, looking forward with confidence to the future, and little dreaming what was to happen. When people have been deprived of their night’s rest, they frequently sleep a very long time on a stretch. Harry was awaked by David, who exclaimed—

“Dear me! the ship is tumbling about fearfully; the gale must have sprung up again.”

He then heard old Jefferies say, in a weak voice, “What, lads, are you there? I was afraid that you had deserted the old man.”

“No, no, we would not do that,” answered David. “But I am afraid that the ship must be shaken to pieces if this continues.”

“If she has floated through one gale she may float through another. We must trust in God,” said the old man. “Ah me! I am very feeble. If we couldn’t put our faith in Him, we should be badly off indeed. I cannot help myself, much less you.”

Harry was by this time fully awake, and called David to follow him on deck, to ascertain what was the matter. When David got there, he wished himself below again. The gale had returned with tenfold fury, and the helpless ship was driving before it, surrounded by high foaming and roaring seas; the mist had cleared away, but the clouds were as thick as ever, chasing each other across the sky. Nothing else was to be seen. Mountain waves and dark clouds almost pressing down on their heads—no sail in sight to bring them assistance. So violently was the ship tossed about, that they could scarcely keep their feet, even by holding on.

“Oh, the boat! the boat!” shouted David. Just before, they had seen her still afloat, secured by the hawser, when a heavy sea, rolling towards the ship, broke aboard the boat, and filled her in an instant. She rose on the top of a high foaming sea, when the thwart to which the two ropes were secured was torn out of her, and the next moment she sunk from sight. The boys looked at each other for a minute or more without speaking.

“We shall have to stick to the ship now, at all events,” said Harry at last.

“I hope that the ship will stick to us, and keep afloat, then,” remarked David.

“We’ll sound the well presently, and see what water she has in her,” said Harry. “In the meantime, let us go down into the hold, and see of what her cargo consists. Much depends on that, whether or not she keeps afloat. I want to have a look into the fore peak also; I cannot make out why the vessel should have been deserted.”

The main hatch was on, and as it would have been dangerous to lift it, even if they could have done so, when any moment the deck might have been swept by a sea, they worked their way on to the fore hatch. This was not secured. They descended. It was some time before they could see about them in the close, dark, and dirty abode of the seamen. On either side were bed-places, one above another, with a few large wooden chests below them, and jackets and trousers, and various other articles, hanging up against the bulkhead. They observed nothing of consequence, and as the atmosphere was stirring, they were about to climb up again on deck, when a low groan was heard. Both were brave fellows, but it must be confessed that their hearts sunk, and their first impulse was to hurry up the ladder as fast as they could go. Again there was a groan. They looked at each other. Was it a human voice? There could be little doubt about that. Where could it come from? They stopped for a few seconds, holding on to the ladder, to recover their composure. The voice came from one of the berths; of that they were soon satisfied. Just then Harry observed a small locker close to the ladder, and putting in his hand found a candle and tinder-box. A light was soon struck; and they approached the berth whence the groans had proceeded. It is not surprising that they should have started back with horror. The dim light of the candle fell on the ghastly features of a human being, who, except that his eyes moved wildly, might have been taken for a corpse. His beard was long and tangled, and blood, which had flowed from a fearful gash across his brow, stained the blankets in which he was wrapped. His eyes were staring wildly, his mouth was open. He seemed at the point of death. Yet he was not dying of starvation, for within his reach hung a bottle of water and a bag of biscuits. Why, however, he had been deserted was a mystery which he himself seemed incapable of solving. In vain Harry and David asked him. Not a word did he speak in answer to their questions. He was, however, conscious of their presence, they thought, by the way his eyes followed them as they moved about the cabin. Had they discovered him before, they might have been of some assistance to him, but they could not now even attempt to move him into another berth. David, however, undertook to get some better food from the cabin. Harry did not feel altogether comfortable when left alone with the dying man. He looked so horrible, and the groans which he uttered were so fearful. David seemed to be absent a long time. He did not like to leave the wretched man, or he would have gone to look for him. What could have become of David? The sea every now and then washed with a loud sound across the deck. Could he have been carried away by it? How dreadful the thought! He went back to the dying man, and stood over him, hoping that he might return, to consciousness. Suddenly the man sat up, and pointing with his thin hand across the cabin, uttered a loud shriek, and sinking back was a corpse. The young midshipman was left alone in the dark fore peak of the sinking vessel. The sad thought came across him that perhaps he might be the only living person on board. Old Jefferies was apparently on the point of death, and perhaps David had been washed overboard. As he could be of no use where he was, he determined to ascertain the worst, and climbed up on deck, immediately closing the hatch again. He looked about him. David was not to be seen. Even during the time he had been below matters had grown worse—the ship was tumbling about more than ever, and the seas, which rose high above the bulwarks, seemed every instant about to engulf her. But where was David? He worked his way, not without great danger of being carried overboard, to the companion hatch, over which, stooping down, he shouted David’s name. His heart sank within him. There was no answer. “David! David!” he cried again. “Oh, David, where are you?” Was his dear brave friend really gone? Just then he observed that some rigging had been washed over the starboard quarter, and he fancied that he heard a faint cry. From the temporary position of the wreck, the sea ceased just then to break aboard. Harry sprang aft, and there, clinging desperately to the rigging, now almost under water, now lifted into the air, as the stern of the ship was thrown upwards, he saw David. His friend recognised him, but seemed unable to speak. Though Harry could not swim he could climb well, and was strong and active. His immediate impulse was to fasten a rope round his own waist, the other end secured round a stanchion, and to spring towards David. “We will die together,” he said to himself as he did so, “or I will save him. May we be protected!” He alighted on a spar close to David, whose arm he saw was caught by a rope, from which he could not disengage himself. To do this without the risk of his friend being washed away was no easy task. He succeeded at length, however, in doing so, and by an effort, of which he would not have thought himself capable, he scrambled up on deck again by means of the tangled mass of ropes, and tattered sails and spars, which hung overboard. Then, dreading that another sea would come and sweep them back together into the seething ocean, they tottered to the companion hatchway, down which Harry half dragged, half carried his friend, closing the hatch above him. Scarcely had he done so than a tremendous blow on the hatch, and the loud rushing sound of the water as it passed over the deck, told them that another sea had broken aboard, which would in all probability have swept them away to destruction. They fell on their knees in thankfulness as they reached the cabin, that they had been thus providentially preserved. They then went to the berth in which old Jefferies lay. He was still too weak to move, but perfectly sensible. They told him what had just occurred, and of the death of the poor seaman whom they had discovered in the fore peak. He could not conjecture why the man had been left there. The boys, however, thought that, by examining all the papers, they might elucidate the mystery. They feared, from the appearance of the poor stranger, that some foul deed had been done on board. Now, however, they were more concerned about themselves. The brig had hitherto withstood all the buffeting she had received without apparently leaking much, but would she continue to do so? Old Jefferies thought not. He had heard, he said, strange sounds as he lay in bed, which he knew well proceeded from water forcing its way into the hold, or rather from the air which was thereby forced out—groans, and sighs, and low cries.

“Some people, when they hear these sounds for the first time, think that the ship is full of ghosts and spirits, and that they are crying out that she is going down,” observed the old man. “But I know better. I wish that I hadn’t heard them, for they make me sad. Not for myself, though, for I am well-nigh worn out, and that poor boy’s death weighs heavy on me. I daren’t face his grandmother, and tell her that he is gone. But, boys, I am sorry for you. You are young and full of life, and there are many who love you on shore, and will mourn your loss.”

“What, do you think that the ship is going down?” exclaimed Harry and David together, in a very natural tone of dismay.

“It would be cruel in me not to tell you so, and I hope that you are prepared to die, my boys,” answered the old man. “Still I don’t say but that in God’s mercy you may escape. A vessel may heave in sight in time to take you off, or you may build a raft, and it may float you till you are picked up. I don’t say give in, but be prepared for the worst.”

The boys listened calmly to what the old man said.

“We will hope for the best, rig the pumps, and try and keep her free,” answered Harry.

“Not much hope of that, I fear,” said the old man. “We can but try,” exclaimed David. “Let us go on deck at once, and see what we can do.”

“You may be washed overboard if you go now on deck,” said old Jefferies. “You must wait till the sea goes down again somewhat, and you may then pump away with a will.”

The latter part of this advice the boys agreed, after waiting some time, to disregard. If the ship was sinking, the sooner the water could be pumped out of her the better. They fancied, also, that she rolled less than before. In spite of the old man’s warnings, they once more, therefore, found their way on deck. The state of the wreck seemed almost hopeless, but, like brave boys as they were, they still kept to their resolution of trying to pump out the water. They fortunately found the brake of the pump, as the handle is called, and shipping it, began to work away with might and main. The water quickly came up in a clear, bright stream, which told too plainly, without their sounding the well, the large amount of water which had either leaked in or found its way below. They had left their coats and shoes in the cabin, everything that would encumber them, in case they should be washed from their hold. The waves rose up around them, the spray in dense showers dashing every instant over their heads, and almost blinding them when it struck them in the face. Still undaunted they stood at their post.

“This must tell,” exclaimed David, as he watched the full stream flowing from the pump. “If we get the ship clear, all may yet be well.”

“It may be coming in faster than we are pumping it out,” said Harry. “Still it may keep us afloat till help comes.”

“I am afraid that there is not much prospect of that,” said David. “Though, to be sure, we cannot be so very far from land, or those screeching seagulls would not be hovering about us.”

“They have powerful wings, and can fly a long way from land,” observed Harry. “Those come probably from the west coast of Ireland.”

These remarks were made at intervals and by jerks, as it were, while they stopped pumping for an instant to change their position. They were encouraged to persevere, first, by believing that their efforts were producing some effect on the amount of water in the ship, and then, by observing that the sea was again going down. During one of these intervals, when the wreck had been thrown higher up than usual, Harry exclaimed, “A sail! a sail! she is standing this way.”

The glimpse was momentary, and before David could catch sight of the stranger the ship had again sunk into the trough of the sea. In vain David looked out for the ship. Still Harry asserted that he was not mistaken. After pumping for some time they were compelled to knock off from fatigue. For fear of being washed away they lashed themselves to the stump of the nearest mast, and thus secured they lay down on the wet deck to rest. Again they rose bravely to their work, but each tune they had to stop pumping they rested for a longer period, and continued pumping after it for a shorter period.

David, at last, caught sight of the vessel Harry had seen, and was also of opinion that she was approaching them. The hope of being saved, which had never died, now grew stronger and stronger. Now, as the wreck was lifted up the side of a sea, or the stranger mounted a foaming billow, her whole hull was visible, and they saw she was a long, low black schooner. Even at that distance Harry did not like her appearance. To satisfy himself he went to the companion hatch, inside of which a telescope was hung up. With it both he and David took a more exact examination of the stranger, and came to the same conclusion.

“She is not an English craft, of that I am certain,” observed Harry. “She may be a privateer, but is more like those rascally pirates who infest the West Indies and African coast, and used to be found down on the Spanish main; she has a large crew, too, I see. Now, I suspect, if we were to get aboard her the fellows would make us join them or walk the plank. Still, it might be better to pretend to enter on board than to go down with this wreck. What do you say?”

“If yonder craft is of the character you fancy, I say let us stick to the wreck; but we will ask old Jefferies what he thinks about it—we wouldn’t leave him on any account; at the same time, if he wishes to go, I should say that we ought to go.”

“I agree with you,” answered Harry. “Let us pump away till she gets nearer, and then we will go and consult Jefferies.”

The schooner approached, and a nearer view only confirmed the boys in their opinion of her character. Why she came near the wreck it was difficult to say. Another look through the spy-glass showed them a number of men on board and several guns on her deck.

“I do not suppose they will trouble themselves about us unless we hail them, and then, perhaps, they might endeavour to take us off the wreck, but I am not quite certain about it,” observed Harry. They were standing while speaking inside the companion hatch, with their heads just above it.

The schooner was coming up fast. Suddenly the ports nearest them were opened, wreaths of smoke burst forth, and several shots whistled close above their heads, one going through the bulwarks and ploughing up the deck. Their impulse was to jump below. They could do nothing to help themselves, but they hoped that the strangers would not continue to make a target of them.

Jefferies had heard the shots, and wondered why they had been fired. When they told him their suspicions, he advised them to keep below.

“I have my thoughts on the subject,” he remarked. “Hark! they are firing again; there! another shot struck the ship. If it was not for the heavy sea running we should be worse off than we are. It is no easy matter to take aim from the deck of a craft tumbling about as the schooner must be. If it was, depend upon it there would be a score or more sent into the brig between wind and water.”

“But why should the schooner’s people be so anxious to make a target of the brig?” asked David.

“To sink her,” answered the old man. “They think, if fallen in with, she might tell a tale they don’t wish to have known. That’s my notion, but I may be wrong.”

“There they go again at it!” exclaimed Harry. “Two shots struck us. Don’t you think, David, that we had better go on deck and show ourselves? They would scarcely try to sink the wreck if they found that there were people on board, even though they might not take us off.”

“The very reason that would make them still more anxious to send us to the bottom. You had better not show yourselves,” said the old man; but the lads did not hear him, for they were already on their way on deck.

Chapter Five.

Making a Raft—Afloat on it—The Grief at Home—Captain Rymer’s Appointment—The Voyage.

That raging sea, which it appeared at first would prove the destruction of those on board the brig, was in reality the means of their preservation. Just as the boys got their heads above the companion hatch, another whole broadside was let fly, and though many of the shots passed over the ship, two or three struck her between wind and water. Had the sea been calmer, many more probably would have found their way through her sides, and she must instantly have gone to the bottom. Such was the fate the boys, not without good reason, now anticipated for her. Another broadside would prove sufficient.

“Had we not better show ourselves, and ask to be taken on board?” said David.

“What, boys, and be murdered!” cried the old man from below. “Stick to the ship, and don’t trust those villains. There’s One who will take care of you if you put faith in Him.”

“Old Jefferies is right. Let us die rather than go on board the pirate,” said Harry.

Once more they climbed up the companion ladder, from which they had jumped down at the last broadside. They watched the schooner. She had tacked, as if about to run down close to them, and deliver another broadside. Seeing this, they were prepared to leap back into the cabin, when suddenly she hauled her tacks aboard, and stood directly away from them. Did her crew believe that the shots they had fired would speedily effect their supposed purpose, and take the brig to the bottom, or were they only firing for practice? As soon as the schooner had got a little distance off, the boys jumped on deck and hurried to the pump. Harry first sounded the well. His face grew very serious.

“David,” he said, “the water has gained fearfully on us. The shot-holes must be letting in the water fast, and I do not think that the brig can float another hour—perhaps not ten minutes.”

“What are we to do, then?” asked David.

“Build a raft,” answered Harry. “There are plenty of spars. I saw some carpenter’s tools and large nails in the cabin, and we may break off the hatches. They will help us. We must be sharp about it, though.”

Of this there could be no doubt. That they might give the old fisherman a better chance of saving his life, they agreed to get him up first. By taking an abundance of food and rest, he had greatly recovered his strength, and was now able to do as they proposed.

“If I cannot work, I may give you my advice,” he observed. “I have more than once had to trust to a raft for my life.”

The cat followed them on deck. The old man shook his head when he saw her.

“She knows that the cabin is no longer a safe place for her, and that she will be better off up here,” he said, as the boys placed him on a heavy coil of rope near the mainmast. The ship was happily more quiet than she had before been, and the boys, having collected all the spars and planks they could find, as well as some chairs and a table from the cabin, commenced, under old Jefferies’ directions, to form the proposed raft. They worked away with all their might, knowing well that a few minutes’ delay would be fatal. A large raft was not required, as it had to support only three persons and their provisions. The great thing was to make it strong enough. They brought up all the small rope they could find and lashed the stoutest of the spars together, so as to form an oblong framework, with a centre spar as a keel. They further secured them with large nails. Then they placed planks and smaller spars across this, with the table, top downwards, and the chairs on their backs, secured to it. They managed to wrench off two of the cabin doors, and these, nailed down and lashed across the raft, raised the deck and increased its strength. Besides the chairs, there were some strong stools in the cabin. These they nailed down at each corner, and secured them also by lashings, with their legs up. They then passed ropes round the legs, thus forming a sort of bulwark that might save them from being washed off the raft. They had still much to do after this before the raft would be complete. They wanted a couple of chests in which to keep their provisions, a cask for water, a mast and sails, and oars, and blankets to keep them warm at night. They had been some time at work, and the water was already over the cabin floor. Any attempt to save the vessel was now hopeless. Harry, happening to look up, saw what, had he been on the watch, he would have observed long before, a large ship, under a press of sail, at no great distance. Was the wreck seen by those on board? If so, their prospect of escape was greatly improved. They hoped that they were seen, for although they were thankful that they had had time to form a raft, they knew well that at best it was a perilous means of support, that it might be upset or dashed to pieces, or that they might float about on it unseen till all their provisions and water were exhausted, and then die of starvation and thirst. They earnestly hoped, therefore, that they might be seen from the passing ship. They had reserved a short spar as a mast for the raft. To this they fastened a flag, and secured it to the mainmast. So occupied were they, indeed, in watching the stranger, that for a few minutes they forgot to go on with their raft, till recalled by old Jefferies to continue the important work. They had now to search for some chests. They had seen several in the fore peak. It was with a degree of awe, perhaps not altogether free from fear, that they again went to where the dead seaman lay. They quickly cut two chests clear of the lashings which secured them, and were emptying them of their contents, when they came upon a box or case, the size of an ordinary writing-case. It was of foreign manufacture, and secured with strong brass bands. When taking it out with other things, Harry heard a sound like the chink of money within. He shook it. There was no doubt about the matter. “We’ll keep it. It may be useful, and it is our lawful prize,” he observed, as he put it back into the chest. Fastening ropes to the handles of the chests, they were soon hauled on deck, and secured to the raft. Now came the important work of provisioning their ark of safety. They had already got on deck some biscuits, and salt beef and pork uncooked. They again descended for more articles which they had seen, and which, together with some blankets, they brought up. Once more they went below, and even during the short time they had been on deck, they observed that the water had considerably risen. Still they were persevering in their search for more provisions, when old Jefferies’ voice summoned them hastily on deck.

“She is going down!—she is going down!” he shouted.

They rushed up, and had just time to drag him on to the raft, and to seize the oars and spars they had got ready, when the vessel’s bow rose, and her stern gradually sank, till she glided away towards the bottom, literally from beneath their feet. Just before this the cat, who seemed determined to stick to the vessel to the last, made a spring on to the raft, where she stood trembling with fear and astonishment at the disappearance of her home. As soon as the water reached the raft, by means of the poles they shoved off from the wreck, and then pulled away with all their might, so as completely to clear her. The raft rocked violently, and, in spite of all their efforts, seemed dragged towards the vortex formed by the sinking vessel. In another instant the brig was no longer to be seen, and her secret, whatever it was, was buried with her. They looked anxiously around. The ship was standing in the direction the schooner had gone. They floated alone on that wild, stormy waste of waters. The old man had been placed in the middle of the raft, while the boys took their places on either side of him, endeavouring with the oars to keep the raft before the seas. Among other things placed on it were some carpenter’s tools, spars, blankets, and a good supply of rope. They had thus the means of rigging a mast. They did this by nailing boards between the two front legs of the table, and lashing the mast to the middle of the boards, while they carried stays forward and on either side. The wind was so much warmer, that they supposed it must have shifted to the west, though the thick clouds which still shrouded the sky prevented them from finding out the points of the compass. By Jefferies’ advice, they continued making the arrangements which have been described, though they still hoped they might be seen from the passing ship, which Harry declared to be the frigate to which he belonged—the Ariadne. At last, however, they had to abandon this hope, as the frigate continued her course, in chase, apparently, of the mysterious schooner. Unless seen by some other vessel, Harry and David felt that they must now, humanly speaking, depend on their own exertions for reaching the shore. Harry rigged a mast; they next fitted a sail, and with no small satisfaction hoisted it. By fixing an oar so as to act as a rudder astern, the raft, as soon as the sail was hoisted, behaved remarkably well, and glided over the seas with considerable ease and rapidity. Their spirits rose again, for they fully believed that they should in two or three days reach either the English or the Irish coast. They had no idea how far to the westward they had been driven. By degrees the sea went down, which was very pleasant, but so also did the wind, till it became a perfect calm. An end was thus put to their hopes of soon reaching the land. However, they were far more comfortable than they had been for some time. The afternoon sun shone out brightly, and dried their clothes; and they had plenty to eat—biscuits, and cooked meat, and cheese and butter, and figs and raisins, and several other fruits, and some bottles of wine, of which they wisely partook very sparingly. It, however, did the old man much good, and he appeared to have recovered both his strength and spirits. Although well off in many respects, they had, however, a scarcity of one article, without which they could not hope to prolong existence. That was water. They could only secure one small cask, and they saw, therefore, that they must husband the precious liquid with the greatest care.

They now floated tranquilly on the calm waters, and though they would far rather have been sailing northward, they were thus enabled to strengthen the raft, and to prepare for it encountering any more rough weather which might come on. They had made old Jefferies as comfortable as they could in the centre of the raft, and they soon had the satis faction of finding that he had fallen asleep. Having accomplished all that could be done, they began to chat away as composedly as if nothing very particular had occurred. They went on, indeed, almost with the conversation which had been interrupted when they discovered that the rock on which they were sitting was surrounded by water. Strange to say, Harry expressed no wish or intention of leaving the profession he had embraced should they reach the shore, while David was as determined as ever to enter it should he be able to obtain his father’s leave. No wonder, when the long list of glorious victories won by the British navy was fresh in the memory of the nation, and naval officers in all social circles were looked upon and courted as heroes. At length old Jefferies awoke.

“Now, boys, you must take your rest,” he said. “You have watched for me, and now I’ll watch for you. It won’t do for us all to nap together, and if I see any change I’ll call you. Never fear, puss and I will look after the ship.”

The boys did not require a second bidding, but stretching themselves inside the legs of the upturned table, were soon fast asleep.

We must now return for a short time to their friends on shore. Poor Mrs Merryweather was almost broken-hearted on being at length compelled to give up all hopes of ever again seeing her gallant son, and on being able to account in no other way for his and his friend’s disappearance than that they had fallen over a cliff, or been washed away by the sea. She knew where to go for comfort and consolation; and her chief satisfaction, when she heard that old Mrs Jefferies had lost her husband and grandson on the same night, was to show her whence she could derive the same consolation she herself had found. It was a sore trial to the poor old woman. Mr and Mrs Morton also did their best to comfort her; indeed, had it not been for them she would have been compelled to resort to the workhouse for support. They sympathised with the old woman, not because they were aware of the service her husband had rendered those dear to them, but because, as they supposed, a like calamity had overtaken her and themselves at the same time. Still Mr Morton did not cease for a long time to have search made for them, till at length he was with a sad heart compelled to give it up in despair. Captain Rymer sympathised heartily with his neighbour’s misfortune, and pretty little Mary shed many a tear for the loss of her two friends. Several months passed by, and still no news came of the lost ones. With great reluctance the two families at length went into mourning. It was a sad day, for it was an acknowledgment that hope was given up, and that the two dear lads were no longer among the living.

One morning Captain Rymer and his family were seated at breakfast; Mrs Rymer had just poured out a cup of tea, and Mary had handed it to him with a slice of toast which she had carefully buttered, when the post-bag was brought into the room. He opened it, and drew forth a long official-looking envelope.

“No other letter?” asked his wife.

“No, not one; and this is probably of no great importance either,” he answered, placing it by his side, and beginning to eat the toast Mary had just given him. Captain Rymer had been actively engaged during the whole of the late war in many dangerous and arduous services, and, like other officers, felt somewhat aggrieved that his services had not been fully recognised. He had frequently applied for some civil appointment, but his requests had not been attended to, and the only results were polite answers, couched in the same official language, stating that his merits would be duly considered. At last he made up his mind that he was to be laid on the shelf, and that he should never get anything. However, when he had finished his toast, he opened the letter.

“This is indeed what I little expected,” he exclaimed. “I am appointed as Lieutenant-Governor of Saint — in the West Indies. It is one of the most healthy of the islands. I have often been there; indeed, it is in consequence of my knowledge of the inhabitants that I have been selected; and you will all be able to accompany me.”

This information, as may be supposed, caused a great deal of excitement in the family. As Captain Rymer was ordered to proceed at once, there was no time to be lost in making the necessary preparations. Their friends called to congratulate, and at the same time to express their regret at losing them. The Mortons, and poor Mrs Merryweather, would certainly miss them more than anybody else. Mary could not help looking forward with pleasure to the interesting places she would probably visit, and the new style of life she would have to lead; though she was very sorry to leave so many kind friends, and the attached servants, who could not accompany them. In those days outfits were not to be procured, nor other arrangements made, so rapidly as at present, and Captain Rymer found it impossible to be ready to sail in the ship appointed to carry him out. He had, therefore, to take his passage in a West India trader, to sail a few weeks later. The Betsy was a fine large ship, carrying guns, to enable her to defend herself against the pirates and small privateers, often no better, which at that time infested the Caribbean Sea, and especially on the Spanish main and round the coast of Cuba. The cabins of the Betsy, on board which many wealthy West India planters frequently came backwards and forwards, were for their accommodation fitted up in a style of luxury seldom found on board merchantmen in general. The Betsy put into Falmouth to take the family and their baggage on board. She then had to remain till joined by several other West India ships. Everything was then made ready for sailing, and a bright look-out was kept for another fleet, bound in the same direction, coming down channel under convoy of two men-of-war. They were at length descried, and the ships in Falmouth harbour immediately got under weigh, and stood out to join them. At that time, although most of the men-of-war carrying the flag of England’s enemies had been swept from the seas, a large number of their privateers still remained to annoy and often injure her commerce. It was therefore not considered safe for merchantmen to sail without the protection of one or more men-of-war. Mary was delighted with the appearance of the cabins, so luxurious compared to what she had expected; and she was still more pleased when, on going on deck, she observed a large fleet of stately ships with which she was surrounded. The water was calm, the sky clear, and the sun shone brightly on the pyramids of white canvas towering up from the black, shining, freshly painted hulls which floated on the blue ocean in all directions. On the outskirts were the still more stately men-of-war, their bright-coloured signal flags continually moving up and down, while they occasionally fired a gun either on one side or the other, in rather a difficult attempt to keep their somewhat refractory charges on their proper course. Mary, after watching the manoeuvres of the men-of-war and the fleet of merchant vessels for some time, exclaimed—

“Why, papa, they put me in mind of a herd of cattle driven through the country, the drovers running here and there, shouting loudly, and sending their sharp barking dogs now to one side, now to the other, to keep them together.”

“Not a bad idea, Mary,” answered Captain Rymer. “But should thick weather come on, or a heavy gale spring up, the work will be much more difficult. Sometimes a whole herd, as you would call them, is scattered, and lions or wolves occasionally pounce down on the weakest, and carry them off.”

“I hope that will not be our fate, papa,” said Mary, timidly.

“No fear of that, dearest. I am sorry that I should have put such a notion into your head,” answered Captain Rymer. “The Betsy is a well-found ship, well manned and well armed, and Captain Bolton has the character of being a first-rate seaman, so that we have every reason for expecting to arrive in safety at our destination.”

“Oh, I am not at all afraid,” said Mary. “Besides, you know, papa, we can pray to be protected; and what a comfort it is, and how brave it should make us, to know that God hears our prayers, and will grant them whenever He sees that to do so is best for us!”

What a support in daily life, what a consolation to the voyager over the stormy ocean, is a firm confidence in that glorious truth!

Chapter Six.

On the Raft—The Shark—The Sea-fight.

The raft still floated uninjured; the sea continued perfectly calm. Harry and David retained their health and spirits, hoping that they should reach the land at last; and the old man appeared to be steadily recovering. The calm tried them in one respect more than when the wind blew, because after the raft had been strengthened they had nothing to do. They talked of the past and of the future, but even friends cannot talk on all day, especially if they are hungry and thirsty, and are anxious about any matter. At last David recollected that they had taken some fishing lines and hooks out of the boat, and thrown them with other articles on the raft. They were soon discovered, and the lads flattered themselves that they had nothing more to do than to bait the hooks, if bait could be found, and to throw them overboard. Old Jefferies smiled when he saw their preparations, and told them that, although certain fish were to be caught occasionally in the open sea, the greater number were to be found along the coasts of the different countries of the world. “To my mind God has so ordered it that all the fish which best serve for the food of man swim round and round the coasts of the countries of the world, in shallow water, where they can be got at and caught, or else they visit certain known spots, like the banks of Newfoundland, or the fishing grounds in the North Sea. Now if they all lived in the deep seas, or kept wandering about to all parts just as fancy led them, fishermen would never know where to go and look for them. Instead of that, as I have said, as the seasons come round, God leads them to the same places and almost on the same day every year; and so the fisherman is prepared with his nets or lines to catch them. However, I don’t mean to say that there are no fish out even in mid-ocean, and if we get our lines, perhaps we shall catch some.”

The lines were fitted in different ways; one with a heavy lead that it might sink towards the bottom, the other to throw to a distance, and then to drag quickly back again. The chief difficulty was with regard to the bait. David, however, proposed using a piece of salt pork, though old Jefferies thought that no fish would bite at it.

“I’ll try, at all events,” he answered; and baiting his hook he threw it skilfully to a considerable distance. He tried over and over again till his arm grew tired, while Henry let his line down to its entire end, but neither of them got a bite.

“Very little use, I am afraid,” said Harry, drawing up his line.

“Let it hang out, at all events. It can do no harm, and something may take a fancy to it,” observed David, again throwing his own line. “Halloa! I have got something—a big fellow, too—he’ll pull me off the raft if I don’t take care. Lend a hand, Harry.”

Harry took hold of the line. Now they were able to haul in some of the line, and then again the fish swam off in an opposite direction, actually moving the raft.

“It may be a porpoise,” said Harry.

“Perhaps it is a shark!” exclaimed David. “It can’t be a young whale.”

“It is a big fish of some sort, of that there is no doubt,” responded Harry. “The fellow will get tired before long, and then we will make him show his nose.”

“If he does not cut through the line before that,” observed old Jefferies, who would not pronounce as to what fish it was.

“If the line does not break I have little fear of its being cut through, for there is a long shank to the hook, and the line has never been slack,” answered David, hauling in more of the line.

The fish, if such it was, at length began to grow weary of towing the raft, and allowed himself to be drawn nearer and nearer till his mouth was seen for an instant close to the surface.

“Ah! I know him,” exclaimed old Jefferies. “A shark! a shark! he’s as mischievous a fellow as any that swims, though he will hurt no one who does not put his hand down his mouth.”

He explained that the fish they had hooked was the blue shark, which, although he does not attempt to take the fisherman’s life, is yet one of his greatest foes. If he cannot bite through a line he often rolls it round and round himself in a way that is most difficult for the fisherman to undo; and sometimes he will swim among the nets, killing the fish in mere wantonness apparently, and biting the meshes. Now and then, however, he gets caught himself—a small satisfaction considering the damage he causes.

It took some time before his sharkship was wearied out, and when at length he was hauled up on the raft, it was found that he had contrived to wind several fathoms of the line round his body. From the line having been kept tight, it was not so cleverly twisted as is often the case, and a blow on the tail quieted him before he had managed further to wriggle it round himself after he was out of the water. When the line was unwound, and the shark stretched out, he was a handsome-looking fish of a blue lead colour, about four feet long. Harry and David did not feel disposed to eat any of the shark, but when assured by the old fisherman that neither he nor any of his ancestors had ever touched flesh, they got over their reluctance, and as their appetites told them it was dinner-time, they each took a thin slice with some biscuit. They agreed that when cooked it would be tolerable food.

After this meal David, having got his line in order, and both their lines being baited with shark, they commenced fishing. After some time Harry got a bite.

“A fine fish, I am sure, by the way he tugged,” he exclaimed, hauling up the line.

It came up very easily, though, and instead of the large fish he expected, a small whiting appeared. Several others were pulled up in succession. As Harry was hauling in his line after a bite, he felt a heavy weight suddenly come on it. Still he was able to get it in.

“It is something curious, but what it can be I am sure I don’t know,” he exclaimed, hauling away, while David looked eagerly on.

“What a monster!” they cried out both together, when a huge mass, with what looked like a number of snakes wriggling about round it, was seen on the surface amidst a circle of dark water.

“That’s a squid,” remarked old Jefferies. “Some of them are awkward customers in the water, but he can do you very little harm out of it.”

The truth of this last assertion was put to the test when, in spite of its struggles, the creature was hauled up on the raft, and its long arms chopped off. It had expected simply to catch a whiting, and had itself been caught by the hook sticking through the whiting’s mouth. It was very untempting-looking for food, though they might have preferred it to shark flesh. The whiting, however, supplied them with as much fish as they could eat raw. Altogether they agreed that they had had a good evening’s sport, and that if they could have forgotten where they were, and that their friends were anxious about them, they should have enjoyed themselves amazingly, only that they should have preferred cooked fish to raw. As night, however, crept on, they began to feel the loneliness and helplessness of their position. Still, the calm continued, and the stars shone forth, each spark of light being reflected in the mirror-like ocean; and Harry made out the polar star, and wished that there was a good breeze that they might steer by it towards England. The air was very chilly, but as they had saved several blankets, they wrapped themselves up, and kept tolerably warm. As they had not got a lantern or candle, or any means of striking a light, they could do nothing, and so they chatted away till they both went off to the land of dreams.

“Sleep on, my poor lads,” said the old man, guessing by their silence what had happened. “You little think of the danger you are in. If a gale springs up, how is this small raft to weather it? For myself, I am worn out, and my time must come in a year or two, or a few months it may be; but life is fresh and pleasant for the young lads. Well, well, God is kind and just. He knows what is best for them. His will be done.”

The lives of most men are metaphorically varied by storms and calms, clouds and sunshine, and so in reality was the existence of our two young friends on the raft. The night passed away quietly, and towards morning the old man, in spite of his intentions to keep watch, fell asleep. David was the first to rouse up. The sun had not risen, but a streak of red in the sky showed in what quarter he was about to appear. David stood up to look around him. He would not call Harry till it was necessary, for he was sleeping so calmly, with a smile on his countenance, dreaming of some pleasant scenes at home, probably with his mother and sister present. As David was thus standing up, holding on to the mast, he felt a light air fan his cheek. It came from the south. He turned his eyes in that direction to look for a further sign of the wished-for breeze. As he did so he observed in the horizon a sail—he judged a large ship. Directly afterwards another appeared, in a different part of the horizon. He watched them attentively for some time. Their sails were filled with wind, and they seemed to be drawing nearer to each other, and also nearer to the raft. As soon as it struck David that this was the case, he could no longer resist the temptation of rousing up his companion. Harry sprang to his feet. Midshipmen do not rub their eyes and yawn, and groan and growl, before they get up, especially if they happen to be sleeping on a raft in the chops of the channel.

“Yes, they are standing this way,” he exclaimed. “They are frigates, and what is more, though one is English, I doubt by the cut of the sails whether the other is.”

“At all events we shall have a good chance of being picked up,” said David.

“I hope so; but if an idea which has struck me is correct, they will have too much to do to look after each other to take any notice of us,” observed the midshipman.

“What do you mean?” asked David.

“That one is English and the other French, and if so, it is not likely that, having come in sight of each other, they will part without exchanging shots,” remarked Harry.

“Unless the Frenchman runs away,” said David.

“No fear of that. The monsieurs are brave fellows, though we can lick them, and it is not often they show the white feather,” remarked Harry. “I really think that I am right. They look to me like two frigates, and one I am sure is French. We’ll rouse up the old man, and hear what he has to say about the matter. He’ll not thank us for letting him sleep on.”

“The old man is awake,” said Jefferies, sitting up and gazing in the direction indicated by the boys, under his open hand. For some time he was silent. “Yes, there’s little doubt about the matter,” he said at length. “They are frigates, and one is English; the other is a foreigner, but whether Spaniard, Dutchman, or French, is more than I can say. If they are going to fight, as you think, we can’t help it, neither can we make them sail near enough to see us, and pick us up; but I’ll tell you what we can do, young gentlemen, we can lift up our voices in prayer to God to thank Him for His favours, and to ask Him for His protection.”

All three knelt down, and lifted up their voices to God in prayer, with a heartiness which might be sought for in vain within the lofty walls of many a proud building. Such is the spiritual worship in which God the Spirit alone has pleasure. The party on that wave-tossed raft rose from their knees greatly refreshed in spirit, and sat down to enjoy their morning meal with hearts grateful that they had food sufficient to sustain life. Soon after, the sun rose, as it were with a spring out of his ocean bed, and shed his light across the expanse of waters on the sails of the approaching ships, which seemed to have drawn suddenly near, so clear and defined did their forms become. Harry watched with even greater eagerness than before one of the ships, which he declared was, he believed, that to which he belonged. David was rather inclined to laugh at the notion, as he considered that it was impossible Harry should be able to know his own ship at so great a distance off. There seemed to be no doubt that both were frigates—of that the old man expressed himself sure; that they were not both English he thought very likely. As to the other point, it was, if correct, a guess of Harry’s. They continued to draw nearer and nearer to each other, and as they approached the raft at the same time, the breeze which filled their sails reached her.

“Shall we hoist our sails, and stand for the shore as before?” asked David.

“We should miss the chance of being picked up if we did so,” answered Harry. “Besides, I should not like to run away without knowing after all whether the ships would fight, and who was the conqueror.”

“Not much chance of our getting out of sight before they begin, for they are already not far off gun-shot of each other,” observed the old man, who again raised himself to look out, but sunk down once more to his seat in the centre of the raft.

The two boys, however, stood up, holding on by the mast, in spite of the increasing rocking of the raft, watching eagerly the movements of the two frigates—for frigates there was no doubt they both were.

“Up go the colours!” exclaimed Harry, with a shout. “Hurrah! There’s the glorious old flag of England, and the other is French—there’s no doubt about it. Then there’ll be a fight. Hurrah! I wish I was aboard the old ship; I’m sure it’s her. Couldn’t we manage it even now? Pull the raft up to her. I wish that she would see us and pick us up. Oh dear! how provoking! I’d give anything to be on board!” Such were the exclamations to which the young midshipman gave utterance, as he stood watching the ships. “The old ship has tacked, she is standing away from us! The Frenchman is about also. They’ll be away. We shall not see any of the fighting after all.”

“We shall be less likely to suffer from their shots, and for that we may be grateful,” observed the old man.

The midshipman, so eager was he, scarcely listened to what was said. The frigates were manoeuvring, each endeavouring to gain the weather-gauge before commencing the action, which it was very evident would take place. There appeared to be no lack of a disposition to fight on either side, for they both took in their lighter sails, and finally hauled up their courses. Now the English frigate wore round, her example being followed by the Frenchman, both running back towards the raft, which it seemed that the former would pass by, or even run over, when suddenly she tacked, and standing close to a wind towards the French frigate, fired a broadside into her quarter, while the latter was in stays. The effect of the broadside must have been severe, for it was some time before she actually got about, leaving to the English frigate the advantage of the weather-gauge, which had been the object of all the previous manoeuvres. For some time the two ships ran on alongside of each other, rapidly exchanging shots, without any great apparent damage to the masts or rigging. They were so placed that many of the shots which missed came flying towards the raft, but providentially she was too far off for them to reach her. Once more the after-yards of the French ship being shot away, she kept off the wind, and, followed by her antagonist, stood towards the raft, still keeping up a hot fire at her. In a short time the damage was repaired, and once more the French ship hauling her wind, the two stood on together close-hauled. It was evident, from the rapid way in which the French frigate’s damages had been repaired, that she was well manned, and that the result was by no means so certain as Harry had at first anticipated. The firing had had the effect, it appeared, of lessening the little wind there had previously been. The two frigates, therefore, moved but slowly, and consequently kept within sight of those on the raft. Harry was almost too eager to speak. David now and then made a few remarks. More than an hour had passed away since the commencement of the action, and as yet there was no visible advantage gained by either party. Suddenly Harry gave a cry of anger and annoyance, in which David joined him. The old man looked up. There was cause for it. The flag of England was seen to drop from the masthead of the frigate. Could it be that she had struck? The firing continued as furious as ever. No, it was impossible!

“See! see! there’s another flying out!” exclaimed the midshipman, exultingly. “All right, some fine fellow has climbed up and nailed it there. Only the halliards were shot away. My captain would go down sooner than strike; I know that.”

The loud reports of the guns came succeeding each other rapidly over the calm ocean. Now a loud crash, then a broadside was fired by both parties at once, the sound of the different guns blending into one; now a perfect silence, and then again single shots, and after a cessation another broadside. At length the combatants scarcely moved, and became enshrouded in a dense cloud of smoke, which nearly concealed them from view. The firing was more furious than ever. They were yard-arm to yard-arm, discharging their broadsides into each other. A light breeze played over the water—the ships emerged from the cloud of smoke. The English frigate had lost her mizen-mast, and its wreck lay over her quarter.

Harry groaned, but directly afterwards he shouted, “They’ll not give in, though—they’ll not give in, I am sure they won’t.”

Chapter Seven.

The Union Jack beats—The Raft still Unseen—The Privateer—Death of Old Jefferies—The French Captain.

The loss of her mizen-mast did not appear to damp the ardour of the British frigate’s crew. The firing was continued with unabated fury on both sides, neither ship apparently moving through the water; now they were shrouded in smoke—now the smoke was blown away, and the firing ceased. “The Frenchman’s foremast is tottering!” shouted Harry. “See! see! David. Down it comes—hurrah! hurrah!” Still the flags of their respective countries waved at the mastheads of the frigates. The mast did not come down either when Harry thought it would, neither did the firing cease altogether. Faint sounds of musketry or pistol-shots came across the water—then three or four great guns were fired—the sides of the ships were close together, or rather, the bow of the English frigate was fast to the Frenchman’s side.

“They are boarding,” cried Harry; “I know it must be that—then our fellows will win the day.—The Frenchman’s flag will be down directly. Watch! watch! I know it will.”

They waited eagerly, looking out for some time. Suddenly a cloud of smoke ascended from one of the ships. It was difficult to say from which; again and again the guns were fired. “I am afraid that after all our friends are getting the worst of it,” remarked David, with a sigh.

“Oh, no, no! impossible!” exclaimed Harry. “See, see! down comes the Frenchman’s flag—hurrah! hurrah! I knew it would be so. Englishmen are never licked. We would go down first with our colours flying. Hurrah! hurrah! we’ve gained the day.” Harry waved his cap above his head, and shouted long and loudly, communicating his enthusiasm, not only to David, but to the old man himself; but so vehement in his demonstrations of joy did he become at last, that he nearly upset the raft, and then well-nigh fell overboard himself. David was rather more quiet in his demonstrations, still he did not feel less satisfaction probably than his friend.

“We must get on board to congratulate them,” exclaimed Harry; “I wouldn’t miss that on any account; if we pull hard we shall be able to get up to them—eh, Mr Jefferies? They will be some time repairing damages and shifting the prisoners, and they are not likely to make sail till then.”

“We mustn’t count too much upon that, young gentleman; we are further off than you think, and darkness will be down over the ocean long before we can get up to them. Besides, do you know, I don’t think the sights aboard those ships, either the conqueror or the conquered, would be so pleasant as you suppose. I know what a man-of-war is after a hard-fought battle. The decks strewn with the dead, and slippery with blood and gore, the cockpit full of wounded men, lately strong and hardy, now cripples for life, many dying, entering into eternity, without a hope beyond their ocean grave, Christless, heathens in reality if not in name, stifled groans and sighs, and oftentimes shrieks of despair on every side. Such sights I have seen in my youth, and I speak the language of some of the great preachers who have come down to these parts, and boldly put forth the gospel of salvation to perishing sinners under the blue vault of heaven. You only look at one side of the picture, and that quickly vanishes away; mine, unhappily, is too real to be wiped out quickly.” The old man spoke in a tone he had not hitherto used, which showed that his education had been superior to that which men of his vocation generally possess.

This remark, it must be confessed, considerably damped the ardour of the young midshipman. The latter, however, still continued to urge him and David to try and get on board one of the ships. They were in reality as anxious as he was to do so, for they could not but feel that they were exposed to many dangers while they remained on the raft. The wind had dropped, and in one respect this was in their favour, as the frigates could not sail away; but what little wind there was was against them, and this made rowing their heavy craft more tedious. They progressed very slowly, and after two hours’ hard rowing they seemed no nearer than before. The day was drawing on; still they persevered. Hope continued to cheer the two boys, whatever the old man might have thought about the matter. At last Harry stopped. “They are making sail, and the breeze is getting up. Oh dear! oh dear! They’ll be off before we can reach them. Still we’ll try—pull away, David, pull away, there’s a good fellow.”

All the efforts of the lads brought them no nearer the two frigates. They could see the British ensign run up above that of the French. Still it was evident that they themselves were not observed: no wonder, under the circumstances, as everybody on board must have been busily engaged. Still thus, as it were, to be deserted, was very trying to the young lads. They bore up, however, manfully under the disappointment.

“Perhaps the wind may fall or shift again, and they may have after all to take a tack this way,” exclaimed Harry, whose hopeful enthusiasm it was impossible to damp. At last the night returned, and the darkness shut out the frigates from their sight. The lads had to while away the time by conversation, and expressed their intentions of not going to sleep during the night; they, however, stowed themselves away in their accustomed places, where, should they by any chance begin to slumber, they might not run the risk of falling into the sea. For some time they kept to this resolution, Harry still buoyed up with the hope that they might get on board the frigate in the morning. At last David’s voice began to get very drowsy, so even did Harry’s, and in spite of their strange position and their anxiety, first one and then the other dropped off to sleep. The old man leaned forward to ascertain that they were both secure.

“Sleep on, lads! sleep on!” he muttered. “He who reigns above can alone tell whether or not this is the last night you will spend on earth. I liked not the look of the sky when the sun went down, and before many hours have passed this frail raft may be tossing on an ocean of foaming seas.” The old man was silent, but he did not sleep. Often he prayed. He thought over many things of his past life, as men under such circumstances are apt to do. Happy are those who have not to reflect on crimes committed, injuries done to others too late to remedy! and still more fearful must be the thoughts of those who are not trusting to the perfect and complete sacrifice offered on Calvary—whose sins have not been washed away in the blood of the Lamb. The old man knew in whom he trusted, and no bitterness entered his thoughts. The hours passed on; stars became obscured; clouds were seen chasing each other across the dark sky, slowly at first, then more and more rapidly; the raft began to rock, scarcely perceptibly, then gently, then with more and more movement, but the boys slept on; accustomed to spend their time on the heaving wave, they did not feel the motion. At length a grey cold light began gradually to steal over the foam-covered ocean. The boys still slept on. The old man alone was awake on the raft. He lifted himself up, and bent forward as if in prayer. Thus he remained for some time. At length David, less accustomed to the sea than Harry, awoke from the motion of the raft. The exclamation to which he gave utterance aroused his companion; David quickly started to his feet, and gazed anxiously around the horizon. The two frigates had disappeared. No sail was in sight; nothing was to be seen but the heavy leaden-coloured waves, while the clouds seemed to come closely down on all sides. The raft drove quickly on before the storm.

“In what direction are we going?” asked David.

“To the south-west, I have an idea,” answered Harry; “but I should not mind that, if I thought we were likely to fall in with the two frigates.”

“Trust in God, my lads,” said old Jefferies.

He spoke truly; for already the raft gave signs of breaking up, from the violence to which it had been exposed. The old man and the two boys did all they could to secure it more strongly by such ropes as they still had to spare, but it was difficult and dangerous to move from their positions. The seas followed rapidly, and more than once had almost broken over them. Still, while their mast stood, and they could keep their sail set, they hoped to continue running before the sea. They spoke but little to each other, and continued looking out on either side, in the hope of seeing some vessels which might afford them a refuge. Still none appeared. The old man continued steering the raft with great judgment and dexterity, but it was clear that the gale was increasing, and that in a very short time the frail structure on which they floated could not hold together amidst the fierce waves to which it would be exposed. Still, serious as was their position, the boys did not forget that they had had nothing to eat since the previous night. Harry dived down into their provision-box, and produced some biscuits and a piece of tongue. Their first care was to offer some to the old man.

“No, thank you, good lads, I’ve no hunger,” he answered.

In spite of their pressing, he refused to take any of the food.

“I can’t say that I’m not hungry,” cried Harry, “though I’m afraid we must go without our tea.”

David, who felt something like old Jefferies, when pressed, however, by Harry, gladly joined him in discussing such provisions as they could easily get at. Both of them were much refreshed by the nourishment, and in spite of the foreboding looks of the old man could not help holding sanguine hopes of escaping from their perilous position. Still they were hoping against hope, for in spite of the additional lashings they had cast round their raft, first one piece of plank and then another was torn off.

“Hold on tight!” cried Harry, as he gazed astern, “here comes a tremendous sea, and I don’t know how we shall keep before it.”

As he spoke a high foaming wave came roaring up. Already the raft was mounting a wave in front, or the consequences would have been more disastrous. The upper part of the sea broke completely over the raft, but it still floated on. Those on it looked anxiously round to see if any of their number were missing. The old man was still at his post at the helm, and the two boys at their places. It was evident, however, that a few more such seas would utterly destroy the raft. As Harry again gazed astern, he saw to his dismay many similar seas preparing to follow; still he would not say this, even to David, and tried in his own hearty way to keep up his companions’ spirits. An hour or so thus passed away, when the raft gave stronger signs than ever of not having power to hold together.

“How fearful it would be if we were separated!” said David, who clearly comprehended what was likely to happen. Just then another tremendous sea came rolling up, and washed over the raft. The boys clung on for their lives, but when the raft once more rose to the surface, the mast was gone.

“No hope, I fear,” said David.

“Yes, there is!” cried Harry; “I see a vessel bearing down directly for us.”

The boys eagerly turned their eyes towards the stranger. It seemed doubtful, however, whether the raft would hold together till her arrival, or whether they could avoid being washed off the raft by the sea, which kept continually rolling over them. On she rapidly came.

“I don’t much like her appearance,” said the old man; “she doesn’t look much better than the craft which we before refused to go on board.”

“We have no choice at all,” said Harry. “She looks like a Frenchman; but even the Monsieurs, considering our circumstances, would not treat us otherwise than with kindness,” said David.

The boys waved and shouted with all their might. It seemed doubtful whether or not they were observed; still the stranger, a large topsail schooner, was standing directly for them. Presently they saw her shorten sail.

“All right!” cried Harry; “we’re seen.”

She rounded-to close to them, so close, indeed, that the two boys were able to grasp the ropes which were thrown to them, and were immediately hauled up on deck.

“But old Jefferies, we mustn’t desert him!” cried Harry, as he saw the old man still on the raft. “Here! fasten this rope round my waist, and I’ll go and haul him in.”

The crew of the stranger seemed to understand him, but at that moment a sea rolling up drove the raft completely under the schooner’s bottom. A few fragments again appeared, but the old man was not to be seen.

“Oh, where is he? where is he?” cried David and Harry; “we must save the good old man.”

The people on board looked round on every side. So deep was the grief of the boys for his loss, that they scarcely for the moment seemed to think of their own preservation, nor of the character of the vessel on board which they had got. It was very clear that the old man had sunk for ever, as no signs of him appeared. Once more the vessel was put before the wind, and flew onward on her course.

Harry and David, on looking round, observed she was an armed vessel, carrying sixteen long guns, with swivels and other pieces. From the language they heard spoken by the crew, they knew she was French; while, from the varied dresses of the men and officers, they suspected she was a privateer, and not a man-of-war.

“I’m afraid we shall not much like our quarters here,” said Harry. “The best thing we can do is to put a good face on the matter, and go aft and thank the captain for saving our lives; he will see by my uniform that I am an officer, and treat us as gentlemen.”

Poor Harry’s patch of white cloth, however, was not likely to be treated with much respect by a French privateer captain of those days.

“I wonder which of these fellows is captain,” said Harry, as they approached three or four rough-looking fellows, as they were walking the deck with the air of officers. “Oh, I wonder whether they will understand English, for not a word of French can I speak.”

“Nor can I indeed,” said David; “I didn’t think of that.”

“We must make our intentions known, however,” said Harry, “and I must muster up what I can say. I know they always begin by saying ‘Monsieur’ if they want to be polite, so I’ll say ‘Monsieur Captain, Monsieur Captain,’” looking round as he spoke, “we have to thank you for taking us aboard your vessel, and should be still further obliged if you could give us a change of clothes while ours are drying.”

The Frenchmen looked at the boys with an air of indifference.

“Monsieur Captain,” again began Harry, “I say we want to thank you for pulling us out of the water.”

“Perhaps the captain is not among these men,” suggested David.

“I want to see the captain,” said Harry, bowing as before.

At length a small wizen-faced man appeared from below. His countenance wore anything but a pleasant aspect. By his dress, and the respect with which the others seemed to treat him, the boys had little doubt that he was the person of whom they were in search. They accordingly approached him.

“Are you the captain?” said Harry, bowing as before, for he did not forget his politeness, in spite of his wet clothes.

“Yes, I am,” said the wizen-faced man.

“Oh, you speak English; how glad we are!” answered Harry, “because we can thus thank you for saving our lives.”

“No great reason to thank me,” said the man, in an unpleasant tone.

“You speak English very well, sir,” said Harry, wishing to soothe him.

“I have had plenty of time to learn it,” said the captain.

“Where was that, sir?” asked Harry.

“In an English prison,” answered the Frenchman, with a grin, turning on his heel; “and I’ve no great cause to love those who kept me there, or their countrymen.”

“I’m afraid we’ve gained very little by the expression of our gratitude,” said David; “what are we to do?”

Chapter Eight.

The Good-natured Seamen—Pierre Lamont—David’s Employment—The Republican Officer.

No one seemed disposed to pay the slightest attention to the two boys. The officers glanced at them superciliously. The captain, after taking a few turns on deck, scowled on them as he passed on his way below. They were left standing on the deck of the schooner, which went flying on before the still increasing gale. They were wet and cold, and grieving for the loss of their old friend, as well as very anxious about the sorrow their absence would cause their relatives at home.

“I suppose the Frenchmen won’t let us starve altogether,” said David. “The officers indeed don’t seem inclined to treat us well, but perhaps the men may be differently disposed. I propose that, having done what we considered our duty, we go forward and throw ourselves upon their kindness. Still, as I’m a quarter-deck officer, we ought to be treated with respect by the officers. I’m sure, if we had picked up two French midshipmen on board our frigate, we should have made regular pets of them, and given them no cause to complain.”

“But remember this is not a frigate,” observed David; “I think it will be wiser to put our dignity in our pockets, and make the best of things as they are.”

Still Harry held out for some little time; but at length the surly looks of the officers, not to mention his hunger, made him yield to David’s suggestions, and they quietly worked their way forward. As soon as the backs of the officers were turned the men came round them, and by the expression of their countenances showed that they at least bore them no ill-will. One or two, by signs, invited them below, and they were very glad to escape from the cold autumn gale which was blowing through their wet clothes. Although unable to communicate by words, the lads had no difficulty in making their wishes known to the Frenchmen by signs. Some dry clothes were quickly produced from the bag of a young seaman. As soon as Harry and David had dressed themselves in these, some provisions and a bottle of wine were brought to them, the Frenchmen standing round looking on with great satisfaction while they discussed them.

“Buvez, me amis,” said a stout good-natured looking seaman, pouring out a glass of claret. The boys guessed by his signs clearly enough what he said, and thanked him by nodding in return. They both felt considerably better for their repast.

“If it wasn’t for the loss of poor old Jefferies, I should not have minded it at all,” said David; “but for him to lose his life, and for us to find ourselves little better than prisoners on board a Frenchman, is very trying.”

“As you remember, nearly his last words were, ‘Trust in God,’” remarked Harry; “so let us go on trusting; he was a good old man, and is gone to heaven I’m sure, so we ought not to mourn for him much. It would have broken his heart to find himself on board this vessel.”

“I wonder in what direction we are going?” said David.

“I will try and get a look at the compass when we go on deck again, but we mustn’t let the Frenchmen think we care anything about the matter,” said Harry.

“What a pity it is we can’t talk French a little! I wish we could thank these kind, good-natured fellows, because really I am very grateful for their kindness to us.”

“At all events, we can do it by signs,” said Harry, jumping up and shaking the Frenchman by the hand who had given them the wine.

“Much obliged, monsieur; much obliged for your good dinner; the sausages were excellent. We don’t often taste such claret at sea as you gave us.”

Of course, though the Frenchman did not understand a word Harry had said, yet he was evidently in the way of becoming a favourite among them. When invited to return on deck they did not hesitate to do so, for by keeping forward they were not recognised among the French crew. In the evening they were again invited to join the mess of the men below, which, if not quite in accordance with English notions, was not quite the wretched fare on which Frenchmen are supposed to exist. Indeed, it must be owned that the provisions were far better cooked and made into more palatable messes than they would have been on board an English vessel of the same character. At night they had a berth allotted to them in a standing bed-place forward, into which they were too glad to creep. Having thanked the God of mercy who had thus preserved them, in a prayer which came from the very bottom of their hearts, and asked for a blessing on all those they had left at home, they lay down in their narrow berth, and stowed themselves away as well as space would allow. They had reason to be thankful that they had escaped the perils to which they had been exposed for so many nights on the raft; and though their sleeping-place was very close and dark, it had the advantage of being dry. They were very quickly fast asleep, in spite of all the rolling and pitching of the vessel, as she dashed forward across the stormy ocean. There was no danger of their being pitched out. In spite of the groaning of the bulkheads, the whistling of the wind through the rigging, the loud dash of the seas against the vessel, and the numerous other loud wild sounds which are heard during a gale at sea, the boys slept on till a gleam of daylight found its way down to their narrow berth.

“Mangez, mangez, mes amis!” said a voice, which was recognised as that of their kind friend of the previous evening. He had come, it appeared, to summon them to breakfast, for the crew were employed below in discussing that meal. Once on their feet, the boys found themselves perfectly ready to join their French friends, and to do ample justice to the food placed before them.

“If it were not for the dignity of the thing we should not be so badly off, after all,” said Harry; “but really I cannot quite get over the skipper not treating us as officers, as he should have done.”

The Frenchmen greeted them with kind smiles, and soon again reconciled them to their wretched fate.

The gale now increased to a regular hurricane. The schooner ran before it under a close-reefed fore-topsail, but even then the seas followed so rapidly that there appeared great probability of their breaking on board. Both officers and men either remained below, or, when necessity compelled them to be on deck, kept close to the bulwarks, that they might have something to catch hold of should an accident occur. Under these circumstances no work was expected to be done; the boys were therefore allowed to do just as they pleased. They wisely kept forward among their friends the seamen. They had observed a boy about their own age eyeing them occasionally as he passed sometimes with a dish from the cook’s caboose, or with various messages with which he seemed to be generally employed; yet he had not hitherto spoken to them.

“I like his looks,” said David; “I can’t help fancying that he wants to be friendly. Next time he passes us I will say something to him; or see, I’ve got a knife in my pocket; I’ll present it to him, it will show our good-will.”

“That will be very much like purchasing kindness,” answered Harry.

In a few minutes after this the boy again came near.

“Here, garçon,” said David, pulling out his knife as he spoke, “take this, you may find it very useful.”

“Merci,” said the boy, “thank you—much obliged.”

“What! do you speak English?” asked David.

“Very little, but I know what you say.”

“Oh, we’re so glad of that,” exclaimed the two boys in the same breath.

“What is your name?” asked David.

“Pierre Lamont,” answered the French boy.

“We shall be friends,” said David. “You don’t hate the English, I hope, like the captain?”

“Oh no, no,” answered Pierre, “I love the English; my poor mother was English, but she is dead, and so is my father, but he was French.”

“Then have you no one to look after you?” exclaimed David, in a tone of commiseration.

“No, I am all alone in the world, no one to care for me,” said Pierre.

“Are you happy here on board this ship?” asked Harry.

“Oh no, no. Sometimes I am pretty well off; but often our cruel men order me about, and beat me with the rope’s-end if I do not do quickly what they command.”

“You see, Harry,” said David, “there’s one on board this ship worse off than we are. We have some dear friends on shore, and though they don’t know what has become of us, we hope that they are are safe, and that we shall get back to them some day.”

“Do you know where we’re going, Pierre?” asked Harry. “I wanted to look at the compass; but I’m afraid of going aft, lest I should meet the captain.”

“You are right to keep away from him,” answered Pierre. “If he knew even that I spoke English he would treat me worse than he does. But you ask where are we going. I believe that we’re bound out to the West Indies to take as many English merchant-vessels as we can find.”

“I thought we were going in that direction,” answered David.

“But, Pierre, do you think if any of the English vessels are defended, that the captain will make us fight against our own countrymen?”

“Oh, you may depend on that,” said Pierre. “That is, you will be employed in bringing up powder from below.”

“What! shall we be turned into powder-monkeys?” exclaimed Harry, in a tone of indignation. “That will be too bad.”

“Is that what you call the boys who bring up the powder?”

“Yes, but only the smallest among the ship’s crew are employed in that work, and they should not treat officers in that way, even though we are their enemies,” exclaimed Harry, indignantly.

“That is the very reason the captain will take delight in giving you such employment,” said Pierre. “No one likes him on board. Even the officers fear him; but he is said to be a very good seaman and a daring character, so brave that he cares for nothing.”

From this account of the captain the boys saw that they were not far wrong in the opinion they had formed of him from his countenance and his manner towards them. They resolved, therefore, to keep out of his way, and to avoid irritating him if they could. While the gale continued he had quite enough to do to look after the vessel without troubling himself about them. Indeed, as far as they could judge, he had forgotten that they were on board. Although the place below where they sat with the men was close and dark in consequence of being battened down, they spent much of their time there. Many of the men were employed in various works. Several were making models of vessels in a way few English seamen could have done. David proposed doing something of the sort, to show the Frenchmen that he did not wish to be idle, and that he felt himself at home among them. He asked Pierre to get him some corks, and to set to work to make a model of a village church. This, with the aid of some pins, he rapidly accomplished with a file which he borrowed from one of the men, and he drew down the warm commendations of his companions, who were especially well disposed to appreciate such efforts. He accordingly presented it to his stout friend, Jacques Rossillion, the good-natured seaman who had from the first taken an interest in him.

Thus several days passed away till the gale abated, the sea went down, and sail was once more made on the schooner. Harry had been perhaps unwisely anxious to put on his own uniform again, which was now thoroughly dry and fit to wear. Pierre advised him not to appear before the captain in it. “Still it’s my proper dress,” answered Harry, who, like many midshipmen, was very tenacious on that subject. The gale, which had been in their favour, had carried them a long way towards their destination, as they judged by the warmth of the atmosphere and the tropical appearance of the sea. The officers as usual paced the quarter-deck, and the men congregated together forward. A monkey, which had hitherto stowed himself away somewhere out of sight, was among the occupants of the deck. To an English crew a monkey is a great acquisition, but a French ship’s company can scarcely get on without one. When they are inclined to play pranks he is always at their service, and woe betide the unhappy small boy of a ship’s company on whose muster-roll a monkey is not to be found! as he has to endure what the four-handed animal would otherwise have to go through.

On looking over the side Harry observed a black fin gliding along at the same rate as the schooner. “Look there, David; did you ever see a regular shark before?” he said. “If anybody was to fall overboard that fellow would snap him in two in half a second. The best swimmer would have but a poor chance unless he was well prepared. I have heard of a sailor attacking a shark with a knife in his hand, and cutting him up; but a man only with iron nerves and great presence of mind and a good swimmer could ever make the attempt.” While they were speaking the captain appeared on deck. “Here, you boys, come aft,” he shouted. “What, do you think you are to pass away your time in idleness, and get fed and grow fat? You are very much mistaken if you think any such thing. Take each of you a tar-bucket, and go and black down the rigging from the fore-topmast head.” Poor Harry looked at his uniform; it had endured the wetting, but it would be spoiled in a few minutes by the operation which he was ordered to perform. He saw that it would not do to disobey the captain’s orders. If they had time to find Pierre they might borrow some frocks and canvas trousers.

“I say what I mean,” shouted the captain; “and off with you at once—one taking the starboard, and one the larboard rigging. What, you don’t like to spoil your clothes, I see. I was not allowed any clothes to spoil when I was in an English prison.”

“Surely you will let us borrow some frocks, sir,” answered David. “Though we are gentlemen, and unaccustomed to such work, we are willing to obey you, only we don’t want to spoil our clothes.”

“Aloft, I say, or overboard you go. There’s a fellow alongside ready to breakfast off you, if you are anxious to feed him.” The little Frenchman looked so fierce that the boys really believed he was in earnest.

“It can’t be helped,” said David. “You must tell me what to do, for I never blacked down rigging even on board the yacht.”

“Just secure the bucket as you descend, and take care not to let the tar drop from the brush on deck. It’s not the difficulty of the thing, but it is very derogatory.”

Seeing that there was no use in further expostulation, the boys took each of them a bucket as they were ordered, and ascended, one on one side, and one on the other, of the fore-rigging, and having reached the masthead Harry secured his bucket, and showed David how to secure his. The operation, besides being a very dirty one, was tedious, as each rope had to be gone carefully round with the tar. Often they made melancholy faces at each other as they gradually descended, but neither the captain nor officers showed the slightest commiseration, only watching apparently to see that the work was effectually performed. While the captain remained on deck the crew took no notice of them. This was, however, evidently done in kindness. At length the work was over, and, seeing the captain on deck, they thought the best way was to go aft and report what they had done. “Very well,” said the captain; “tomorrow you will black down the main-rigging; in the meantime I want to see a polish put upon those brass stanchions, and the swivel guns are not so bright as they should be. I shall have work for you in my cabin, too, by and by. You are young English gentlemen, I understand. You may consider it a privilege to have to serve a poor republican seaman, who has worked his way up from before the mast.”

“We will do our best to obey you, sir,” answered David, who wisely wished to conciliate the man, in spite of his surly manners. He remembered that “a soft answer turneth away wrath.”

Chapter Nine.

The Prisoners have to work—The Chase—The Merchant Ship is taken—The Boys find their Friend Captain Rymer and Mary—The Hurricane.

Next morning, as soon as the boys appeared on deck, the captain again called them aft.

“Aloft with you, lads, and black down the main-rigging,” he exclaimed as they approached him, looking more humble even than they felt. Knowing, however, that there was no use in refusing to do what they were ordered, Harry and David took up the buckets to which the captain pointed, and ascended as before.

“We must look out not to drop any tar on deck,” said Harry, “he will make it an excuse to give us a rope’s-ending if we do; I’m sure he means mischief.”

The boys soon gained the masthead, and began their very disagreeable task. The sun was extremely hot; the ship rolled slowly from side to side as she glided on before the wind. Poor David felt very sick and wretched; more than once he thought he must give in, but Harry cheered him by exclaiming—

“Let us show that we are Englishmen, and at all events that we are not to be daunted by any work these Frenchmen can give us.”

Thus encouraged, David, who really had as much spirit as Harry, determined to persevere. The work, however, progressed more slowly than on the previous day. Several times the captain came on deck and watched them; they continued their work as it they did not observe him. By the time it was completed, as may be supposed, their clothing was entirely spoiled. As they stepped on deck he grinned at them maliciously.

“Ah! now you look what you must in future expect to be,” he remarked; “go forward and stow away those buckets, and then come aft to me.”

“I wonder what he is going to make us do next?” said Harry, as they handed the buckets over to the boatswain. Poor David, overcome with the heat, scarcely answered. A cup of water which he had obtained from a cask on deck somewhat revived him.

“Well, we must go aft, and face it out as best we can,” he answered; “come along, I’m ready.”

The captain ordered them into his cabin.

“Now, lads, I want that furniture cleaned; the brass has not been burnished for some time.” He put some leather into their hands. The difficulty of the work was not so great, but it was evidently given to insult them on account of its menial character. Harry especially felt this. Still they had no resource but to obey, and scrubbed away with might and main. At last the captain came below.

“Now, you young English midshipman, I’ve some special work for you to do. See that locker; there are several pairs of boots and shoes—you’ll find a blacking-bottle and brushes. I want them cleaned.” Harry’s proud spirit rose within him. Should he defy the tyrannical captain, and declare that he would die sooner than so employ himself? The captain seemed to divine his thoughts.

“As you please, youngster,” he observed; “no one disobeys me on board this vessel.”

Harry remembered the shark, and the captain’s threat on the previous day.

“Oh! I will help you,” said David, looking at him.

“No, it is his work,” said the captain.

Poor Harry saw there was no use in offering any resistance, and taking out the brushes began to clean the shoes. It was a work which a midshipman in those days often had to perform for himself; but then it was very different doing it for another, and that other a Frenchman. At length, however, the boys were dismissed, having performed all the tasks given to them. They hurried forward and dived below. The first person they met was Pierre, who looked with commiseration on their tarred dresses.

“I came on board with a nice clean suit, and had to spoil it just as you have had to spoil yours,” he observed; “and now he abuses me when I go into his cabin, for not looking clean.”

After this the boys were regularly sent aft to help wash down decks, and to keep the stanchions and other parts about the ship bright. This gave them abundant occupation. However, when they could manage to get below, they were treated even more kindly than before by the crew.

They had been for some weeks cruising up and down without even sighting a sail, when one morning, on Harry and David coming on deck, they found the captain and officers in a considerable state of excitement. The captain himself went aloft with his glass, and on his return ordered the ship’s course to be altered, and all sail to be set.

“We are in chase of some vessel or other,” observed Harry; “depend upon it the Frenchmen expect to make a prize of her.”

All hands were called on deck. Now one sail and now another was added,—some rigged out so as just to skim the surface of the water, while with buckets and scoops the sails were wetted as high as they could be reached. Harry and David could see in the far distance a large ship, which from her narrow yards and the cut of her sails Harry said he thought was really a merchantman, which of course the Frenchman took her to be.

“But suppose she is not,” said David.

“Then they will find out that they have caught a Tartar, and we shall get out of the power of this Monsieur Sourcrout,” answered Harry; “however, we mustn’t raise our hopes too high.”

“The ship ahead has shown English colours,” the boys heard from some of the crew, for they could not get a glass to look through. She, it seemed, did not like the appearance of the stranger, for she now set all sail and went off also directly before the wind. A stern chase is a long chase, but if the chaser is a faster vessel than the chased, she will come up with her at last. As the day drew on it was very evident that the schooner had gained very considerably on the chase. She was seen to be an old-fashioned merchant vessel, a regular West India trader, probably, which would afford a rich prize to the captors.

The excitement of the captain and officers was extreme. Already they anticipated the rich booty which would soon be theirs.

“Oh! do you think those people on board that vessel will give in without fighting?” asked David.

“I think very likely not,” said Harry; “we shall soon know; in less than an hour we shall be alongside.”

“What had we better do?” asked David.

“Stay on deck and see what takes place,” said Harry.

“What, and run the chance of being shot?” said David; “I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Well, let us wait and see till the time comes,” said Harry, who was evidently very unwilling to go below while any fighting was taking place.

In the meantime the Frenchmen were very active in preparing the ship for action. Arm-chests were thrown open, and arms were handed to each of the crew. The cutlasses were secured to their waists, and the pistols they stuck in their belts. The guns were cast loose and loaded, and the French ensign run up at the peak. The magazine was opened, and Harry and David were called aft by the captain, and told to go below.

“I knew that’s what we should have to do,” said Harry.

“Stand by, and hand up the powder as it is wanted,” said the captain, in an authoritative tone, which there was no disobeying. Pierre and the other boys were employed in the same way.

“We shall have to carry the powder on deck in these tubs, and sit on it till it is wanted,” said Harry.

“And run as great a risk of being shot as any of the crew?” asked David.

“There’s no help for it,” said Harry. “If we refuse, the French skipper is just as likely to shoot us through the head as not. He’s been waiting for this opportunity to have his revenge on us.”

As soon as the guns were loaded, a fresh supply of powder was called for, and Harry and the other boys were ordered to carry it up on deck. There they sat in a row on the tubs which contained the bags of powder, looking anything but contented with their lot. The schooner now rapidly came up with the merchant vessel,—for such there seemed no doubt was the character of the chase. Whether or not she would fight seemed a question. As they drew nearer, a considerable number of men were seen on deck, and she gave no signs of yielding. As soon as the Frenchman’s bow-chaser could be brought to bear, a shot was fired, but no reply was given. Another and another followed in rapid succession. Neither of the shots took effect. At length the schooner got near enough to fire a whole broadside. As she was about to do so, the ship hauled up her courses, and, standing across the Frenchman’s bows, gave her a raking broadside which struck down several of her crew, and caused some little damage to her masts and spars. Harry and David looked anxiously towards each other. Neither of them was hurt, nor was Pierre, in whom they took a warm interest. This opposition, however, seemed to excite the captain to the utmost pitch of fury. He stamped and swore, and ordered a broadside to be immediately poured into the English ship. The two vessels now ran on alongside each other. It was clear if the English vessel was to be taken, she would not be captured without a severe struggle. The Frenchman’s guns were heavier and more numerous than hers, and the crew were better trained to their use. This soon began to tell. Several of her spars were soon shot away, and from the faintness of her fire it seemed too probable that many of her crew had been killed or wounded. As long as the Frenchman’s spars remained standing, to escape was hopeless, and her guns were therefore directed rather to knock away the Frenchman’s masts than to kill the crew. In this, however, she was not successful, and several of her own spars were shot away instead. At length the French captain, delivering another broadside, ranged up alongside with the intention of boarding. An attempt was made to avoid this, and boarding nettings were seen triced up above the bulwarks of the English ship. Again the Frenchman ran alongside.

“They shall not foil us a second time,” exclaimed the French captain; “no quarter if they do not yield.”

Harry and David trembled for the fate of their unfortunate countrymen on board the merchantman. Just then the English ensign was seen to descend from the peak. Those on board the English vessel thought that further resistance was hopeless. The Frenchmen swarmed up the sides, and were quickly in possession of the English ship.

“We’ll follow, and see what takes place,” said Harry; “we may perhaps help some of the poor people.”

As there was no one to interfere with them, they were soon on the merchantman’s deck. Some five or six of the crew lay dead, while three or four others, badly wounded, were being conveyed below. The French captain, by his gestures, seemed disappointed at not having his expected revenge, and he was abusing the English captain for having attempted to oppose him. A man stood by, receiving the swords of the captain and several other persons, who seemed to be gentlemen. Harry and David observed one whose face had been turned away from them at first.

“Harry,” exclaimed David, “I’m sure that’s Captain Rymer. If Mary is on board, how dreadful for her!”

“It’s very like him,” said Harry; “I’m afraid it must be him. But how could he have come on board the ship? We shall soon know, at all events—I will try and speak to him.”

As may be supposed, even their dearest friends would not have known the two lads in their tarry clothes, and their faces begrimed with powder. As soon as the French captain and his followers went below to examine the cargo of the ship, Harry and David stole up to the gentleman whom they supposed to be Captain Rymer. He was indeed their friend.

“What, lads!” he exclaimed, looking at them, “are you really alive? I am thankful to find you so, even in this plight.”

Harry rapidly explained how they came to be on board the French vessel.

“And is Mary with you?” asked Harry, eagerly.

“Yes, and there are several other ladies in the cabin below. They have shut themselves in, and I trust will receive no annoyance from the Frenchmen.”

“I don’t think we should be seen talking with you,” said Harry, “because we may hope to be of some assistance, although we don’t see clearly how that is to be just yet.”

The Frenchmen seemed highly elated at finding they had captured an unusually rich prize, and were in a very good humour, in spite of the loss of a few of their number. The dead were soon thrown overboard, and the wounded placed in the doctor’s hands out of sight, the decks washed down, and most of the traces of the combat done away with. A picked crew of the Frenchmen was sent on board the English merchantman, which it seemed the intention of the captain to carry into the nearest port in the West Indies belonging to France. Harry and David could not bear the thoughts of being separated from Captain Rymer, and resolved to stow themselves away on board the English vessel, hoping they might not be missed. Among the prize crew were, to their great satisfaction, their good-natured friends Jacques Rossillion and Pierre Lamont. The first lieutenant came to take the command. The Frenchmen more than doubled the remainder of the English crew, who, however, were expected to assist in working the ship. Scarcely had these arrangements been made when a strong breeze sprang up. The boats were hoisted in, and the two vessels separated. The wind increased very rapidly, and so heavy a sea got up that it would have been dangerous for a boat to pass from one vessel to the other. Before long, however, the schooner ranged up near the ship.

“You have got those two English boys on board; give them the rope’s-end,” shouted the French captain, who, apparently, had only just then discovered that Harry and David had escaped him.

The French lieutenant replied that he would see to it, and again the vessels separated. He, however, had never looked at them in the same surly way the other officers had done, and as they took good care to keep out of his sight, he seemed to forget the orders he had received. The wind went on increasing till it seemed likely to become a regular hurricane. The management of the ship completely occupied the French crew, so that they had but little time to look after their prisoners. The English captain and his officers were ordered to remain as prisoners in one of the cabins with a sentinel placed over them, but the rest of the crew were allowed to go about at liberty.

“Don’t you think it would be possible to get back the ship?” said Harry to David. “Shall I propose to make the attempt to Captain Rymer?”

“If it was not for Mary and the other ladies,” said David, “he might consent; but the risk to them would be too fearful were we to fail.”

Hitherto they had not had the opportunity of seeing Mary. Finding, however, that the Frenchmen as well as the English crew were engaged in making the ship snug, they stole aft and found their way to the cabin door.

“May we come in?” said Harry.

“Yes, yes,” answered a voice, which they thought was Mary’s.

When, however, they opened the door and presented themselves, for a minute Mary could scarcely recognise them, so changed were they since the day they had parted from her after the picnic—Harry in his bright new uniform, and David in his trim yachtsman’s attire. Now their hair was long, their cheeks were sunken, at least so far as could be seen through the powder which begrimed them, and their dresses were covered from head to foot with tar; still, the moment they spoke, she sprang forward and took them warmly by the hands.

“Oh, I am so thankful that you have not been lost, as we thought you were,” she exclaimed, and the tears came into her eyes; “this is a very sad way of meeting, but still I hope God will protect us all, and I am thankful to see you both.”

Most of the ladies, who were all passengers, were eager to hear of the boys’ adventures. These they briefly gave. Some, however, were too frightened by the sound of the hurricane, and the tossing and rolling of the ship, to listen to them.

“Do you think there is any danger?” at last asked Mary of Harry.

“I hope not,” said Harry, “but Captain Rymer knows more about it than I do.”

Captain Rymer, who at this moment entered the cabin, looked somewhat anxious, though he endeavoured to speak in a cheerful voice, and began to express his satisfaction at the escape of his young friends from the numerous dangers to which they had been exposed. Night was now coming on, and it was evident that the ship was in the midst of a regular West Indian hurricane. The French officer was evidently a good seaman, and did all that could be done under the circumstances for the safety of the ship. The topgallant-masts were struck, and every sail was furled except a closely reefed fore-topsail, with which the ship ran before the gale. Night had now come on; the wind, as is generally the case during a hurricane, shifted so much that it was difficult to ascertain in what direction she was driving. Captain Rymer several times went on deck, but had a not very satisfactory report to give on his return.

“As long as the ship does not spring a leak we have nothing to fear, however,” he observed.

Still the ship rolled and pitched so much that it seemed scarcely possible that a structure of wood and iron could hold together. The poor ladies had to sit on the deck of the cabin and hold on by the legs of the table, while the lamp swung backwards and forwards in a way that threatened every instant to cause its fracture. Harry and David, though they had seen enough of storms, agreed to go up on deck and see what was taking place. One glance satisfied them. The mountain seas, covered with white foam, were rolling up on either side of the ship, and threatened every instant to come down upon her deck. They gladly descended again.

“I don’t at all like the look of things, I confess,” said David. “As long, however, as Captain Rymer is satisfied that all is right, so should we be.”

Chapter Ten.

On a Reef—Fate of the French Crew—The Island—The Shipwrecked People—The French Lieutenant L’Hirondelle.

It is scarcely necessary to relate that Captain Rymer was on his way, on board the Cerberus, West Indian merchantman, to take the command to which he had been appointed when he was captured by the privateer. He had been too much accustomed to the ups and downs of a sailor’s life to be disheartened at what had occurred, though it was a great trial it must be owned. He had cause also to be grateful that he and his companions had not received that ill-usage to which passengers were too often subjected when their vessel was taken by a privateer. It might have been very different had the French captain himself remained on board. He had now, however, great cause for apprehension, in consequence of the increasing violence of the hurricane. The Cerberus, he knew, was a stout, strong-built ship, but many a stout ship had gone down in a West Indian hurricane; not long before, several line-of-battle ships with all their gallant crews had been lost. Things on deck looked as bad as they well could do. He was a Christian man, and put his trust in One who is all-able to save. Thus he could impart hope and confidence to his companions. Hitherto the ship had not sprung a leak, and, as far as he could judge, they were at some distance from any land. The French had, however, become alarmed. Some, like true men, stayed at their posts on deck, but the greater number had gone below and stowed themselves away in the berths. A few had endeavoured to break open the spirit-room, but the French officers, suspecting their intentions, had been in time to prevent them, and threatened to shoot the first man, whether Frenchman or Englishman, who would again make the attempt. Order was thus kept on board. No human power was longer of any avail in guiding the ship. The hatches were battened down in time to prevent the seas, which now began to break on board, from washing below. On she drove before the hurricane. The caboose and spars were first washed away; then two of the quarter-boats shared the same fate. The seas were making a clean sweep over the decks; still on she drove. Now part of the bulwarks were knocked to pieces, and it seemed that in a short time everything on deck would follow; still the masts stood and the ship floated. There was hope, but it grew fainter and fainter; even the stoutest hearts had cause to fear. Several fearful hours followed. The hurricane howled more loudly and fiercely around the ship, and the raging seas seemed to have gained her as their prey.

“Do you really think she will live through it?” asked David of Harry.

“Yes, I do think so; we’ve gone through so many dangers, that I can’t fancy that we’re to be lost at last,” was Harry’s reply.

Another and another hour passed away. “Surely the hurricane must come to an end at last,” said David. “Did you ever know one last so long, Captain Rymer?” he inquired.

“They seldom last more than twelve or fifteen hours, and this gives me hope that we shall escape,” answered their friend. “I see a gleam of daylight coming through a scuttle. Depend upon it, before long the wind will begin to fall.”

While they were speaking loud cries arose from those on deck. “Breakers ahead!” shouted the English crew. Directly afterwards there was a fearful crash.

“We’re cast upon a reef!” exclaimed Harry; “perhaps, after all, our last day is come.”

Captain Rymer set an example of coolness to his companions. “Remain together,” he said to Mary and the other ladies, “I will go on deck and ascertain the state of affairs, and return for you, if there is a prospect of your reaching the shore. We are in God’s hands, and though we may be unable to help ourselves, let us feel that He will care for us.”

While he was thus speaking, the ship seemed to be lifted by the seas, and then down she came again with another crash. Just as Captain Rymer reached the deck, followed by David and Harry, the masts were seen to go by the board; the ship had struck upon a reef, over which the sea was driving her, and inside of it the waters seemed comparatively calm.

“Why, men,” shouted Captain Rymer to the crew, “I believe if we remain by the ship we shall all be able to gain the shore in safety.” The Frenchmen, however, did not understand him, and were engaged in launching the remaining boats. He felt sure that in the raging seas which surrounded the ship no boats would live.

“Whatever happens, we will remain on board,” he said to Harry and David. “The ship I know is strong, and will hold together till the storm is abated. Those who attempt to embark now will, I fear, lose their lives.”

In vain he urged the Frenchmen to remain. The English captain alone, with one of his officers, agreed that he was right. The boats were lowered and the infatuated men leaped into them. Pierre Lamont had courageously remained on deck during the hurricane, but he now seemed inclined to follow his countrymen into the boats. Harry and David saw him, and shouted to him not to go. Hearing them he turned back, but one of the Frenchmen seized him by the arms, and before he could disengage himself, had dragged him into the boat. Scarcely, however, had the boats shoved off, crowded with human beings, than first one, then the other, was capsized, and all were thrown into the water. In vain the shrieking wretches attempted to regain the ship; some clung to the boats; a few who could swim struggled for some time amid the foaming waves. Captain Rymer had before this gone below, but Captain Williams and those who remained on deck, got ropes ready to throw to any who might be washed near the ship. None were so fortunate, and one by one they were carried far away, and disappeared amid the foaming breakers.

“Is there not one who can be saved?” exclaimed David, who had stood watching the scene with horror.

“Yes, yes, I see one clinging to the wreck of our masts,” answered Harry; “I must go and try to rescue him. I do believe that it is Pierre!”

“Oh, let me go then,” said David; “I can swim better than you, you know.”

“This is a case for scrambling rather than for swimming,” answered Harry; “I’ll fasten a rope round my waist, and we’ll have him quickly on board.”

Harry, before David could offer another objection, did as he proposed. It was an undertaking, however, of the greatest danger, and the utmost activity and vigilance could alone have saved him from being struck by the broken spars which were dashed here and there by the seas.

At length Harry reached the object of his search. Pierre looked up at him eagerly. “Oh, save me, save me! I cannot hold on longer,” he exclaimed.

Harry sprang forward and grasped the French boy by the collar just as his hands relaxed their hold. He dragged him up on the mast. To return with him was even more difficult than the first part of the undertaking. Undaunted, however, Harry persevered, and, though more than once almost losing his footing, succeeded at length in bringing young Pierre on board. “Brave garçon!” exclaimed Jacques, as he helped him up; “oh, I would die for you! I will be ever your friend.”

Except the lieutenant in command, and honest Jacques Rossillion, no Frenchman remained on board, and the ship was once more, therefore, in possession of the English. Scarcely had this fearful catastrophe occurred than the weather gave evident signs of improving. Captain Williams, the English commander, accompanied by Captain Rymer, went round the ship below and brought back a satisfactory report that she appeared to have suffered very little damage by the blows she had received. The shore was, however, not particularly inviting; a few groups of cocoa-nut trees and other tropical plants were alone to be seen. It was an island scarcely more than two miles in circumference, one of those spots known as keys in the West Indies; still, should the ship break up, it would afford them shelter, and they could not help longing to be able to reach the beach. As the boats and all had been lost, this could not be done till a raft had been built. The gentlemen immediately set about constructing one. As the spars had all been washed away, it was necessary first to get those which floated alongside from the rigging. There were planks also below; these were got up, with all the empty casks which could be collected. By knocking away some of the bulwarks, and by bringing on deck a few of the seamen’s chests, they soon had materials for constructing a raft large enough for carrying the whole party. All hands worked with a will. The French lieutenant was very active, and seemed in no way put out by having the tables so completely turned upon him. He was probably grateful, as he ought to have been, for having escaped with his life. By the time the raft was finished, the sea had so completely gone down that there was little difficulty in launching it. The bulwarks having been already completely washed away, all that was necessary was to let it slip quietly overboard. Its constructors gave a cheer as they saw it floating calmly alongside; they had still, however, to rig the mast and sail, as well as to fit some oars to guide it towards the shore.

When this was done, the captains invited all the passengers up on deck. It was agreed that it would be safer to convey only half at a time. Harry and David begged that they might accompany Captain Rymer and Mary. Captain Rymer agreed to let Captain Williams conduct the first party, saying that he should be content to remain on board till the return of the raft. Before the raft left the side, a supply of provisions were lowered down upon it; and, with the prayers of those who remained on board for its safe voyage, the raft shoved off from the side of the ship. Its progress was slow, for there was very little wind, and there seemed to be a current sweeping round the island which took it out of its direct course. At length, however, it reached the beach, and those on it leaped out and ran eagerly up on to the dry land. The men had, however, to return for the provisions, which were landed in safety. Then Captain Williams, and two seamen who accompanied him, had to return to the ship; they were a considerable time, and it seemed doubtful indeed, in consequence of the current which had to be encountered, whether they would regain her. They succeeded, however, at last.

Captain Rymer, with those who had remained on board, had employed their time in getting up provisions, and their first care was to load her with as large a supply as she could safely carry; this done, the remainder of those on board now made for the shore, which by some exertion they safely reached. The first care of the shipwrecked party on reaching the shore was to send out some of their number in search for water. Captain Rymer had brought some from the wreck, but this was only sufficient to last for a short time, and their lives might depend upon their obtaining a supply. Only those who have felt the want of water know how to appreciate its value. Others, in the meantime, employed themselves in getting up a tent for the ladies; for which purpose they had brought some spare sails and ropes. In a short time the party which had gone out in search of water returned with the report that none was to be found. This rendered it important to economise their slender store, and to procure a future supply from the ship as soon as possible.

All this time no one seemed to have thought of the French privateer. She had not been seen since the commencement of the hurricane, from which, if she had escaped, it was too probable she would come and look for her prize. This was a source of anxiety to Captain Rymer, for, though of course anxious to escape from their present position, he had no wish at all to fall again into the hands of the French.

The men of the party found ample occupation for the rest of the day, in putting up shelter for themselves, for hot as is the climate of the West Indies, it is dangerous to sleep exposed to the night dews.

Pierre seemed anxious to make himself useful, and begged that he might be allowed to attend on the ladies. Jacques offered to undertake the office of cook, the duties of which he was far better able to perform than any of the English. The French lieutenant seemed the most cast-down of any of the party. He sat by himself not speaking to any one, and with an air of discontent, put away the food which was brought to him.

“The poor lieutenant mourns and seems very unhappy,” said David to Pierre.

“Yes,” answered Pierre, “he is often thus morose when anything annoys him; the poor man has no religion.”

“Is he not a Roman Catholic?” asked David.

“Oh, no; a large number of my countrymen threw off all religion at the Revolution, and many, like him, have not taken to any since. He, I am afraid, does not believe in God, or in any future state, but that when he dies he will become just like a dog or a pig; so, you see, he has no hope, and nothing to keep him up.”

“But what are you, Pierre? are you not a Roman Catholic?” asked David.

“Oh, no, I am a Protestant,” answered Pierre; “there are a great many Protestants in France, and though some few at the Revolution became infidels, by far the greater number remained firm to the true faith.”

“I didn’t know there were any Protestants in France,” said Harry, who, like many boys at that time, fancied that the English were the only Protestant people in Europe.

“Oh, yes, there are a great number who are known as Huguenots, and who fought bravely for the Protestant faith,” said Pierre. “My father was of a Huguenot family, and many of his ancestors lost their lives for the love they bore the Bible.”

“Ah! that was a noble cause to die for,” remarked David. “How sad to think that people should reject the truths it contains.”

This conversation took place as the boys were sitting together in front of the tent. Darkness now came rapidly on, but from the look of the weather there seemed every prospect of their having the blessing of a quiet night. The sea had gone completely down, and the moon shone forth over the calm waters, the light just falling upon the spot where the wreck lay, so that any object could be seen approaching it. Captain Rymer and Captain Williams agreed, however to keep watch for the protection of their charges. Three English seamen, with the mate, wisely remained by their captain. There were, besides Captain Rymer, four gentlemen passengers, West Indian planters, going out to their property. They were not men of much individual character, evidently more accustomed to look after their own creature comforts than to trouble them selves about their fellow-beings. There was one subject in which they were all agreed, that the emancipation of the negroes would ruin them, and all persons concerned. It was a doubtful matter whether negroes had souls, and that to attempt to educate them was a work of the greatest folly. In this matter Captain Rymer did not agree with them, and the discussion of the subject afforded them abundant supply of conversation at all times.

The night passed quietly away. As soon as it was dawn, Captain Rymer urged Captain Williams to return at once to the wreck, and bring on shore a further supply of provisions and water.

“We cannot tell what may occur,” he observed. “The hurricane season is not yet over, and should another hurricane come on, and the vessel go to pieces, we might be starved, and die for want of water.”

The wisdom of this advice was so evident, that the raft was immediately despatched, under the captain’s charge, to bring off the cargo. In a short time it returned, and a message was delivered from the captain, that he thought it would be wiser to build another raft, in order more rapidly to get the stores on shore. This work occupied the men the whole of the day. Jacques alone remained on shore to cook the provisions, with the help of Pierre, while David and Harry begged that they might be allowed to go off to the wreck, where they thought that they could make themselves useful.

“I vote that we make a small raft for ourselves,” said Harry; “and I think that we can paddle her backwards and forwards several times, while the big raft is only making one voyage.”

With the experience they had already attained, they soon carried their plan into execution, and in a short time conveyed a considerable quantity of the stores on shore. During their last trip, however, Harry observed close alongside the raft a black fin, and a wicked pair of eyes glancing up at him.

“There’s a brute of a shark,” he exclaimed; “he thinks he’s going to get a meal off one of us, I suspect.”

Still they kept paddling on, and the shark did not attempt to come nearer them. They were not sorry, however, when they reached the shore, and Captain Rymer told them that he considered they had done enough for the day. It must be owned it was far pleasanter to sit near Mary, and listen to the account of all their friends at home. She did not tell them how completely they had been given up, for she knew it would make Harry especially melancholy to think of the sorrow his supposed loss had caused his mother, nor did she tell him how very sorry she herself had been. Indeed, she could say truly that many of their friends fully expected that they would turn up at last.

“Doesn’t this put you in mind of our picnic?” said Harry, looking up at her, “though to be sure we are somewhat changed since then,” looking down on his tarred and dirty dress. “I really think the next time I go on board the wreck I must try and find a new suit of clothes.”

“You do look rather disreputable,” said Mary, laughing, “for an officer in His Majesty’s service. Here comes Jacques with the dinner. Really Jacques must be a first-rate cook, and we ought to be thankful that he escaped.”

None of the party seemed inclined to be out of spirits, except the lieutenant, who sat as usual by himself, and refused to take the food Pierre offered him. Had it even been otherwise, the good well-cooked dinner provided by Jacques might have put them in good humour, while there was no lack of wine, of which the West Indian planters had laid in a good store. In the evening a further supply of provisions and water was obtained from the wreck. The next day was wisely occupied in the same way, till a sufficient supply of food was landed to last for a couple of months or more. More than once it was discussed whether it could be possible to get the wreck off, but it was agreed that without more strength than they possessed it would be impossible, though, as far as could be ascertained, she had suffered no material damage. Some of the party thought they took a great deal of trouble for little purpose, and that it would be more easy to get the stores on shore as they were required.

“They will see the wisdom of what we have done should a hurricane come on,” said Captain Rymer, “and I am not at all sure, from the appearance of the weather, that we shall escape one.”

The next morning the heat was intense. The sun rose surrounded by a mass of ruddy hue, but was hidden ere long in a thick canopy of cloud. Not a breath of wind stirred the calm waters. In the distance a sail was seen, which had approached the island during the night. Captain Rymer had been watching her for some time through his glass. The French lieutenant, on observing her, sprang to his feet, and eagerly asked the captain to let him look through the glass.

“It is the Hirondelle!” he exclaimed. “Then she did not go down in the last hurricane. My captain guessed rightly that the prize was cast away on some island in this direction. He is a sagacious man.”

“I wish his sagacity had not led him to discover us,” said Captain Rymer. “If he lands here he may after all succeed in getting off the ship.”

This announcement caused, as may be supposed, a considerable amount of anxiety among those on the island. While they were watching, two boats were seen to leave the schooner. Hitherto it had been so calm that a feather held up would have fallen to the ground. Suddenly, however, there came a low moaning sound, and the leaves of the palm trees began to rustle strangely. In an instant afterwards the blast swept over the island, snapping off the tops of many of the tallest trees. The tents were blown down, and it was with difficulty that those on the island could avoid being carried away. The sea, hitherto so calm, came dashing in huge foaming billows against the weather side, and breaking over the wreck with tremendous force, and it seemed scarcely possible that she could resist the blows that she was receiving. Now one sea and now another dashed against her, till she seemed to be completely covered with a mass of foam. They looked out for the schooner, she was nowhere to be seen. Either she had gone down, or had been driven far away by the hurricane. The hurricane continued blowing without cessation; now coming from one quarter, and now from another.

Evening was approaching, and an unusual darkness overspread the ocean. It was fearful to contemplate what might be the fate of many of those who floated on that stormy sea. It was impossible to put up any shelter for the ladies, but Mary felt that she had her father to protect her, who sat by her side, sheltering her as well as he could, aided by Harry and David. Thus the night passed away, the whole party sitting grouped together for mutual protection. “What could have become of the schooner?” was a question often asked and answered. The morning broke at length. The Cerberus had disappeared, but still further off, at the end of the reef, an object was seen. It was part of a wreck; there were human beings clinging to it. “Whether Englishmen or Frenchman we must endeavour to save them,” said Captain Rymer.

Chapter Eleven.

The Rescue of the French Seamen—Mary a Prisoner to the French—Pierre delivers her—Bad Conduct of the French.

The hurricane had given signs of abating, but the sea was still far too rough to allow of even a good boat going off to the people on the reef; still more impossible would it have been to have reached them by means of a raft. On examining the rafts which had been constructed to bring the cargo on shore, both were found to have suffered by the hurricane. It was determined, therefore, to build a smaller and more manageable one, by means of which it was hoped to reach the shipwrecked people. This work Captain Williams and his companions immediately set about performing. The French lieutenant now thoroughly aroused, lent his hand to it. In the course of a couple of hours a structure was formed with which it was hoped they might venture out to sea.

Their next undertaking was to cut out a number mast, and fit a sail for the raft. Still the sea would not allow them to venture from the shore; they had, therefore, to wait patiently, watching in the meantime the people whom they were anxious to rescue. The wreck seemed to be fixed firmly at the end of a reef, and to have afforded them a shelter from the fury of the seas, which would otherwise have washed them away. Still, as they probably had no food nor water, it was impossible that they could exist there for any length of time. Should any attempt be made by those on the wreck to reach the shore by swimming, it was but too probable that they would be carried off by the sharks, numbers of which swarmed around the island. In the meantime, the men were employed in getting up the tent, and in restoring matters to the condition they were in before the hurricane.

The poor ladies had suffered greatly from the alarm into which they had been thrown, and it was necessary they should obtain that rest which had been denied them during the night. Mary, however, kept up her spirits, and could not help expressing her thankfulness that Harry and David had been saved, and were thus sharing with her the adventures which she was not likely to forget to the end of her days.

“How curious it will be when they hear about us at home,” said David, “and that we were all wrecked together on this out-of-the-way island.”

“But how are they to hear about us?” observed Mary; “we must get away from this before we can send a letter home, and how we are to get away seems the question.”

“Some means will turn up, depend upon it,” said Harry, “we shall be seen by some passing ship, or if not, we must build a boat and try to reach some of the nearest islands. We are not likely to have to spend all our lives here, depend on that.”

They little thought of the difficulties and dangers they had still to go through. The day was advancing, but still the sea was considered too rough to allow the raft to be launched. They watched the people on the reef, who seemed to be clustering together, and who probably, unless they had a telescope, would not be aware that there were any people on the shore likely to come to their assistance. At length the sun set, and very unwillingly they were obliged to abandon the hope of going off till the following morning. They anxiously watched the weather during the night, and were thankful to find that the wind had dropped to a perfect calm. By daybreak Captain Williams summoned those who had agreed to accompany him, consisting of his mate and two English seamen, and Jacques Rossillion. By means of the long sweeps, which had been carefully fitted to the raft, they were enabled to urge it along at a good speed over the waters.

“Success attend your efforts!” said Captain Rymer, as he assisted in shoving off the raft. Harry and David begged that they might also go, and assist in working the sweeps; and their offer was accepted. They had a somewhat long voyage to perform, and though they vigorously worked the sweeps they could not move the raft more than at the rate of three miles an hour. As they approached the reef they were perceived by the shipwrecked party, who waved to them as if urging them to come faster. As they drew near the men pointed to their mouths, indicating that they were suffering from thirst. Unhappily, no water had been brought off. Several, it appeared, had been in a state of delirium, and it was very evident that it would be dangerous to approach too close to the wreck, lest a number jumping upon the raft might upset it. There appeared to be about twenty or thirty people on the wreck, and Captain Williams agreed that it would not be safe to convey more than eight or ten at a time to the shore. The French lieutenant recognised the men as belonging to the schooner’s crew, and he called out to them by name, ordering eight at a time to come down, and that they would be taken on board. They did not seem, however, inclined to obey him. Fortunately, Captain Williams had stuck a brace of pistols in his belt, and he now threatened to shoot any who might attempt to come on board the raft unless ordered by the lieutenant. This had the effect of keeping back the greater number, and eight of the Frenchmen were safely got on board the raft, which now at once commenced its return to the shore. Those who remained on the reef entreated that they might not be deserted, though they would scarcely believe the promise made by their officer that he would return for them. The poor men who had been rescued showed how much they had been suffering by pointing to their parched tongues, and again and again asking for water.

Captain Williams and his companions exerted themselves to the utmost to reach the shore. This they at length accomplished, and water was immediately procured for the thirsty men. Their sufferings might be those of the whole party, unless great economy was used in distributing the precious fluid. A small cask was put on the raft, with some cups, and once more the party set forth to return to the reef, leaving those who had first landed to the care of their friends on shore. As the raft again approached the reef, the poor wretches who had been left upon it were seen stretching out their hands eagerly for water. There was still great danger lest they might rush down, in their anxiety to obtain it, and either fall into the water or upset the raft. Much caution was therefore necessary. The lieutenant and Jacques first leaped on to the rock, when Captain Williams handed them up the cups of water; but the first man who got the cup refused to let it leave his lips till he had drained every drop. Two were seen to fall backward after they had drunk, and it was with difficulty they were saved from falling into the sea. Several who were already in a state of delirium, scarcely seemed to value the boon which had been brought them. In time, however, water was given to all, and it was now necessary to select those who might be carried away on the raft, as it would require another trip before all could be removed. Harry and David looked somewhat anxiously for the French captain, but neither he nor any of the officers were among those saved. More than half of the crew, it was evident, had been lost. The lieutenant did not ask questions; indeed the poor men were not in a condition to have replied to them.

For the safety of the raft it was necessary to secure the limbs of those who were in a state of delirium, and it was painful to see them struggling, as they lay on the raft, not understanding that this was done for their own safety. The second party were thus landed safely, and again the raft put off for the remainder of the crew. They had to row the whole way; indeed it was fortunate that there was no wind, as it would have made the approach to the reef much more dangerous. As it was, during the last trip the raft was very nearly driven against the rocks by one of those sudden upheavings of the ocean which sometimes occur, and send the water breaking over any opposing obstacle. Happily, they were able to shove off in time.

Altogether, nearly thirty people were safely landed. It became, however, a serious consideration to the former occupants of the island, how the new comers were to be fed. They had provisions which might have lasted them a couple of months or more, though they had already seen the necessity of going upon an allowance of water; their numbers were now doubled, and they had not water to last them more than a very short time. Still, disregarding the character of those who had been rescued, they did their utmost to restore the poor men who had been thrown upon their care. Two of them, however, died from having drunk a large quantity of salt water, and others remained seriously ill for several days.

The excitement of going off on the raft having subsided, the French lieutenant again sunk into his former moody state. At length the Frenchmen appeared to have recovered, but they did not seem inclined to associate with the English, nor with Jacques nor Pierre, who continued to perform their former duties. Captain Rymer and Captain Williams agreed that it would be necessary to put a guard over their provisions and stores, lest the Frenchmen should take it into their heads to help themselves without leave. It was explained to them that they must be content with a very moderate amount of food, and a still smaller quantity of water, unless a supply of the latter could be found. They seemingly acquiesced in the wisdom of this, but from the looks they exchanged with each other, it was but too probable that they would be tempted to break through the regulations which had been formed on the subject.

With regard to food, they might obtain sufficient to support life both from the shell-fish on the shore, and from any fish they might catch, while the trees promised to afford them a supply of cocoanuts. But water was what they most required; without that it would be impossible to support existence. As long, however, as they were supplied with food, the Frenchmen did not show any inclination to search for it for themselves. Pierre was sent to tell them that lines would be provided for them, if they would try to catch some fish, and again the captain set out to make a fresh search for water.

As soon as the Frenchmen had recovered, they showed a very different disposition to what they had previously exhibited. They then received the food given to them by the English with apparent gratitude. Now, however, when it was sent to them they seized it rudely, and grumbled because the supply was not larger. Captain Rymer endeavoured to explain to the French lieutenant that the arrangements made were for the good of all. He, however, either had no authority over his countrymen or pretended to have none. Still, as he associated himself with them, it was evident that he intended to side with them whatever they might do. This state of things gave considerable anxiety to the English officers. It was arranged that a strict guard should be kept over the provisions and water, and that no one should be allowed to take anything from the stores.

Pierre continued, as before, to attend on the English, though he occasionally paid a visit to the French, who were encamped at some little distance, and out of sight of the rest of the party. On being questioned, he said that the French claimed the stores as their own, because they had captured the vessel from which they were taken, and that they were very angry at the idea of the English appropriating them. It was agreed, however, that unless they were preserved as before, the French sailors would probably consume the whole in a very short time, and all the party would be left in a state of starvation. Still, as the French had hitherto shown no disposition to annoy the English, the passengers continued to stroll about the shore of the island without any apprehension, as they had been accustomed to do. Harry and David frequently escorted Mary in these expeditions. They always returned with a basket-full of shell-fish of various sorts. The boys also fitted some fishing lines, and after a little practice they succeeded in catching a great many fish. Some of them were very beautiful; but when they showed them to Jacques, he told them that they were not fit to be eaten. Others, however, were excellent, and they had thus no apprehension with regard to not having provisions for their support, even though they might remain on the island for many months. The great anxiety was with regard to water.

One day Mary and her young companions had gone along the shore for a considerable distance, when they reached a point of rock upon which they believed that they should be able to catch a number of fish. Mary did not take the same interest in the sport that they did, but preferred wandering along the beach and picking up the beautiful shells, and several curious creatures that had been cast on shore. Harry and David soon began to catch a number of fish, and were completely absorbed in their sport. Mary said that she would go along the beach some little distance, and then return to them. They saw her walking along, now stooping down to pick up a shell, now continuing her course close to the water, when a rock hid her from view. Just at that moment the fish began to bite faster and faster, and as they hauled them up in their eagerness they forgot to look out for their companion. Suddenly Harry exclaimed, “What can have become of Mary? She is a long time away.”

They both shouted her name, but there was no answer. Gathering up their lines and their fish they leaped off the rock, and ran along the beach in the direction she had gone. They did not, however, see her, and became greatly alarmed. In vain they shouted her name.

“She certainly could not have turned back and gone the other way,” said Philip; “besides, see, here are the marks of her feet on the sand; she must have gone on further than she intended.” They traced her by the marks of her feet in the sand for a considerable distance, when she appeared to have turned inland, away from the beach. “Surely here are the marks of other feet,” said David; “if there were any savages on the island, I should be afraid she had been carried off by them.”

They now pursued in the direction of the marks of the feet, though Mary’s were no longer to be traced. The ground in the centre of the island being hard, they here lost all traces. They looked round in every direction. No persons were to be seen. They continued running eagerly forward, shouting again and again Mary’s name, when they found themselves in front of the French camp. The French jeered at them as they passed, and as they were unable to speak French, they could not enquire if any of the people had seen Mary. Not knowing what else to do, they hurried back to their own friends with the bad news. Captain Rymer at first would scarcely credit the account they gave him. He however, with the two boys and Captain Williams, immediately set out to search the neighbourhood of the spot where Mary had disappeared. It was evident to them that she had not been carried away from the island; they therefore came to the conclusion that the Frenchmen had made her a prisoner, in the hopes that they might thus compel the English to agree to any terms they might propose.

Captain Rymer therefore determined to go to the French with Pierre as interpreter, and to ascertain what terms the French had to propose. At first they denied that she was with them, but said that they were determined to have one half of the provisions and water as their proper share. Captain Rymer replied that they were determined for the good of all those on the island not to give up the provisions, and again enquired whether they had seen his young daughter, but could get no answer in return; and doubting whether the French really knew anything about Mary, he returned to consult further with Captain Williams. It was agreed that, should they yield to the demands of the Frenchmen, as soon as the first half of the provisions were consumed they would demand the remainder, and that, therefore, it would be wiser at once to refuse their demands.

The day was drawing on, but still there were no signs of Mary. They arranged that Jacques should carry their food as usual to the French, and endeavour to obtain all the information that he could. Harry and David offered to go and watch in the neighbourhood of the camp, so that if she really was there, and could make her escape, they might be ready to assist her. While they remained concealed, Pierre went on into the camp. He brought a larger supply of food than usual to each man, and talked to one and then to the other, often in no complimentary terms of the English.

“And why do you remain with them?” was the question put to him.

“Because I am well fed; and until you came I had none else to associate with except Jacques, and I cannot make out whether he likes the English or our own countrymen the best.”

“Then do you intend to remain with us now?” was the question put to Pierre.

“O yes! I have had enough of the English, and wish to throw in my fortunes with my own countrymen.”

The Frenchmen seemed to think that Pierre was in earnest, as he showed no inclination to leave them. He was, however, very busy in going about among the huts, whilst he put several questions to his countrymen, as to whether they could guess anything about the little girl who had been carried off. “Our lieutenant knows something about that, and as he does not want to fight with the English, hopes to gain his object by diplomacy.”

This convinced Pierre that Mary was in the camp, and he determined to set her free if he could. There was a hut in a grove close to the camp, into which he had hitherto not looked, and he thought it very likely that Mary had been shut up there. He knew, however, that he should be watched, especially by the lieutenant, who was walking up and down on the beach, in his usual moody manner. Nothing could be done, at all events, until it was dark; and he therefore continued laughing and talking with his countrymen, so as if possible to throw them off their guard. He observed the lieutenant once visit the hut with a tin of food, and, on leaving it, he placed a log of wood across the door. This convinced him more even than before that Mary was shut up there.

Night came on at last. By the conversation of the Frenchmen, he feared that they had determined to have possession of the provisions by force, if they could not gain them in any other way. The Frenchmen amused themselves as their countrymen, even under the most adverse circumstances, are accustomed to do, by singing, telling stories, and occasionally getting up and dancing. At last, tired with their exertions, they laid themselves down in their huts. Pierre waited until they all seemed asleep. He most dreaded being detected by the lieutenant. He crept cautiously near the hut in which he was lying down, and, greatly to his satisfaction, found that he also was asleep. He instantly stole off to the hut in which he believed Mary was confined. The log at the entrance was somewhat heavy, and he had no little difficulty in removing it without making a noise. He pushed back the rough planks that formed the door, and there, to his infinite satisfaction, he saw Mary. She was seated on a heap of boughs in a corner of the hut, with her hands tied together, and her feet secured to a log. She uttered an exclamation of surprise on hearing Pierre approach.

“Hush!” he said, “make no noise, I have come to release you.”

He fortunately had the knife in his pocket that David had given him, and with this he quickly cut the ropes with which the little girl was bound.

“Now,” he said, “take my hand, and I will lead you to those with whom you will soon find your way back to your friends.”

Saying this, he took her hand and led her through the grove, the French camp soon being lost sight of. They quickly found the spot where Harry and David were waiting. The boys were delighted at finding their young companion, and hurried off, supporting her between them, to their friends, while Pierre returned to the French. Captain Rymer was overjoyed at seeing his daughter, as will be supposed. The English did not rest much that night, not knowing what the French would next do. It was nearly morning when a footstep was heard approaching the camp, and Pierre came running up. “My countrymen have determined to attack you, and take the provisions by force,” he said; “I had just time to escape, for they already suspected me of assisting Miss Rymer to escape.”

Jacques, who had remained with the English, was very sorry to hear what the French proposed doing; he promised, however, to fight on the side of his friends. Ten muskets, and a small supply of powder and ball, had been brought from the wreck. Of these the Frenchman were not aware, but as there was very little ammunition, it would soon be exhausted, and then numbers would prevail.

Chapter Twelve.

The Arrival of the “Arethusa”—The French taken Prisoners—David becomes a Midshipman—The Fight and Victory—Joy at Home—The End.

Captain Rymer had taken the precaution of throwing up a breastwork round the camp, which might assist him in repelling any attack of the Frenchmen. “Though my countrymen will kill me if they discover I have warned you, I would rather die than that you should be taken by surprise,” exclaimed Pierre, as he was helped over the parapet.

“We hope that we shall be able to protect you,” said Harry, who with David had been on guard some time.

“Never fear; we have firearms, and your countrymen are without them. If they come, they will receive a warmer reception than they expect.”

A few minutes afterwards a number of persons were seen stealing towards the camp, and evidently hoping to take the company by surprise. “Silence!” said Captain Rymer to his companions, “we will let them suppose that we are asleep, and then, if we suddenly start up and fire a musket or two over their heads they will become so alarmed that they will perhaps desist from the attack.” This plan was followed out. The Frenchmen were evidently somewhat startled at finding that those they had come to attack were better armed than themselves.

“Now, Pierre, tell them that if they come on many of them will be killed,” said Captain Rymer; “we don’t wish to injure them, but we are resolved not to yield to their demand.”

The Frenchmen hearing this at first seemed to hesitate, but shouting to each other they again advanced towards the embankment. “You will take the consequences of your folly,” said Captain Rymer, and Pierre interpreted what he said. Several shots were fired, and two or three of the Frenchmen were apparently hit. The discharge had the effect of making them retreat. It was evident, however, that from the few muskets that had gone off that the powder was far from good, and that little dependence could therefore be placed on their firearms. Still it appeared that the French had had enough for the moment, as having failed in their expected surprise of the English they retreated once more to their own camp. But the state of affairs was very serious, as it could not be supposed that they would not again attempt to attack the camp.

“One thing must be done,” observed Captain Rymer; “as soon as the sun comes out we must dry our powder, that it may prove of more use than it did just now.” In a short time daylight broke, and the sun, rising out of the ocean, shed a bright light over the scene. As he rose, his rays fell on the white sails of a ship, not two miles from the island. Captain Rymer’s telescope was immediately turned towards her. “She’s an English frigate,” he exclaimed.

“Let me look, sir! let me look!” cried Harry, eagerly.

“That she is, indeed, and my own ship, the Arethusa, I am sure she is, I should know her among fifty other frigates. We expected that she would be sent out to the West Indies.”

The great point was now to draw the attention of those on board the frigate to the island. A flagstaff was quickly erected at a point clear of the trees, and as the flag was run up, several muskets were fired at the same time. They waited anxiously to see the effect. In another minute an answering gun was fired from the frigate, and almost at the same moment a couple of boats were seen approaching the shore. Harry’s delight was very great when he recognised several of his shipmates in the boats. The second lieutenant of the frigate, who came in command, was the first person to step on shore. Harry, forgetting his own appearance, instantly ran up to him, and was somewhat mortified at the look of astonishment with which the lieutenant regarded him.

“What, don’t you know me, sir?” exclaimed Harry.

“I begin to have an idea,” said the lieutenant, putting out his hand, “though there are one or two reasons why I should not know you. The first is, that we thought you had lost the number of your mess; and, excuse me, you certainly do not look like an English midshipman.”

“No, sir, I don’t think I do,” said Harry, laughing. “Now let me introduce my friends to you. Here is Mr David Morton, and Captain Rymer and Miss Rymer, and all these ladies and gentlemen. And it will take some time to tell you all about ourselves.”

Harry, in his joy, let his tongue run on, scarcely knowing what he was saying. Captain Rymer now stepped forward and explained the state of affairs. This required some little time to do.

“I am sure the captain will be very glad to receive the master, crew, and all the passengers of the Cerberus on board the frigate,” replied the lieutenant; “but I don’t know how he will be inclined to treat the Frenchmen, who have behaved as you have described. If they are left on the island they will probably perish of thirst. But, in the meantime, should any English vessel come here, they might take the crew prisoners, and make off in her.”

It was agreed, therefore, that the best way would be to carry them off as prisoners to Jamaica. The Frenchmen were very indignant at hearing the arrangements that had been made, but when they saw that the boat’s crew were armed they had the sense to know that resistance was useless. Harry and David entreated that Pierre and Jacques might not be made prisoners, and of course their request was granted. Both Jacques and Pierre begged that they might enter on board the frigate. In a short time nearly all those who had lately been living on the island were carried on board the frigate. The Frenchmen were placed in the prison forward. There was one exception, however, the French lieutenant was nowhere to be found. While the rest of his countrymen were embarking he had disappeared. A boat’s crew was sent on shore to search for him. The only trace that could be discovered of him was his hat at the end of a ledge of rocks, off which it was supposed he had thrown himself, and been drowned. Poor man! he had given up all hopes of happiness in this life, and had refused to believe in a life to come.

In those days it was not so difficult to enter the navy as at the present time. Notwithstanding all the hardships David had gone through he was as anxious as ever to become a midshipman. The captain promised to place him on the quarter-deck, if he preferred remaining out in the West Indies instead of going home. David was naturally very anxious to see his friends; but at the same time his darling desire to enter the navy could now be realised. If he went home he would be separated from Harry, whom he now looked upon more than ever as a brother.

“At all events, I will remain out,” said David, “till I can hear from home, and then, should my father and mother desire me to return, I must obey them.”

The frigate conveyed Captain Rymer to his government, in the island of, and as she was constantly cruising about in that neighbourhood Harry and David had frequent opportunities of seeing Mary. Those were stirring days, and midshipmen met with various adventures. David at length anxiously broke open a letter which reached him from home. His father and mother expressed their gratitude to Heaven that he had escaped so many dangers, and told him that, as his heart was set on becoming a midshipman, they would no longer oppose his wishes.

Several years passed by; the frigate was at one time cruising amongst the West Indian Islands, and at another time she was sent to Halifax, then the chief station of the American squadron. Fully four years passed away before she was ordered home. The command held by Captain Rymer at the same time came to an end, and he and Mary prepared to return to England. The Arethusa sailed some little time after them. Her crew, as was too often the case, was diminished by yellow fever; but the survivors thought only of once more reaching their native land, and looked forward with joy at the prospect of again seeing the white cliffs of old England. Already the frigate was more than half-way across the Atlantic, when one morning a sail was espied on the weather-bow; the sails were trimmed and the frigate gave chase. The stranger took her for an enemy, and did everything to escape, and not without good hopes of success, for she was evidently a fast craft.

The Arethusa was, however, one of the fastest frigates in the navy, and it was not likely that the chase would succeed, unless, favoured by the darkness, she might alter her course during the night. A sharp look-out was kept. Twice the look-out man exclaimed that she was nowhere to be seen, but again she was caught sight of. When morning dawned it was calculated that the frigate had gained considerably upon her. The chase continued for the best part of the day. At last the frigate got her within length of her bow-chasers. Several shots were fired without inducing her to haul down her colours, which were French. She was a large schooner, a powerful vessel, with heavy masts and sails. At length a shot carried away her main-topmast, and now, finding that any further attempt at escaping was useless, the colours were hauled down. She proved to be a French privateer returning home after a successful cruise. The rage of the Frenchmen was very great at finding themselves captured, when they so soon expected to be in La Belle France to enjoy the booty they had obtained. In a short time, however, after the greater number had been transferred to the deck of the frigate, they were dancing and singing, apparently forgetful of their misfortune. As no lieutenant from the frigate could be spared to take charge of the prize, Harry, who had now become an experienced officer, was sent on board in command, and David went as his lieutenant. Pierre begged that he might accompany them. For two or three days they kept in sight of the frigate, but a gale coming on, with thick weather, when morning broke the Arethusa was nowhere to be seen.

“We must find our way up Channel as best we can,” said Harry. “I think you and I can manage a correct day’s work, though we have not had as much experience in navigation as would be desirable.”

The weather continued bad for several days, during which the schooner was hove-to. Once more the sky cleared; the wind moderated, and a coarse was steered up Channel.

“I can scarcely fancy that more than four years have passed away since you and I drifted out here in a boat with poor old Jefferies. We return in a very different style, don’t we?” remarked Harry to his companion.

They had reached, they calculated, the chops of the Channel, when a large merchant ship was seen ahead.

“Should she prove to be an enemy’s craft she will make a rich prize,” said David.

“I rather think she is English,” said Harry; “but see, there is another vessel, a large lugger I make her out to be, bearing down upon her. The lugger is French, there is no doubt about that. I should not be surprised if she is a privateer, about to pounce down upon the merchant vessel. If the Frenchmen have seen us, they take us to be French also, and are anxious to secure the prize before we come up,” observed Harry. “I am not, however, certain that she will do that; see, there is a strong breeze from the westward coming up, and the sails of the two vessels are already becalmed.”

Harry was right; the schooner carried up the breeze, and stood in between the two vessels before the lugger had time to fire a shot. Instantly hoisting English colours, Harry boldly stood towards the lugger, followed by the merchant ship. He at once opened fire on the lugger, who made all sail to escape. This was what Harry had determined she should not do. The schooner carried two long guns in her bows. These were so well worked that after a few shots the lugger’s mizen-mast was knocked away. The main-mast followed, and the lugger, being now reduced to an almost helpless condition, hauled down her colours. As may be supposed, Harry and David’s delight was very great, at not only having made so valuable a prize, but saving a valuable merchant vessel from capture. Still greater was their satisfaction when going on board the merchant vessel, they found that Captain Rymer and Mary were amongst the passengers.

The merchantman was bound for Falmouth, and to that port Harry also resolved to steer with the prize, as she was not in a condition to be taken up Channel. The next morning the three vessels anchored in Falmouth Harbour. As neither Harry nor David could leave their vessels, a messenger was despatched to their homes, and in a short time Mr and Mrs Morton, Mrs Merryweather, and a considerable number of friends who formed the picnic party on that memorable day when Harry and David went adrift in a boat, were collected at the Green Bank Hotel. If Harry had been looked upon as a hero on the distant day of which we speak, much more so was he now.

Both Harry and David rose to rank and honour in the noble profession they had selected, and as soon as the former obtained his rank as post-captain, Mary Rymer became his wife; and among the adventures he loved to describe to his young descendants, was that of how he and his friend Admiral Morton, in their younger days, went “Adrift in a Boat.”

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Adventures in Africa"

Chapter One.

“How many more days, Jan, will it be before we get across this abominable desert?” I asked of our black guide, as we trudged along, he leading our sole remaining ox, while my uncle, Mr Roger Farley, and I led our two horses laden with the remnants of our property.

“May be ten days, may be two ten,” answered Jan Jigger, whose knowledge of numerals was somewhat limited.

I gave a groan, for I was footsore and weary, and expected to have had a more satisfactory answer. We were making our way over a light-coloured soft sand, sprinkled in some places with tall grass, rising in tufts, with bare spots between them. In other parts were various creeping plants, and also—though I called the region a desert—there were extensive patches of bushes, above which here and there rose clumps of trees of considerable height. This large amount of vegetation, however, managed to exist without streams or pools, and for miles and miles together we had met with no water to quench our own thirst or that of our weary beasts. My uncle was engaged in the adventurous and not unprofitable occupation of trading with the natives in the interior of Africa. He had come down south some months before to dispose of the produce of his industry at Graham’s Town, where I had joined him, having been sent for from England. After purchasing a fresh supply of goods, arms, powder, and shot, and giving a thorough repair to his waggons, he had again set off northward for the neighbourhood of lake Ngami, where he was to meet his partner, Mr Welbourn, who had with him his son Harry, with whom I had been at school, and who was about my own age. We had, beyond the borders of the colony, been attacked by a party of savages, instigated by the Boers, two or three of whom indeed led them. They had deprived us of our cattle and men, we having escaped with a small portion only of our goods, two of our horses, a single ox and our one faithful Bechuana. To get away from our enemies we had taken a route unusually followed across the Kalahari desert. We were aware of the dangers and difficulties to be encountered, but the road was much shorter than round either to the east or west; and though we knew that wild animals abounded, including elephants, rhinoceroses, lions, leopards, and hyaenas, yet we believed that we should be able to contend with them, and that we should not be impeded by human savages. Day after day we trudged forward. The only water we could obtain was by digging into certain depressions in the ground which our guide pointed out, when, having scraped out the sand with the single spade we possessed and our hands, we arrived at a hard stratum, beyond which he advised us not to go. In a short time the water began to flow in slowly, increasing by degrees until we had enough for ourselves and our cattle.

We had now, however, been travelling sixty miles or more, without finding one of these water-holes; and though we had still a small quantity of the precious liquid for ourselves, our poor horses and ox had begun to suffer greatly. Still Jan urged us to go forward.

“Water come soon, water come soon!” he continued saying, keeping his eye ranging about in every direction in search of the expected hole.

Trusting to Jan’s assurances, thirst compelled us to consume the last drop of our water. Still, hour after hour went by, and we reached no place at which we could replenish it. Our sufferings became terrible. My throat felt as if seared by a hot iron. Often I had talked of being thirsty, but I had never before known what thirst really was. My uncle, I had no doubt, was suffering as much as I was, but his endurance was wonderful.

We had seen numbers of elands sporting round us in every direction, but as soon as we approached them, off they bounded.

“Surely those deer do not live without water; it cannot be far away,” I observed.

“They are able to pass days and weeks without tasting any,” said my uncle. “They can besides quickly cover thirty or forty miles of ground if they wish to reach it. We must try to shoot one of them for supper, which may give us both meat and drink. See, in the wood yonder we can leave our horses and the ox under Jan’s care, and you and I will try to stalk one of the animals.”

On reaching the wood, my uncle and I, with our guns in our hands, took a direction which would lead us to leeward of the herd, so that we might not be scented as we approached.

By creeping along under the shelter of some low bushes as we neared them, the elands did not see us. Hunger and thirst made us unusually cautious and anxious to kill one. My uncle told me to reserve my fire, in case he should fail to bring the eland down; but as he was a much better shot than I was, I feared that should he miss, I also should fail. Presently I saw him rise from among the grass. Lifting his rifle to his shoulder he fired; the eland gave a bound, but alighting on its feet was scampering off, when I eagerly raised my rifle and pulled the trigger. As the smoke cleared off, to my infinite delight I saw the eland struggling on the grass. We both rushed forward, and my uncle’s knife quickly deprived it of life. It was a magnificent animal, as big as an ox, being the largest of the South African antelopes.

On opening its stomach we discovered water, which, on being allowed to cool, was sufficiently pure to quench our burning thirst. We secured a portion of it for Jan, and loading ourselves with as much meat as we could carry, we returned to where we had left him. A fire was soon lighted, and we lost no time in cooking a portion of the flesh. With our thirst partially relieved we were able to eat. We had made our fire at some distance from the shrubs for fear of igniting them, while we tethered our horses and ox among the longest grass we could find. In that dry region no shelter was required at night, so we lay down to sleep among our bales, with our saddles for pillows, and our rifles by our sides. I had been sleeping soundly, dreaming of purling streams and babbling fountains, when I awoke to find my throat as dry and parched as ever. Hoping to find a few drops of water in my bottle, I sat up to reach for it; when, as I looked across the fire, what was my dismay to see a large tiger-like animal stealthily approaching, and tiger I fully believed it to be. On it came, exhibiting a pair of round bright shining eyes. I expected every moment to see it spring upon us. I was afraid that by crying out I might only hasten its movements, so I felt for my rifle and, presenting at the creature’s head shouted—

“A tiger, uncle; a tiger, Jan!”

“A tiger!” exclaimed my uncle, springing up in a moment. “That’s not a tiger, it’s a leopard, but if pressed by hunger may prove as ugly a customer. Don’t fire until I tell you, for if wounded it will become dangerous.”

All this time the leopard was crawling on, though it must have heard the sound of our voices; perhaps the glare of the fire in its eyes prevented it from seeing us, for it still cautiously approached. I saw my uncle lift his rifle; he fired, but though his bullet struck the creature, instead of falling as I expected, it gave a bound and the next instant would have been upon us. Now was my time. As it rose, I fired, and my bullet must have gone through its heart, for over it rolled without a struggle, perfectly dead.

“Bravo! Fred,” exclaimed my uncle. “This is the second time within a few hours your rifle has done good service. You’ll become a first-rate hunter if you go on as you’ve begun. How that leopard came here it’s difficult to say, unless it was driven from the hills, and has been wandering over the desert in search of prey; those creatures generally inhabit a high woody country.”

Jan exhibited great delight at our victory, and having made up the fire, we spent some time in skinning the beast. Its fur was of great beauty, and although it would add to the load of our ox, we agreed to carry it with us, as it would be a welcome present to any chief who might render us assistance.

Having flayed the animal and pegged down the skin, we returned to our beds, hoping to finish the night without interruption. As soon as there was light sufficient to enable us to see our way, we pushed forward, earnestly praying that before the sun was high in the heavens, we might fall in with water. Notwithstanding that Jan repeatedly exclaimed, “Find water soon! Find water soon!” not a sign of it could we see. A glare from a cloudy sky was shed over the whole scene; clumps of trees and bushes looking so exactly alike, that after travelling several miles, we might have fancied that we had made no progress. At length even the trees and bushes became scarcer, and what looked like a veritable desert appeared before us.

I had gone on a short distance ahead, when to my delight I saw in front a large lake, in the centre of which the waves were dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, the shadows of the trees being vividly reflected on the mirror-like surface near the shores, while beyond I saw what I took to be a herd of elephants flapping their ears and intertwining their trunks.

“Water, water!” I shouted; “we shall soon quench our thirst. We must take care to avoid those elephants, however,” I added, pointing them out to my uncle. “It would be a fearful thing to be charged by them.”

The horses and ox lifted up their heads and pressed forward. Jan to my surprise said nothing, though I knew he was suffering as well as my uncle and I were. I was rushing eagerly forward, when suddenly a haze which hung over the spot, broke and dispelled the illusion. A vast salt-pan lay before us. It was covered with an effervescence of lime, which had produced the deceptive appearance. Our spirits sank lower than ever. To avoid the salt-pan, we turned to the right, so as to skirt its eastern side. The seeming elephants proved to be zebras, which scampered off out of reach. We now began to fear that our horses would give in, and that we should have to push forward with our ox alone, abandoning everything it could not carry. Still my uncle cried “Forward!” Jan had evidently mistaken the road, and passed the spot where he had expected to find water. Still he observed that we need have no fear of pursuing our course. Evening was approaching and we must again camp: without water we could scarcely expect to get through the night.

Presently Jan looking out ahead, darted forward and stopped at where a small plant grew with linear leaves and a stalk not thicker than a crow’s quill. Instantly taking a spade fastened to the back of the ox, he began eagerly digging away; and after he had got down to the depth of a foot, he displayed to us a tuber, the size of an enormous turnip. On removing the rind, he cut it open with his axe, and showed us a mass of cellular tissue filled up with a juicy substance which he handed to us, and applying a piece to his own mouth ate eagerly away at it. We imitated his example, and were almost immediately much refreshed. We found several other plants of the same sort, and digging up the roots gave them to the horses and ox, who crunched them up with infinite satisfaction.

Our thirst was relieved in a way I could scarcely have supposed possible. The animals too, trudged forward with far lighter steps than before. Relieved of our thirst and in the hopes of finding either water or more tubers next morning, we lay down thankful that we had escaped the fearful danger we had apprehended. As we advanced we looked out anxiously for the tuber-bearing plants, but not one could we see. I had gone on some little distance ahead, when I caught sight of a round object some way off, which, as the rays of sun fell on it, appeared of scarlet hue. I ran towards it, when I saw what looked like a small oblong red melon.

“Here’s something worth having!” I exclaimed, cutting into it with my knife. When I applied it to my mouth, to my disappointment I found that, although juicy in the extreme, it was perfectly bitter. I threw it down in disgust. Jan soon afterwards, on coming near, said:

“Dis no good, but find oders presently!”

Hurrying along, he struck one after another, and quickly handed me one perfectly sweet; when he collected many more, with which we returned to where my uncle had halted with the animals.

The fruit was far more gratifying to the taste than the tubers. We allowed the animals to eat as many as they wished, and, loading them with a supply in case we should fail to find others further on, we continued our journey.

Those melons lasted us another whole day and a night, and afforded the only liquid which passed our mouths. As we were on foot our view over the level desert was limited.

I was walking alongside my uncle, discussing our future plans, having begun to hope that, in spite of the difficulties we had to contend against, we should get through, when I saw some objects moving rapidly in the distance. They were coming towards us.

“They are ostriches!” cried my uncle; “we must try and kill a few to obtain their plumes.”

We halted, and remained perfectly still, hoping that the birds might approach us. Now they ran as fleet as a race-horse, now they stopped and went circling round. Two or three odd-looking birds, as they seemed, were moving at a much slower rate.

“Those Bosjeemen!” cried Jan.

We at length saw that the latter were human beings, their legs covered with white pigment and carrying the head and feathers of an ostrich on their backs, while each had in his hand a bow and a number of arrows. Presently they cautiously approached the ostriches to leeward, stopping every now and then and pretending to be feeding. The ostriches would look at the strange birds, but, not suspecting danger, allowed them to approach. One of the Bosjeemen then shot an arrow, when the wounded bird and his companions ran off; the former, however, quickly dropped, when the other birds stopped to see what was the matter, and thus allowed their enemy to draw near enough to shoot another arrow.

In this way three little yellow-skinned fellows each shot, in a short time, four magnificent ostriches. They had seen us in the distance, but instead of running away, as we feared they would do, one of them, guessing we were traders, came forward to bargain for the sale of the feathers, and Jan acting as interpreter, my uncle expressed a willingness to trade. The Bosjeemen then produced a number of reeds, scarcely the thickness of my little finger. Having plucked off the feathers, they pushed them into the reeds; and, thus preserved, the feathers were fit to travel any distance without being spoilt.

It was late by the time the whole operation was performed, and we had given the articles they had agreed to take in exchange. As the reeds weighed but little, the loads were considerably lightened.

Jan now explained to our new friends that they would be further rewarded if they would conduct us to water. They at once agreed to do so, and one of them, hurrying away to a spot at a distance where they had left their travelling equipage, returned with a dozen ostriches’ eggs in a net at his back; he then made a sign to us to follow him, while his companions remained with the ostriches they had shot. Sooner than we expected he reached a hole, into which he rapidly dug with his hand; then, inserting a long reed, he began to suck away with might and main. In a short time the water flowed, and was led down by another reed into a hole at the end of an ostrich egg, which was soon filled with water. As we had a leathern bucket we were enabled to give our animals a drink, though we could not allow them as much as they would have liked.

The Bosjeeman then, refilling the egg-shells, returned with us to where we had left his companions. We found that they had built themselves a hut, if so it could be called, in a thick mimosa bush, by bending the boughs so as to form a roof, covered by reeds lightly fastened together. The inside was lined with dried leaves, grass, and the coarser feathers of the ostrich. When they saw that we were encamped, the three hunters lighted a fire and sat themselves down before it to enjoy a sumptuous repast of ostrich flesh. Though unattractive in appearance, they were honest little fellows, and we slept in perfect security, knowing that they would give us timely notice of the approach of an enemy.

Jan assured us that we might trust them, as it was a high mark of confidence on their part to show us where we could procure water, for they are always careful to hide such spots from those they think unfriendly.

They accompanied us the following day, and led us to a pool, the only one we had met with while crossing the desert. Probably in many seasons that also would have been empty. Here our animals got as much water as they could drink, and we filled our water-bottles. We then parted from our yellow friends, who said that, as they were ignorant of the country to the northward, they could not venture farther. Trusting to Jan’s sagacity to find water, we proceeded in good spirits.

We had hoped to trade largely with the natives, but as we had lost the greater part of our goods, we should have to depend upon our own exertions to obtain the ivory and skins which would repay us for the difficulties and dangers of our journey. We had fortunately saved the greater part of our ammunition, which would enable us to hunt for some months to come.

Of course we knew Mr Welbourn would be much disappointed at seeing us arrive with so slender an equivalent for the skins and ivory my uncle had taken south, instead of the waggon full of goods which he had expected.

“He is a sensible, good-natured fellow, and will know that it was from no fault of ours we were plundered,” observed my uncle. “We shall still do well, and shall probably encounter more adventures than we should have met with had we confined ourselves to simple trading with the natives. I should, however, have preferred that to undergoing the fatigues of hunting; besides which we might the sooner have returned with our cargo of ivory to the coast.”

Several more days passed by during which we came to three spots where we were able to obtain a sufficient amount of water to satisfy ourselves and our thirsty animals. Sometimes for miles together not a drop could be procured, and had it not been for the tubers, and the little red melons I have described, the horses and our patient ox must have perished. At length the sheen of water in the bright sunlight was seen in the distance. This time we were convinced that it was not a mirage. We pushed forward, hoping that our sufferings from thirst were at an end. Trees of greater height than any we had yet met with since leaving the colony fringed the banks of a fine river. On examining the current we found that it was flowing to the north-east, and we therefore hoped that by following it up we should reach the lake for which we were bound. Our black guide, however, advised that we should cross the river, which was here fordable, and by steering north, considerably shorten the journey. On wading through the water we looked out sharply for crocodiles and hippopotami, lest one of those fresh-water monsters should venture to attack us; we got over, however, without accident. Having allowed our animals to drink their full of water, and replenished our bottles, we encamped for the night under a magnificent baobab tree with a trunk seventy feet in girth as high as we could reach, while our animals found an abundance of rich grass on which to satisfy their hunger.

What pigmies we felt as we stood beneath that giant tree. An army might have found shelter from the sun under its wide-spreading boughs. We thought the spot a perfect paradise after our long journey across the plain.

We had not long been seated round our camp-fire, when Jan made a dart at his foot and caught a fly which had settled on it; and, exhibiting it to my uncle, exclaimed—

“No good, no good!”

It was of a brownish colour with three yellow bars across the body, and scarcely larger than a common house-fly. We soon saw others buzzing about in considerable numbers.

I asked Jan what he meant.

“Das de tsetse: when bite horse or ox den dey die,” he answered.

As, however, neither my uncle nor I felt any ill effects from the bites of the flies, we thought that Jan must be mistaken, and at all events it was now too late to shift our encampment. We therefore, having made up a blazing fire to scare off any wild beasts, lay down to sleep, without thinking more of the flies, which did not cause us any annoyance.

The next morning we saw some of the creatures on the legs of our horses and the ox; but we soon brushed them away, and, loading up, we continued our journey. They went on as usual. Jan, however, looked much disconcerted, and I saw him continually brushing off the flies.

“No good, no good!” he said, “hope soon get through, for de horses not go far.”

I asked my uncle what Jan meant. He replied that he had often heard of the tsetse fly, but never having passed through a country infested by it, he was disinclined to believe the stories told of the deadly effects of its bite on cattle and horses.

Chapter Two.

We soon passed through the tsetse district, which was not more than a couple of miles wide, and, as our animals showed no appearance of suffering, we hoped that they had escaped injury.

We had determined to encamp early in the day near a pool fed by a rivulet which fell into the main stream, in order that we might shoot some game for our supper. Leaving Jan in charge of the camp, my uncle and I set off, believing that we could easily find our way back to the fire. We had gone some distance when we caught sight of a herd of antelopes. In order that we might have a better chance of killing one of them, my uncle told me to make a wide circuit, keeping to leeward of the deer towards a clump of trees, whence I might be able to get a favourable shot, while he lay down concealed by the brushwood near where we then were.

Taking advantage of all the bushes and trunks of trees on the way, I approached the antelopes without disturbing them. Looking out from the cover I had gained, I watched the beautiful creatures, hoping that one of them would come within range of my rifle. It was tantalising to see them feeding so quietly just out of my reach. Still, though I might not get a shot, I hoped that they might go off towards where my uncle was lying hid. Presently, however, they bounded towards me; and, thinking it possible that they might again turn, I fired at one of the leading animals, which, notwithstanding its wound, still went on, though at slackened speed. Instead of reloading, as I ought to have done, I dashed forward to secure it. Scarcely, however, had I left my cover than what was my surprise, and I must confess my dismay, to see a huge lion! Should I attempt to escape by flight, the savage brute would, I knew, follow me. I fixed my eyes as steadily as I could upon him, while I attempted to reload. At the same time I knew that, even should I fire, I might only wound him, when he would become more fierce. There were trees near, up which it was possible I might climb should he give me time, but it was not likely that he would do that. I wondered that he did not pursue the antelope; but probably he had lately had his dinner, or he certainly would have done so. I continued loading, he lashing his tail and roaring furiously. I expected every moment that he would spring upon me. To escape by any other way than by shooting him dead seemed impossible.

I finished loading, and brought my gun up ready to fire. Should I miss or only wound him, he would be upon me in a moment. I had hitherto remained quite silent, but it occurred to me that if I should shout loudly enough my uncle would hear my cry for help. I thought, too, that I might scare the lion. When once I had made up my mind to shout, I did so with might and main.

I was answered by a distant “hollo!” by which I knew that my uncle was still a long way off. He would, however, understand that I was in danger, and come to my assistance; or, if too late to help me, would provide for his own safety.

The lion seemed as undecided how to act as I was. As I shouted he roared, and again lashed his tail, but did not advance a step. This gave me courage; but, although the monarch of the forest did not appear in a combative mood, I felt very sure that, should I wound him, his rage would be excited. I dared not for a moment withdraw my eye from him, and thus we stood regarding each other. To me it seemed a prodigiously long time. At last he seemed to lose patience, for his roars became more frequent and louder and louder, and he lashed his tail more furiously. I raised my rifle to my shoulder. He came on at a cat-like pace, evidently ignorant of the power of the weapon I held in my hands. In another instant he would spring at me. I pulled the trigger. To my horror, the cap failed to ignite the powder. I saw the monstrous brute in the act of springing, but at the same moment I heard the crack of a rifle close to me; the next, a tremendous roar rent the air. I was felled to the earth, and felt myself weighed down by a vast body, unable to breathe or move. It was some time before I came to myself, when, looking up, I saw my uncle kneeling by my side.

“The lion very nearly did for you, Fred,” he said; “but cheer up, lad. I don’t think you’re mortally hurt, though you’ve had a narrow squeak for it. Had your gun not missed fire, you might have shot the lion yourself. Here he lies, and there’s the springbok.”

While my uncle was talking, he was examining my hurts. The lion had given me a fearful blow with his paw, and had injured one of my shoulders. It was a wonder indeed that he did not kill me.

“We must get you to the camp somehow,” said my uncle; “I cannot leave you here while I bring the ox, so the sooner we set off the better.”

Taking me up in his arms, he began to stagger on with me; but, though he was a strong man, I was no slight weight, and he had great difficulty in getting along. I asked him to let me walk, as I thought that I could do so with his support. When I tried, however, I found that I could not move one foot before the other. As we got within hail of the camp he shouted to Jan to come and help him; and together they carried me along the remainder of the distance.

“Now that we have you safe here, though I am unwilling to leave you, I must go back and fetch the antelope, for we cannot do without food,” he said.

Telling Jan to collect materials for building a hut, as it was evident that I should be unable to move for some time, and also charging him to keep an eye on me, he started off.

I felt a great deal of pain, but I retained my senses, and tried to divert my thoughts by watching Jan, who was busily employed in cutting long sticks and branches for the hut.

It seemed to me that my uncle had been gone for more than an hour, and I began to fear that some accident might have happened to him. Where there was one lion it was probable that there were others, and they might revenge themselves on the slayer of their relative.

Jan, however, kept working away as if satisfied that all was right, now and then taking a look at me, and throwing a few sticks on the fire to get it to burn brightly. He then began to prepare for roasting the expected venison by placing some uprights, with cross pieces to serve as spits, close to the fire.

“Hurrah! here am de Cap’n!” he at length shouted, such being the title he usually bestowed on my uncle. “He bring springbok, an’ someting else too.”

I felt greatly relieved when I saw my uncle throw down his heavy load, consisting not only of the antelope which I had shot, but of the lion’s skin.

“I brought this,” he said, “to make a bed for you. You want it, though it is not fit at present to serve the purpose.”

I thanked him for his offer, but declared that I would rather just then be left where I was, as any movement pained me.

Jan lost no time in cutting off some pieces of venison, and placing them to roast. My uncle also put on a pot with a small portion to make some soup, which he said would suit me better than the roast. Hungry as I was, though I tried to eat some of the latter as soon as Jan declared it sufficiently done, I could not manage to get it down. My thirst became excessive, and it was fortunate that we were near water, or I believe I should otherwise have died.

The hut was soon finished, and some leaves and grass placed in it for me to lie upon. The soup did me some good, but I suffered so much pain that I could scarcely sleep all the night, and in the morning was in so fevered a condition, that I was utterly unfit to travel. I was very sorry to delay my uncle, but it could not be helped, and he bore the detention with his usual good temper. Nothing could exceed his kindness. He sat by my side for hours together; he dressed my wounds whenever he thought it necessary, and indeed tended me with the greatest care.

Day after day, however, went by, and I still remained in the same helpless state. He would not have left me for a moment, I believe, but it was necessary to go out and procure more game.

Jan had undertaken to scrape and prepare the lion’s skin. He was thus employed near the stream at a little distance from the camp when I was startled by hearing a loud snort; and, looking up, what was my horror to see him rushing along, with a huge hippopotamus following him! In another minute I expected to see him seized by its formidable jaws and trampled to death, and then I thought that the savage brute would make at me. In vain I attempted to rise and get my gun, but my uncle, when he went out, had forgotten to place it near me. I tried to cry out and frighten the brute, but I could not raise my voice sufficiently high. Poor Jan shrieked loud enough, but his cries had no effect on the monster. He was making for a tree, up which he might possibly have climbed, when his feet slipped, and over he rolled on the ground. He was now perfectly helpless, and in a few minutes the hippopotamus would trample him to death. It seemed as if all hope was gone; but, at the very instant that I thought poor Jan’s death was certain, my uncle suddenly appeared, when, aiming behind the ear of the hippopotamus, he fired, and the monster fell. Jan narrowly escaped being crushed, which he would have been had he not by a violent effort rolled out of the way.

Suffering as I was, I could scarcely help laughing at Jan’s face, as, getting up on his knees, he looked with a broad grin at the hippopotamus, still uncertain whether it was dead or not. At length, convinced that his enemy could do him no further harm, he rose to his feet, exclaiming—

“Tankee, tankee, cap’n! If de gun not go off, Jan no speak ’gain.”

Then, hurrying on, he examined the creature, to be certain that no life remained in it.

“What we do wid dis?” he asked, giving the huge body a kick with his foot.

“As it will shortly become an unpleasant neighbour, we must manage to drag him away from the camp,” observed my uncle. “If the stream were deep enough, I would drag it in, and let it float down with the current; but, as it would very likely get stranded close to us, we must haul it away with the ox and the horses, though I doubt if the animals will like being thus employed.”

I thought the plan a good one; and my uncle told Jan to catch the horses and ox, while he contrived some harness with the ropes and straps used for securing their cargoes. The ox showed perfect indifference to the dead hippopotamus, but the horses were very unwilling to be harnessed. They submitted, however, to act as leaders, while the ox had the creature’s head, round which a rope was passed, close to its heels. Even then the animals found it no easy task to drag the huge body along over the rough ground.

“We shall not be long gone, Fred,” said my uncle, placing a rifle and a brace of pistols close to me. “I hope that no other hippopotamus or lion or leopard will pay you a visit while we are away. If they do, you must use these, and I trust that you’ll be able to drive off the creatures, whatever they may be.”

I felt rather uncomfortable at being left alone in the camp, but it could not be helped; and I could only pray that another hippopotamus might not make its appearance. This one, in all probability, came up the stream far from its usual haunts.

I kept my rifle and pistols ready for instant use. The time seemed very long. As I listened to the noises in the forest, I fancied that I could hear the roaring and mutterings of lions, and the cries of hyaenas. Several times I took my rifle in my hand, expecting to see a lion stealing up to the camp. I caught sight in the distance of the tall necks of a troop of giraffes stalking across the country, followed soon afterwards by a herd of bounding blesboks, but no creatures came near me. At last my uncle and Jan returned with our four-footed attendants.

“We have carried the monster’s carcase far enough off to prevent it from poisoning us by its horrible odour when it putrifies, which it will in a few hours,” he observed. “But I am afraid that it will attract the hyaenas and jackals in no small numbers, so that we shall be annoyed by their howls and screechings. I am sorry to say also that the horses seem ill able to perform their work, and I greatly fear that they have been injured by the tsetse fly. If we lose them we shall have a difficulty in getting along. However, we won’t despair until the evil day comes.”

I should have said that my uncle, just before he rescued Jan from the hippopotamus, had shot another antelope, which he had brought to the camp, so that we were in no want of food.

Several days went by. Though I certainly was not worse, my recovery was very slow, and I was scarcely better able to travel than I was at first; though I told my uncle that I would try and ride if he wished to move on.

“I doubt if either of the horses can carry you,” he answered. “Both are getting thin and weak, and have a running from their nostrils, which Jan says is the result of the tsetse poison. If you are better in a day or two we will try and advance to the next stream or water-hole; and perhaps we may fall in with natives, from whom we may purchase some oxen to replace our horses. It will be a great disappointment to lose the animals, for I had counted on them for hunting.”

That night we were entertained by a concert of hideous howlings and cries, produced we had no doubt by the hyaenas and jackals; but by keeping up a good fire, and occasionally discharging our rifles, we prevented them from approaching the camp.

At the end of two days I fancied myself better. We accordingly determined the next morning to recommence our journey. At daybreak we breakfasted on the remains of the last deer shot, and my uncle having placed me on his horse, which was the stronger of the two, put part of its cargo on the other. Pushing on, we soon left behind the camp we had so long occupied.

On starting I bore the movement pretty well, and fancied that I should be able to perform the journey without difficulty. For the first two days, indeed, we got on better than I had expected, though I was thankful when the time for camping arrived. On the third morning I suffered much, but did not tell my uncle how ill I felt, hoping that I should recover during the journey. We had a wild barren tract to cross, almost as wild as the desert. The ox trudged on as patiently as ever, but the horses were very weak, and I had great difficulty in keeping mine on its legs. Several times it had stumbled, but I was fortunately not thrown off. Our pace, however, was necessarily very slow, and we could discover no signs of water, yet water we must reach before we could venture to camp.

Jan generally led the ox, while my uncle walked by my side, holding the rein of the other horse. Again and again my poor animal had stumbled; when, as my uncle was looking another way, down it came, and I was thrown with considerable violence to the ground.

My uncle, having lifted me up, I declared that I was not much hurt, and begged him to replace me on the horse. The poor animal was unable to rise. In vain Jan and he tried to get it on its legs. He and Jan took off the saddle and the remaining part of the load, but all was of no use. At last we came to the melancholy conclusion that its death was inevitable. Our fears were soon realised: after it had given a few struggles, its head sinking on the sand, it ceased to move. We had consequently to abandon some more of our heavier things, and having transferred the remaining cargo to the ox, my uncle put me on the back of the other horse. Scarcely, however, had we proceeded a mile than down it came, and I was again thrown to the ground, this time to be more hurt than at first.

I bore the suffering as well as I could, and made no complaint, while my uncle and Jan tried to get the horse up. It was soon apparent, however, that its travelling days were done, and that we had now the ox alone to depend upon.

“I wish that I could walk,” I said, but when I made the attempt I could not proceed a dozen paces. Had not my uncle supported me I should have sunk to the ground. We could not stay where we were, for both we and our poor ox required water and food.

“We must abandon our goods,” said my uncle; “better to lose them than our lives. We will, however, if we can find a spot near here, leave them en cache, as the Canadian hunters say; and if we soon fall in with any friendly natives, we can send and recover them.”

He had just observed, he said, a small cave, and he thought that by piling up some stones in front of it the things would remain uninjured from the weather or wild beasts for a considerable time.

As it was only a short distance off, while Jan remained with me, he led the ox to the spot. The cave, fortunately, had no inhabitant; and, having placed the goods within, and piled some stones so as completely to block up the entrance, he returned, retaining only the powder and shot, the ostrich feathers, three or four skins, our cooking utensils, a few packages of tea, coffee, sugar, pepper, and similar articles weighing but little. Unfortunately, in building up the wall, one of the larger stones had dropped, and severely injured his foot. He found it so painful that he was unable to walk. He, therefore, mounting the ox, took me up before him. I, indeed, by this time could not even hold on to the saddle, so had not he carried me I should have been unable to travel. We now once more went on. It was already late in the day, and before long darkness overtook us; still we could not stop without water, which we hoped, however, to find before long. In a short time the moon rose and enabled us to see our way.

The prospect was dreary in the extreme. Here and there a few trees sprang out of the arid soil, while on every side were rocks with little or no vegetation round them. We looked out eagerly for water, but mile after mile was passed over and not a pool nor stream could we see. I suffered greatly from thirst, and sometimes thought that I should succumb. My uncle cheered me up, and Jan declared that we should soon reach water and be able to camp. Still on and on we went. At length Jan cried out—

“Dare water, dare water!”

I tried to lift up my head, but had not strength to move. I heard my uncle exclaim—

“Thank heaven! there’s water, sure enough. I see the moonbeams playing on the surface of a pool.”

I believe I fainted, for I remember no more until I found him splashing water over my face; and, opening my eyes. I saw him kneeling by my side. Jan was busily engaged in lighting a fire, while the ox was feeding not far off. A hut was then built for me, and as soon as I was placed in it I fell asleep. In the morning I awoke greatly revived. My uncle said he was determined to remain at the spot until I was sufficiently recovered to travel, and I promised to get well as soon as I could. When breakfast was over he started off with his gun to try and shoot a deer, for we had just exhausted the last remnant of venison we possessed.

As, sheltered from the rays of the sun, I lay in my hut, which was built on a slight elevation above the lakelet, I could enjoy a fine view of the country in front of me.

Jan, having just finished cleaning my gun, was engaged a little way below me in cutting up the wood for the fire, singing in a low voice one of his native songs.

Presently I caught sight of my uncle in the far distance advancing towards a rounded hillock which rose out of the plain below. Almost at the same moment, I saw still further off several animals which I at once knew to be deer coming on at a rapid rate towards our camp. They were taking a direction which would lead them close to where my uncle lay in ambush. They were followed by others in quick succession, until a vast herd came scampering and bounding across the plain like an army, two or three abreast, following each other. Twice I heard the report of my uncle’s rifle. On each occasion a deer fell to the ground.

Jan cried out that they were blesboks, one of the finest deer in South Africa. They had long twisting horns, and were of a reddish colour, the legs being much darker, with a blaze of white on the face.

I never saw a more beautiful sight. Jan was all eagerness, and, taking my gun, he went in chase; but before he could get near enough to obtain a shot, the whole herd was scampering away across the plain, laughing at his puny efforts to overtake them.

In a short time my uncle appeared, carrying a portion of one of the animals on his back, and immediately sent off Jan with the ox to fetch in the remainder.

Here was wood and water, and game in abundance, so that we could not have chosen a better spot for remaining in until I was myself again. As we had plenty of meat he was able to concoct as much broth as I could consume. It contributed greatly to restore my strength; and, judging by the progress I was making, I hoped that we should be able shortly to resume our journey.

Chapter Three.

In a few days I was able to stroll a short distance from the camp, always taking my gun with me. Though I still walked with some difficulty, I every hour found my strength returning. Had we possessed a waggon we might have loaded it with skins, so abundant was the game; but, although we prepared a few of the most valuable, we could not venture to add much to the cargo of our poor ox. At last my uncle, seeing that I was strong enough to undertake the fatigue of the journey, announced his intention of setting off, and I determined that it should not be my fault if I broke down again.

In order to try my strength, I accompanied him on a short shooting excursion from the camp, where we left Jan to look after the ox and our goods. I found that I got along far better than I had expected; the satisfaction of once more finding myself able to move about greatly raising my spirits. We had gone but a short distance when looking over the bushes we saw some objects moving up and down which, as we crept nearer, turned out to be a pair of elephant’s ears.

“We must have that fellow,” said my uncle; “we can carry his tusks, and one of his feet will afford us a substantial meal.” The elephant, we fancied, did not see us; and keeping ourselves concealed by the underwood, we cautiously advanced. Presently we found ourselves on the borders of an open glade, a few low bushes only intervening between ourselves and the elephant. He now saw us clearly enough, and not liking our appearance, I suppose, lifted up his trunk and began trumpeting loudly.

“If he comes on, don’t attempt to run,” whispered my uncle, “but face him for a moment, and fire at his shoulder; then leap on one side or behind a tree, or if you can do so, climb up it with your rifle. I will look out for myself.” As he spoke the elephant began to advance towards us. I fired, as did my uncle, the moment afterwards; but, though we both hit him, the huge beast, after approaching a few paces nearer, instead of charging, turned away to the left, and went crashing through the wood.

We having reloaded were about to follow him, when the heads of nearly a dozen other elephants appeared from the direction where we had seen the first; and, advancing rapidly through the shrubs which they trampled under foot, with trunks and tail stuck out, and uttering loud trumpetings, they came rushing like a torrent down upon us.

“Come behind these bushes!” cried my uncle, “and don’t move thence if you value your life.”

I felt as if my life was of very little value just then, for I could not see how we were to escape being crushed by the huge monsters as they rushed over us. My uncle fortunately possessed all the coolness required by an elephant hunter.

“Fire at that fellow opposite,” he cried. “I’ll take the next, and they’ll probably turn aside.”

We almost at the same moment pulled our triggers. The elephant at which my uncle fired stopped short, then down it came with a crash on its knees; while the one I aimed at rushed by with its companions, very nearly giving me an ugly kick with its feet.

We had both dropped behind the bush the moment we had delivered our fire. On went the creatures trumpeting with rage, and disappointed at not finding us.

We were not free from danger, for it was possible that they might return. As soon, therefore, as their tails had disappeared among the brushwood, we reloaded and ran towards some trees, the trunks of which would afford us some protection. Here we waited a short time in sight of the elephant which lay dead on the ground. We could hear the trumpeting of the others grow less distinct as they made their way through the forest, either influenced by fear or excited by rage, fancying they were still following us up.

“They will not come back for the present,” said my uncle at length as we issued out from among the trees, when he at once began to cut out the tusks from the dead elephant. These he calculated weighed together fully a hundred and ten pounds. This, however, was a greater weight than he could carry, and he would not allow me to attempt to help him.

“You shall convey one of the feet to the camp, and we will try our skill in cooking it,” he said, dexterously cutting it off.

Taking a stick he ran it through the foot so that I could the more easily carry it. He then having shouldered one of the tusks, we set out for the camp, well satisfied with our day’s sport.

As soon as we arrived we sent off Jan for the other tusk, as he could easily find the way by the track we had made; while my uncle dug a hole close to the fire, into which he raked a quantity of ashes, and then covered it up. After some time he again scraped out the ashes, and having wrapt the foot up in leaves, he put it into the hole, and covered it up with hot earth. On the top of all he once more lit a fire, and kept it blazing away for some time.

The fire had well-nigh burnt out when Jan returned with the other tusk. He told us that on his way back he had seen the spoors of the elephants, and that if we chose to follow them, he was sure that we should come up with them, and should most probably find those we had wounded.

We now uncovered our elephant’s foot, which Jan pronounced to be as satisfactorily cooked as his own countrymen could have done it. The flesh was soft and gelatinous, greatly resembling calves-head, and was so tender that we could scoop it out with a spoon. I don’t know that I ever enjoyed a meal more. Although we could not venture to load our ox with more than the two tusks we had already obtained, my uncle, hoping soon to fall in with Mr Welbourn, determined to try and obtain the tusks from the other two elephants we had wounded, and to leave them concealed, until we could send for them. There was the risk, of course, of their being discovered by the natives, as we were now approaching an inhabited part of the country. We had still a couple of hours of day-light, and as I did not feel myself fatigued with my previous exertions, my uncle agreed to allow me to accompany him, while Jan was left to clean the tusks and to prepare straps for carrying them on the back of the ox.

We soon discovered the elephants’ spoor, and followed it for some distance, the splashes of blood we found here and there showing that the wounded animal had stopped to rest. It would be necessary, as we approached them, to be cautious, as they would be on the alert and ready to revenge themselves for the injury they had received.

We now every moment expected to come upon them. We stopped to listen; no sound could we hear to indicate that they were near us. We, therefore, went on until, reaching the top of a hillock, we caught sight of some water glittering among the trees. Advancing a little further a small lakelet opened out before us, in the shallow part of which, near the shore, stood an elephant, sucking up the water with his trunk and throwing it over his neck and shoulders.

My uncle remarked that he was sure it was the animal we had wounded, but that he was still too far off to give us a chance of killing him. We were making our way among the trees, hoping to got near without being perceived—though that was no easy matter as he kept his sharp eyes turning about in every direction—when, from behind the grove which had before concealed them, several more rushed out.

“They see us!” cried my uncle. “We must get up among the branches and shoot them as they pass, for they will not let us escape as easily as before.”

Fortunately, near at hand was a tree, up which, without much difficulty, we could make our way. My uncle, going up first, helped me to follow him.

Scarcely had we secured ourselves when the elephants came up with their trunks sticking out and trumpeting as loudly as before. As they kept their eyes on the ground, they did not see us. We fired at them as they passed.

We remained for some time expecting the wounded elephant to follow its companions, but as it did not we began to hope that it had succumbed, and that we might find it dead in the neighbourhood. We were about to descend to look for it, when the heads of three giraffes, or camelopards, as they are sometimes called, appeared among the trees; the animals lifting up their tall necks to crop the leaves as they advanced. As they were coming in our direction we agreed to wait. By descending we might frighten them. In a short time one separated from the others, and got so close that my uncle could not resist the temptation of firing. As the shot entered its neck the graceful animal sank down to the ground, and lay perfectly dead. The other two trotted off to a short distance, alarmed by the report; but, seeing no human foe and not knowing what had happened to their companion, they stopped and continued browsing on the leaves as before.

“The chances are that they will soon come this way, and so we cannot do better than remain where we are,” observed my uncle.

We sat some time watching the graceful creatures as they stretched up their long necks to a remarkable height, in search of the young shoots and leaves. Presently we saw one of them turn its head and look towards its dead companion. The next moment a lion burst out from among the bushes and sprang towards the giraffe on the ground. I had fancied that lions never condescended to feast on a dead animal; but probably there was still some little life in the giraffe, or, at all events, having only just been killed, the carcase could have had no savoury odour. Directly afterwards we heard a roar, and another lion sprang from the cover, the first replying with a roar which made the welkin ring. If we could not kill the lions, it was evident that we should soon have none of the meat to carry back with us. Instead, however, of beginning to tear the giraffe to pieces, the lions began walking round and round it and roaring lustily, possibly thinking that it was the bait to a trap, as they are taught by experience to be wary, many of their relatives having been caught in traps set by the natives. So occupied were the brutes with this matter that they did not discover us though we were at no great distance from them.

The two giraffes, on hearing the first lion roar, had trotted off, or they would probably have soon been attacked.

“Stay here, Fred!” whispered my uncle to me: “I will descend and get a shot at one of those fellows—don’t be alarmed. If I kill him, the chances are the other runs off. At all events, I will retreat to the tree, and do you keep ready to fire, should he follow me, while I reload. In the meantime there is no real danger.”

I felt somewhat nervous at hearing this, though my uncle knew so well what he was about that I need not have been alarmed for his safety. Before I could reply he had descended the tree. Holding his rifle ready, he advanced towards the lions, but even then, as he was to leeward they did not discover him.

He was within fifteen paces of them, when he stopped and levelled his rifle. Just then they both saw him, and looked up as if greatly astonished at his audacity. He fired, and the first lion, giving a spring in the air, fell over on the body of the giraffe.

The second stopped, hesitating whether to leap on his enemy or to take to flight. This gave my uncle time to reload when he slowly stepped back towards the tree, facing the lion, which advanced at the same pace.

“Now, Fred! let me see what you can do,” he shouted out as he found that the brute had got within range of my rifle.

I obeyed him, earnestly trusting that my shot would take effect. I felt sure that I had hit the animal, though, when the smoke cleared off, to my dismay I saw it about to spring at my uncle. He stood as calm as if the creature had been a harmless sheep. Just as the lion rose from the ground, I heard the crack of his rifle, and it fell back, shot through the heart. I quickly scrambled down to the ground to survey the giraffe and the two lions. My uncle seemed in no way elated by his victory. “If we had had our waggon we might have secured the skins,” he observed; “but as it is, we must content ourselves with some of the giraffe’s flesh, which we shall find palatable enough for want of better.”

Drawing his knife, he at once commenced operations on the giraffe. We soon, having secured as much of the meat as we could require, ran a couple of sticks through it and started off to return to the camp.

Darkness, however, came down upon us before we had gone far; still, we hoped to be able to find our way. Scarcely, however, had the sun set, when the mutterings and roars of lions saluted our ears; and of course we had the uncomfortable feeling that at any moment one of them might spring out on us. We cast many an anxious glance round, and kept our rifles in our hands ready for instant use, hoping that we should have time to see a lion before he was upon us. We had no fear at present of human foes, as the country through which we were travelling was uninhabited; though we might fall in with hunting parties, who were, however, likely to prove friendly. Besides lions, there was a possibility of our encountering hyaenas, leopards, and wolves, which, when hunting in packs, are as dangerous as in other parts of the world.

My uncle made me go ahead, while he kept five or six paces behind, so that, should a lion spring out at me, he might be ready to come to my assistance. We kept shouting too, to scare away any of the brutes we most dreaded; for, savage as is the lion, he is a cowardly animal except when pressed by hunger. Fortunately the sky was clear, and the stars shining out brightly enabled us to steer our course by them; but we went on and on, and I began to fear that we had already passed our camp. I expressed my apprehensions to my uncle.

“No!” he answered, “we are all right. We shall see the fire in a short time, unless Jan has let it out, which is not likely.”

“But perhaps a lion may have carried him off, and killed our ox also, and we shall then be in a sad plight,” I remarked.

“Nonsense, Fred!” he answered; “you are overtired with your long walk, and allow gloomy apprehensions to oppress you. I wish that I had not brought you so far.”

After this I said no more, but exerted myself to the utmost; though I could scarcely drag one foot after the other, and had it become necessary to run for our lives, I do not think I could have moved. I looked about, now on one side now on the other, and fancied that I could see the vast heads and shaggy manes of huge lions watching us from among the trees. I did not fear their roars as long as they were at a distance. At length I heard what I took to be the mutterings of half-a-dozen, at least, close to us. I shouted louder than ever, to try and drive them off. As soon as I stopped shouting I listened for my uncle’s voice, dreading lest one of the brutes should have seized him. I could not stop, to look round, and I was most thankful when I again heard him shout—

“Go on, Fred; go on, my boy. We shall see Jan’s camp-fire before long. I don’t believe there’s a lion within half a mile of us. During the night we hear their voices a long distance off.”

At length I saw, right ahead, a glare cast on the trunks and branches of the trees. It was I hoped produced by our camp-fire. Again, again, we shouted; should any lions be stalking us, they were very likely to follow our footsteps close up to our camp, and might pounce down upon us at the last moment, fearful of losing their prey. I felt greatly relieved on hearing Jan’s shout in reply to ours; and pushing eagerly on, we saw him sitting close to a blazing fire which he had made up. He was delighted to see us, for he had become very anxious at our long absence; especially as a troop of elephants, he said, had passed close to the camp; and, as one of them was wounded, he knew that they had been met with by us, and he feared might possibly have trampled us to death. He had heard, too, the roar of lions near at hand. We found the giraffe’s flesh more palatable than I had expected. As soon as we had eaten a hearty supper we lay down to rest, Jan promising to remain awake and keep up a blazing fire so as to scare away the lions.

Every now and then I awoke, and could hear the roarings and mutterings of the monarchs of the forest, which I heartily wished were sovereigns of some other part of the world.

Greatly to my disappointment, after the fatigue I had gone through I was unable to travel the next morning, and we had to put off our departure for another day.

My uncle went out for a short time, to shoot an antelope or any other species of deer he could come across for provisions, as what he killed for food one day was unfit for eating the next.

He had been absent for some time, and as I felt that a short walk would do me good, I took my gun, intending not to go far from the camp. I had some hopes that I might come across an antelope or deer during my short excursion. I of course took good care to keep a look-out on either side, lest I should be surprised by a lion or a leopard, the animals mostly to be feared in that region. It was not impossible that I might fall in with an elephant, but I had no intention of attacking one if I did, and should have ample notice of its approach, so that I might keep out of its way. I had gone about a quarter of a mile or so from the camp, and was thinking of turning back when I reached a tree which I found I could easily climb, as the remains of branches stuck out almost close to the ground. I got up for the sake of taking a survey of the country around, and especially over that part of it we had to travel the next morning. I found my lofty seat very pleasant, for I was well shaded by the thick foliage over head, while a light breeze played among the leaves, which was refreshing in the extreme. I had some difficulty in keeping awake, but I endeavoured to do so fearful of letting go my gun, or, perhaps, of falling to the ground myself. I did my best not to fall asleep, by singing and by occasionally getting up and looking around me.

The tree grew, I should have said, on the side of a bank, with a wide extent of level ground to the eastward, dotted over with thick clumps of trees, some large enough to be called woods; while nearer at hand, on either side of me, the vegetation was more scattered, here and there two or three trees only growing together. In some places single trees alone could be seen, rising in solitary grandeur from the soil. I had just got up when I caught sight of an elephant, which had come out from one of the clumps I have mentioned, where it had probably been spending the hot hours of the day, and advanced slowly towards me, now plucking a bunch of leaves with its trunk, now pulling up a shrub or plant. Presently I caught sight of a man with a gun in his hand coming out from the forest to the left and making his way towards where the elephant was feeding. He apparently did not see the animal, which was hidden from him by an intervening clump. When he got closer I recognised my uncle. Wishing to warn him of the neighbourhood of the elephant, I shouted as loudly as I could bawl; but, from the distance we were apart, he could not hear me. The elephant also took no notice of my voice, but went on feeding as before.

Presently my uncle came in sight of the monstrous beast, which must have seen him at the same time, for it ceased feeding and turned its head in the direction he was coming. Nothing daunted, my uncle continued to advance, keeping, however, more to the right, which would bring him towards the tree on which I was perched. The elephant began to move towards him. He quickened his pace—he was now in the open ground, over which he was making his way, exposed to great danger. He was aware of this and kept his gun ready to fire, though should he miss, he would be at the mercy of the brute. I considered how I could help him, but saw it would be madness to descend the tree to fire, and therefore remained where I was, praying that, should my uncle fire, his shot might be successful.

Presently, up went the elephant’s trunk; and, trumpeting loudly, he went at a fast trot directly towards my uncle, who, stopping for a moment, levelled his rifle and fired; but, although the shot took effect, it did not stop the elephant’s progress.

He had not a moment to reload—flight was his only resource. Happily not far off was a tree, but whether its branches grew low down enough to enable him to climb up it, I could not see, and I trembled for his safety. I shouted and shrieked, hoping to divert the attention of the elephant. It appeared to me that its trunk was not a dozen yards from my uncle. Should it once encircle him, his fate would be sealed. I never felt more anxious in my life. I might still stop its course I hoped, and, raising my rifle, I fired at its head, but my bullet seemed to make not the slightest impression. I shrieked with alarm. The next moment I saw my uncle seize the bough of a tree which had appeared to me above his head, when, exerting all his strength, he drew himself up. The elephant, elevating its trunk, actually touched his foot, but he drew it beyond its reach, and quickly clambered up into a place of safety. The elephant stood for a moment, its trunk raised as if expecting him to fall, and then made a furious dash at the tree in a vain endeavour to batter it down. The tree trembled from the shock but stood firm.

The elephant then, taking my uncle’s cap which had fallen off, trampled it under foot, going round and round the tree and trumpeting loudly. It was evidently a rogue elephant, an ill-tempered brute who had been driven from the herd to spend a solitary existence. Such are always the most dangerous, as they appear to have a greater hatred of man and to be more cunning than the elephants found in herds. It seemed to have made up its mind to besiege us. Our position was unpleasant in the extreme, for while it remained we dared not descend, and for what we could tell, we might be kept up our respective trees all night, and perhaps the following day, or still longer.

Chapter Four.

My uncle and I felt far from happy up our trees. He had had nothing to eat since he left camp in the morning, and I too was getting very hungry. An hour or more went by, and yet the old “rogue” elephant showed no inclination to take its departure. Fortunately it had not discovered my uncle’s rifle, which lay concealed in the grass close to the foot of the tree.

He now shouted to me to try to shoot the brute. This was no easy matter perched as I was high up; and as I was not likely to hit any vital part, I feared that any shot would only contribute to increase its rage without bringing it to the ground or driving it off. I had but five more bullets in my pouch, but I determined to do my best and not throw a shot away. I waited until the animal presented its side to me, when I fired, and the bullet struck it on the neck; but, though the blood flowed, it seemed to take no notice of the wound. The next I planted just below the shoulder. The elephant uttered several loud trumpetings and rushing again at the tree, seized the stem with its trunk, and endeavoured to pull it down. It shook violently, compelling my uncle to hold on with arms and legs.

I quickly reloaded and fired another shot directly behind the creature’s ear. I saw the blood spouting forth and flowing down until it formed a pool dyeing the surrounding grass. Gradually the elephant’s trunk unwound and hung down from its vast head.

“You’ve done for it,” shouted my uncle; “send another shot into its neck and we shall be free.”

I was reloading while he spoke, and before the elephant altered its favourable position I again fired.

Less than a minute elapsed, then down it sank on its knees. It made several efforts to rise but without success—its strength was fast failing. I had one more bullet remaining, but I wished to save it for any emergency which might occur. We had not long to wait before the elephant fell over on its side and lay an inanimate mass.

My uncle quickly descended the tree and I followed his example. His first act was to pick up and examine his gun. It having escaped injury he at once reloaded, and then, shaking hands, we surveyed our fallen foe.

“I wish that we could carry these magnificent tusks with us, but that is out of the question,” observed my uncle. “We will, however, try to secure them. Help me to cut them out.”

We set to work; and having fastened all the straps we could muster round one of them, he ascended the tree in which I had taken refuge, and I assisting him, we hauled up one of the tusks, and deposited it safely among the branches. The other was hauled up in the same fashion, and pretty hard work it was, as each tusk was considerably above half a hundredweight.

“I hope that we shall be able to send for these some day or other, and we are not likely to forget this spot in a hurry,” remarked my uncle.

Having cut off one of the elephant’s feet we ran a stick through it and started off for the camp. The day, however, was not to pass without another adventure. We had not gone half the distance when we saw, above the bushes, the head and neck of a giraffe. It did not appear to be alarmed; but influenced by curiosity, instead of cantering away, it drew nearer, coming round the end of the clump, evidently wondering what strange creatures we could be. So interested was it that it did not notice another and more formidable enemy which had been creeping up close behind. This was a lion, which, engaged in stalking its prey, did not discover us. We, therefore, could watch at a safe distance what was taking place. The lion kept creeping on, cautious as a cat, and with movements very similar, when, believing that it had got near enough for its purpose, with a rush and a tremendous bound, it leapt on the back of the giraffe before the latter could use its heels to drive off its foe. With fearful tenacity the savage creature hung on to the shoulders of the terrified giraffe, which bounded forward, and leapt and sprang from side to side in a vain endeavour to shake off its foe. Not a sound did it utter, but dashed on, with head erect; while the lion was tearing away with its teeth and claws at its shoulders and neck. There was no doubt from the first which of the two would gain the victory. Blood was streaming from the neck and flanks of the poor giraffe, which very quickly slackened its pace and then down it came, unable longer to endure the pain it was suffering. The lion at once began tearing away at the flesh. Still it kicked, and struggled, but its efforts were useless, and it very quickly ceased to move.

“We must have that lion,” said my uncle.

Having examined our rifles we hurried towards the spot where the savage brute was enjoying its banquet, so busily employed that it did not see us. When at length it was aware of our approach it ceased feeding, and gazed at us with its fore paws on the body of its victim, presenting a truly magnificent spectacle.

We were near enough by this time to take a steady aim.

“Do you fire, Fred, and then reload as rapidly as you can, while I will wait until you are ready.”

“But I have no second bullet,” fortunately recollecting at the moment that I had expended all my bullets but one.

My uncle handed me a couple, and I obeyed his injunctions. My bullet passed through the lion’s thick mane and crashed into its neck.

Uttering a tremendous roar as it felt the pain, it came towards us. Without a moment’s loss of time I reloaded, fearing that, should my uncle’s bullet fail to stop it, the brute would be upon us.

Notwithstanding the lion’s near approach my uncle waited, and then fired, hitting it between the eyes. Still it advanced, but, blinded and almost stunned, though it made a desperate bound towards us, its aim was uncertain. My uncle sprang on one side and I on the other, when, before I had finished loading, over it fell, and lay dead between us.

“A pretty good afternoon’s sport,” observed my uncle. “We’ll take the liberty of cutting a few steaks from the giraffe which this brute here has hunted for us, and the sooner we get back to camp the better.”

The chief difficulty in obtaining the steaks was in cutting through the tough skin of the giraffe, which was almost as thick as that of a rhinoceros. By employing our axes we soon, however, accomplished our task, and in a few minutes reached the camp, where Jan, who had heard our shots, had made up a large fire in expectation of any game we should bring.

While the elephant foot was cooking we regaled ourselves on some fine slices of giraffe meat, which assisted to stop the cravings of hunger. All night long we were surrounded by the abominable cries of hyaenas and jackals which were collected round the carcases of the slain animals.

It is said that they dare not touch even a dead lion, but at all events when we went out to look the next morning the bones only of the two animals remained.

We now once more reloaded our ox and set out northward. We remarked that the poor creature, in spite of its long rest, looked thinner, and in worse condition than before.

“Him tsetse do it. You see, ox die!” exclaimed Jan.

Still the faithful brute stepped on with its heavy load, and we hoped that Jan was mistaken.

At length we came in sight of a broader river than we had crossed since we had left the desert.

We had no doubt that it would conduct us down to the lake, on the borders of which we hoped to find our friends encamped. How to cross it was the difficulty. I suggested that we should construct a raft, as the reeds which fringed the bank would supply us with abundance of material.

Not far off was a tree-covered island, the intervening space being filled with reeds. Leaving Jan and the ox on the shore, my uncle and I set off to reach the island, thinking that we could there more conveniently build our raft and launch it than from the main land.

Plunging in among the reeds we soon found ourselves almost overwhelmed: not a breath of air could reach us, and the heat was so stifling that we almost fainted. Still, having begun, we were unwilling to give up.

Frequently we could only get on by leaning against the mass of reeds, and bending them down until we could stand upon them. They were mixed with a serrated grass which cut our hands, while the whole was bound together by the climbing convolvulus, with stalks so strong that we could not break them.

Plying our axes, however, we managed to make our onward way until we gained the island, but here to our disappointment we found that we were thirty yards or more from the clear water, which was full of great masses of papyrus with stalks ten feet in height, and an inch and a half in diameter. These also were bound together by the convolvulus in a way which made them perfectly impenetrable. While we stood on the shore of the island the sound of human voices reached our ears, and we saw in the distance several canoes descending the stream. Each carried three men, two paddling and one standing up with a large harpoon attached to a rope in his hand. They were in pursuit of some large dark creatures whose heads, just rising above the water, looked like those of enormous cart-horses.

“They are hippopotami!” exclaimed my uncle, “and we shall see some sport presently.”

Suddenly, down came the harpoon, and was fixed in the back of one of the monsters, which almost sprang out of the water as it felt the pain of the wound; then off it went, towing the canoe at a tremendous rate after it, the end of the rope being secured to the bows, while the barb to which the rope was attached being shaken out of its socket remained firmly fixed in the animal’s body.

We ran along the island to watch the canoe as long as it remained in sight, but it was towed so rapidly that it soon disappeared. Presently, however, we saw another coming down the stream fast to a second hippopotamus, not only the head but a considerable portion of the body of which was floating above the water. The men in the canoe were hauling themselves up closer to their prey, preparatory to plunging their lances or harpoons into its body. I fancied that I could almost distinguish the savage glance of the brute’s eyes. Suddenly it stopped; then, turning round, gave a rush at the canoe.

In vain the blacks slackened the rope, and seizing their paddles, endeavoured to escape from it. With open mouth the hippopotamus rushed on the boat, and, seizing it in its enormous jaws, crushed it up as if it had been made of paper.

One poor fellow was caught; a fearful shriek was heard; and, directly afterwards, we saw his body, cut in two, floating down the stream. The other two men had disappeared, and we fancied must also have been killed. Again and again the animal darted at the canoe, expending his rage upon it.

While he was thus employed the two men rose to the surface and instantly made for the shore, dragging the end of the rope by a path we had not before observed, between the reeds. With wonderful activity they made it fast to the trunk of a tree. Directly afterwards three other canoes arrived, and the men, armed with harpoons and heavy spears, jumping on shore, joined their companions in hauling in on the rope attached to the hippopotamus. In vain the monster struggled, endeavouring to tear itself away from the rope. The blacks with wonderful boldness rushed into the water, darting their spears at it. It had seized the shaft of the harpoon, which had broken in two, and was endeavouring to bite through the rope.

Two other canoes now came up and their crews attacked the hippopotamus in the rear. So engaged were the hunters that they did not observe us. As we watched their proceedings it appeared very probable that in spite of its wounds the hippopotamus would break away. Seeing this, my uncle unslung his rifle and advanced towards the monster, which had already severed several strands of the rope. As it opened its vast mouth, he fired down its throat, and it almost instantly, giving another convulsive struggle, rolled over.

His success was greeted with triumphant shouts by the hunters who had only just before discovered us. Having drawn the body of the hippopotamus up to the dry land, the blacks crowded round us, and by signs and exclamations expressed their admiration of the way in which my uncle had killed the creature.

We tried to explain that we were very happy to have been of service to them, and that we should feel obliged, if, in return, they would ferry us across the river, and guide us to the waggons of the white men who had encamped not far off.

Leaving the hunters to cut up the hippopotamus, and stow its flesh on board their canoes, we returned to where we had left Jan and the ox. As it was getting late, we agreed to remain where we were until the following day,—in the meantime to try to shoot an antelope or deer of some sort which would enable us to provide a feast for the natives by whom we might be visited.

I was fortunate enough, while lying down among some rocks near our camp, to kill a springbok, one of the most light and elegant of the gazelle tribe; but its companions, of which it had several, bounded off at so rapid a rate that I had no chance of killing another. I, therefore, lifting my prize on my shoulder, returned to camp, where my uncle soon after arrived, laden with the flesh of a quagga, which, although belonging to the family of asses, is good food.

Scarcely had we put on some meat to cook, when half a dozen of our acquaintances arrived. It was satisfactory to find that Jan understood their language. They appeared to be well-disposed towards us, and our friendship was cemented by the feast of quagga flesh which we got ready for them. We ourselves, however, preferred the more delicate meat of the springbok. We kept some of the meat for our next day’s breakfast, and offered the remainder to our guests, which they quickly stowed away.

They undertook to convey us down the river the following morning in their canoes, or on a raft, observing that, if we went in the canoes, we must be separated, as each could carry only one of us. We, therefore, determined to trust to a raft, such as we ourselves had proposed building. Our guests retired for a short distance from us, and formed a camp by themselves for the night.

I awoke about two hours before dawn, when my attention was attracted to a peculiar noise which I might liken to a low grunting and the tread of numberless feet. As day broke, I saw the ground to the southward covered with a dense mass of deer moving slowly and steadily on towards an opening in a long range of hills to the east. They appeared to be in no hurry, but continued feeding as they went. I aroused my uncle, who pronounced them to be springboks, one of which I had shot on the previous evening migrating for the winter to the northward. They were beautiful animals, graceful in form, of a light cinnamon red on the back, fading into white on the under part of the body, a narrow band of reddish brown separating the two colours. As far as the eye could reach, the whole country seemed alive with them,—not only the plain but the hill-side, along which they bounded with graceful leaps.

Our guests on the previous evening had disappeared, but they quickly came back with a large party of their tribe, and gave us to understand that they could not escort us down to the river for the present, as they must set out to attack the springboks, and hoped that we would accompany them.

This my uncle and I at once agreed to do, and, supplying ourselves with a good stock of ammunition, we set off with the first party that started. Our friends led us at a rapid rate over the hills by a short cut, so that we might intercept the animals, as they passed through the mountains. Another party, we found, remained behind, to drive them through, or prevent them turning back when frightened by our presence. We were only just in time, for already the leaders of the herd had made their appearance. As we approached the mouth of the gorge, while some of the hunters rushed up the hills, and stationed themselves on either side, so as to dart their javelins at the passing deer, others took post at the mouth of the gorge, thus preventing the egress of the animals, without coming within range of their weapons.

Now a scene of slaughter commenced such as I have seldom witnessed. The leaders of the herd turned to retreat, but were met by the party who had remained on the other side shrieking and shouting, and knocking the handles of their spears against their shields. Some of the animals tried to escape up the mountains, others dashed forward to our very feet, and many fell down killed by terror itself. We shot a few, but the slaughter seemed so unnecessary that we refrained from again firing, and would gladly have asked the natives to desist; but while the animals were in their power, they would evidently have refused to do so.

Happily the affrighted deer found an opening, which, from the excessive steepness of the path, had been neglected. Through this a considerable number made their escape, and were soon beyond the reach of their merciless pursuers.

The natives now began to collect the animals they had slain, and each man returned in triumph with a springbok on his shoulders.

We, not to be outdone, each carried one of those we had shot, and a pretty heavy load it was. I was thankful when we got back to the camp, where we cooked a portion of the venison.

As we might have felt sure, the natives, having plenty of food, were not at all disposed to move from the spot, and, indeed, continued feasting the whole of the next day. On the following, they were so gorged that they were utterly unable to make any exertion. Had an enemy been near, and found them in this condition, the whole tribe might have been killed or carried off into captivity.

We in the meantime explored the banks of the river until we found a convenient spot for forming our raft. In most places the reeds extended so far from the shore that during the operation we should have had to stand up to our middles in water among them, with the risk of being picked up by a crocodile or hippopotamus, both of which delectable creatures were, in considerable numbers, frequenters of the stream.

As the blacks still showed no inclination to accompany us, Jan volunteered to return for the elephant’s tusks and other articles we had left behind, if I would go with him.

To this my uncle somewhat demurred, but, at last, when I pressed the point, he consented to remain in charge of the goods we had brought while we set off on our expedition.

Chapter Five.

At daybreak Jan and I set off, he as usual leading the ox, while I walked ahead with my rifle, ready for a shot. Our baggage consisted of a couple of skins to sleep on, a stock of ammunition, a small portion of our remnant of flour, tea, sugar, and pepper. We had no fear of not finding food, as game of all sorts was abundant, provided I kept my health, and was able to shoot it.

I asked Jan what he thought of the ox which looked remarkably thin.

“No good!” he answered; “last till get back, but not more—den him die.”

I trusted that the poor animal would hold out as long as he supposed.

We rested at noon under an enormous acacia, of the younger branches of which the elephants are apparently very fond. We saw that they were everywhere twisted off to the height of about twenty-five feet, which is as far as an elephant can reach.

Here and there, under the trees, were conical hills twenty feet high, built up for residences by the white ants. Frequently they were covered with creeping plants which met at the top, hanging back in an umbrella shape, completely shading them. I shot several doves and other birds to serve us for dinner, and while Jan was cooking them I went in search of fruit, and discovered an abundance of medlars very similar to those we have in England, as well as some small purple figs growing on bushes. The most curious fruit I met with was like a lime in appearance, with a thick rind, but inside was a large nut. I had to climb a tree to obtain them, for all those lower down had been carried off by elephants who were evidently very fond of the fruit.

As our object was to make as much haste as possible, I was resolved not to go out of the way to shoot any large game, though I kept my rifle loaded with ball as a defence against lions, leopards, rhinoceroses, or hyaenas.

The first day’s journey we saw several in the distance, though none came near us. We formed our camp at the foot of a tree, with a large fire in front of us, and on either side of the trunk we erected a fence of stout stakes in a semi-circular form; so we hoped that we should be able to sleep without being molested by wild beasts. The ox remained outside, and we knew that he would run to the fire, should danger threaten him.

The usual cries proceeding from an African forest prevented us from sleeping over soundly, and I was awakened by the roar of a lion, which stood on a mound some little distance from our camp, afraid of approaching near our fire, and the palisade which he probably took for a trap.

We had exhausted our stock of wood during the night, and in the morning Jan went out to procure a fresh supply for cooking our breakfast. I was employed in plucking some birds which I had killed in the evening, when I heard my companion shouting lustily for help, and at the same time, a loud crashing of boughs reached my ears, while the ox came hurrying up to the camp in evident alarm.

Seizing my rifle, I sprang up, fearing that a lion had pounced down upon Jan, while picking up sticks, and I was fully prepared for an encounter with the savage brute. Instead of a lion, however, I saw an elephant, with trunk uplifted, rush out from among the brushwood. I sprang behind a tree, as the only place of safety, when what was my dismay, to see, as he passed, Jan clinging to his hind leg. How the black had got there was the puzzle, and how to rescue him from his awkward position was the next question to be solved. Should he let go, he might naturally expect to receive a kick from the elephant’s hind foot which would effectually knock all the breath out of his body; and yet, should he not get free, he might be carried miles away and perish miserably. My only hope was at once to mortally wound the elephant. Not a moment was to be lost if I was to save poor Jan. Just then the elephant caught sight of the ox, and stopped as if considering if he should attack it. Whether he was aware that Jan was clinging to his leg or not, I could not tell, as the black’s weight no more impeded him than a fly would a man when running.

The ox, instead of endeavouring to escape, presented its head to the elephant, though it trembled in every limb.

Jan, who seemed paralysed with fear, did not let go as I thought he would have done, and his best chance would have been to spring back, even though he had fallen on the ground directly behind the elephant. I did not like to shout to him for fear of attracting the creature’s attention.

Now or never was my time to save the poor fellow. I stepped from under cover of the tree, and, levelling my rifle, aimed at a spot directly behind the ear.

The huge monster did not move, then presently it began swaying to and fro. I shouted to Jan to leap off and hurried on to help him. Before I reached the spot, he had followed my advice, and hardly had he done so, than down came the elephant with a crash, to the ground. Jan raised a shout of triumph.

“De master hab done well!” he cried out. I could not help joining him, and even the ox gave a bellow of satisfaction as he saw his huge foe stretched lifeless on the ground.

We at once set to work to extract the tusks with our axes. Rather than leave them, we agreed to take them with us. We therefore placed them on the back of our ox, together with some slices of elephant meat which would prevent the necessity of shooting game during the day.

We now pushed forward for the cave where we had left our goods, and met with no adventures worth noticing. We saw numerous herds of antelopes, giraffes, and a few ostriches. The latter I would have killed if I could, for the sake of their valuable feathers. The cave had been untouched, and it was with no small satisfaction that I loaded up the ox with its contents, as we prepared to set off the next morning on our return, intending, on our way back, to obtain the elephant’s tusks we had deposited in the tree, which had afforded me such seasonable shelter when attacked by their owner.

We met as before buffaloes, elands, koodoos, and various antelopes. As I was walking along ahead, suddenly I found my face enveloped as if by a thick veil; and as I was tearing off the web—for such it was—I caught sight of a large yellow spider, hauling himself up to the tree above. In the neighbourhood were many other webs, the fibres radiating from a centre point where the greedy insect was waiting for its prey.

Each web was about a yard in diameter, and the lines on which they were hung, suspended from one tree to another, were as thick as coarse thread. We occasionally met with serpents, but they generally kept out of our way.

One day, during a halt, while seated under a tree, I caught sight of another enormous spider of a reddish tinge. Never did I see a creature so active. It suddenly made its appearance from a hole in the bark, and giving a tremendous bound, caught a large moth which it quickly devoured. With wonderful rapidity it ran about the tree, now darting forward, now springing back. With a feeling of horror lest it should spring upon me, I removed to a distance. On looking down on the ground, I saw what I at first thought was a coin the size of a shilling; but on looking closer I discovered that it was of a pure white silky substance like paper, and that it formed the door to a hole. On trying to lift it up I discovered that it was fastened by a hinge on one side, and on turning it over upon the hole it fitted exactly—the upper side being covered with earth and grass, so that, had it not been for the circumstance that the inmate had been out, I could not possibly have detected it. Jan said it was the hole of a spider, probably the creature I had seen engaged in seeking its prey.

While encamped that night, I heard the crashing of heads and horns. Jan told me it was caused by a troop of buffaloes who were fighting. Presently a loud snorting and puffing reached our ears. The uproar increased, and he declared that the noise was produced by rhinoceroses and buffaloes quarrelling. My fear was that in their heady fight the animals might come our way and trample over us, or perhaps the rhinoceroses would attack our poor ox, who was but ill able to defend himself.

While I was looking out beyond our camp-fire I caught sight of a herd of elephants, the huge males going first, followed by the females, on their way down to a large pool where they were going to drink. I followed them cautiously until they entered the water.

Having satisfied their thirst, they began throwing it over themselves and disporting in the cool element, gambolling and rolling about like a party of schoolboys bathing. As I could not have carried away their tusks, I did not attempt to shoot one but left them unmolested. After a while I saw them returning by the way they had come, appearing in the uncertain light like huge phantoms so noiselessly did they stalk over the ground.

It is strange that, huge as the elephant is, from the soft padding of its feet, the sound of its steps is not heard even on hard ground. Its approach is only to be discovered by the snapping of boughs and twigs as it makes its way among the brushwood.

We were but a short distance from the spot where we had left the elephant’s tusks, one of the objects of our expedition. I felt very sure of the place, as the adventure we had there met with had marked it in my memory.

I was going up to the tree followed by Jan, when I saw an object moving among the branches. This made me approach cautiously, and fortunately I did so, for on looking up, I caught sight of an enormous leopard, which probably had been attracted by the smell of the flesh still adhering to the roots of the tusks. As the creature had got possession of the tree, I had first to dislodge him before I could obtain our tusks; that they were still there I discovered by seeing their points sticking out beyond the forks of the boughs where we had deposited them. I knew the leopard’s habit of leaping down on passing animals, and thought it might attempt to catch me in the same manner. I therefore stood at a distance, but though I shouted at the top of my voice, and threw pieces of wood at it, it held its post, snarling and growling savagely.

“Better shoot him, or he come down when no tinkee,” cried Jan, who had remained with the ox at a safe distance.

As we were in a hurry to move on, I saw that the sooner I did this the better, but it was important to shoot it dead, for should I miss or only wound it, it might make its leap before I had reloaded, and attack me and Jan.

I advanced, and taking good aim, pulled the trigger, but what was my dismay to find my gun miss fire, while at the same moment the leopard made a spring from a high bough on which it was perched. I expected the next instant to feel its fangs in my neck, and be struck to the ground by its sharp claws; but happily its feet caught in some of the creeping vines which were entwined round the tree, and it very nearly came toppling to the ground on its head. Recovering itself, however, it pitched on a lower bough.

I, in the meantime, endeavouring to be calm, cleaned out the nipple of my gun, and put a fresh cap on; then retiring a few paces while the creature gazed down upon me, about to make another spring, I fired at its head, into which the bullet buried itself, and down it crashed to the ground.

I leaped back, and reloading, stood ready to give it another shot, but this was unnecessary; after a few convulsive struggles, it lay helpless on the ground. On drawing near I found that it was dead. The skin being a handsome one, I determined to secure it. With Jan’s assistance, I soon had it off and placed on the back of the ox. I now ascended the tree, and found that though the ends of the tusks were gnawed, they were not otherwise injured.

With the aid of Jan I lowered them down, and secured them to the back of the ox. The poor brute was now overloaded, but as we had not far to go, I hoped that it would be able to carry its burden that short distance.

Had I been strong I would have endeavoured to carry some of the load, but I found my gun and ammunition, with the birds I occasionally shot, quite enough for me. At length, greatly to my satisfaction, we drew near the spot where I had left my uncle on some high ground overlooking the river. Every moment I thought that our poor ox would give in.

We might, I suspect, have been indicted by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, had we been seen urging on the ox, but we had no choice, for had we abandoned our goods, the natives would have taken possession of them. At last, as evening was approaching, we caught sight of my uncle’s camp-fire. We shouted, as he did in return, when he came hurrying down the hill to meet us.

“What poor brute have you got there?” he exclaimed, after welcoming us.

When I told him it was our old ox, he would scarcely believe it to be the same animal. Hardly was the burden off its back, and Jan was about to lead it down to the water, than the poor creature, giving a convulsive shudder, fell to the ground, and in a few minutes was dead, having faithfully performed its duty to the last. I felt more sad than I could have supposed it possible, as I assisted my uncle and Jan in drawing away the carcase from the camp. We had not dragged it far, before some natives arrived, who relieved us of all further trouble, saying that they would take it to their camp, and eat it in spite of its having died from the effects of the tsetse poison, which we warned them was the case.

My uncle told me that he had prepared a raft, which would convey us and our goods down the river to where Mr Welbourn’s camp was situated, and that he had engaged a couple of canoes and a party of natives to accompany us. Instead of the howling of wild beasts, we were serenaded during the night by the shouts of laughter and songs of the blacks feasting on the carcase of the poor ox. It was quite as well, however, that it should be eaten by them, as by jackals, which would have been its fate had it died in the wilderness.

Next morning, assisted by the blacks, we carried our goods down to the river, where we found a curious raft constructed of reeds. It appeared to me loosely thrown together, somewhat like the top of a floating haystack. My uncle said that the natives had formed it by throwing on the calm water a number of reeds, which were interlaced together. Then others were added, until the lower sank by the weight of those pressed upon them, it being built up until it rose to a sufficient height above the surface to bear as many men and as much cargo as it was required to carry. In the centre was stuck a mast to which a sail made of skins, was twisted, while a long oar projecting astern served to guide it. Notwithstanding the assurances of the natives that it was fit to perform a long voyage, I was glad of the attendance of the canoes.

All things being ready, amid the shouts of the people on shore, we shoved off, and, being towed cut into the stream by the canoes, set sail. Considering the clumsy nature of our raft, we glided on with great rapidity, the canoemen having to paddle pretty hard to keep up with us.

It was pleasant to be reclining at our ease, and to be borne along without having to exert ourselves. The voyage, however, was not without its dangers. Now and then a huge hippopotamus would show its ugly head alongside, threatening to overturn our frail craft, which it might easily have done with one heave of its back. Occasionally, too, crocodiles would swim by, looking up at us with their savage eyes, showing us how we should be treated should we by any chance be sent splashing into the water. About mid-day we steered for the shore where our black crew intimated that they intended to dine.

The raft was secured by a rope round the mast and carried to the trunk of a tree. We, however, were unwilling to leave our goods on board without a guard, and therefore determined to remain where we were and to eat a cold meal; the materials for which we had brought with us. The water appearing bright and tempting, I was about to plunge overboard, when I felt the raft give a heave. Directly afterwards, a huge crocodile poked his ugly snout above the surface, warning me that I had better remain where I was. Two or three others made their appearance soon afterwards in the neighbourhood. My uncle and I agreed that the sooner we were away from the spot the better, as any of the savage brutes coming under the raft might upset it, and we should be committed to their tender mercies.

We were very glad, therefore, when the blacks, having finished their meal, returned on board, and we once more began to float down the stream.

We were in hopes that at the rate we were proceeding we should meet our friends before the close of the day, but darkness approached, and the blacks gave us to understand that we must go on shore and spend the night at a village of their tribe, where we should be hospitably entertained. To this we could offer no objection, though it involved the necessity of landing our goods, as we had no fancy to spend the time on the raft, with the prospect of finding it melting away below our feet, and we ourselves left to be devoured by the crocodiles, or perhaps, to have it capsized by the heave of an hippopotamus beneath it.

As we glided on, we saw a collection of bee-hive looking huts on the top of the south bank. The raft was directed towards them. The natives, leaping on shore, secured it as before by a rope to a tree growing on the beach. They then assisted in carrying our property to the shore. Having piled it up in a heap and covered it over with a roof of leaves, they assured us that it would be as safe as if guarded by a hundred men. As they had hitherto shown themselves to be scrupulously honest, we had no reason to doubt them on this occasion; and we, therefore, willingly accompanied them to the village, whence a number of people issued forth to greet us. They then conducted us to a newly built hut, the inside of which was as clean as we could desire, the floor covered with freshly made mats. There we could more securely rest than we had been able to do for a long time. We were, however, not yet allowed to enter it; a feast was preparing at which it was expected we should be present, after which there was to be a dance for our entertainment. For the feast a fat ox had been killed, part being roasted and part stewed. Some of both was placed before us, together with huge bowls of porridge, which our entertainers mixed with their fingers, and transferred by the same means to their mouths in large quantities. They looked somewhat surprised when we hesitated to follow their example, but considering that it would show mistrust, we at last overcame our repugnance. The porridge itself was certainly not bad, and our hosts laughed heartily as they saw how we burnt our fingers and made wry faces. The whole was washed down with huge draughts of pombe, a sort of beer, with slightly intoxicating properties. We did not inquire too minutely as to how it was made. The feast over, we heard an extraordinary uproar proceeding from another part of the village, a sound between the barking of dogs and people endeavouring to clear their throats. On going in the direction whence the strange sounds came, we found several men with spears in their hands and anklets of shells fastened round their legs, bending over a small fire, and producing the melancholy noises which had attracted our attention. Others danced round them rattling their anklets, while a party of women forming an outer semicircle sang a monotonous chant and clapped their hands. The old men and women, the senior inhabitants of the village, whom we were invited to join, sat on the opposite side, spectators of the performance. In the meantime the young men and boys were prancing about, now advancing to the girls beating the ground, rattling their anklets, and creating an enormous quantity of dust.

These proceedings had gone on for some time, when a gay youth, evidently the leader among them, snatching a brand from the fire after dancing up to the girls, stuck it in the ground, when he began to leap round and over it, for a considerable time, taking care not to touch it.

After these various scenes had been enacted, a number of young men, representing a war party returning victorious from battle, made their appearance, and brandishing their broad-headed spears, ornamented with flowing ox-tails. Now they rushed off, as if to pursue an enemy; now returned, and were welcomed by a chorus from the women.

The scene was highly effective; the glare of the fire being reflected on the red helmet-like gear and glittering ornaments of the girls, on the flashing blades and waving ox-tails on the warriors, and the figures of the spectators, with the huts and groups of cattle in the distance, while the howling, chanting, shrieking, and barking sounds were kept up without intermission. We, at last, making signs to the chief that we were very weary, placing our heads on our hands and closing our eyes, were led ceremoniously to our hut, into which we were thankful to enter. Having closed the entrance we lay down and tried to go to sleep. The noises which reached our ears showed us, however, that the dance was being kept up with unabated spirit, and I suspect that our hosts formed but a mean opinion of our tastes in consequence of our disappearing from the festive scene.

Next morning, having bestowed a few remaining trinkets to delight the hearts of the black damsels, we wished our hospitable entertainers farewell and continued our voyage, not an article of our property having been purloined.

Our raft clung together far better than I should have supposed, but I suspect, had it struck a rocky bottom, the case would have been very different. We passed by herds of hippopotami, some with young ones on their backs, and although they sank as we approached, they soon came to the surface to breathe. On the trees overhead were numbers of iguanas, which, on seeing us, splashed into the water. The chief canoeman carried a light javelin, with which he speared a couple, the flesh proving to be tender and gelatinous.

Numerous large crocodiles, as we appeared, plunged heavily into the stream, indeed there was everywhere an abundance of animal life. Had we not been anxious to join our friends, we should have been contented to continue the voyage for several days longer.

Another evening was approaching when we espied beneath a huge tree what looked like a tent and a couple of waggons near it. We fired off our guns as a signal, and in a short time we saw two white men coming towards us. We quickly landed in one of the canoes, and were soon shaking hands with Mr Welbourn and his son Harry.

Chapter Six.

Mr Welbourn had a good stock of ammunition, and with the supply we brought it was considered that we had sufficient to enable us to continue the journey northward into a region where elephants abounded. The cattle were in good condition, and, provided we could escape the tsetse and were not cut off by savage enemies, we might expect to obtain full loads of tusks. Besides three Hottentot drivers and a dozen Makololo, Mr Welbourn was accompanied by a white hunter, Hans Scarff, who had joined him on his way from the coast. His appearance was not in his favour, for a more sinister countenance I had seldom met with. He, however, was said to be a bold hunter and a first-rate horseman, and his assistance was therefore likely to prove useful.

The head man of the Makololoes, Toko, as he was called, was a fine, tall, active fellow with an intelligent countenance, who, if not handsome according to our notion, was good-looking for a black, and a brave faithful fellow. Besides the oxen to drag the waggons, we had eight fine horses, most of them well trained to encounter the elephant and rhinoceros, or any other wild beasts of the forest.

Near our camp a stream of clear water fell into the river, and in the evening Harry asked me to go down and bathe. Hans said he would join us.

“Are there no crocodiles there?” I asked, and I told him of the numbers I had seen in the river.

“No fear of the brutes there,” answered Hans; “the water is too shallow—”

“Or hippopotami,” I put in.

“Still less likely,” said Hans. “The monsters never come up such streams as these.”

We started off, and on reaching the stream separated from each other. While looking out for a clear pool free from lilies, or other aquatic plants, presently. Harry, who had gone up the stream, cried out—

“I’ve found a capital place. We can leap into deep water from the bank.”

Just then I heard my uncle shout out—

“Where are you going, boys? The crocodiles come up here to lay their eggs. It is as dangerous a part as any in the country.”

At that moment Harry shouted out, “Hulloa! I’m in!”

I was rushing to his assistance, when I heard a fearful cry from Hans, who, his foot slipping, had fallen into the water. As he did so, a huge crocodile darted across the stream.

My uncle and Mr Welbourn were descending the bank, and were much nearer than I was. I was undecided to whose assistance I should run, when, to my horror, I saw the crocodile seize Hans by the arm, before he could regain his feet. I fortunately had my large hunting-knife in my belt, though I had not; brought my rifle. Little as I liked Hans, I felt that it was my duty to go to his assistance. Unless I did so he would be quickly dragged off into deep water, and become the prey of the crocodile. Seeing that his father and my uncle had already got hold of Harry, drawing my hunting-knife I dashed forward, shouting with all my might to try to frighten the savage brute. Hans had caught hold of the branch of a fallen tree, which he grasped with his left arm, holding on to it for his life. Every moment I expected to see him let go, when his fate would have been sealed. Not for an instant did I think of the danger I was running. I can scarcely even now understand how I acted as I did. With a single bound I sprang over the branches close to the head of the crocodile, and seizing the man with one hand, I plunged the knife into the eye of the monster, who immediately opened his jaws, and as he did so, Hans, with an activity I could scarcely have expected, hauled himself up to the top of the bough, where I sprang after him, while the crocodile, giving a whisk of his tail which nearly knocked us off our perch, retreated into deep water, the next instant to turn lifeless on its back, when, floating down a few yards, its huge body was brought up by a ledge of rocks which projected partly out of the water.

“Well done, Fred, my boy,” shouted my uncle and Mr Welbourn in chorus.

Having placed Harry on the bank they hurried forward to assist me in lifting Hans off the bough to which he was clinging, and to place him beside Harry. For some seconds he lay, scarcely knowing what had happened. On examining his arm, though it was fearfully crushed, wonderful as it may seem, no bone was actually broken. After a little time he revived, and, accompanied by Harry, we led him back to the camp. My uncle exerted all his medical skill to doctor him, and the next morning, though his arm was useless, he was able to move about as well as ever. He did not exhibit any special feeling of gratitude to me, but I won the good opinion of the natives, and of Toko in particular. Had anybody told me that I should have been able to perform the act, I should have declared it was impossible, and all I know is that I did it.

As all the ivory in the neighbourhood for which we had goods to give in exchange had been purchased, we pushed forward to the north-east to a country inhabited by tribes which had hitherto had little or no intercourse with Europeans. It is not, however, my object so much to describe the people as the adventures we met with. I cannot exactly say with the naval officer, who, describing the customs of the people he visited, in his journal wrote, “Of manners they have none, and their customs are beastly.” Savage those we met were in many respects, but their savagery arose from their ignorance and gross idolatry.

We travelled in a very luxurious manner, compared to our journey with the single ox across the desert. As we advanced we saw numbers of large game, and one evening nearly a hundred buffaloes defiled before us in slow procession, almost within gun-shot, while herds of elands passed us without showing any signs of fear. We at the moment had abundance of meat in the camp, or some of them would have fallen victims to our fire-arms.

The next day, seeing a herd of zebras in the distance, taking my rifle, I started off, hoping to shoot one of them. As the wind was from them to me, and as there were some low bushes, I expected to get up to them within gun-shot, before they perceived me. I was not disappointed; and, firing, I wounded one of them severely in the leg. The rest of the herd took to flight, but the wounded animal went off towards our camp, from which several of our men issued to attack it.

I was walking along leisurely when, hearing the sound of feet in the direction from which I had come, I turned round and saw a solitary buffalo galloping towards me. The nearest place of safety was a tree, but it was upwards of a hundred yards off. I had, of course, reloaded, and now got my rifle ready, hoping to hit the brute in the forehead. Just then the thought occurred to me, “What would be my fate should my gun miss fire?” The buffalo came on at a tremendous speed, but fortunately a small bush in its way made it swerve slightly and expose its shoulder. Now was the moment for action, and as I heard the bullet strike the animal I fell flat on my face. The buffalo bounded on over my body, apparently not perceiving me. I lay perfectly still. It had got to a considerable distance, when it was met by the men who had come out to kill the zebra, and was quickly shot down.

Toko shook his head when he saw me, exclaiming that I must not go out again without him, lest I should be killed by some savage animal.

“But I have my rifle to defend myself,” I observed.

“Your rifle may miss fire sometimes, or you may fail to kill the elephant or rhinoceros you attack better have two rifles. I will go with you,” he answered, in his peculiar lingo.

Our plan was always to encamp near water, and where we could obtain wood for our fires; for such regions were certain to be frequented by a variety of animals. Sometimes we remained two or three days in the same spot, provided no villages were near; though people were generally grateful to us for destroying the wild beasts, as even the elephants are apt to injure their plantations by breaking in and trampling over them.

Harry and I, who had become fast friends, generally went out together, accompanied by Toko, sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback. One day we had all three gone out on foot, prepared for any game. That we might be more likely to fall in with some creature or other, we separated a short distance; keeping, however, within hail, and agreeing that, should one of us shout, the other two were to close in towards him. I was in the centre, Toko on the left, and Harry on the right.

We had gone some distance when I heard Toko shout, “Elephant, elephant!” I uttered the same cry to Harry, but he did not apparently hear me, and, at all events, I could not see him. After running for thirty or forty yards, I caught sight of Toko up a tree. He cried out to me to climb another a short distance off, the branches of which would afford an easy ascent. Wishing to follow his advice, I was running along, when my foot caught in a creeper and I fell to the ground with considerable force, letting my rifle drop as I did so, but in vain attempted to regain my legs, so severely had I sprained my ankle. I naturally called to Toko to come to my assistance. He did not move or reply, but continued shouting and shrieking at the top of his voice. What was my horror just then to see a huge elephant, with trunk uplifted, burst out from among the trees on one side, while, at the same moment, a large lion approached with stealthy steps on the other. I gave myself up for lost, expecting to be carried off in the jaws of the lion, or trampled to death by the feet of the elephant. Toko sat immovable, with his rifle levelled at the lion’s head, and just as the brute was about to make its fatal spring he fired. As he did so, I saw the elephant, startled by the sound, swerve on one side, its feet passing close to where I lay, but it did not appear even to see me. Away it went, trumpeting loudly and crashing through the underwood.

The next instant Toko leaped down from his perch and hurried towards me, when, turning my head, I caught sight of the lion struggling on its back, and attempting to regain its feet. Toko, lifting me in his arms, carried me a few paces off, and taking up my rifle again approached the lion and shot it dead. Almost at the same instant the sound of another rifle reached our ears.

“Go and help Harry,” I said to Toko; “he may want your assistance.”

“I place you in safer place dan dis,” he answered; and, again taking me up, he propped me against the root of a large tree close by; then reloading my rifle, he put it into my hands. He next reloaded his own.

“I must go and help Harry,” he said; and away he bounded.

I had wished him to go and assist my friend, but scarcely had he disappeared than the dreadful idea came into my head that another lion—companion of the one just killed—might be prowling about and discover me. In spite of the pain I suffered, I endeavoured to rise on my knees, so that should one appear I might take a better aim than I could lying down. Still, should my apprehensions be realised, I felt that I should be placed in a very dangerous predicament. One thing, however, was certain, that it could not be worse than the one from which I had just escaped. Few people have been situated as I have been, with a lion about to spring from one side, and an elephant appearing on the other.

Doing my best to keep up my spirits, I listened attentively to try and ascertain what was happening to Harry. Presently there was more loud trumpeting and directly afterwards two shots were fired in rapid succession. This assured me that Harry had escaped and that Toko had reached the scene of action. The Makololo was too clever and experienced an elephant hunter to be taken at disadvantage, and I had great hopes that he had succeeded in killing the animal.

I did not forget my fears about another lion, and cast my eyes anxiously around almost expecting to see one emerge from the thicket, while at the same time I looked out eagerly for the return of my friend.

Once more the trumpeting burst forth, the sounds echoing through the forest. I thus knew that the elephant had not yet fallen. A minute afterwards I heard the crashing of boughs and brushwood some way off. I guessed, as I listened, that the animal was coming towards where I lay. The sounds increased in loudness. Should it discover me it would probable revenge itself by crushing me to death, or tossing me in the air with its trunk. I had my rifle ready to fire. There was a chance that I might kill it or make it turn aside. The ground where I lay sloped gradually downwards to a more open spot. I expected the next instant that the elephant would appear. It did so, but further off than I thought it would, and I thus began to hope that I should escape its notice. It was moving slowly, though trumpeting with pain and rage. The instant I caught sight of it another huge creature rushed out of the thicket on the opposite side of the glade. It was a huge bull rhinoceros with a couple of sharp-pointed horns one behind the other.

The elephant on seeing it stopped still, as if wishing to avoid a contest with so powerful an antagonist, I fully expected to witness a long and terrible fight, and feared that, in the struggle, the animals might move towards where I lay and crush me. That the elephant was wounded I could see by the blood streaming down its neck. This probably made it less inclined to engage in a battle with the rhinoceros. Instead of advancing it stood whisking its trunk about and trumpeting. The rhinoceros, on the contrary, after regarding it for a moment, rushed fearlessly forward and drove its sharp-pointed horns into its body while it in vain attempted to defend itself with its trunk. The two creatures were now locked together in a way which made it seem impossible for them to separate, unless the horns of the rhinoceros were broken off. Never did I witness a more furious fight. The elephant attempted to throw itself down on the head of its antagonist, and thereby only drove the horns deeper into its own body. So interested was I, that I forgot the pain I was suffering, while I could hear no other sounds than those produced by the two huge combatants. While I was watching them, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and saw Harry standing over me.

“I am sorry you have met with this accident!” he exclaimed. “The sooner you get away from this the better. There is a safer spot a little higher up the bank, Toko and I will carry you there.”

I willingly consenting, my friends did as they proposed, as from thence I could watch the fight with greater security. They, having placed me in safety, hurried towards the combatants, hoping to kill both of them before they separated.

The elephant, already wounded, appeared likely to succumb without our further interference. There was indeed little chance of its attempting to defend itself against them. Toko, making a sign to Harry to remain where he was, sprang forward until he got close up to the animals, and firing he sent a bullet right through the elephant’s heart. The huge creature fell over, pressing the rhinoceros to the ground. Leaping back Toko again loaded, and Harry advancing they fired together into the body of the survivor, which after giving a few tremendous struggles, sank down dead.

The battle over, Harry proposed carrying me at once to the camp, and then returning to bring away the elephant’s tusks, the lion’s skin, and as much of the meat of the two first animals as was required for the use of the party. I was very thankful to accept his offer, as I wanted to get my ankle looked to, having an uncomfortable fear that it was broken, in which case my hunting would be put a stop to for many a week to come. He and Toko were not long in manufacturing a litter to carry me, by means of two long poles, on their shoulders. Having placed me on it they set off for the camp. Fortunately we had not very far to go. I hoped that in the mean time we should meet with neither elephants nor lions.

Only under rare circumstances are rhinoceroses to be dreaded, for they are generally mild and well-disposed creatures, and usually take to flight when they come in sight of human beings.

We had gone about half-way, when a lion, bursting out from a thicket close by, stalked across the path some distance ahead. My bearers placed me on the ground and handled their rifles.

“We’ll stand by and defend you, don’t be alarmed,” cried Harry.

“I’m not afraid of your running away,” I answered, “but don’t fire at the creature unless it approaches to attack us. If you only wound it, its rage may be excited, and I to a certainty shall become its victim.”

The lion regarded us for a few seconds when—we raising a loud shout—it, greatly to my satisfaction, bounded on and disappeared in the wood. Indeed a lion when alone will seldom, especially in the day-time, attack human beings who show a bold front, though it will follow like a cat, as do most other savage brutes, if a man runs from it.

My friends again taking me up, we proceeded, though I own that I peered somewhat anxiously into the wood where the lion had retreated, lest it should change its mind and rush out upon us.

My uncle returned soon after we reached the camp, and at once examined my ankle. Greatly to my relief he assured me that it was not broken, and that, if he bound it up in a water bandage, I should probably be well in a day or two. As it was already late, the blacks were unwilling to go through the forest at night for the purpose of bringing in our spoils, for fear of being carried off by lions. All night long we could hear them muttering and roaring. Harry suggested that they were mourning for their late companion. Occasionally the death-cry of some unfortunate deer which they had pulled down reached our ears, while various other sounds, some produced by insects or bullfrogs, or birds, disturbed the silence of the forest. I, however, managed, in spite of the noise and the pain I suffered, to go to sleep, and in the morning, greatly to my satisfaction, I found my ankle much better than I expected.

As meat was wanted, several of the party proposed to set off at an early hour to bring in some from the animals we had killed; my uncle, Mr Welbourn, and Harry going also. As I did not like to be left behind, I begged to be allowed to mount a horse and to ride with them. I should have been wiser to have remained quietly at the camp, but I wanted to revisit the scene of our encounter the previous day. Jan followed behind with several of the blacks, who were to be loaded with our spoils. As we neared the spot, I heard my friends exclaiming in various tones—

“Where is it? What has become of the creature!”—and, pushing forward, I caught sight of the elephant and the dead lion at a distance, but nowhere was the rhinoceros to be seen. It was very evident that it could not have been killed as we had supposed, and that, having only been stunned, it, at length recovering itself, had made off.

Toko cried out that he had discovered its spoor, and I saw him hurrying forward evidently hoping to find the creature. The other blacks meanwhile set to work to cut out the tusks, and select a few slices off such parts of the body as were most to their taste, including the feet, the value of which we knew from experience.

While they were thus occupied, my three white friends were busy in flaying the lion. I kept my eye on Toko, expecting that, should he discover the rhinoceros, he would summon some of the party to his assistance. I saw him look suspiciously into a thicket, then he turned to fly. The next moment a huge beast rushed out, which I had no doubt was the rhinoceros we fancied that we had killed on the previous day. Toko made for a tree behind which he could shelter himself. I called to my friends to draw their attention to the danger in which he was placed, but to my dismay before he could reach the tree the rhinoceros was upon him. There was no time to leap either to the one side or the other, but as the animal’s sharp horn was about to transfix him, he made a spring as if to avoid it, but he was not in time, and the animal, throwing up its head, sent him and his rifle floating into the air to the height of several feet. The rhinoceros then charged on towards the men cutting up the elephant, when my uncle and his companions, having seized their rifles, began blazing away at it. Fortunately one of their shots took effect, and before it had reached the blacks, down it sank to the ground. While Harry hastened on to where Toko lay, my uncle and Mr Welbourn, quickly reloading, fired into its head and finished its existence.

I had ridden up to the Makololo, expecting to find every bone in his body broken. As I approached, to my satisfaction I saw him get up; and though he limped somewhat, after shaking himself and picking up his rifle, he declared that he was not much the worse for the fearful toss he had received, and was as ready as ever for work.

He soon rejoined the rest of the men, and assisted in packing the oxen with the tusks and meat. Some of the flesh of the rhinoceros was also cut off, and with the lion-skin packed up. Rhinoceros meat, though tough, is of good flavour. The portions we carried off were from the upper part of the shoulder and from the ribs, where we found the fat and lean regularly striped to the depth of two inches. Some of the skin was also taken for the purpose of making some fresh ox-whips. We of course carried away the horns, which are about half the value of ivory. Altogether, the adventure which at one time appeared likely to prove so disastrous, afforded us no small amount of booty.

Chapter Seven.

The constant mutterings and roarings which saluted our ears during the night, made us suspect that we should not obtain much game in the neighbourhood, besides which we should run a great risk of being attacked while out shooting. We therefore struck camp, and proceeded on to the northward. The country in many places was rocky, and though there were no mountains of any great height there were savage defiles through which we had to pass, the sides of the cliffs being covered with brushwood and creepers, and in some spots with tall trees. We were not afraid of being attacked by natives, but notwithstanding we always sent out scouts on our flanks and ahead.

We had gone on some distance when Toko, who was leading, came hurrying back.

“I have seen a strange sight, which I would rather not have seen,” he exclaimed.

“What is it?” asked my uncle.

“Lions, a whole army of them. They seem determined to stop our way,” he answered.

“If there were a hundred of them they should not do that,” replied my uncle. “We’ll have a look at the gentlemen. We shall soon drive them off if I mistake not.”

As it would have been imprudent to carry the cattle and horses into the neighbourhood, a halt was called, and the blacks were left in charge of the animals, while we, with Hans Scarff, prepared to ride forward.

“Stay!” said Harry. “I think we have got something to send them to the rightabout, if our shouts fail to drive them away.” And going to the waggon he produced half-a-dozen rockets.

“One of those will do,” observed his father, “for we may want the rest for another emergency. However, you can carry a couple in case one should fail.”

Led by Toko, we proceeded along the defile, when, on reaching some high ground, we saw, collected together below us among the rocks, an immense number of lions. There must have been several families, fathers and mothers with their young ones. What could have brought them together to that spot, it was difficult to conjecture. Toko declared that they knew we were about to pass that way, and had assembled for the purpose of attacking us. Of course such an idea was ridiculous; however, there they were, and had we passed close to them, they might have committed serious havoc among our cattle, although we should no doubt have shot down many of them. They must have seen us, from the way they lashed their tails and muttered; while, from the loud roars which three or four of the elders gave forth, it was pretty clear that they meant mischief.

We, however, rode forward determined to drive them away. Harry and I, in the meantime, got the rockets ready to fire in case our shouts should fail to produce the desired effect. As we got nearer there was a general movement among them. As we shouted they roared in return, apparently not being alarmed by the sound of our voices.

“We must not remain unarmed, so let only three fire at a time, while the others reload,” said my uncle. “Now fire!”

As the smoke cleared away, it seemed doubtful whether any of the shots had taken effect, as the lions did not move from the spot they occupied.

“I suspect they are waiting for the appearance of a herd of ‘gemsboks,’ and that they will not give up the chance of catching their prey,” observed my uncle.

“We must disappoint them then,” said Mr Welbourn. “Harry, get one of your rockets ready, and pitch it into the middle of them directly after we fire our next volley.”

We had got the tube fixed and placed at the proper elevation. We had to wait until those next to fire had discharged their rifles, when two of the lions were evidently badly wounded, but even this did not make them take to flight. Harry then applied the match to the rocket which pitched in the midst of the congregated lions. The effect was electrical. Seized with a panic, away they all scampered over the rocks at a greater rate than I had ever before seen lions run. None stopped for the others. One with his spine injured lay on the ground. Two others dropped before they had got far, while the remainder were soon out of sight.

“The brutes will not come back to this locality,” exclaimed my uncle. “We must now put the other ones out of their pain.”

A rifle ball sent through the head of each quickly did this. Rapidly skinning them, we left the carcases to be devoured by the birds of prey, which almost before we got out of sight appeared in the air; for although hyaenas and jackals are said to keep aloof even from a dead lion, the vulture tribes possess no such awe for the monarch of the wilds.

Returning to where we had left our cattle, we at once moved forward, anxious to get out from among the rocky defiles as soon as possible. Scarcely had we emerged from them, than we saw in the distance an enormous herd of deer, which Mr Welbourn at once pronounced to be “pallah.” As they approached we drew on one side before we were discovered. First came a stag, a magnificent animal of a bay colour, fading into a whitey-brown, with elegantly, somewhat harp-shaped horns, marked with rings, and a black semi-circular mark on the croup by which it could be at once distinguished. Its feet were of a jetty hue. Though it might have seen us, it continued walking on in a sedate manner, the rest following their leader with a confidence which showed that they must put implicit trust in him.

My uncle and Hans, at once dismounting, crept towards the herd; and, waiting until the greater number had passed, fired together, when three of the animals fell dead. The remainder, instead of turning to fly, dashed forward to fill up the gaps in their line, the whole moving on at a much greater speed than before. Two others, however, were killed before the herd made their escape through the pass towards which they were directing their course.

Had we not driven away the lions, probably many more would have been killed by them. We at once carried off the five which were destined for provisioning our party, and loaded our waggons with their skins and horns.

We were now approaching a part of the country where we hoped to find a greater number of elephants than we had yet met with, our chief object being to obtain their tusks; although nothing came amiss, rhinoceros horns, skins, or ostrich feathers; the latter especially, from their small bulk, were really of more value than elephant tusks.

We were now crossing a wide plain with rocks. Here and there were ant-hills, by the side of each of which grew a dark-leaved tree called the “Mollopie.” Near our camp was a rain-pool, at which our animals were watered. Jan here captured a large frog in which, when he cut it open, for the purpose of preparing it for cooking, he found a whole mouse, two or three ants, and several other insects.

In the morning our people informed us that they had heard the roaring of a lion during the night at a neighbouring pool; and as there was a great likelihood of his paying a visit to the camp, to make a feast off our oxen, we determined to dispatch him before going out to hunt.

As we approached the pool, the noise was again heard.

“He must be in a thicket close by,” exclaimed Harry.

But every thicket round was well beaten, and no lion appeared. At last I heard Harry laughing heartily, and saw him pointing to the opposite side of the pool, where I caught sight of a big frog poking his head above the reeds. There could be no doubt of it. Though he could not swell himself to the size of a lion, Mr Bullfrog had managed to imitate very closely his voice, so we returned to camp feeling somewhat ashamed of ourselves, Harry every now and then giving way to a burst of laughter.

In the open country, where little shelter is to be found, lions are not often to be met with, and as they can be seen long before they approach, no danger is to be apprehended from them. One of the men who had remained behind followed, bringing one of the bullfrogs which he had captured in the pool. The body, which we measured, was nine inches in length, by five and a half wide; and the hind legs, from toe to toe, eighteen inches. On being cut open a young bird which it had lately swallowed was found in its inside.

I, having completely recovered the use of my foot, arranged with Harry that we should make another expedition together in search of game. We agreed that Jan should accompany us, and just as we were starting Hans offered to go. We would rather have dispensed with his company, as he was not a favourite with either of us. Mr Welbourn, my uncle, Toko, and two or three Makololoes were to set off in another direction. They charged us not to go beyond a vlei or pool, which we had heard of from the Makololoes, about twelve miles to the northward.

This, however, gave us a very wide scope, and we fully expected to come back with plenty of game of some sort.

We went on for some distance without meeting with any live creatures, though we crossed the spoor of numerous elands, buffaloes, giraffes, and occasionally of elephants. Neither Hans nor Jan knew more of the country than we did, but Harry said that he had brought a compass, so that we should have no difficulty in finding our way, even should clouds gather in the sky or night overtake us. When, however, he came to search for the instrument in his pocket, it was not to be found.

“Never mind,” he observed, “as the sky is bright, the sun will guide us by day, and the stars by night, even if we are kept out, and there is no reason why we should be if we turn back again in good time.”

On we went, therefore, intending on arriving at the vlei, to wait until some animals should come to drink, which they were sure to do, unless there were other water-holes in the neighbourhood.

We had brought very little food, expecting to be able to supply ourselves with meat and fruits. From the appearance of the country we had no doubt that we should meet with melons, even though we might not come across water before we arrived at the vlei.

We had, according to our calculation, gone about two-thirds of the distance without having shot a single animal, when the weather began to change. Clouds gathered in the sky, and a thick mist swept across the face of the country, such as occasionally, though not often, occurs in that latitude. We agreed, however, that by turning directly back we should have to traverse the same region we had just passed over, without finding game, and we should thus be disappointed in obtaining food. This was not to be thought of. I would be far better to go on to where we should have every chance of finding it. Hans concurred with us, and, as Jan was always ready to go forward, on we went.

In consequence of being shaded from the rays of the sun, we were better able to travel than usual during the hot hours of the day. We had reached the part of the country where we had expected to find the vlei; but, even though Jan mounted to the topmost boughs of the tallest tree we could find, when he came down he declared that he could not discover water.

We therefore again pushed on, until we reached a rocky hill, to the summit of which we climbed. Not a pool could we see either to the north, east, south, or west.

We were now getting both hungry and thirsty, for we had exhausted the water we had brought in our bottles. We were convinced, however, that we must be near the vlei, and that some rise in the ground probably hid it from view. While looking about we caught sight of some animals of the deer tribe, and Harry and I arranged to go down to try and kill one of them, while Hans and Jan were to continue the search for water, and, should they find it, they were to meet us at the foot of the hill, from which they started.

Keeping ourselves among the rocks and shrubs and tall grass, we made our way in the direction we had seen the deer. As we got nearer Harry pronounced them to be ourebis. We were afraid that we should have no chance of getting within shot, for we saw them gliding rapidly along, often bounding several feet into the air, then galloping on again, and once more bounding on.

“I’ll try a dodge I once saw practised,” whispered Harry. “Do you lie down with your rifle ready to fire behind yonder bush, and I’ll go forward and show myself. They have a good deal of curiosity in their nature, and I’ll try to excite it.”

He then placed his rifle and coat and hat on the ground, and creeping a little forward, to one side of where I lay, he suddenly rose with his feet in the air, supporting himself on his hands. How he could manage to maintain that position so long surprised me. I should have had the blood rush into my head and dropped down in a minute had I made the attempt.

All the time I was watching the ourebis; which, no longer leaping about, remained quiet for some seconds, and then with slow and stately steps advanced towards the curious object. I had time to examine them minutely. Their colour was a pale tawny above, and white below. The horns straight and pointed, and, as far as I could judge, five inches in length. The animal itself is of no great height, standing not more than two feet from the ground, though when it lifts up its head it looks much taller. The female of the pair which approached was hornless. On they came, closer and closer. I was afraid that Harry would drop down and frighten them away before they had got near enough to enable me to take a sure aim.

I was in as good a position as I could desire, for, though the bush effectually concealed me, I could see them clearly. I dared not, however, move my rifle in the least degree, for fear it should touch the leaves and make the animals suspicious. “Do not fire until they begin to move away, I want to get them up close to me,” said Harry, in a whisper.

The animals still, in spite of the danger, came on, until they were not twenty yards off. At length, it seemed to me, by the way they moved their ears, that they were on the point of starting.

I fired, the buck dropped on his fore-legs, and at the same instant Harry threw himself on his feet, lifted his rifle and fired at the doe before she had got ten paces off. Down she also came utterly helpless, and was quickly put out of her suffering by Harry. The buck instinctively attempted to defend himself with his horns, but seizing one of them, I deprived him of existence.

We had good reason to be satisfied with the result of Harry’s experiment. He told me that not only the ourebis but several other deer, if attracted in the same way by their suspicions or curiosity being aroused, can be thus shot.

We lost no time in cutting open our deer, so as to lighten the loads, and the better to preserve the meat. Each was as much as a man could carry on his shoulders. We were unwilling, however, to leave any part behind. Believing that we could carry them better whole than cut up, we staggered along with our burdens, fortunately not having far to go. On arriving at the spot agreed on, we found that our companions had not returned. We therefore set to work to collect fuel for a fire, and to cut up one of the animals. So parched had we become, that we could scarcely refrain from drinking their blood. I had always found, however, that blood rather increased than diminished thirst. We were both by this time well versed in wood-craft, and quickly divided the animal in the most scientific fashion. While we were employed in this manner, we frequently looked round to ascertain if the two men were approaching, but they were not to be seen.

Having finished our task, while I was making up the fire, Harry climbed to the top of the rock, that he might obtain a wider look-out.

“I can see them nowhere,” he said, when he came down, “but I caught sight of an animal which, if I mistake not, is a big lion following our spoor, or probably it is attracted by the scent of the deer. As he is coming this way, we must be prepared for him: though he might not condescend to eat a dead deer, he may take it into his head to carry off one of us living subjects. He is not likely to give us any undue notice of his approach.”

Harry agreed therefore to keep watch while I continued the operations on which I was engaged. I soon got some forked sticks, which I ran into the ground to hold the spits, and on these I placed the venison to roast, but hungry as I was I felt that without water I could scarcely get down the food I was cooking. Evening was approaching.

“I say, Fred, if those fellows don’t come soon, we must set off by ourselves, and look out for water. Perhaps some may be found among the rocks, or if not, we must cut some wooden spades and dig for it. Those deer wouldn’t be inhabiting these parts if water wasn’t in the neighbourhood.”

“It will be too late to commence any search tonight,” I observed. “It is already nearly dark, and the chances are that the lion you saw just now will pounce down upon us, if we go far from the fire. I would rather endure thirst than run that risk.”

“Still we must have water,” exclaimed Harry; “but you stay here and look after the venison, and I’ll just wander to a short distance. I do not suppose the brute will find me; and perhaps, you know, it was not a lion after all I saw: it might have been a buffalo or a brindled gnu.”

“You said positively it was a lion,” I remarked; “for your own sake, as well as mine, I beg that you will not wander from the camp.”

Still Harry, pointing to his mouth, insisted on going. Just as he was about to set off, a loud roar, not twenty paces off, reached our ears.

“What do you say now?” I asked. “You don’t mean to assert that that was the cry either of an ostrich or a bullfrog.”

“I wish that it were the latter,” he answered; “for then there would be a chance of finding water. However, I’ll stay in camp and try to endure my thirst until those fellows come back—and they’re pretty sure to find water.”

I did not like to say that I was not quite certain on that subject. I had hopes, however, that even should they have failed to find it, we should not perish, as I trusted before long we might have a shower of rain, although none had as yet fallen from the cloudy sky. Some venison which I had put close to the fire was by this time cooked, but it was with the greatest difficulty that we could get down even a few mouthfuls.

“I cannot eat another morsel,” cried Harry, putting down his knife. “If those fellows don’t arrive soon, dark as it is, I must set off by myself to try and find water; depend upon it, there is some not far off, or that lion would not come here,” and he threw himself, utterly overcome, on the ground.

I tried to cheer him up, and made another attempt to eat some venison, but had to give it up after nibbling at a piece; yet I felt that I could have swallowed a hearty meal, if I could have obtained a draught of water, however tepid and full of insects it might have been.

We were sitting a short distance from the fire with our rifles in our hands, prepared for the reception of the lion, should he venture to invade our camp, when Harry exclaimed, “Hark! I hear footsteps: they must be those of Hans and your black fellow.”

We listened; and I hoped that Harry was right.

“Let us shout!” I exclaimed.

We both together raised our voices. Our hail was answered from a distance. The night air had brought the sound of footsteps much further than I should have supposed possible. It was some time before, by the light of the fire, we saw the rough, uncouth figure of Hans, followed by Jan.

“Have you brought water?” was the first question Harry asked.

“Yah! we have brought water, and have seen plenty of elephants—fine country for shooting, and we will go there to-morrow.”

“Never mind the elephants and shooting now; hand me the water,” cried Harry, eagerly.

Hans gave Harry his skin bottle, and Jan hurried up with his to me. I swallowed the liquid eagerly, hot and nauseous as it was, full, I suspect, of living creatures; but it tasted like nectar, and I half emptied the bottle at a draught.

“Now I am ready for the venison!” cried Harry.

“So am I, indeed,” said Hans; “for we haven’t had anything to eat once we left you, and are well-nigh dying of starvation.”

“As we were of thirst,” I remarked, handing Hans and Jan a large piece of venison each. They devoured it eagerly, and Harry and I then turned to and were able to eat a good meal.

“I should like to get some sleep,” said Hans; “we will tell you to-morrow of our adventures.”

“We are in no hurry to hear them,” said Harry; “but I tell you, one of us must keep a watch, or we may have an unpleasant visit from a lion, who is prowling about in the neighbourhood.”

“The cowardly brute won’t come near us,” said Hans, drowsily. “The chances are it was a rock you saw in the dusk, or it might have been a jackal.”

“But we heard it roar,” said Harry.

“Oh, then it was a bullfrog,” cried Hans, rolling himself up in his cloak and lying down.

“Bullfrog or lion, there it is again!” exclaimed Harry, jumping up and seizing his rifle.

There was no doubt about the matter; though the voice of an ostrich at a distance may sound like that of a lion, the roar of the king of the forest is unmistakable when close at hand. Even Hans was convinced, and was quickly on his feet. It was very certain that we should get no rest that night, unless we could dispose of the intruder. The lion-skin was also of value, and we could not allow him to escape with impunity. We all advanced together, resolved forthwith to shoot the brute; that we should see him directly we had no doubt. A short distance off, between our camp-fire and the spot whence the roar proceeded, was a pile of low rocks, a spur from a neighbouring hill. We had just reached it, when we caught sight of the lion who had emerged from behind a thicket a little way ahead. He seemed at once to look upon us as his foes. Had it been in the day-time, he would probably have slunk away; but night was his season for activity; and, lashing his tail and again roaring loudly, he advanced across the open space below the rocks. Now was the critical moment: should we fail to kill him, he might make a desperate spring and knock over one of us. It was settled, therefore, that Harry and Jan should fire first, and then Hans and I, should they fail to kill the brute: we to try what we could do, they, of course, in the meantime, reloading.

The grand principle in attacking wild beasts is never to allow the whole of the party to remain unarmed for a moment. The lion did not appear quite to like the look of things. He advanced cautiously, showing his whole vast proportions, his huge shaggy mane, and the afterpart of his body looking thin and small, but even that was of the size of a full-grown donkey. Twice he stopped, and each time uttered a tremendous roar.

“He smells us, if he cannot see us,” said Harry.

Still the creature appeared doubtful whether he would spring towards the suspected point.

“Now, Harry, let’s see what you can do,” I whispered.

“I shall be glad if I can knock him over the first shot,” he answered.

Harry and Jan’s rifles went off at the same moment, and we could hear their bullets strike, but neither brought the lion to the ground. His rage overcame his fears; and lashing his tail and again roaring, he was about to spring on us, when Hans and I, taking steady aim at him as he rose from the ground, sent our leaden messengers of death through his body. He must have leapt up half-a-dozen feet, falling right over on his head, where he lay struggling for a few seconds; but before we could leap over the rocks and get near him, he was dead. We signified our satisfaction at the victory by a loud shout.

“We shall now sleep soundly,” said Hans, giving the animal a kick with his foot.

We repaired to our camp and made up the fire. Though Hans declared that there was no necessity for remaining awake, Harry and I agreed to keep watch and watch until the morning, not feeling at all certain whether another lion, or perhaps a leopard, might pay us a visit; or a herd of elephants, buffaloes, or rhinoceroses, might come our way and trample us to death, while enjoying our balmy slumbers.

Chapter Eight.

When people know that their lives may depend upon maintaining a blazing fire, they must be foolish indeed if they allow themselves to slumber at their posts; but I confess that I had great difficulty, during my watch, in keeping my eyes open, after the exertions of the day and the hunger and thirst I had endured. I felt that my only chance was to get up and walk about with my rifle in my hand. I did not, however, go far from the fire, as the smoke drove the mosquitoes and other insects away from its immediate vicinity; and I knew also, that at any distance from the flames I was as likely to be seized by a savage animal as I should be did no fire exist.

I could hear every now and then the mutterings and occasional roars of lions, with the cries of hyaenas and jackals, and the calls of various night-birds. Altogether the concert had a somewhat depressing effect, accustomed though I was by this time to the noises proceeding from an African forest.

At last the time I had agreed to watch came to an end, and I roused up Harry, charging him to keep a bright look-out.

“Do not let yourself drop off for a moment, old fellow,” I said; “as long as any prowling animal sees you moving about around the fire he’ll not venture to make an attack; but should you slumber for a moment, it is impossible to say what he may do.”

“I do feel awfully drowsy, I own,” answered Harry, rubbing his eyes and yawning; “still I’ll do my best. It is a shame that fellow Hans won’t stand watch as he ought to do. I only hope that another lion will come roaring close up to the camp, for the sake of making him get on his legs. He knows that neither you nor I would sleep on our posts, so he rests in perfect security, throwing all the trouble on us.”

Harry and I talked on for a little time, I hoping that he would thus be thoroughly aroused; then I lay down on the spot he had occupied, pretty close to the fire, with my rifle by my side ready for instant use.

It appeared to me that I had not been asleep five minutes when I heard Harry exclaim—

“Fred, rouse Jan. Up with you, and get ready for battle.”

I seized my rifle and sprang to my feet, as wide awake as ever I was in my life, and there I saw, not six paces off, a creature with glaring eyes; not a lion, however, but looking unusually large as it emerged from the darkness into the light of the fire.

It crouched as if for a spring; at the same moment I heard Hans shriek out. For an instant I glanced round, and caught an indistinct sight of another big cat-like creature stealing towards the rear of the camp.

“You and Jan must look out after that brute, and we’ll attend to this one,” I shouted.

As I spoke, the leopard, for such it was, notwithstanding our cries,—Harry, I should have said, had begun to bawl away as loudly as I was doing,—made a furious spring towards him; but though he was shouting lustily, he remained as cool as a cucumber, holding his rifle ready.

We fired, and both our balls took effect, when the leopard literally turned, with its feet uppermost, and fell right down into the centre of the fire, where it lay struggling convulsively, utterly unable to rise. Directly afterwards I heard the report of a pistol, and, while hastily reloading, I saw that Hans had shot the other leopard through the head.

As we did not wish to lose the skin of the one we had shot, Harry again firing gave it its quietus; we then seizing it by its hind legs dragged it out of the fire, and Jan’s knife soon finished the other.

We thus gained two magnificent leopards’ skins: the fire had but slightly injured the one we had killed.

“There is some use in keeping watch at night, Hans,” observed Harry; “what would have become of us if I had not been awake? Those brutes would have been in our midst before we were able to lift a hand in our defence. As it was, I caught sight of only one of them stealing towards us, and had barely time to rouse up the rest of you, so that if Fred hadn’t been very quick, the brute would have been down upon us.”

“All right,” answered Hans, “such a thing is not likely to happen a second time in a night, so I suppose we may now go to sleep in quiet.”

“I don’t suppose anything of the sort,” replied Harry; “there are no end of lions and leopards prowling about, and you would have heard them if you hadn’t snored so loudly. It will be your turn to keep watch, and I intend to rouse you up in half an hour.”

“Yah, yah,” answered Hans, placing his head on the ground, and going off to sleep again.

As I thought would probably be the case, the scent of the dead leopards attracted packs of hyaenas and jackals, who serenaded us with their horrible yells and howls for the remainder of the night, though the blazing fire we kept up prevented them from approaching.

Notwithstanding Harry’s threat, he did not wake up Hans, who would probably again have composed himself for sleep, and we might have been left to the tender mercies of the hyaenas.

In the morning we took the skins off the two leopards; and cleaned and packed them up so as to be easily transported. As Hans claimed the skin of the leopard he had shot, he had to carry it, while Jan carried ours. We then started off for the vlei. It would be too late in the morning, we calculated, by the time we could reach it, to shoot any animals; and we should have to wait till the evening, when they would be likely to come down to drink at the pool. We should not, therefore, have hastened our footsteps, had we not been anxious to obtain a fresh supply of water; for the small stock Hans and Jan had brought was exhausted, and we were now almost as thirsty as we had been on the previous day.

Hans walked on ahead without speaking; but as he was never very talkative, we were not surprised at this. At last he turned round, and told Jan that he must carry his leopard-skin.

We thought this too much of a good thing. Jan appealed to us.

“Certainly not,” answered Harry. “You claimed all the skin as your property. You are bound to carry it, or leave it behind if you like, but Jan shall not be compelled to carry it.”

Hans turned round and walked on sullenly, but presently I saw him drop his burden, and then present his rifle at Harry. Fearing that Hans was about to murder my friend, I dashed forward and struck up the weapon, which the next instant went off, the bullet almost grazing Harry’s hat.

“We must overpower the man,” I said, making a sign to Jan, and we all three threw ourselves upon him, and prevented him drawing his knife, when he would, I suspect, have run amuck among us, as the Malays frequently do when exasperated.

How to treat the madman—for such he appeared to be—it was difficult to say. He was immensely strong, and we had to exert ourselves to keep him down. Jan proposed to kill him, and was drawing his knife for the purpose when we interfered.

“We shall have to do it, I fear, if we cannot bind his hands behind him,” said Harry.

“No, no; we must deprive him of his rifle and ammunition, and he will thus be compelled to follow us.”

“If he wanders away into the desert, his fate will be certain,” observed Harry.

“He has brought it upon himself,” I remarked; “here, Jan, take my rifle-strap; slip it round his arms and draw it tight,—be quick about it. Now, Harry, get another strap round his legs.”

All this time Hans was struggling violently, without uttering a word. Having succeeded in doing as I proposed, we had him completely in our power. He grinned fearfully and foamed at the mouth; indeed, he almost seized poor Jan’s bare arm in his teeth, and had not Harry given him a severe blow he would have succeeded.

“Now let’s try to get him on his feet, and we will then slacken the strap sufficiently to enable him to walk, though not to allow him to run away,” I said.

Hans was very unwilling at first to move, but at length we got him to walk along, though he appeared like a man in a dream,—not knowing what he was doing. Jan assured us that he could find the way to the water-hole, and we therefore proceeded in the direction he pointed out. It was a question, however, whether we should remain to shoot there, or, having supplied our bottles, return with our unfortunate companion to the camp. As he seemed strong enough to carry the leopard-skin, we replaced it on his shoulders. Every now and then he would attempt to run; but the strap round his legs quickly brought him up. Our progress was of course very slow, until at length the vlei was reached. We passed on our way several trees of considerable size overturned by elephants; many of them being ten inches in diameter, it must have required great strength to uproot them. Others were broken short off, a little distance from the ground, by the elephants. This showed us that the country was frequented by the animals, and that if we had patience we might be able to shoot a number. While lying in ambush, however, it would be necessary to remain perfectly silent, as they would be alarmed by the slightest noise.

At length the water-hole came in sight, and eagerly hurrying forward we quenched our thirst and refilled our bottles. Hans did not refuse to drink, and appeared somewhat better afterwards; but there was a roll in his eye which made us unwilling to set him at liberty. Not to alarm the elephants, we retired to a distance and lighted a fire, where we cooked the venison we had brought with us, which, although somewhat high, was still eatable; we then lay down to rest under the shade of a wide-spreading tree, making Hans sit by us.

Harry and I, wishing to obtain some sleep, told Jan to watch our prisoner; and as he had had more rest than we had the previous night, we hoped he would keep awake.

At length I opened my eyes, and, on looking round, what was my dismay to see Jan fast asleep, and to find that Hans was not there. I aroused Harry. We had placed our prisoner’s rifle and knife close to us, and they were safe. He could not be far off; so calling Jan—who looked very much surprised at finding what had happened—we started off, hoping to discover the poor wretch. The feeling of anger with which we had before regarded him was now changed into compassion. Should he have had any evil intentions, could he have got his arms free, he might have brained us as we slept. However, it seemed doubtful whether he had been able to get more than his legs at liberty. The strap which secured his elbows was nowhere to be seen. We traced his spoor, but this disappeared along an elephant track—for even Jan failed to discover the marks of his footsteps. The night was approaching, and we lost all hope of discovering him. We therefore took up our position in the thicket we had selected, close to the path the elephants pursued when going down to the pool. We here fully expected to shoot two or three animals. We then proposed returning next morning to the camp, in order to bring two or three of the men with us to make further search for Hans.

We had not long taken up our position, when we caught sight of the huge forms of several elephants coming through the forest, along the path which we had discovered. We saw them sweeping their trunks backwards and forwards over the ground, evidently suspecting something wrong.

Thirst impelled them forward, however. They approached close to where we lay hidden, and I was just about to fire at the leader, who had magnificent tusks—Harry having agreed to take the next in order—when a loud shout rent the air, and a figure started up directly in front of the animal. It was Hans. His arms were still bound, but he kept leaping about, utterly fearless of the elephants before him. I hesitated for a moment, when the thought struck me,—should I kill the elephant, I might save the life of the unhappy being who seemed to be courting his fate. I pulled the trigger. I could hear the ball strike, but what was my horror to see the animal rush forward, and the next moment trample Hans Scarff beneath his feet. A single shriek escaped the miserable man, and then all was silent. Excited as I was, I did not notice that Harry fired at the second elephant at the same moment. His bullet must have entered the animal’s brain, for it sank a helpless mass on the ground. The rest of the herd, alarmed by the fate of their leaders, turned round, and with loud trumpeting rushed away into the forest.

The first elephant, in the meantime, lifted up the body of his victim, whom he dashed violently to the ground; and then, staggering a few paces, came down with a crash and lay motionless.

We hurried out of our ambush to render assistance to Hans; but he was dead, every bone in his body being broken; even his features could not be recognised. We could not blame ourselves for the occurrence, though grieved at his sad fate.

We now purposed returning to our last camp, where we had left our fire burning. Jan begged leave to cut off some pieces of the elephant’s flesh to cook for supper. This he did forthwith, in a more rapid way than we could have accomplished the task.

Covering up the body of Hans with some thick bushes, we left it where it lay, in order to prevent the hyaenas and jackals from getting at it, and returned to our fire.

We had not long been seated round it, talking over the events of the day, when Jan, starting up, declared that he saw the light of a fire in the distance.

Harry and I looked in the same direction. There was no doubt about the matter.

“Who can they be?” exclaimed Harry.

“Perhaps they are natives,” I answered. “If so, we must be careful how we approach them.”

“I think it is more likely that they are our friends coming to search for us,” said Harry. “They will be surprised at our not appearing yesterday, and may have pushed forward a party who, if on horseback, would soon be up with us.”

I at length agreed that such was probably the case, and we accordingly settled at once to go towards the fire. We should probably, even at a distance, be able to discover whether or not it was made by our friends. Jan was of our opinion.

Having hastily finished our meal, we made our way in the direction we proposed. On getting near the fire, Jan offered to go forward and to bring word while we lay hid, so that we might retreat if necessary before we were discovered.

When I was in the forests of Africa, I always remembered that while I was stalking an animal, a lion or leopard might be stalking me; and we therefore, while we waited for the return of Jan, kept our eyes about us, and our ears open to detect the slightest sound.

We had longer to wait than we expected. At length we heard a rustling of leaves near us, and Jan’s voice exclaiming—

“Dey de Capt’n’s party, and Toko, and two, three, Makololoes; dey all got horses!”

This was good news. As we went along he told me that he had not informed them that we were near, as he wished to give us the pleasure of announcing ourselves.

In a few minutes we were in the midst of our friends, and our appearance afforded my uncle great relief. They had come across our camp, and found the bodies of the lions, and had some misapprehensions that after all we might have been carried off by others.

He was, of course, much shocked at the fate of Hans, though, he observed, that it was better he should have died thus, than have committed murder or some other mischief, as from his uncertain temper it was very likely he would have done.

The Makololoes, on hearing that we had killed two elephants, were eager to go at once and obtain some of the flesh; but my uncle persuaded them to remain until the next morning, promising that they should then have an abundance of meat.

Although expeditions on foot have their advantages, Harry and I came to the conclusion, when we again found ourselves mounted, that we should prefer in future going out on horseback. My uncle told us that he expected the waggons would camp where we then were, so that we might load them with the tusks and skins we might obtain.

Directly breakfast was over we rode to the scene of our encounter with the two elephants, neither of which had been disturbed. The tusks were soon removed, and the Makololoes cut away enough flesh for a whole army. A grave was then dug, and the body of poor Hans buried. This done, we followed the spoor of the elephants, intending to kill them while feeding in the day-time, and afterwards attack them as they came down to drink.

We had not ridden far when Toko, who was ahead, came back with the intelligence that he had discovered four or five in an open glade, plucking off the branches and leaves of their favourite trees; and that by keeping along through the wood we might come upon them without much risk of being discovered. Almost a minute afterwards we came in sight of the animals, when we at once dismounted to watch them and arrange our plan of proceeding. While some Makololoes held our horses, my uncle, Harry, and I crept along not far from the edge of the forest, so as to get in front of the elephants we saw feeding, while Mr Welbourn, Toko, and one of his followers made a wider circuit, with the intention of taking them on the other side should they move in that direction. We hurried on, eager to get in front of the animals before they should move away. They now offered unusually good marks to our rifles. My fear was that their sharp eyes might detect us before we could get near enough to fire. My uncle advised each of us to select a tree up which we could climb, or whose trunk was of sufficient thickness to afford us protection should the elephants, discovering us, make a charge.

As the forest was tolerably thick, they could not move as rapidly as in the open ground. We hoped, therefore, to have time to escape should our bullets fail to kill them at the first shot. There were three magnificent fellows feeding close together, and several others beyond them. The latter had fallen to the share of Mr Welbourn and his party, and we agreed to devote our attention to the three nearest. We proceeded with the greatest care, in Indian file. The slightest sound, even at a distance, caused by a stumble or the breaking of a twig, would attract the attention of our expected prey.

We at length could see their trunks lifted above their heads to reach the higher branches, the rest of their bodies being invisible, and of course they could not see us.

Having taken up our positions, one in front of each elephant, we crept forward, bending down as low as we could so as to escape detection as long as possible. At the same time we looked out for trees to serve as places of refuge. Activity and presence of mind are necessary when a person is hunting wild beasts, but especially when elephant shooting.

I lost sight of my uncle, who was on my left, but I could just see Harry, who was on the opposite side, his head appearing above the grass and shrubs. I had made up my mind not to fire until I heard the report of my uncle’s rifle. At last I could see the huge ears of an elephant, just in front of me, flapping up and down.

I knew that the moment would soon arrive when I must fire or be discovered by the elephant. I crept on a few paces further, then rose on my knees. At the moment that I heard the crack of my uncle’s rifle, I lifted my own weapon and fired, aiming full at the creature’s broad chest as high up as I could, so as to clear the head. Before the smoke—which was kept from rising by the branches—had cleared away, a loud trumpeting was heard. The moment it began Harry fired, but I could not see the result. I sprang to my feet, so as to escape behind a tree I had marked, fully expecting to have the elephant I had shot charge furiously at me; but it did not, and though I retreated some paces I could still see its head. It seemed to be looking about to discover the enemy who had wounded it. No long time passed before it caught sight of me, and then on it came. I could also hear a loud crashing among the boughs to the right, produced, I had no doubt, by the elephant at which Harry had aimed. On reaching the tree I instantly began to reload, hoping to have time to give the elephant another shot as he passed me; for, though he had seen me for a moment, I knew that he would go straight on without looking behind the tree. But, even before he had got up to the spot, down he fell on his knees, crushing several young trees. At the same moment I heard Harry cry out, and leaving my own prize I dashed forward to his assistance. I was just in time to see the elephant, with his trunk uplifted, close to Harry, who had not had time to reload or take shelter behind a tree. I fired, aiming behind the ear of the elephant, when down it came, as mine had done, prostrate on the ground. If my uncle had been equally successful, we should have made a grand haul. Without stopping to finish off our elephants, we hurried in the direction we supposed him to be, reloading as we went. We uttered a loud shout to attract his attention. It was replied to by a tremendous roar; and, instead of an elephant, what was our surprise to see an enormous lion lashing its tail and looking up at the branches of a tree, among which we discovered my uncle; and he must have had a narrow escape, for he was only just beyond reach of the brute, who might, it seemed to us, by making a desperate spring, have struck him down. We had now to look out for ourselves, for should the lion discover us, unless we could kill him at once, he might tear us to pieces. Fortunately another tree of considerable girth, and in the position we desired, was close at hand. We retreated behind it. As the lion turned his head and we thought might be looking for us, we both fired. To our great delight we rolled him over where he stood.

“Bravo! Well done!” cried my uncle, descending the tree. “We’ll now go after my elephant.”

Leading the way, without exchanging further words, he dashed out of the forest.

Chapter Nine.

On getting out from among the trees we caught sight of an elephant going along at full swing across the plain. There seemed but little chance of our overtaking him, but my uncle urged us to persevere, for by the large blotches and splashes of blood which we met with, it was evident that he was wounded. It was pretty hot work, as we were loaded with our ammunition and our rifles, but we were encouraged to proceed by finding that the elephant was slackening his pace.

“We shall catch him before long!” exclaimed my uncle. “On, on. If that lion hadn’t interfered, I should have shot him at once; but the brute’s lair must have been close to where I stood, and I ran a fearful chance of being seized by him.”

We did not see what had become of the other elephants, and we concluded that either Mr Welbourn had disposed of them, or that they had run into the forest to conceal themselves. However, we soon saw that the attempt to overtake the elephant on foot was useless. We therefore made a short cut back to where we had left our horses. Each of us mounting one, guided by the spoor, we immediately made chase. It was far more satisfactory to be on horseback than on foot. Following the spoor, we quickly again came in sight of the elephant, which was moving slowly on. Seeing us, he lifted up his trunk and, trumpeting loudly, seemed about to charge.

My uncle, notwithstanding, rode forward and fired. The ball struck, when immediately, turning the horse’s head, he galloped off, taking the way towards the camp. He had not gone far, however, before the elephant stopped, and Harry and I coming up, both fired, when down it came to the ground, and was dead before my uncle reached it.

“A good day’s sport, my lads,” he exclaimed in high glee. “We shall soon have the waggons loaded if we go on in this way. Fred, you go to the camp to bring up the oxen to load with the tusks and meat, while Harry and I will look after the other elephants and the lion.”

I had taken a good survey of the country, so that I believed I could find my way, and without hesitation set off. I had gone but a short distance when a troop of giraffes hove in sight, and beautiful objects they were, with their heads elevated on their long necks. Influenced by the propensity of a hunter I dashed forward in pursuit. Suddenly, my horse swerved on one side, and I saw that he had narrowly escaped a pitfall. Almost directly afterwards, two of the giraffes sank into other pits, and on turning round I saw that the animals were pursued by a party of natives, who had them thus completely in their power.

On examining the pit into which I had so nearly tumbled, I perceived that it was about twelve feet in depth, with a bank of earth about seven feet high left in the centre, broad at the bottom, and narrowing towards the top. The fore-legs of the giraffe had sunk into one side of the hole, the hinder legs into another, the body resting on the narrow bank, so that the creature in spite of all its struggles could not possibly extricate itself.

I left the natives to take possession, and rode on endeavouring to avoid the pit-falls, of which I had little doubt there were many on my way. I had, of course, to go much slower than I should otherwise have done. Though two or three times I nearly got caught, I safely reached the camp. Stopping merely to take some refreshment, I again set off with the oxen, to bring in the produce of our chase. We found that it was necessary to be quick about it, lest the natives should find that we had killed the elephants and appropriate the tusks. They, however, had hitherto been so busily employed in chasing the giraffes that they had not discovered the elephants. We took possession of the tusks, and as much of the meat as our party could consume.

Mr Welbourn had been almost as successful, having killed two fine elephants and a couple of deer. Next day we continued our journey northward. In passing over the plain, while Harry and I were riding on ahead, we caught sight of an animal occasionally rising out of the ground and then disappearing.

“That must be a beast caught in a trap or pit-full,” said Harry; “let’s go and see what it is.”

On reaching the spot we found that he was right in his conjectures. He told me that the animal was a quagga, which somewhat resembles a well-shaped ass. In vain the quagga tried to get out by the most desperate efforts. Sometimes its fore feet almost touched the top of the bank, but again and again it fell back.

“I should like to take possession of the animal,” said Harry, “it doesn’t appear to be at all injured, and if we could manage to break it in, it would make a capital riding horse. If you’ll watch the pit, I’ll go and get some of the men to come with ropes.”

To this I agreed, and he soon returned with Toko and two other men, bringing not only ropes, but a large sack and a saddle.

“What are you going to do with those things?” I asked.

“You shall see,” he replied. “It was Toko’s idea.”

The quagga looked very much astonished at seeing itself surrounded by human beings, and as before, it endeavoured to escape from the pit.

As it did so, Toko, who had fastened the sack to a loop at the end of a long stick, drew it over the quagga’s head, so as to prevent its biting, which it would have done had it been able to see.

A halter was fixed round its mouth, and ropes were passed under its body, by which it was drawn out. As soon as it found itself on firm ground, it began to throw its legs out in all directions, but Toko held it fast by the halter. At last, wearied by its exertions, it stood perfectly still. The moment it did so, Toko made a sign to his followers, who clapped a saddle on its back, and drew tight the girths.

“Capital!” cried Harry. “I have got a first-rate steed at small cost, and I’ll soon show you what it can do.”

Before I could dissuade him from making the attempt, he, with his usual impetuosity, leapt on the quagga’s back, and, seizing the bridle, told Toko to let go.

What Harry might have expected occurred. Off started the quagga, full gallop, towards the herd from which it had been separated by falling into the pit. I feared from the vicious nature of the animals, that, seeing some strange being on the back of their companion, they would kick it and its rider to death. In vain I shouted to Harry to stop his steed and come back: that was more than he could do. So telling Toko to mount his horse, I set off in pursuit.

The moment the herd of quaggas saw us coming, away they galloped at a furious rate. There were not many streams, but over the rocky beds of watercourses, through dense thickets, up hills, down valleys, on they went.

Our horses began to show signs of fatigue, and I was afraid Harry would be carried away into the wilderness. To attempt to throw himself off would have been madness, and yet while the quaggas were running, there was little chance that their companion would stop.

We had ridden so far that I knew our friends would be anxious about us, for they had not seen us disappear, and no one in the camp would know what had become of us.

To abandon Harry was not to be thought of, and we therefore pushed forward in the hopes of at length coming up with him and stopping his wild steed. The difficulty was solved in an unexpected way. Suddenly in front of the herd of quaggas appeared a large party of people armed with spears and darts. Uttering loud shouts, the blacks began to send their missiles among the herd. The quaggas were thrown into the greatest confusion, some going on one side, some on the other, others turning in the direction from which we had come. At length the shouts and cries around it brought Harry’s quagga to a standstill, and enabled us to get alongside. I advised him to dismount.

“No, no!” he answered. “I have got my steed and intend to him, and if you ride near he’ll go well enough.”

Harry was right. The brute, pretty well tired out, went with perfect quietness, and submitted to be tethered with a strong rope and hobbles round its legs, so that there was no chance of its breaking away.

“I’ll tame him!” cried Harry. “Tell them, Toko, no one must on any account bring him food—I alone will give it him.”

By this time the natives, who had killed half-a-dozen quaggas, had come close to us. We considered that it would be prudent, if not an act of politeness, to thank them for stopping the quagga; and Toko, who was our spokesman, so explained matters, that the hunters expressed their happiness in seeing us, and invited us to their village.

We should have excused ourselves, on the plea of having at once to return to camp; but, as the day was already drawing to a close, and even Toko declared that during the darkness he should be unable to find his way back, we accepted the invitation, and set off with our new friends, who were in high spirits at the thoughts of the quagga flesh they were about to enjoy.

Their huts were larger and cleaner than any we had yet seen; and we found that, although the people were hunters, they were also agriculturists, and possessed pretty extensive plantations at the back of the village.

The women were immediately set to work to prepare the feast; and in a short time the whole population was banqueting. We, of course, soon knocked off, and begged permission to rest in one of the huts. We had scarcely however gone to sleep, than we were aroused by a tremendous hubbub; and, rushing out, we found all the women on foot, engaged in seizing their children, whom they had hauled out of their beds, or rather up from the mats on which they lay, and were belabouring them unmercifully with rods. On enquiring the cause from Toko, he told us that news had been brought that an immense herd of elephants was approaching the plantations. The object of beating the children was to frighten away the animals. This was, for one cause, good news for us, as we hoped to obtain full cargoes for our waggons. We at once offered to go out and shoot the elephants, if the natives would guide us to the trees in which we could take up our posts for the purpose.

We soon found plenty of volunteers, and, guided by them, we each reached a tree in the neighbourhood of the plantations, near which they assured us the elephants were sure to pass. We gladdened their hearts by telling them that they should have the meat, provided we retained the tusks for our share. The noise, however, continued; the women shrieking, and flourishing their rods, the children howling, dogs barking, and the men shouting at the tops of their voices and waving fire-brands. Our fear was that the elephants would be frightened, and turn back; but scarcely had we climbed up the trees, each of us accompanied by several natives, than we caught sight, through the gloom, of the dusky forms of an immense herd of elephants emerging from the thicker part of the forest. We at once, taking aim at the leaders, fired, hoping to kill some and turn back the rest. Two fell, and the herd halted, apparently too much astonished to tell what had happened.

This gave us time to reload, when again the animals came on, passing by the fallen bodies of their companions. Taking steady aim we again all fired; and, beyond our most sanguine expectations, three more elephants sank to the ground, each shot through the head. Whether or not the shrieks in front distracted their attention and made them regardless of the sound of our shots, I cannot say; but the animals scarcely stopped for a moment, though some of them trumpeted notes of alarm, and advanced with apparent caution. The rest stopped lazily, waving about their huge trunks.

I was very thankful that we were high enough up the trees to be out of their reach. Though several passed, us before we had reloaded, others followed, and three more bit the dust. Neither did this stop the onward course of the elephants; for, breaking down the fences which enclosed the plantations, they swept across, seizing the fruit with their trunks, and transferring it to their mouths.

Again and again we fired together. The cries of the inhabitants did not stop their advance, though it tended to turn them on one side, where, meeting with several huts, they trampled them down as if they had been built of cards. Had it not been for the exertions of the people, the whole village would have been destroyed; which Toko assured us, had frequently in other instances been the case.

As soon as the elephants had passed, we descended, and as they showed no inclination to turn back, we pursued them, firing as we could make certain shots, thus killing I am afraid to say how many more, lest my account might not be credited.

The remainder of the herd then swept on, though we would not give up the chase until we had expended nearly all the ammunition we had with us. At length we returned to the village, where we found the people taking the loss of their crops very philosophically, as they considered that the abundance of elephant meat would make them ample amends.

“I hope the poor people will not get a surfeit,” remarked Harry. “I suspect in a few days they’ll wish the carcases at Jericho, or at all events, at a distance from their village. Our horses and the quagga would have fared ill, had the elephants come across them.”

After a few hours’ rest, we bade our friends goodbye, and mounted our steeds, promising to return for the tusks, which we reminded them were ours.

Harry wisely kept a sack over his animal’s neck, and Toko and I rode on either side to guide it. The creature went wonderfully well, and sooner than we had expected we came upon the waggons. The news we brought was highly satisfactory, and without a moment’s delay the oxens’ heads were turned in the direction of the village.

The people received us as old friends, and to encourage them to help us we promised them a reward for each of the tusks they brought in. They had already begun to butcher the elephants which had fallen in their plantations, and in every direction round the huts strips of flesh were hung up to dry, creating an odour far from pleasant. They lost no time in bringing in the tusks. Harry and I were highly complimented on our performance. The tusks being cleaned and stowed away, our waggons were nearly full: another day’s successful hunting would enable us to turn our faces westward. We accordingly promised to reward our hosts if they would bring us information as to the direction the herd had taken. Harry and I had been congratulating ourselves on the prospect of a quiet night’s rest in our tent between the waggons; but we had not been long asleep when we were aroused by a tremendous clap of thunder which seemed to break directly over our heads, while almost immediately afterwards, there came a most fearful shrieking and shouting from the village close to which we were encamped. Slipping on our coats, we hurried out. As we did so a curious sight met our gaze. The whole of the male population were on foot, armed with bows, and arrows; and as the lightning darted from the black clouds we saw them shooting away at them as fast as they could place their arrows to the string.

As may be supposed, we kept carefully behind the savages lest we might be struck by the arrows, which we had heard were poisoned. The thunder rattled and roared, the lightning flashed, and the men shrieked and howled. I asked Toko what it all meant.

“They’re shooting at the storm-clouds to drive them away,” he answered.

“Do you think it will produce that effect?” I asked.

“Who knows?” he replied. “They fancy so, and are therefore right to try and get rid of the storm, and drive away what they believe would do them harm.”

I told Toko that the powerful Being who rules the heavens would not be influenced by such folly, though he would be ready to hear the prayers of the smallest child. He seemed to take the matter far more lightly than I should have expected.

“They are poor ignorant savages,” he remarked, “who have not the advantage of living with white men.”

The storm swept by, and the poor people were satisfied that their shooting had driven it away.

Next morning, inspanning at an early hour, we proceeded in the direction we concluded the elephants had taken.

While camping at noon, some of the natives who had gone on ahead as scouts, brought us the satisfactory intelligence that the herd were feeding in a wood about eight miles off; and that as a stream ran by, they were certain to go down to drink in the evening; when, if we took proper measures, we should be able to kill as many more as we wanted. We lost no time, therefore, in proceeding onward, and as the ground was pretty level we made good progress.

We camped at a part of the stream where we could draw water; and where, from the rocky character of the bank, the elephants were not likely to come down and drink. On one side it was a swamp, between which and our camp we could leave our horses at liberty to feed, one or two men only being required to watch them. As soon as these arrangements were made, we set off to search for the spoor of the elephants, so that we might place ourselves in ambush on one side, as we had before done, to shoot them as they approached or returned from the water.

As we made our onward way, we caught sight of numerous elephants feeding at their ease in various directions. If they were part of the herd which we had lately attacked, they had soon recovered from their alarm. We took up our posts in satisfactory positions, hoping that, before the night was over, we should have bagged the full complement of tusks we required.

I do not suppose the detailed account of our various proceedings would prove interesting. Suffice it to say, we were not disappointed. Harry, I, and Toko shot one elephant apiece, and my uncle and Mr Welbourn each shot three, they using explosive bullets, which never fail to kill the animals they wound.

At length, frightened by the destruction of their companions, the remainder of the herd retreated, and we, leaving the bodies until next morning, returned to our tent.

As Harry and I were pretty well knocked up with our exertions of the previous day, we remained encamped while natives were employed in bringing in the tusks.

After breakfast we strolled out with our guns, hoping to get some wild fowl in the marsh, for we were somewhat tired of feeding on elephant’s flesh.

We had killed several birds, and on our way back we stopped to look at the horses and quagga, which were feeding in perfect harmony. The latter having a bandage round its eyes, and it being hobbled, Harry went up to it, and spoke gently in its ear.

“Take care!” I exclaimed, “he’ll give you an ugly bite.”

As I spoke the quagga turned his head and very nearly caught him by the arm.

It was a lesson to Harry not to pet his favourite in future, and I advised that he should muzzle it until its temper should become softened.

We were standing talking, when suddenly the horses began to prance and kick up their heels.

“Hallo! what are those?” exclaimed Harry, turning round.

We then saw, emerging from the marsh, where they had been wallowing, a couple of huge rhinoceroses, who seemed to look upon the horses and us as intruders they had a right to drive off their domains.

It was not without some difficulty that we got out of their way. Clumsy as the animal looks, and short as are its legs, it can move with wonderful rapidity over the hard ground.

As our guns were only loaded with small shot, it would have been useless to fire at them. The horses could take pretty good care of themselves, though they exhibited their fear of the savage-looking creatures by scampering off in all directions.

Meantime, having withdrawn our small shot, we were ramming down bullets as fast as we could. Although the horses could escape, the poor quagga, with its legs hobbled and its eyes covered, had but a poor chance. The leading rhinoceros had singled it out as the object of attack; and, before Harry and I could fire, rushing furiously forward, it pierced the poor animal through with its formidable horns, pinning it to the earth. When too late to save the quagga, we both pulled our triggers, when the animal, still dragging the body of its victim on, rushed forward several paces before it dropped.

We, of course, reloaded, but before we could fire, the other rhinoceros might be in the midst of the camp and commit all sorts of damage. Fortunately, at that moment, Toko, who had just arrived with a party of men carrying the tusks, his rifle being loaded with ball, with a well-directed shot prevented the catastrophe we feared by killing the rhinoceros just before it reached the waggons.

We had an evening of rejoicing, for by the addition of our rhinoceros horns, our waggons were piled up to the very top; and my uncle expressed some apprehension that the axles might break down with the weight of the unusual load before we arrived at the coast.

We lost not a day in proceeding thither. On reaching Walfish Bay, we safely embarked the valuable produce we had collected.

So ended the first series of my adventures in Africa. I have, however, since made several other expeditions to various parts of that hitherto little-known continent, of which I may some day give an account to the world.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Adventures in Australia"

Chapter One.

Some years ago two travellers, mounted on wiry yet strong looking steeds, were wending their way through a forest in Australia. They were both young and dressed much alike in broad-brimmed pith hats, loose red shirts, corduroy trousers and high boots with spurs.

Each of them had stuck in his belt an axe, a brace of pistols, and a long knife; while at his back was slung a serviceable-looking rifle, showing that they were prepared to defend themselves, should they encounter any treacherous blacks, a very possible contingency at that period of the country’s history.

They were followed by an active native also mounted, who led a horse carrying their baggage. The scenery was not especially attractive, indeed so great was its sameness that alone they would have been utterly unable to find their way. On either side rose tall stringy-bark and other gum-trees, their curious and narrow leaves affording scarcely any shelter from the rays of the almost vertical sun, the huge white stems from which the bark hung down in ragged masses giving them a weird and dreary aspect. Tracks there were, but they branched now in one direction now in the other, and were more calculated to bewilder the travellers than to guide them aright. Their map—for being new arrivals in the country they carried one—told them that they should soon reach a broad stream. They were now looking out eagerly for it, wondering whether they should have to wade through it or should find a ferry-boat ready to take them and their animals across.

I may as well say—having thus begun, after the fashion of a writer whose pure and wholesome works I used heartily to enjoy in my boyhood days—that one of the travellers was myself, Maurice Thurston, and the other my brother Guy, a year only my senior. We had lately lost our father, with whose sanction we had settled some time before to come out to Australia and seek our fortunes. We, our mother, our two sisters, and another brother, had been left with a very limited income; and Guy and I, wishing to push our own fortunes and establish a home for the rest of the family, agreed that no time should be lost in carrying our plan into execution. As soon therefore as our mother’s affairs had been settled, we set sail from England, and, about two weeks before the day I am describing, arrived in Australia. We had not come entirely on a wild-goose chase. A cousin of our father’s, Mr Oliver Strong, had long been settled in the country, and had replied to an application made to him some time before by our father, saying that he should be happy to receive us and put us in the way of doing well for ourselves, if we were sober, steady, strong, active, willing fellows with heads on our shoulders and without any “fine gentleman” notions.

We were now making our way toward his station, some hundred miles in the interior. Though we had not ridden far from our camping place, the intense heat of the sun made us feel very thirsty, and sympathise with our horses which must have been equally so; thus we were anxious as soon as possible to reach the river, where we hoped to find an abundance of water.

From our black guide we could not obtain much information; for, although we were well assured that he spoke English when we engaged him, we found that it was of a character which would take us some time to learn. However he understood us better than we did him, though we had to put questions in all sorts of ways and repeat them over and over again. We then had to puzzle out his replies, not always arriving at a satisfactory conclusion.

Guy frequently stood up in his stirrups and looked ahead, hoping to catch the sheen of water. At last we began to have some uncomfortable suspicions that, although our black attendant professed to know the way, he had managed to lose it—a circumstance not at all unlikely to occur—and that we were wandering far out of our proper course. Though the sun was of some assistance, yet we might be going too much to the north or too much to the west, and might pass a long way off from the station which we wished to reach. All we could do therefore was to exert our wits, and, should we have got out of the direct path, to try and find it. At length the foliage before us became somewhat thicker, but no sign of water did we see. We were riding on when a loud cry reached our ears.

“There’s some one in distress!” I exclaimed.

“I fear that you are right, we must find out,” answered Guy.

We were urging on our horses, when a peal of mocking laughter seemed to come from the wood close to us.

“What can that be?” I asked; “some natives who want to frighten us, or an unfortunate maniac.”

The shout of laughter was repeated.

“Him one jackass!” observed our guide, Toby.

“Jackass! What can the fellow mean?” cried Guy.

Then looking up we discovered a large bird not far off who was evidently uttering the extraordinary sound we heard. It was, as Toby told us, a laughing-jackass, or a gigantic kingfisher. So ridiculous were the sounds that we could not help laughing too.

Presently a number of cockatoos, rising with loud screams just before us, flew over the trees to pitch again not far off. As we were watching them we found ourselves at the top of a bank, some thirty or forty feet in height. Below it, to the right and left, stretched a sandy bottom scarcely less than half a mile in breadth, and on the opposite side rose another bank. Below the one on which we stood was a stream of water, flowing sluggishly along, scarcely twelve feet wide, and so shallow that we could see the bottom.

“Can this be the river we were to come to?” I exclaimed, examining the map.

“No doubt about it,” answered my brother; “perhaps sometimes this broad bed of sand is covered, and if we had found it so, we should have had considerable difficulty in crossing; so it is as well as it is, here is water enough for ourselves and our weary beasts.” We accordingly agreed to stop and dine. Having watered our horses, we hobbled them and turned them at liberty under some trees where grass was growing; then unslinging our guns, we went in search of the cockatoos we had seen. I killed one, and Guy a parrot; but the report of our guns frightened away the birds, which were more wary than usual, and we had to return satisfied with this scanty supply of food. On reaching the spot we had selected for our camp, close to the water where our black boy was waiting for us, we found that he had during our absence made a fire, at which we cooked the birds, Toby devouring the larger portion.

We would gladly have eaten some fruit, however sour it might have been, but none was to be found. We had just finished masticating the tough parrot, when we caught sight of two natives scampering along as if they were mad, so it seemed to us, for they had their eyes fixed in the air and appeared regardless of all impediments in their way. We shouted to them, but not hearing us, on they went, now leaping over the fallen trunk of a tree, now rushing through a bush, now tumbling into a hole, still keeping their eyes fixed on the object which engaged their attention. We asked Toby what they were about.

“Dey huntee bee. Soon catchee!” he answered. The reply was intelligible enough, but why they should hunt a bee puzzled us. They however stopped, while yet in sight, under a large tree, the stem of which they began to climb. Hoping, as was really the case, that they were going to rob the hive of its honey, we followed them. As we approached we could see their dusky forms among the lower branches, with vast numbers of bees flying about them, whose presence they seemed almost to disregard.

The two natives were so busily employed that they did not at first perceive us; but when they came down, they regarded us with much astonishment, and we were afraid that they would turn tail and run off, without giving us the honey which it was our object to obtain. We therefore made all the friendly signs we could think of, and I having fortunately a gaily printed cotton handkerchief in my pocket, presented it to them, signifying at the same time that we wished some of the honey in return.

Our quiet manner quickly disarmed their suspicions, and returning with us, they poured out as much honey as our two tin pots could contain.

I may as well describe the mode of finding the honey the bee-hunters adopt. On perceiving a bee sucking the juice from flowers, he hurries to the nearest pool and selects a spot where the banks shelve gradually. He then lying on his face fills his mouth with water, and patiently awaits the arrival of the bee: as the insect requires moisture, he knows that ere long it will come and drink. The moment it approaches him he blows the water from his mouth over it, thus slightly stunning it. Before it has recovered, he seizes it and by means of some gum fastens to its legs a tuft of white down, which he has obtained from the neighbouring trees. The insect flies in a straight line towards its nest, while the white down serving to impede the progress, enables the hunter to keep it in view, till it reaches its home.

We ate the honey with a small supply of biscuit, and found it far more satisfactory food than the tough parrots had proved.

Having taken a last drink and filled up our waterbottles, we parted on friendly terms with the natives; when, saddling our horses, we continued our journey.

“There is little chance of our reaching another river with more water in it than the last, to camp by,” observed my brother; “I see none marked down on the maps for leagues ahead.”

We passed through the same sort of scenery as before, with the same dreary views on either side, so that we might have fancied that we had already crossed the country a dozen times.

We at length came to the bed of a stream, no longer however containing water, though I doubt not that we should have obtained it by digging beneath the surface.

The appearance of the bee-hunters had warned us that there were natives about, and we had been cautioned against trusting them. We heard that they had at different times murdered a number of unfortunate hut-keepers and shepherds up the country, so that we were inclined to form very unfavourable opinions of the aborigines. Toby, to be sure, was faithful enough, but then he was semi-civilised. We now asked him if he thought that there were many natives in the neighbourhood to whom the bee-hunters belonged.

He shook his head—“May be!” he said; “bad mans, keep out of him way.”

This advice we were ready enough to adopt, and we had no fear, should we meet them on the open ground, of keeping them at bay; but we wished especially to avoid being caught asleep, either at night or resting during the noon-day heat.

We had, at this time, literally no experience about Australia. We had read a few books, to be sure, but Mr Strong had not described the country, and only advised our father to send us out without incumbrances of any description—a small stock of serviceable clothes, a few books and a box of pills apiece. We followed out his injunctions almost to the letter, adding only some well-made tools, a fowling-piece each, and a supply of ammunition, to which we added on our arrival a few necessaries for travelling in the bush.

Thus we found that one animal could carry all our worldly possessions, a few odd articles for immediate use being packed in our saddle-bags. We were now, as the day was wearing on, looking out for a convenient place to camp. We tried to make Toby understand that we wished for one in which we could not easily be surprised by natives, or if surprised, where we could defend ourselves with some hope of success.

The nature of the ground had changed since the morning, and we now entered a rocky and wild-looking district.

Here we should have no difficulty, we thought, in selecting a spot for our camp. We were looking about, when we spied in the distance what appeared to be the figure of a man standing against a tree. My brother instantly rode forward and I following him saw a person who, to all appearance, though in bush costume, was a gentleman, bound with his hands behind his back, and secured firmly to a tree. He was deadly pale and seemed so much exhausted that he did not even speak to us as we approached.

To leap from our horses and release him without asking questions, was the work of a minute. Having put him on his feet and waited until he had somewhat recovered, we inquired how he had been placed in the position in which we had found him.

“Some rascally bushrangers surprised, and ‘stuck me up,’” he answered. “I had just dismounted, when three of them, who had been lying in ambush, suddenly sprang on me, and before I could draw my revolver, knocked me down.

“I fully believed that they intended to murder me, but they contented themselves with carrying off my horse and arms and ammunition and everything I had about me; having lashed me to this tree, and then galloped away, leaving me to the chance of dying of thirst and starvation, or being gnawed to death by the dingoes. Had you not come up, such might have been my fate; and, believe me, I am deeply grateful to you for rescuing me from it.”

We had been aware of the possibility that we might meet with natives, but had not thought of the likelihood of encountering bushrangers, indeed we fancied that the country was no longer infested by such characters.

We, of course, having assured the stranger that we were very glad to have been of use to him, invited him to accompany us until he could obtain another horse, and offered to let him ride one of ours by turns.

“I should like however to try and catch the fellows who robbed you;” exclaimed Guy. “Is there any chance of overtaking them? Surely they will encamp not far from this, and if we follow their tracks we might come upon them as suddenly as they surprised you.”

“Very little chance of that,” observed the stranger. “They are desperate fellows, and, knowing that every man’s hand is against them, keep a strict watch. They are aware that it is possible that I might be released, and will probably ere this have got a good many miles away, I am, however, grateful to you for your offer, though I am sorry to delay you. I confess that, without a gun or flint and steel, I should be very sorry to perform the rest of the journey on foot by myself. I am going to the north-west, and I judge, from the direction you were riding, that our roads lie the same way.”

Guy told him that we were bound for Mr Strong’s station, which we understood was nearly a hundred miles off; and at the rate we could travel with our baggage-horse, we did not expect to reach it for three or four days.

Observing how ill the stranger looked I suggested that we should at once look out a good spot for camping.

“I can help you, as I know the country,” said the stranger. “A short distance further on there is a water-hole in what during the rainy season is sometimes a torrent; we can there obtain all the requisites for a camp.”

I now insisted that he should mount my horse, and we set out.

Pushing forward, we soon reached the spot he spoke of. Our new companion, after examining the ground, told us that the bushrangers had been there, and after watering their horses had ridden on, as he supposed they would, and that we need have no apprehensions of an attack from them.

We soon hobbled the horses in the usual fashion, fastening their legs together with leathern straps in such a way as to make it impossible for them to move beyond a slow walk, so that if they were inclined to stray they could not go far.

Toby quickly lighted a fire, while the stranger by our advice rested near it. Guy and I taking our guns went out in different directions in search of game, which is usually to be found near a water-hole in Australia. We soon came back, Guy with a brace of pigeons and I with three parrots, so that we had ample food for all hands. As we had damper and tea, we enjoyed a satisfactory meal which greatly revived our new friend. While we were seated round the fire—Toby watching the horses—the stranger inquired if we were related to Mr Strong. This led us to give him a brief sketch of our history.

“May I ask your name?” he said. “Mine is Norman Bracewell.”

“And ours is Thurston,” said my brother. “What! Guy Thurston?” exclaimed Bracewell, leaning forward and grasping Guy’s hand; “I thought from the first that I knew your features. We were at school together. ‘Little Guy’ we used to call you, and you haven’t forgotten me?”

“No indeed!” said Guy warmly, “you always stood my friend when the big fellows tried to bully me, and I have a perfect recollection of your countenance. I have often wished to know what had become of you, but could only hear that you had gone abroad.”

“I thought of writing to let you know, in case you should ever come out to Australia; but I fancied that that was so unlikely and the chances of meeting you so small that I did not carry out my intention. You must stop at my hut. The longer you stay the better. We will have many a talk about old times and I think I can put you up to all sorts of information which will be useful to you in the country. To tell you the truth, I doubt if you will find your cousin, Mr Strong, as I heard that he had gone northwards to occupy a new station, some hundreds of miles off, and if so you will probably find no one to give you a welcome at his house except some old hut-keeper.”

On hearing this, Guy and I gladly agreed to stop a few days with Bracewell until we could obtain some definite information as to the movements of our cousin.

We told him of our meeting with the two bee-hunters.

“This proves that there are some natives in the neighbourhood. They may be honest, but they may also be ill-disposed, as are many of the blacks in this region. I advise that we keep a strict watch at night, and I offer to stand guard part of the time,” observed Bracewell.

We agreed to keep a watch, but after the trying time he had gone through we thought that he ought to have a quiet night’s rest so as to be the better able to continue his journey the next morning.

Toby had put up a rough hut of boughs, which would afford two of us at a time sufficient shelter from the night air. Of rain there was no fear. Toby erected a hut for himself with a few boughs stuck upright in the ground, which formed all the protection he required.

I undertook to keep the first watch, and I promised my brother that I would call him when I could no longer remain with my eyes open. From past experience we knew that it would not do to trust Toby, who would be very certain to be down as soon as he found that our eyes were off him. Guy and Bracewell were quickly asleep and I commenced walking to and fro, keeping a look-out on every side and sometimes stopping to throw a few sticks on the fire. I could see the horses safely feeding hear at hand, and so perfect was the silence which reigned around that I could not fancy that there was any real necessity for keeping awake. Still, as I had undertaken to do so, I should not have felt justified in lying down. I should probably have let the fire out, and the smoke from that was at all events useful to keep mosquitoes and sandflies somewhat at bay. Should the fire go out it was no more than possible that a pack of dingoes might creep up, and while we were in darkness drive the horses away, or carry off our saddle-bags, or tear our saddles and sleeping-rugs to pieces. I persevered therefore, stopping every now and then to amuse myself by looking up at the star-lighted sky and trying to make out the various constellations, conspicuous among which was the brilliant cross of the southern hemisphere. Except the occasional croak of a frog, the cry of a night bird, or the chirp of a cricket, not a sound had reached my ears; when suddenly, as I was watching the moon rising above the rocks on one side of the camp, the most unearthly shrieks and yells rent the air. Guy, awakening, started to his feet.

“What’s the matter?” he exclaimed. “I dreamed that savages were upon us, and expected the next moment to have a spear through me.”

“I haven’t seen any savages, but those sounds seem scarcely human, I wonder Bracewell hasn’t been awakened by them. We must rouse up Toby and learn what he thinks they are.”

The fearful noise still continued. We stood with our arms ready expecting every moment to see a herd of savages rush in upon us, for that the sounds were produced by natives we could have no doubt. We quickly made Toby spring to his feet.

“What’s all that noise about?” asked Guy.

“He-he-he, ho-ho-ho! dat corroborree,” answered Toby who did not appear, as we expected would be the case, at all astonished at the uproar.

Bracewell at length awoke and confirmed what Toby had said, that the savages were indulging in one of their native dances.

“I should like to go and see it,” I exclaimed; “can we do so without risk of being discovered?”

Taking Toby to guide us, while Bracewell remained in camp, we set out. We were scarcely prepared for the strange and weird sight which we saw as we looked over some low bushes we had just reached. Before us was an open glade, beyond which the moon was rising brightly. In the centre of the glade burned a fire. Seated on the ground were a number of figures rattling sticks together. Suddenly there burst forth out of the darkness a score of skeleton-like figures who threw themselves into every possible attitude, now stretching out their legs, now springing up and clapping their hands, and all the time shrieking, laughing and singing, and following a big black fellow who acted as fugleman and stood on one side with stick in hand to direct the proceedings.

Not for a moment did they cease, though every now and then we might have fancied that they had disappeared had we not distinguished their black backs turned towards us. We watched until we grew weary of the sight, but the dancers appeared in no way tired; and as we saw no chance of their giving in, we retreated to our own camp, pretty well tired out and assured that they would not molest us during the night.

Chapter Two.

The night passed as Bracewell had predicted, without a visit from the natives; and as he assured us that they were not at all likely to attack four armed men in the day-time, we, being anxious to become better acquainted with them, agreed before setting off to pay a visit to their camp. They were sure indeed to find ours out; so that it would be as well to show that we had no fear of them, and to gain their friendship. On examining the birds we had cooked the previous evening we found they had been nearly devoured by the white ants, a large nest of which we discovered a short distance from the camp. We had therefore to look out for some fresh provisions. Bracewell was a much better shot than either of us; and, taking my gun, in a few minutes he killed a small kangaroo which he found as it was about to spring out of the bush where it had spent the night, scarcely a hundred yards from the camp. Having skinned it in the most scientific fashion, the joints were put on to roast. We had now an abundance for our noon-day meal; for, as the animal was about four feet long, including the tail which was nearly half its length, it afforded us a good supply of meat. We should have preferred starting at day-break, but without food we none of us felt inclined to commence our journey. Toby indeed gave us to understand that he could not think of leaving while so much good meat remained to be eaten. Having given him as much as we all three consumed, we packed up the remainder in our saddle-bags and then—I insisting that Bracewell should mount my horse while I walked—we set off for the native village which we caught sight of a short distance to the north of our camp. The inhabitants were lying about in front of it, evidently enjoying the otium cum dignitate. The men mostly stretched on the ground surrounded by their dogs, while the women were squatting outside their leafy bowers. The huts, if so they can be called, were placed in a semi-circle, and were formed by thick boughs stuck in the ground joining at the top on which other boughs were lightly thrown. They were scarcely more than four feet in height and might be described rather as screens than huts, as their only object appeared to be to keep off the wind from the inhabitants and the small fires which burnt before them. On the outside were stuck their spears ready for instant use. Except some pieces of opossum skin round their loins, the men wore no garments, though several of them had fillets bound round their brows. Two or three were smoking short clay pipes obtained from shepherds or hut-keepers with whom they had come in contact. Several of the men started up, and seizing their spears advanced as they saw us approach, but the greater number lay gorged with food on the ground, not apparently noticing us. Bracewell, who could speak Toby’s lingo, told him to say to the black fellows, that we wished to be their friends; that their corroborree had afforded us a good deal of amusement; and that if we could kill a kangaroo we would give it to them to make another feast the next night.

As soon as Toby had translated what had been said, the blacks began chattering away in the most extraordinary fashion.

As they ceased Toby informed us that they were highly pleased with our offer. They wished to remain friends with the white men, and if we chose to stop with them we should be welcome. Of course, we had no inclination to do this, but we asked if two or three of them would accompany us to carry home any game we might kill. They however declined the invitation, saying that they were well filled already, of which fact their distended condition was sufficient evidence.

“Well then, as we cannot turn back, you will have to go without a kangaroo, even though we may shoot one,” said Bracewell, and telling Toby to wish them a friendly farewell we rode on.

As I was very active and had been accustomed to running at school, I easily kept up with the horses. At length however, as the sun grew hotter, I should have been glad enough to remount. Bracewell, observing that I was becoming fatigued, insisted on getting off his horse, but of this I would not hear. He however dismounted, when Guy made him get on again and put me on his own horse. Before long, however, my brother was nearly knocked up, and seeing this I proposed that he should remount, and that I should ride Toby’s horse. Toby made a wry face, for, although better able to run than any of us, he considered that it was more dignified to ride.

As we rode along we kept a look-out for kangaroos, as we should have been glad to kill one for ourselves, although our black friends were not likely to benefit by it.

We had gone some way when we caught sight of a dark object appearing just above a thick mass of leaves some two hundred yards away. Standing up in my stirrups I saw that it was the head of a kangaroo who was engaged in pulling off the foliage. I called to Bracewell and my brother, hoping that if we could get nearer before the creature moved away, we might shoot it.

Throwing the halter of the baggage-horse, which I had been leading, to Toby, I rode towards the spot, unslinging my rifle and as I did so ramming down a ball. The creature was more wide-awake than I had supposed. I had just got near enough to fire, when it broke from its cover in fine style and, after taking a few jumps to see in what direction to go, it started forward over the open ground without apparent effort.

“That’s a large boomer, an old one!” shouted Bracewell, “he’ll give us a long run. If we had dogs we should soon however catch him.”

In the excitement of the chase, forgetting that we ran great risk of knocking up our horses, away we started. Although the animal had only two legs to run on and had an enormous tail to carry, which does not, I really believe, help it, though it serves to balance itself in its upright position, so far did it get ahead of us that it was useless firing. I had scarcely noticed the direction it was taking, but on looking round I found that it was leading us back to the spot from which we had come. How far it had got I cannot say, when four or five black fellows started up with spears in their hands uttering loud shouts and shrieks. The boomer saw that it had no chance of escape in that direction, being perhaps better acquainted with its black enemies than with the strange creatures on four legs which had been pursuing it. It therefore stopped and gave us time to approach before it bounded round and made off to the right. I had thrown myself from my horse, for I had no notion at that time of firing from my saddle. I took a steady aim and pulled the trigger. My bullet must have hit it on the hinder leg, for it slackened its pace. In the meantime Bracewell and Guy dashed forward. The creature, instead of continuing its flight, again stopped, and facing the horsemen as they approached struck out with one of its hinder claws, and had not Bracewell suddenly turned his steed, so furiously did it strike that he would have been severely wounded. Turning round however he dealt it so heavy a blow on the head with his riding-whip that it staggered, and Guy firing brought it to the ground. The natives, whom we recognised as our friends of the morning, now came up and claimed the prize. Bracewell gave them to understand that we must first cut out as many steaks as we required. When this was done we handed the body over to them. They appeared highly delighted and especially struck by the moderate quantity we claimed. We had now to turn back to where we had left Toby in charge of the baggage animal. I had some secret apprehensions that, if not honest, he might bolt with our traps and be received with open arms as a wealthy man among some of his countrymen. I was not aware at the time that he belonged to a tribe regarded as hereditary enemies by the people inhabiting the country we were travelling through, and that he was as likely to lose his life at their hands as any white man would be. We looked about in all directions and at length, to our no small satisfaction, espied him still standing by the horses and wondering what had become of us. We had lost considerable time by our hunting, though we had obtained a good dinner, and of course had been delayed also by one of the party having to proceed on foot.

While we were seated round our camp-fire Bracewell said—

“I scarcely like to make the proposal I am about to do, and yet perhaps you will not object. If you will consent to remain in camp here and allow me to take one of your horses, I will ride forward and bring a couple of fresh ones from my station. Should you not do this I must insist on walking, though I shall of necessity delay you. I confess also, that I am anxious to give notice that the bushrangers are abroad, or they may be visiting my hut or some of my neighbours, and carry off arms and ammunition, which is chiefly what they come after, for they don’t find much else than food in the shepherds’ huts.”

“Pray do as you think best,” said Guy, “I am sure Maurice will agree with me that we should not at all mind remaining stationary for a few hours, nor will our other horses, which require rest.”

I thought the plan a good one, and before the day had actually broken, Bracewell mounted my horse and away he rode at a rate which assured us that we should not be long alone. As Toby had plenty of food, he did not grumble at the delay, but sat himself down contentedly at the fire which he promised to keep alight, while we took our guns and went to shoot some birds or a kangaroo if we could see one.

The great drawback to a traveller in a hot country is the impossibility of preserving fresh meat, which exposed to the sun quickly becomes uneatable. What we killed one day was therefore unfit for food the next, and we had each morning to shoot some more game, or content ourselves with damper and tea.

We had already become pretty skilful in baking damper, which consists simply of flour and water, kneaded on a board, and baked in the form of a large biscuit under the ashes.

We saw several kangaroos, but they bounded away before we could get near enough to shoot them, and had to content ourselves as before with a couple of parrots and as many pigeons, which was an ample supply, for although the over-high kangaroo meat did not suit our palates, Toby had no objection to it.

We had been shooting for some time, and were making our way back to camp, when we caught sight in the distance of three horsemen, their heads and those of their steeds, occasionally appearing above the brushwood. They appeared to be coming towards us.

At first we thought that they must be Bracewell and two companions; but as we could make out no led horses, and they were not approaching from the direction he would appear, we concluded that they must be strangers.

“What if they should be bushrangers?” said Guy. “If they catch Toby alone they are certain to carry off our baggage and horses, and will probably shoot him to prevent him giving information.”

“The sooner we get back to camp the better,” I answered.

We hurried on, keeping ourselves concealed as much as possible. “It would be prudent to load our guns with ball,” said Guy; “the fellows won’t know that we suspect them, and may think that they can stick us up with perfect ease.”

Fortunately our horses were close to the camp, and as soon as we reached it we sent Toby to bring them in, not telling him that we suspected the character of the strangers. As they approached we anxiously examined their appearance, which was certainly not in their favour. They were savage-looking fellows with long beards, their unkempt hair hanging over their shoulders. They pulled up suddenly when they saw us standing with our backs to a couple of large trees, our baggage and saddles piled on the ground, and Toby holding our horses.

“What is your pleasure, friends?” asked Guy. The fellows examined us without answering.

“You look as if you’d know us again should we come across you,” said Guy. “Just take my advice. Ride on and leave us to cook our dinner.”

“Who are you, young chaps, and where are you going?” inquired one of the horsemen, who from his appearance we concluded was the leader of the party.

“We are going our own way and are not inclined to give that information to those who have no authority to ask it,” replied Guy in a firm voice.

“Did you fall in with a young fellow who had been stuck up by bushrangers?” inquired the man.

The question convinced us that we were not mistaken as to the character of our visitors.

“I have just told you that we are not going to answer any questions from those who have no right to put them,” said Guy.

“Oh, oh, oh!” cried the man, making a movement as if he was about to unsling his gun.

“If you do that, I’ll fire,” shouted Guy. “Our rifles are loaded with ball; now ride on, we do not wish to take your lives, but we have no intention of being stuck up.”

During this conversation I was looking at the other two fellows, who had not spoken but seemed to be waiting until their chief gave a sign to them to act. As my eye ranged over the countenance of one of them, it struck me forcibly that I had seen the man before, but when or where, I could not recollect. He was evidently very young, for while the faces of the others were covered with hair, he had but a small moustache on his lips, but exposure to the hot sun had so tanned his complexion, that had he been an intimate friend I might have failed to recognise him. He looked at me and then at my brother, whose attention was occupied by the older bushranger and did not notice him as I was doing.

“Oh, oh, oh!” exclaimed the man, after the warning Guy had given him; and, without saying another word, he and his companions turned their horses’ heads and rode away in the direction from whence they had come. Probably they had been attracted by the smoke of our fire, and expected to find some travellers unprepared for them; so we should have been had we not fallen in with Bracewell, and should certainly have lost our baggage and horses, and perhaps our lives.

“We have had a narrow escape, for there is no doubt about those fellows being bushrangers,” I observed to Guy.

“Not the slightest,” replied my brother. “I felt that there was only one way to deal with them. Had we shown the slightest hesitation or nervousness, they would have attempted to frighten us into submission.”

“Did you notice the countenance of one of the others?” I asked. “I could not help fancying that I knew it well. If it were not so very improbable, I should say that it was that of a fellow I remember at school when I first went there. I wish that you had observed him, for as you must have known him better than I did, you would have been more sure about the matter.”

“What, do you mean the youngest of the three?” asked Guy. “The fact is I did note him. It struck me that he was wonderfully like a fellow I always stood clear of, though he especially tried to make friends with me. If you remember the name of the person you think he was, tell me, and I shall better be able to judge whether I am right.”

“I am nearly certain then that it was Cyril Vinson.”

“You are right,” answered Guy. “He was a clever fellow without a particle of principle; and I remember hearing it reported some time after he left school, that he had committed forgery, and that, although he was not convicted, his friends had sent him out of the country.”

We talked over the matter, and agreed that it was very strange we should so soon after our arrival in the country have fallen in, under such extraordinary circumstances, with two old school-fellows.

The day passed by without another visit, either from the bushrangers or the blacks. As may be supposed, we kept a remarkably bright look-out during the night. Either Guy or I remained awake, walking up and down in the neighbourhood of our camp-fire. Directly the bells on the necks of our horses sounded faint, we sent out Toby to drive them in, that we might run as little risk as possible of their being carried off.

Bracewell had told us that sometimes natives stole up and speared the horses at night, or tried to drive them away from the camp, though they might not venture to attack their owners. We had chiefly therefore to fear a trick of this sort being played us, but it was almost impossible to guard against the horses being surprised during the darkness, should they be at any distance from the camp.

As those we had fallen in with appeared to be friendly, we hoped that we should escape so unpleasant a loss.

As the next day passed on we looked at our watches, anxiously expecting Bracewell. With the chance of another visit from the bushrangers, we did not like to go far from the camp; but we shot as many birds as we wanted, though Toby would have been happier had we brought him a kangaroo, that he might gorge himself to his heart’s content.

As I had been awake so much during the night, I felt very sleepy, and had thrown myself on the ground to get some rest, when I heard Guy say—

“Here come a couple of horsemen, but whether they are Bracewell and a companion, or the bushrangers returning, I cannot say. At all events we must be prepared for them.”

I sprang to my feet, and Toby was sent to bring in the horses. Our apprehensions of another visit from the bushrangers were soon set at rest when we recognised Bracewell, who was followed by another man leading a spare horse.

“I am sorry to have kept you so long,” he exclaimed, as he threw himself from his steed. “Our horses had strayed, frightened by the blacks, who have killed one of them. If we come across the fellows they must look out for broken heads in consequence. However, Bob and I succeeded in catching three, and then lost no time in coming to you.”

When we told him of the visit we had received from the bushrangers, he exclaimed:—

“We must run those fellows down. It is too bad that we should be unable to ride in security through the country without the risk of being robbed, perhaps murdered, by such villains.”

We immediately saddled our horses, packed our traps on our baggage animal, and prepared to go forward under Bracewell’s guidance. Old Bob, his hut-keeper and factotum, dropped behind to drive on the baggage-horse at a greater speed than Toby was inclined to move. I heard him talking to the black in a lingo which was utterly incomprehensible to me.

Bracewell was much astonished when Guy told him that we had recognised Cyril Vinson among the bushrangers. We were once more, on account of the slow pace of our baggage-horse, compelled to camp, but as Bracewell wished to get back to his hut that night, he rode forward, leaving old Bob to guide us in the morning. Old Bob undertook to keep watch, and as he did not look like a man who would go to sleep while so engaged, we were able to rest securely.

It was nearly evening the next day when we caught sight of the huts forming our friend’s station. He came forward to meet us.

“I expected you somewhat sooner,” he said. “As Bob was away, I was engaged in performing one of his duties—feeding the inhabitants of my farm-yard. I have a curious lot, which I have caught and tamed at different times. Here they are, come and have a look at them.”

And he led the way to an enclosure with a hut on one side of it. As he stooped down, ducks and fowls rushed forward to obtain the food he held in his hand, the pigs came grunting up, and several long-legged birds—storks I believe they were—stood by waiting for their share, numerous parrots and parroquets were perched on the railings, as tame as the barn-door fowls, while a laughing-jackass looked on complacently from an overhanging bough, every now and then uttering its strange notes.

Bracewell directed Bob to finish feeding the birds, and ushered us into the hut. It was about thirty feet long and twelve wide, roughly built with a verandah in front, and contained a centre room and one on either side. The interior was far neater than I had expected from the appearance of the outside, and was furnished with tables and chairs, and several cupboards and some book-shelves; the walls were ornamented with a few pictures and native weapons, while two spare guns and some pistols were against them. A couple of large Scotch deer hounds of a badger-like colour accompanied their master. They were intelligent, powerful-looking animals, and were used, he told us, for hunting the kangaroo. Before a fire in a smaller hut on one side of the main building, two joints of mutton were roasting.

“I can give you but bush fare,” said our host, “mutton, damper, and tea; for of wine and spirits I have none, with the exception of a bottle of brandy, which I keep safely locked up for reasons which I will explain to you.”

Besides the large hut I have described there were two smaller ones and a shed, which served as a stable and cowhouse. Near them was an enclosed field and small kitchen-garden, such as is not often seen at an Australian cattle or sheep station. To the west was a thick wood, which afforded shelter from the winds blowing at times hot and sand-laden from the interior; while in front was a slight dip, at the bottom of which was the bed of a river, but through it a trickling stream alone at present found its way to the eastward. Here and there appeared groves of acacias, while as far as the eye could reach in every other direction were grassy downs, scattered over which we caught sight of a considerable herd of sheep wending their way homewards. Altogether, Bracewell’s station presented a more civilised aspect than any we had fallen in with on our journey.

Chapter Three.

We spent a pleasant evening with Bracewell, talking over old times and our future prospects. He gave us a great deal of good advice, by which we hoped to profit.

“I am very glad you have come out, old fellows, for I am sure you will succeed if you stick to work,” he observed. “I have not done badly. I began with eight head of cattle, and now I have three hundred; and with forty sheep, which have become upwards of two thousand. I should have had a larger number had I known more of the business when I commenced, but I have lost many by disease and dingoes, and the natives. You must make up your mind to take the rough and smooth together, and not despair though you happen to get what they call a run of ill-luck—which in nine cases out of ten arises from a man’s carelessness. I confess that I have sometimes felt my solitude; but yet, with my friends on the shelves up there, and these faithful animals at my feet, I have had no great reason to complain. I also remember that I should have been much worse off in many respects had I remained at home.”

“But what about the blacks and the bushrangers?” asked Guy.

“The blacks have been troublesome at times, but I have hitherto been able to keep them at bay,” answered Bracewell; “and with regard to the bushrangers, none have ever paid me a visit. The fellows who stuck me up the other day were the first I had the misfortune to fall in with. I wonder if Vinson recognised me; but I think not, or if he did he kept out of sight. I am grieved to think it was him, as he will certainly, before long, come to an untimely end; for no bushranger ultimately escapes, and most of them run but a very short career: they either get shot or die of starvation and sickness in the bush.”

When we talked of continuing our journey the next day, Bracewell would not hear of it.

“Your relative does not expect you,” he observed, “and you will pick up more useful knowledge on my station than you will on a more extensive run; besides which I want you to have some hunting with me, to show you this part of the country.”

Nothing loth, we agreed to Bracewell’s proposal. It was not until a late hour, for the bush, that we turned into our bunks in one of the side-rooms, which he told us he kept as his guest-chamber. Bracewell slept in a hammock in the sitting-room, while old Bob occupied the other room.

The first day we spent riding over the run, visiting the cattle and inspecting the sheep. In the evening Bracewell proposed that we should go into the neighbouring wood in search of opossum, whose skins he wished to obtain to make some rugs, which he said he wanted to sleep on when camping out or to serve as coverlets in cold weather. His shepherd possessed a couple of small dogs, famous opossum hunters. The sheep having been penned, their master was requested to accompany us.

The Australian opossum is a long-bodied short-legged little animal, with a furry tail by which he can suspend himself on the branches of trees, while it assists him to make rapid progress among them. He is fond of hiding himself in the holes of decayed trees, out of which it is no easy matter to smoke him. Being a nocturnal animal he is more generally captured during the day-time, for the bright light of the sun puzzles him and he knows not in what direction to make his escape.

We soon arrived at a large hole in a gum-tree round which the dogs began barking, leaving us no doubt that several opossums were ensconced within. Our first care was to collect a quantity of sticks and green leaves; when, a fire being kindled inside the hole, the smoke began to ascend, filling the whole of the cavity, which extended to where the boughs branched off. The moon having risen, we could see almost as well as in daylight. Before long, three or four little creatures emerged from the hole and began to make their way upwards. One, however, almost suffocated by the smoke, fell to the ground; when the dogs, instantly pouncing upon it, would have torn it to pieces had not their master pulled them off. Guy shot another, and two more were brought to the ground by the sticks which the rest of us hove at them before they had recovered their senses, after having been so unexpectedly smoked out of their nests.

We were equally successful with two other trees, round which the dogs gave tongue, and after an hour’s hunting we returned carrying our prizes, which took Bracewell and his shepherd some time to clean.

“Of course opossum hunting is but tame work, I’ll allow,” exclaimed Bracewell while washing his hands after having cleaned the last of the beasts; “but as you are both good horsemen and have steady nerves we will to-morrow go in chase of some wild cattle which have appeared in the bush not far off. I should not object to kill a couple of them, as we are in want of fresh meat and I cannot afford to slaughter my sheep. Perhaps on the way we may fall in with a kangaroo, which is sure to give us good sport.”

Next morning found us all three galloping along through the open forest. We trusted entirely to Bracewell’s guidance, for before we had gone a mile, I confess I should have had a difficulty in finding my way back again.

“We are in luck,” cried Bracewell, as in less than half an hour we caught sight of four head of the wild cattle we were in search of. As we approached they began pawing on the ground, sticking out their tails and looking anything but amiable.

“They will charge if we don’t take care,” observed Bracewell. “Shout and crack your whips, that will make them show us their flanks.”

We had, I should have said, our guns in readiness, and a brace of pistols in our belts, so that we were well armed for the encounter with a wild bull, who, looking upon human beings and every other animal as enemies, was a dangerous character to engage.

Bracewell had before instructed us how to act under such ordinary circumstances as were likely to occur. The cracking of our whips, and our loud shouts, at length frightened the three bulls, and instead of running at us they turned tail and off they went.

“Tally-ho!” shouted Bracewell, and we made chase.

Our object was now to overtake them. Bracewell having got up to a powerful red bull, for a few seconds he and the animal kept time together; then gaining a little and keeping it on his right side he fired, and the superb beast, with a low bellow, crashed headlong to the ground. Pulling up for a moment he galloped after me, as I dashed on close to another bull I had singled out; but in consequence of a fallen tree which would have compelled me to slacken speed, I had ranged up on the wrong side, so that I could not fire with due effect. Fearing however that the bull would escape, I took the best aim I could, fired, and wounded it. The bull, maddened with rage, charged wildly at my horse.

“Spur for your life,” shouted Bracewell. I did so, for I expected every moment to see the bull rip open my steed with his powerful horns, and I knew that if it was gored I might be trampled to death.

The bull came thundering behind me and actually touched my horse, which nearly sent me over its head as it kicked out viciously to defend itself. Happily Bracewell was close behind, and coming up presented the muzzle of his pistol at the bull’s head. The next moment I was safe. In the meantime Guy had been pursuing a third bull. I had heard him fire twice. I now saw the animal rushing on, with head down, about to run at him. Fortunately a tree was near at hand, round which he managed to guide his horse, when the bull for a moment losing sight of him he was able to take a steady aim: he fired and the monster rolled over.

“Nervous work!” exclaimed Bracewell. “You fellows have behaved capitally, though I really forgot the danger to which you might be exposed, but I am very thankful that no harm has been done. We’ll now ride back as hard as we can go, and get the cart to bring in the meat before the dingoes or black fellows or the ants have taken possession of it.”

We agreed that hunting wild cattle was more exciting sport than galloping after kangaroos, although we fancied that the latter was the finest amusement to be found in Australia. Not a moment was lost on our arrival at home in getting the cart under way, and Guy and I undertook to accompany it, but Bracewell could not again leave the station during the time that old Bob who drove it, and Toby who went to assist him, were away. As we approached the scene of action, we caught sight of a number of what at a distance I should have fancied were ordinary dogs—with sharp muzzles, short, erect ears, and bushy tails—hovering round the spot.

“They’re dingoes!” cried Guy. “The rascals have already commenced operations on one of the bulls. We must drive them off or old Bob won’t have much meat to carry home.”

We dashed at the brutes with our riding-whips, which we brought into active play. Some well-aimed lashes on their backs made the dingoes turn tail and retreat to a safe distance, where they stood watching the operation of cutting up one of the animals.

While we were assisting Bob and Toby to load the cart with the flesh of the first bullock, the dingoes made a sudden dash at the carcase of the animal on which they had before commenced.

This was more than we could stand.

“If I was you, sir, I’d give them a lesson they’ll not forget,” cried Bob; and throwing ourselves on our horses, we rode at the savage pack, using the butts of our whips with such good effect that we knocked over upwards of half a dozen before the rest of the pack took to flight. To prevent their returning, we pursued them as they went off in the direction of the station, when, firing our pistols, we brought down two or three more; but we were soon thrown behind by having to pull up and reload, and the pack, keeping wonderfully well together, again managed to distance us. Still, excited by the chase, we kept on, the dead dingoes marking the course we had taken. Our horses, having been somewhat tired by the chase after the wild cattle and the rides to and from the station, did not make as good play as they might otherwise have done. Neither Guy nor I thought of pulling up, however, while we had the chance of killing more of the brutes. At last my horse, stumbling, threw me over his head, and I lost the rein; when finding himself at liberty, away he galloped, showing no inclination to be caught. I shouted to my brother, who had got some distance on; he heard me, and seeing what had occurred went in chase of my steed, which by occasionally doubling and then galloping off again, well-nigh tired out his horse. I ran here and there hoping to catch the animal, but it took good care to avoid me. At length however Guy got hold of it, by which time, of course, the pack had escaped. We now had to consider what road we should take, but when we looked round we found it was a question difficult to decide.

“If we could but come across one of the dead dingoes, we could easily make our way back to where we left old Bob,” observed Guy.

We felt sure that the last dingo we had killed could not be far off.

“This is the spot where my horse threw me, and I had just before knocked over a dingo,” I said, “I know it by that peculiar-looking gum-tree.”

We rode on, expecting to come upon the dead dingo, but though we searched about we could nowhere discover it. On and on we went, still no dingoes could we see, nor could we distinguish the track made by our horses’ feet. The sky had become overcast, but though we could not see the sun, we knew that it must be near setting. In a short time the increasing darkness made us feel somewhat uncomfortable about the chance of being benighted.

We cooeyed as loudly as we could in the hope that Bob and Toby would hear our voices, but no answer reached us. Had we been riding horses belonging to the station, we might have let them select their course and they would probably have taken us in; but we had mounted our own beasts, which could not be depended on. Still, as long as there was light sufficient to enable us to avoid knocking our heads against the boughs of trees, we rode on, hoping that we might at length reach the station. At last, however, we agreed that we must make up our minds to spend the night in the bush, hungry and thirsty as we felt. Next morning we thought we should, at all events, easily find our way. We accordingly dismounted, hobbled our horses, collected materials for a fire, and choosing a spot free from grass we soon kindled a flame, though it rather mocked us as we had nothing to cook at it. We settled that one should keep watch and look after the horses. The poor animals were suffering from thirst as much as we were, and were continually moving away to look for water, for without it they showed little inclination to crop the grass. Had we thought it prudent for both of us to sleep, the night would have appeared to pass by much more quickly than it did. I was very thankful when at length day broke, and we were saluted by the merry call of the laughing-jackass. We did not shoot him, but we killed a couple of parrots, which we quickly roasted to satisfy the gnawings of hunger, and then mounting our horses made, as we thought, in the direction of the station. We felt especially vexed with ourselves for losing our way, and causing Bracewell the anxiety he would naturally feel on our account, though he would guess pretty clearly what had happened from the report old Bob would give him on his return.

We had gone some distance, when we caught sight of a fire and a column of smoke rising, in the morning air.

“Perhaps that is the camp of some people Bracewell has sent out to look for us,” said I.

“It may be that of bushrangers,” observed Guy. “It will be prudent, at all events, to approach it cautiously.”

Riding on, we caught sight of a black figure with his back towards us, seated before a small fire at which he was apparently engaged in cooking something. His attention absorbed in his occupation, he did not observe us. The delicate morsel he was preparing for his meal was, we afterwards discovered, a large snake. When his ear at length caught the sound of horses’ feet, he started up, and seizing the half-roasted snake, scampered off. Had we not made signs to him that we wished to be friends, he would soon have been out of sight. Seeing, however, that we did not unsling our rifles, he gained courage and returned to the fire.

We beckoned to him to continue roasting his snake, and then endeavoured to make him understand that we wanted a guide to conduct us to the station. He seemed determined not to understand our wishes. However, we waited patiently, hoping that when he had eaten his snake he might be more inclined to act as our guide. Finding that we had no intention of molesting him, he took things leisurely. The snake being roasted, he began to stow it away.

“I wonder he doesn’t offer us some, though I’m not inclined to eat it,” I observed.

“He is a perfect savage, and has no wish to part with his dainty fare,” replied Guy.

We thought that the fellow would soon come to an end of the meal, and that then he would pack up the rest of the snake and carry it with him. To our surprise he did not stop until he had swallowed the whole of it, and when we again made signs to him that we wanted him to guide us, he stroked his stomach and signified that he should prefer sleeping by the side of his fire.

Guy at length, losing patience, gave a flourish with his stock whip, when an idea seemed suddenly to strike the black, and getting up he made signs to us to follow him. We naturally supposed that he intended to lead us to the station, and rode after him without hesitation. We had not gone far, however, when a cooee reached our ears. We replied, and presently, looking round in the direction from whence the sound came, we saw Bracewell galloping towards us, followed by Toby.

“I am thankful that I found you sooner than I expected,” he said. “Where do you think you were going?”

“To the station,” answered Guy.

“You were riding, however, in an opposite direction,” said our friend.

“The black we fell in with, undertook to guide us,” I remarked.

“The rascal had no intention of taking you to my station. He would probably have led you into the midst of a gang of his own people who, I have had notice, are encamped in the neighbourhood, and had they found you unprepared they might have speared you for the sake of your horses and clothes. The fellow you fell in with was probably one of their scouts who had been sent forward to ascertain what we were about. Should they have found us off our guard, they might have robbed the huts and carried off some of our cattle and sheep.”

While Bracewell was speaking, I looked round and found that the black fellow had disappeared. This strongly corroborated the account our friend had given us.

As we were suffering greatly from thirst, we were anxious to get back as soon as possible. We had, we found, gone at least ten miles out of our way. Bracewell had, however, with the aid of Toby, traced us. Though our horses were tired, their eagerness to obtain water made them exert themselves, and they did not take long to cover the ground. Most thankful we were when we reached the stream close to the station, where we and they could take a good draught of the refreshing fluid.

We then, by our friend’s advice—while old Bob was preparing dinner—turned into our bunks and managed to get a sound snooze, awaking much refreshed.

Next morning we had completely recovered from the fatigues we had gone through, and we now felt that we ought to continue our journey to Mr Strong’s.

“But I don’t like you two fellows, with only Toby, to travel through the bush, with a chance of falling in with hostile blacks or those rascally bushrangers, who would only be too glad to stick you up and revenge themselves for your setting me free,” said Bracewell. “I have given notice to the police that the latter gentlemen are abroad, and before long, clever as they may think themselves, they will be run to earth; but the blacks are far more difficult customers to deal with—they are here, there, and everywhere. One only knows where they have been when the cattle are found speared, or the hut-keeper murdered, or the sheep driven off. I should like to accompany you myself, but I cannot at present leave my station. However, if you will wait for a couple of days longer I will ride part of the way with you, and in the meantime we will try to ascertain the whereabouts of the mob of blacks, and I shall be able to judge whether the road will be safe for you to travel.”

The two days passed by pleasantly enough, during which we rode round the station with Bracewell, to assist him in examining his sheep and to help in the various duties of a squatter’s life.

Meantime, Toby and another native were sent out to ascertain what had become of the mob of blacks reported to be in the neighbourhood. They came back saying that, although they had come upon their tracks, the natives had moved away westward, and that we were not likely to fall in with them. We again, accordingly, told our host that we must go.

“Well, if you must, you must; and according to my promise I intend to ride part of the way with you,” he answered. “I wish however that you could do without your baggage, and we would see how fast we could get over the ground; but as you have to take that, we must be content with a steady pace, and I’ll make play on my way back so as to be at home again by night.”

As there was a moon in the sky, and Bracewell knew every inch of the ground, we were in our saddles long before day-break, carrying with us our breakfast and kettle in which the tea could easily be made at the camp-fire.

We had performed some ten or twelve miles before sunrise, enjoying the cool fresh air of early morning, and fresh it is even in Australia before the burning sun gains his power over the world.

We camped near a water-hole, from which we obtained all the fluid we required for our morning’s meal. We had again mounted and were going round on the opposite side, when Bracewell exclaimed—“The blacks have been here. See, here are the remains of their fire still smouldering. They cannot have left it very long. We must keep a look-out for them when passing any spot from which they may hurl their lances should they be badly disposed; not that that is likely to be the case, and they certainly will not venture to attack us in the open.”

Toby, who had examined the ground, gave it as his opinion that they had gone away to the northwards and that, being probably on a hunting expedition, they would be too intent on attacking their game to annoy us. Toby was right, and in about half an hour, just as we reached the top of a slight ridge or elevation which had before hidden them from view, we caught sight of several dusky figures, each holding in his hand a throwing-stick with a long spear attached to it. One of them had fixed to his left arm a shield of boughs which concealed his body as he crept towards a group of kangaroos feeding in the grassy bottom. As the hunters did not perceive us and we had time, we stood still watching them.

The throwing or throw-stick, is to serve the purpose of a sling for casting the spear. A heavy flat piece of wood, between two and three feet long, has at one end a slight hollow into which the end of the spear is fitted while at the other is a heavy weight, thus assisting the hunter in the act of throwing the spear. Except a small fillet of grass the natives wore not a particle of clothing, though there were several scarifications on their bodies; and what sailors call a spritsail-yard run through their nostrils which added to the ferocity of their appearance.

As we wanted to see how they would proceed, we kept as much as possible behind the ridge, and as the wind came from the kangaroos to us, we were not discovered by the animals. All this time the hunters were creeping forward, concealing themselves among the shrubs and trees until they got near enough to the game to hurl their spears with effect.

One fellow crept forward, holding his shield of boughs, until it seemed to us that he was almost close up to the kangaroos. Then his spear flew from his throwing-stick with so tremendous a force that the animal was almost pinned to the ground. Not a spear missed, and almost at the same moment three kangaroos were killed. Three others hopped away, but were pursued by the nimble-footed hunters, who using their throwing-sticks as clubs, despatched the animals with reiterated blows on the head.

Not until the hunt was over did we show ourselves, when we astonished the savages standing over their slain game. Fixing their spears in their sticks they threatened to launch them against us should we attempt to deprive them of their prizes. On seeing this we directed Toby to say that we had no intention of interfering with them. Whether or not they understood him, however, we could not tell, for they stood without altering their position, and not wishing to have an encounter with them which must have ended in bloodshed, we made a wide circuit beyond the reach of their weapons. When we looked back we saw them joined by a large number of their fellows who were employed in dragging off the bodies of the kangaroos.

“I am afraid you will be in some danger from them on your return,” I observed to Bracewell.

“No fear of that,” he answered. “They will be too busy in gorging themselves with the flesh of the kangaroos; besides they will not be on the look-out for me, and a well-mounted man, provided he doesn’t come unexpectedly on a mob, need have no fear of them. My rifle can carry farther than their throwing-sticks, a fact of which they are well aware.”

We soon lost sight of the blacks, and after riding on several miles further, our friend told us that he must bid us farewell, promising, however, to ride over to Mr Strong’s station, should he find he could leave home, to see how we were getting on. “And remember,” he added, “I shall be glad if one or both of you can join me, should you not find yourselves comfortable at your relative’s; and if he has moved on, as he intended doing, to another station, come back if you think fit at once; though probably, if he expects you, he will have left word that you may be forwarded on to him. He has, I understand, a large family, but as we have never met I cannot give you a description of them. I need not warn you to keep as good a watch at night as you have hitherto done, and to avoid either blacks or suspicious looking white men, though I do not mean to say that you are to look upon every traveller you meet with as a bushranger.”

We having again thanked Bracewell for his advice and the hospitality he had shown us, he turned his horse’s head towards his home, and we proceeded on our journey.

Chapter Four.

We had already, according to our calculation, performed the distance to Mr Strong’s station, but no signs of it could we discover. The heat was oppressive, and seeing a wood on our left, we were assured from the nature of the trees, that either a water-hole or a stream would be found. We agreed to camp there for a couple of hours to let our horses feed and to take our dinner, hoping then by pushing on that we should before evening at all events arrive at the station. I had ridden forward to look out for the water, when just as I caught sight of the glitter of a pool, I saw two persons emerge from the shade. They were white lads with a couple of dogs and had guns in their hands. So intent were they on some object before them that they did not perceive me. One of them fired at an opossum which they had, I concluded, driven out of its hole. The animal fell to the ground, when they dashed forward to save it from being torn to pieces by the dogs. As they did so, one of them looked up and saw me watching them.

“Hallo! Where do you come from?” he exclaimed advancing.

“From England,” I answered. “We want to reach Mr Strong’s station, and shall be obliged if you will help us to find it.”

“That’s where we live, so we can take you to it,” replied the lad. “You have, however, come somewhat out of your way, and must have passed it on your right.”

I thanked him. “And who are you?” I asked.

“We are Mr Strong’s sons,” he replied. “We came here to look for some stray cattle which are hid in this scrub, so we shall first have to drive them out, but that won’t take us long. We left our horses hobbled close at hand while we stopped, intending to take our dinner, as we have been out since the morning.”

“We were going to do the same,” I observed. “Here comes my brother Guy; if you haven’t eaten your dinner you’ll join us, won’t you?”

“Of course!” he said laughing. “And I conclude that you are Guy and Maurice Thurston, our cousins we have been expecting out from the old country for some months past. My name is Hector. That is my brother Oliver. I suppose you have heard of us?”

I had to confess that I had not before heard their names, though I did not like to say how little I knew about them.

Guy, Toby, and I, having dismounted and allowed our horses to drink at the pool, hobbled them and let them go away to feed, while we sat down in a shady spot to discuss our provisions. Our cousins produced damper, cold beef and cheese from their pockets; while Toby placed before us a piece of a kangaroo which we had shot the previous day and some biscuits, while we all contented ourselves with a draught of water from the pool.

The meal was quickly despatched, when our cousins jumped up saying that they must look out for the cattle, and that as soon as we saw the herd rounded up and clear of the scrub, we might follow in the rear. They advised us to take care should any of them charge us, as they were apt to be vicious, and Toby might have a difficulty in escaping. “You need not hurry yourselves,” they added, “but when you hear the sound of our stock whips, you had better mount and be ready to start.”

Guy and I agreed that it was very fortunate we had fallen in with our cousins, who seemed to be wonderfully hardy fellows, and we hoped might prove good companions.

We waited a short time, when we heard, coming from some distance, apparently, the sharp report of the whips, like the sound of crackers. Now the sounds, mingled with a chorus of lowing and bellowing, reached us from one side, now from the other, every moment approaching nearer, so that we agreed that it would be wise to catch our horses and mount. We were quickly in our saddles, when several bulls burst out of the scrub a short distance from us. We rode forward to get out of their way as they looked very much inclined to charge us. Presently others appeared in different directions, and then our two young cousins, cracking their long whips, followed, rounding up the cattle in the most scientific manner, and turning several cows which with their calves were evidently intent on bolting back into the scrub.

We soon got excited with the scene, and although our horses were somewhat tired and we had no stock whips, we managed so effectually to turn the cattle with our ordinary riding-whips, that our cousins declared we assisted them very much. The mob once collected went on steadily until we got them into the paddock, an enclosure half a mile in extent, into which, some bars being removed, most of them eagerly rushed. A few however tried to bolt, but were sent back by the stock whips, and all were fortunately turned in; some to be used for beef, others for branding, while the cows were wanted for milking.

“Where is the station?” I asked. “I can see only this immense paddock.”

“There!” answered Hector, pointing to where I caught sight of the roofs of several low buildings. “We shall soon be there.”

We put our horses into a canter, and in a short time arrived before a collection of buildings like Indian bungalows, the centre of which was the dwelling house, which had slab walls and shingled roof, with a pretty verandah in front.

A stout gentleman, a few grey hairs sprinkling his head and large bushy beard, came out to meet us, and on hearing from Hector who we were, welcomed us cordially.

Our cousins took our horses, which they turned into a small paddock containing a shed at one end to afford shelter to the animals.

We then entered the house, where we were introduced to the hostess, a tall lady, somewhat sallow and careworn, but with considerable animation in her manner. We were next made known to three young ladies, two of whom we understood were Misses Strong and a third Clara Mayne, a friend; besides these there were three young children. In a short time, two tall lads, sunburnt, and sinewy, made their appearance with stock whips in their hands and broad-brimmed hats on their heads.

“You have not seen them all yet,” observed our hostess.

Two more young men came in, one somewhat older than Guy, the other about my own age, and I found that they also were cousins. Altogether a goodly company sat down to the evening meal. We all waited on ourselves, there being no female helps in the household.

A rattling conversation was kept up, the young men describing to their father the events of the day, while we had to give an account of our adventures from the time of our landing. They were all highly interested in hearing of Bracewell being stuck up by bushrangers and how we had rescued him.

“We must put a stop to the career of those gentlemen,” observed Mr Strong. “We have heard before this of their doings, and I have even considered it prudent not to leave the ladies alone in the house without two or three men as guards; a most abominable inconvenience, and yet, from knowing the atrocities of which they are capable, I consider it absolutely necessary.”

The blacks, he said, had also been troublesome. A large mob who had been wandering about in that part of the country, might, he thought it possible, take it into their heads, to pay the station a visit; though it was not likely that they would do harm should they find his people prepared for them.

After a pleasant evening, we were shown to the room we were to occupy in one of the other sheds where three of our cousins also slept. One of the elder ones was called in the night to mount guard, and we found that a watch was regularly kept in case either bushrangers or blacks should make their appearance.

Next morning our cousins invited us to accompany them to drive in another mob of cattle for the purpose of mustering and branding the calves. We proposed riding our own horses, but they laughed at the notion.

“You’d get run down to a certainty,” said Hector. “As we go along I’ll tell you what you’ll have to do, for there’s nothing like beginning at once.”

We were in the saddle before daylight, having first breakfasted, when we found a mob of sixty or eighty tame cattle, a short distance from the station.

“What are they for?” I asked.

“They are coaches!” answered Hector. “We use them to entice the wild ones, who take shelter among them, and then the whole are more easily driven into the stock yards.”

The animals quietly pursued their way, going wherever their drivers chose to direct them. We mustered a dozen horsemen. On arriving close to the run where the wild cattle were known to be, three of the men remained with the coaches, and the rest of us rode forward, dividing into two parties, the one going to the right, the other to the left, so as to encircle the whole camp,—the name given to the spot where the wild cattle congregate. The country had a very wild appearance, there were rocks and hills and fallen trees in all directions, and I guessed that we should have a pretty rough ride. Our object was to drive the cattle towards the coaches and to prevent any of them turning back and breaking through the line we formed in their rear. We were accompanied, I should have said, by a pack of dogs, of a somewhat mongrel appearance, of all sizes and shapes. On arriving at the camp one of the best mounted stockmen went ahead to lead the cattle, which curiously enough always follow where they see another animal going, and now the work began.

Cracking our whips and shouting at the top of our voices, off we started over the rough ground, now dashing up a hill, now descending the steep side of another, our animals springing and dodging about to avoid rocks and other obstructions. Now we leaped over trees, twisting and turning in every direction to avoid the standing stumps and jumping over scattered logs; now we had to force our way through a thick patch of saplings which caught us as in a net. Not occasionally but every moment some of the cattle would turn and attempt to break through, some of our party having immediately to wheel round, with loud cracks of their whips, and make the beasts head the other way. None of us seemed to think of the danger we were running. Though Guy and I were good horsemen it was pretty hard work for us, and our whips were but of little use as we could not make them crack like the rest of the party. The cows gave us most trouble, but the dogs hung on to the animals, some catching them by the nose, others by the heels or tails, not ceasing to worry them until they took the required direction.

As we were riding along, after we had got free of the bush, a huge bull made a dash out, attempting to escape. I galloped after him, belabouring him with my whip, and in spite of his continuing to try and toss me, turned him back into the herd.

“Well done, Maurice,” exclaimed Hector, “you’ll make a first-rate stockman, but you must practise with your whip before you can become as expert as is necessary.”

We visited, in the course of a day or two, other camps in which the wild cattle were collected in the same fashion; when, led by the coaches, the whole were driven into the yards, as they are called, situated at the head station. Here they were allowed to remain until next morning when the operation of mustering and branding commenced. The yard was so divided that the cattle required for the various purposes were driven into different compartments; the calves into one, the cattle to be slaughtered into another, and those to be turned loose again, into a third, while the stockmen from two or three neighbouring stations attended to claim any of their masters’ cattle which had got in among Mr Strong’s.

A calf having been lassoed, it was hauled up and its head held down by a plank, when a hot brand was handed to a man standing ready to press it against the creature’s skin, where an indelible mark was left, when the little bellower was allowed to rise and make its escape into another pen.

Guy and I were not of much use, but we saw everything going forward, and lent a hand whenever we could.

“Now, my lads,” said Mr Strong to us the next day; “I see the stuff you are made of. You’ll do, and if you like to remain with me to learn all you ought to know, you are welcome; after that you can decide what course you will follow.”

We had been some days at the station when a person arrived who had occasionally been spoken of as Mr Kimber. He acted as tutor to our host’s younger sons as he did also to another family in the neighbourhood. He was a graduate of one of our leading universities, and had been found by Mr Strong in the humble capacity of hut-keeper on a neighbouring station, a situation he was compelled to take in consequence of having expended the whole of his means. His present occupation was more in accordance with his tastes, although his salary was, I suspect, not very considerable. He was evidently not cut out for an Australian settler, for though he could manage to stick on horseback, as Hector observed, “he preferred a walk to a gallop;” while he persisted in wearing a stove-pipe hat and a swallow-tail coat, which he evidently considered a more dignified costume than the straw hat and red shirt generally worn by all ranks in the bush. He was amusing from the simplicity of his remarks, and as he was honest and well-informed, Mr Strong was really glad to retain him.

We had been expecting a visit from Bracewell, as Guy had written to him to tell him that we were still remaining with our relative, who did not appear to have any idea of leaving his station, but he had received no answer.

Mr Kimber gave two days of the week to the family of a Captain Mason, who owned the station next to Mr Strong’s. His plan was to ride over early in the morning of one day and to return late in the evening of the next.

After we had become tolerably intimate he invited me to accompany him, and to assist in teaching two of the younger boys. As I wished to become acquainted with Captain Mason, and to see his station, I readily accepted his invitation. I found a family very similar to that of Mr Strong, and quite as numerous; the girls and boys tall and lithe, but as active as crickets. The girls told me to tell my cousins that they would ride over some day to see them, as soon as those abominable bushrangers had been captured.

We started somewhat later than usual from Captain Mason’s, but the “Dominie,” as the boys called him, had frequently traversed the road, and assured me that he knew it perfectly. We pushed on, however, as fast as we could go, wishing to get in before dark, as my companion confided to me the fact that he felt not a little nervous about the bushrangers, of whose atrocious deeds the young Masons had been telling him—the murders they had committed, the huts they had attacked, and the number of people they had stuck up. I could not disprove the statements, though I believe the accounts greatly exaggerated, and I described to him the way we had driven the fellows off by the exhibition of firmness and courage.

“All very well in daylight,” he observed; “but suppose the villains were to pop up from behind the bushes on the other side of the road, and order us to stand and deliver, and to threaten to shoot us if we attempted to draw our pistols,—and by the bye I haven’t any to draw,—what should we do?”

“Put spurs to our horses and gallop out of their way,” I answered. “They wouldn’t dare to fire, and if they did, the chances are they would miss us. We must run some danger in this country, and the risk is not nearly so great as riding after wild cattle as we have still to do, so pray do not make yourself unhappy on the subject.”

Still, I saw that my companion looked anxiously about him, especially as it began to grow dusk, immediately after which darkness came on, and we were compelled to moderate our speed for fear of getting a knock on our heads from overhanging branches, or riding against fallen logs.

Eager as the dominie was to get on, not being a first-rate horseman he went even slower than was necessary. We were passing through a thickish part of the forest, when, reining in his steed, he whispered to me in a tremulous voice—“Pull up, pray do, I hear the tramp of horses’ feet. Suppose they should be bushrangers, they might shoot us down before we had time to escape.”

I reined in my steed to listen for the sounds which his sensitive ear had detected. “They may be simply wild cattle, or riderless horses, taking a scamper,” I observed, laughing.

“Oh, no; they don’t move about after dark,” he said; “they must be mounted horses, do let us remain quiet until we ascertain who the people are.”

“They are very likely some of the young Strongs coming out to meet us,” I remarked.

Scarcely had I said this, however, than I caught sight of two horsemen riding across an open glade some distance off. There was sufficient light for me to make out the figures distinctly. One was a big fellow in a rough garb, the other was slighter, and both were armed. Presently afterwards two others came into view, the moonbeams glancing on the barrels of their rifles, showing that they also were armed. I fully expected that they would discover us, and I intended if they did so boldly to ride up and enquire where they were going. They galloped on, however, without perceiving us. As I alone had arms I felt that it would be folly to interfere with them, as we might run the risk of being shot, while we could gain no possible advantage. I therefore remained perfectly quiet, and in another minute they were out of sight. They were going in the direction of Captain Mason’s station. They would be, however, mistaken, I hoped, if they expected to surprise our friends; who had assured me that they kept a watch by night and day, and were well prepared for such gentry.

As soon as they were out of hearing, we rode on; the dominie I saw feeling far from happy, as every now and then he turned his head over his shoulder to assure himself that we were not followed.

The moon, which had now risen high in the sky, afforded us ample light to see our way. As the country became more open, we were able to push on as fast as we could go.

We were to have another adventure. While still some distance from home, the loud lowing of a cow reached our ears. The animal was evidently alarmed at something. Galloping towards it, we found on getting up that she was endeavouring to protect her calf from the attack of a dozen dingoes. Now she would run at one with her sharp horns, now at another, but the moment she had gone in one direction the brutes would assail her helpless young one. They were not even deterred by our approach.

“We must put an end to these dingoes!” I exclaimed. Unstrapping one of my stirrup irons and using it as a weapon, I singled out one of the wild dogs, and succeeded, after several attempts, in giving it a blow on the head which brought it to the ground. I then attacked another, which I treated in the same fashion. The dominie tried to imitate me but very nearly tumbled over on his nose, though he assisted in protecting the calf by driving off the cowardly brutes. The cow at last pinned one to the ground with her horns, and then turning round attacked it with her heels until she well-nigh pounded it into a jelly. At length the survivors took to flight.

“We have killed three at at all events,” remarked the dominie.

“Not so sure of that,” I answered as we rode away, and turning my head, I observed that one of the dingoes was beginning to move. I turned round, when it lay perfectly still, but it had crept on half a dozen yards at least.

I gave it a few more blows with my stirrup iron, and then getting out my knife cut its throat. I treated its companions in the same manner, as I did not feel sure that the one the cow had tossed was really dead, so tenacious of life are the brutes.

I do not know whether the cow was grateful, but we left her licking her calf where the dingoes had bitten it. When we drew in sight of the station we saw Hector and his elder brother Ralph coming to meet us.

“We got somewhat anxious about your being so much later than usual,” said the latter. “We have had a visit from some suspicious characters who said that they were in search of work and had lost their way, and begged that they might have a night’s lodging in one of the out-houses, and some supper and breakfast, and that one or two of us would ride along with them in the morning to show them the road to the next station. As, however, Hector had detected a brace of pistols under the shirt of the man who spoke, and saw that the others had long knives in their belts, while their countenances were of the most villainous cast, we refused to comply with their wishes, and told them that they must ride on and camp out as they had evidently previously been doing.”

“I did not think all had villainous countenances,” said Hector; “there was one good-looking young fellow among them. He kept in the background and said nothing. However, I had no doubt of what they were, and they showed it by riding away when they found that we were not to be taken in. Oliver followed them, when they stopped at a piece of scrub, from which they each drew forth a rifle and several other articles, still further proving that they had some treacherous design in coming to the station.”

Chapter Five.

The account we brought of the direction the supposed bushrangers were riding convinced Mr Strong that such was their character, and that pressed for food and ammunition, probably for both, they were going to some other station to supply their wants by force. We, however, heard nothing of them, nor had they, we found, visited Captain Mason’s station, and in what direction they had gone we could not ascertain.

Some days after the events I have described, a stockman who had been engaged by Mr Strong’s agent arrived. He had stopped at Bracewell’s, and brought the sad intelligence that our friend was ill, and that he had expressed a strong wish that either Guy or I should come and stay with him. He also greatly wanted medical advice. No doctor was to be found within sixty miles of the station. Guy and I were eager to go to the assistance of our friend, and Mr Strong gave both of us leave. Hector having some business to transact for his father at the chief town, and the dominie, who we found had a considerable amount of medical knowledge, offered to go if he could be spared for a few days. To this Mr Strong did not object, and before daylight the next morning we set off carrying huge saddle-bags in which the articles we required were stowed. Those of the dominie contained his medicine chest—not a very large one, but well suited for the bush, where Morrison’s pills are more in request than drugs in general. We were accompanied by two dogs, one of which had from my first arrival especially attached himself to me, and Hector, to whom he belonged, had made me a present of him.

Though anxious about our friend we were all in high spirits at the prospect of a gallop across the country, which few people in good health could fail to enjoy. Even the dominie forgot his fears of bushrangers and mials, or wild blacks.

Our road lay through a lightly timbered country, and here and there patches of scrub consisting of a sweet-scented wattle. We saw pigeons in abundance, and at times a kangaroo hopped away before us. The grass, owing to the heat of the weather, was rather yellow than green, but we knew that a few showers would soon change its hue. After traversing this country for several miles, we saw some trees evidently much larger than those round us. As we drew near, the vegetation below us looked green, a sign that we were approaching a creek or water-hole. Just then we caught sight of three kangaroos leisurely cropping the grass. Before, however, we could unsling our rifles, they winded us and bounded away at a rate which would have made it hopeless to follow them unless we had been accompanied by native dogs and were prepared for a long chase. We accordingly unsaddled at the hole, which was full of unusually clear water, a luxury not often obtained in the bush. The grass, also, beneath the trees being shaded was closer and greener than that elsewhere; they were mostly tea-trees and gum-trees, many of them growing to a good size. Among the boughs we saw numbers of white cockatoos, parrots, laughing-jackasses, and many other birds, who received us, as we prepared to camp for our noon-day meal, with a loud chorus of varied cries.

Having allowed our horses some time to feed, we again mounted and rode forward. We camped again at night at another water-hole, and were at an early hour the next morning once more in our saddles.

We had proceeded some little distance, when I observed that Guy’s horse had gone lame, and presently it made a fearful stumble from which he could with difficulty recover it.

“I am afraid that I must get off and walk, and give the horse a chance of recovering himself,” said Guy.

We pulled up, and Hector examined the animal’s hoofs. A sharp thorn had run into his right fore-foot, and though Hector extracted it, the animal still remained as lame as before. We should not, under ordinary circumstances, have minded the delay, but knowing how ill Bracewell was we were much annoyed.

At last Hector offered to remain with Guy, if the dominie and I would ride on. To this proposal I was very glad to accede.

The dominie at first looked a little uncomfortable at having to proceed with a single companion.

“Suppose we were to fall in with bushrangers,” he observed. “What should we do?”

“Shoot them through the head if they offer to interfere with you,” said Hector. “You are always thinking of those fellows. The chances are they cleared out of our district long ago when they found that we were prepared for them.”

“You may do our friend Bracewell a great deal of good,” I observed, “for you at all events know more about doctoring than any of us. You can discover what is the matter with him.”

“I certainly will not decline doing what you say,” he answered, and seeing to our saddle-girths we prepared for a gallop which would bring us up to Bracewell’s station before nightfall, Hector and Guy promising to follow as fast as they could, although they would have to camp out another night. We started off. The dominie had lately improved in his horsemanship, and we made good play over the ground. I felt sure that I knew the way, as the track between the two stations was tolerably well defined. There were only two places, of no great extent, passing through which we should have to pull rein. At the first the ground was unusually rough and rocky, with thick underwood. We got over it, however, and soon afterwards had to pass through a gorge in the only range of hills we had to cross. The path was narrow, so that we could not conveniently ride side by side. I therefore, as guide, took the lead, and had unintentionally got some way ahead of the dominie, when I heard him cry out, and turning round to see what was the matter I found my right arm seized by a fellow who had sprung out from behind a rock while another grasped my horse’s rein, and the next instant I was dragged to the ground.

“Stuck up at last, young master,” cried a voice which I recognised as that of the tall bushranger Guy and I had before encountered and driven off. “Do not be a fool and show fight, or I’ll blow your brains out. Here, hand out what you’ve got about you. You may think yourself fortunate if we leave you the clothes on your back, but we don’t want them. Do as I tell you, down on your knees and stay there, while I feel your pockets.”

As may be supposed I did not carry much money in the bush, but on leaving home I had put a couple of sovereigns in my pocket. My rifle, of course, I expected to lose.

While the bushranger was performing the operation of cleaning me out, a savage bull-dog approached, and I thought was going to fly at me, but I found his eyes were directed towards some object at my back, which proved to be my faithful Carlo, who, however ready to do battle in my cause, thought it prudent, in the presence of a superior force, to yield to circumstances.

All this time I could not see what was happening to the dominie, but I concluded that he would wisely not attempt to make any resistance, and that he was being cleaned out as I was. I did not again hear his voice, and as the bushranger swore that he would shoot me through the head should I move, I thought it as well not to look round lest he should put his threat into execution. The fellow who had taken my horse now picked up my gun and carried it off to a short distance. Two of them then produced a rope, intending, I concluded, to treat the dominie and me as they had Bracewell.

As the man who stood over me returned his pistol to his belt, I took a glance round to try and ascertain what had become of my companion, but he was nowhere to be seen, and I feared, therefore, that they intended to bind him to a tree at such a distance that we could hold no communication with each other. My dog Carlo was also not to be seen; I felt, however, nearly sure that the bushrangers had not carried him off. I had often remarked his peculiar sagacity, and hoped that, finding he could do me no good, he had kept out of the way to avoid the risk of being either killed or captured. I soon found that my anticipations were correct. The bushranger now holding a pistol to my head made me get up and walk to a tree some distance from the track, so that should any travellers pass by I should not be discovered. I might have acted a more heroic part had I struggled desperately, seized a pistol, and attempted to blow out the brains of one of the ruffians; but as I felt that it was more than likely I should lose my own life, I considered it wiser to yield with calmness and dignity.

The villains were well up to their work, and having secured my hands behind me, they fastened me in so effectual a way to a tree, that I could not possibly set myself at liberty.

Without speaking another word to me, the big bushranger led off my horse, carrying with him my gun and articles he had taken from me, and disappeared among the trees. I saw two other persons leading a horse, going in the same direction, one of whom I felt sure, from his figure, was Vinson, though I did not see his countenance. Indeed, I suspect that he had unintentionally avoided coming near me.

As soon as the bushrangers had gone, I looked round in search of the dominie, but could nowhere discover him. I could scarcely hope that he had escaped, or, if he had, that he had got off on horseback. I felt nearly sure that the horse I had just seen led away by the robbers was his. I was thus left in doubt how they had treated him, whether they had bound him as they had me, or used greater violence. As soon as I fancied that they had gone off to a sufficient distance not to hear me, I shouted to the dominie, hoping to hear a reply. Not a sound reached my ears, and I began seriously to apprehend that they had knocked him on the head or stabbed him. I remembered the dread he had always expressed of the bushrangers, and I thought it possible that he might have had some especial reason for fearing them. Perhaps he had known one of them, or might have attempted at some time or other to betray them into the hands of the police.

After shouting in vain for some minutes, I began to lose all hope of receiving a reply. What had become of Carlo, I could not tell; I feared that the bushrangers must have killed him, as I felt nearly sure that he would not have deserted me, either to make his escape from the scene of danger, or to follow them. I should have been glad to have him by my side for the sake of companionship; it also struck me that should he come, he might possibly be able to bite through the thongs if I could show him what I wanted done. I called to him several times, but he did not appear. At last I arrived at the conclusion that the bushrangers had killed him. I now began to think of my own dangerous position, while thus utterly unable to defend myself. If discovered by hostile blacks, they would make me a target for their spears, or a pack of dingoes might attack me. I never had heard of their assaulting a living man, but I saw no reason why they should not do so, should they discover that I had no means of defending myself. A snake or scorpion might bite me, and mosquitoes or other stinging insects were sure to find me out and annoy me; while I had the prospect of remaining without water or food for hours, or perhaps days to come, when I might at last perish from hunger and thirst. Such and other gloomy thoughts passed through my mind. I had not from the first struggled, for I felt sure that I should thus tighten the thongs which bound me. Now, however, I set to work calmly to try and release myself, by drawing up one of my hands, hoping that if I could but get my head low enough to reach the thong round my arm, I might in time gnaw it through; but after making a variety of efforts I found that the attempt was vain, and giving it up, I resigned myself to my fate, whatever that might be.

Still it must be understood that I did not altogether lose hope. There was the possible chance of the dominie having escaped, and that some traveller might be coming by and release me, as Guy and I had released Bracewell. Still many hours might pass before then, and I was already suffering from thirst, though I was not troubled by hunger. Being out of the path, I could only hope to attract attention from passers-by by shouting as I heard the sound of their horses’ footsteps. This I could do as long as I retained my senses, but I might, I feared, drop off into a state of stupor, and those who might have released me might be close at hand without my knowing it.

Suddenly I thought I would make one more attempt to ascertain if the dominie was within hearing. I shouted as loud as I could bawl, and then gave a cooey, which would reach further than any other sound. I listened; a faint cry came from a distance. It was the dominie’s voice, I thought, but could not make out what he said. The tones were melancholy in the extreme. It might be some consolation to him, poor fellow, to know that I was alive, and I no longer doubted that the bushrangers had treated him in the same manner that they had me, though I suspected that he had been either stunned or so frightened that he had not before heard my shouts or been able to reply. I intended every now and then to give him a hail, when it occurred to me that our voices might attract any blacks passing at a distance, and that we should thus increase the risk of being killed by them.

I could scare sly tell how the hours went by. At length darkness came on, and I began to doze. It was the best thing I could do, as it prevented me from feeling either hunger or thirst. I was, however, quickly awakened by the thongs cutting my limbs as I bent forward. I then tried to lean against the tree with my feet out, and in that position I escaped the pressure on my limbs, and was at last able to drop off to sleep. My slumbers, as may be supposed, were far from pleasant, indeed I was conscious all the time that something disagreeable had happened; but still, by thus snatching a few intervals of sleep, I found that the night passed away faster than I should have supposed possible. Strange sounds occasionally reached my ears. I fancied that I heard in the distance the yelping and barking of a pack of dingoes, and as the brutes often hunt together in considerable numbers, I dreaded that they might find out the dominie and me, and tear us to pieces. With intense relief I saw the streaks of dawn appear in the sky. The laughing-jackass uttered his cheerful notes, and parrots and other birds began to chirp and screech and chatter. The sound tended somewhat to raise my spirits, though the pangs of hunger and thirst which now oppressed me soon became insupportable. As in daylight the blacks might be passing, I was afraid of attracting their attention by crying out, so that I was unable to ascertain how it fared with the poor dominie. When the sun rose, the heat became oppressive, and the insects began to buzz about my face, while I had no power to drive them off.

This annoyance was trying in the extreme. I spluttered and spat, and winked my eyes, and shook my head, to very little effect; and although the creatures did not often bite me, their buzzing and tickling almost drove me mad. At last a sound struck my ear. It was the bay of a hound, then came a bark, and the next instant the faithful Carlo bounded up to me, and licking my face, soon drove off the flies. Then, having exhibited his delight, away he went barking cheerfully. Presently the sound of the tramping of horses’ hoofs reached my ears, but on a sudden, the sound ceased, and I feared that I had been deceived; but then it occurred to me that the rider had discovered the dominie, and was stopping to set him at liberty. In a few seconds I caught sight of a horseman. It was my brother Guy, who came galloping up to me. Throwing himself from his saddle, without stopping to ask questions he cut the thongs which bound me to the tree.

“You looked so pale that I thought that was the first thing to do,” said Guy, as he supported me in his arms, and gradually let me sink down on the ground, for I could not stand. “Hector is looking after the dominie, he is even in a worse condition than you are.”

“I am fearfully thirsty,” I said.

“I knew you must be,” he replied, applying a water-bottle to my mouth.

The draught, which was tolerably cool, had an almost instantaneous effect, and I was at once able to get up on my feet.

“We thought something had happened when Carlo, rushing back, came barking and pulling at our trousers; and as soon as we could catch our horses, in spite of the lameness of mine, we started off. We could not travel fast at night, but immediately day broke we galloped on; and I am thankful indeed, my dear Maurice, to find you uninjured—but how did you get into this plight?”

I briefly told him of the way the bushrangers had stuck me up.

“The villains! I wish that we could find them. Now, get up on my horse, and we will go to where I left Hector and the dominie. We’ll breakfast as soon as we can reach a water-hole. We passed one a little way back, and we must then try and get on to Bracewell’s as soon as possible.”

With his assistance, I mounted his horse, and we soon reached the spot where Hector was attending to the dominie, who was slowly recovering. I really believe, from the condition he was in, that he would soon have died. One of the ruffians had struck him over the head with the butt of his pistol, but he had suffered more from fear than from the blow, for he fully believed that they were going to put him to death. He was lifted on Hector’s horse, and we soon reached the water-hole. The fire was quickly lighted, and after a good breakfast on a paddy-melon—a small species of kangaroo—which Hector had shot the previous evening, we felt greatly revived, and fully able to continue the journey; indeed, I felt myself as strong as ever. Guy and Hector ran alongside the horses, and we made good progress. We had reached an open part of the country, when we caught sight of a figure seated on a fallen log. His back was towards us, and he did not appear to notice our approach; indeed, so motionless did he sit, that he might have been mistaken for a bronze statue. He had not a rag round his body, but on his shoulders were a number of raised marks, produced by making slashes in the skin, and filling them up with clay, so that when the wound healed, an elevated scar was made. His hair was fastened in a top-knot, and he had a long pointed beard, with moustache on his lips, his prominent nose having nothing of the negro character about it. Fastened to a belt round his waist was a snake and a little kangaroo rat, on which he evidently intended to make his dinner. A cord round his neck supported a shell ornament in front, and a tassel behind completed his costume. I describe him, of course, not as we saw him when at a distance, but according to the appearance he presented on a further acquaintance. Suddenly, as we came upon him, he seemed in no way alarmed; but, jumping up, he seized his spear and throwing-stick which lay on the ground at his side. Seeing, however, that he could not possibly escape us, he made no attempt to run.

As we approached, Hector, who from a long intercourse with the blacks was able to make him understand what he said, inquired whether he had seen any white men passing that way, and should he have done so, whether he could tell us who they were.

The black, without hesitation, replied, saying, that he had seen no less than four, that they were armed with guns, and were leading a couple of horses.

“That looks suspicious. They must have been the bushrangers,” observed Hector; “and if—as I think possible—they are not far off, we must try and capture the fellows, or at all events recover our horses.”

Hector, who closely questioned the black, was satisfied that he wished to be honest, and accordingly asked him if he thought that he could track the bushrangers. He replied, without hesitation, that if he once came upon their trail he could do so.

“Lead on, then,” said Hector.

Anxious as we were to get to Bracewell’s, it was important to recover our horses, and if possible to capture the robbers. We were five against four, for having promised the black a handsome reward, if we should catch one or more of the villains, we could trust to his aid, and his spear would be of as much use as our guns at close quarters; but we could not reckon much on the assistance of the dominie, whose nervousness we thought would prevent him from doing what was necessary.

We had not gone far, when the black declared positively, that he had found the trail of the robbers, and that probably they would be encamped at a water-hole not far off.

Our undertaking was one requiring the greatest caution, for they were certain to be on the watch, and being well armed, would prove formidable opponents. We might, to be sure, steal upon them during the darkness of night and shoot them down, but we had no wish to do that; our object was to recover our property and bring them to justice. The black showed himself to be an admirable scout. The evening was drawing on when he told us that we were not far from where he expected to find them. How it happened that they had not ridden to a distance, it was impossible to say; probably the spot they had chosen, being out of the high road, they did not expect to be discovered.

Securing our horses in a thick scrub, where they were completely concealed, we cautiously advanced, the black going ahead. It was by this time getting quite dark. Our great fear was that the dog they had with them would wind us, and if so it would be necessary to shoot the creature as it approached. This, of course, would give them the alarm, though we hoped to spring upon them and knock over two or three before they could escape. The horses were probably feeding at a distance, and the saddles and baggage would be at the camp.

We were noiselessly making our way, when the black signed to us to halt, and then began to creep forward. Anxious to have a look at the fellows I followed his example, carrying my pistols in my belt, and I found that Carlo was close at my heels, evidently aware that danger was at hand. At last the black stopped, when I joined him; and looking over some low shrubs, I saw the four bushrangers seated round a fire, their saddles and baggage and their guns lying on the ground near them. They evidently did not suppose that there was any chance of their being attacked. The only one of their party who seemed to be on the watch was their bull-dog, who, lifting up his head, turned his eyes towards us. The wind was blowing from them to us, or the dog would have smelt us out. As it was I fully expected every moment to see him dash forward with a loud bark to where we lay. I did not dare to move, and scarcely, indeed, to breathe.

After watching for some time, the black began slowly to retreat, and I was truly thankful when we got out of hearing of their voices.

Chapter Six.

When I got back to my friends we held a consultation as to our best mode of proceeding. It was agreed that we would wait until the bushrangers separated, which they were sure to do in the morning, and then rush on those in the camp while the others were away. The dog would prove the chief obstacle, and it was settled that I was to shoot him while Hector and Guy should dash into their camp. Two of the men would in all probability remain, while the others went to look after the horses, leaving their arms behind them. The dominie was to remain with the horses in case any of the fellows escaping might gallop off with them.

We waited until about a couple of hours to dawn, when we crept forward, led by the black. We dared not approach as close as we could have wished, on account of their watch-dog, who would be certain to give the alarm. Our plans being arranged, the dominie and I lay down, and, wearied with what we had lately gone through, slept for the greater part of the night.

It was still dusk when, having crept up to the robbers’ camp, we saw one of them get up and throw some sticks on the fire. He then aroused his companions, and two of them, the big bushranger and one I took to be Vinson, went off, as we concluded, to bring in the horses, happily leaving their guns behind them.

Now was our opportunity. At a signal from Hector, we rose to our feet, and holding our guns ready to fire, rushed towards the two men, who were engaged in cooking their breakfast. The bull-dog, with a fierce bark, sprang towards us. As he did so, the black with his spear nearly fixed the brute to the ground, which saved me from having to fire, and thus alarming the other two. One of the men attempted to take up his gun, but it was beyond his reach; he, however, seized from the fire a thick stick, with which he made a blow at my head; but at that instant my brave Carlo sprang at his throat with a force which brought him to the ground. Hector and Guy were in the meantime struggling with the other man, whom they succeeded in securing. Having lashed his arms behind him, they were at liberty to come to my assistance, and soon firmly bound the fellow Carlo had overthrown, for I had not struck a blow. On examining the countenances of the men we discovered that they were both strangers. The big bushranger and Vinson, who were, we had little doubt, the other two we had seen, had gone off probably to catch the horses. Having left their arms behind them they were in our power, but it was a great question whether we could manage to capture them. They would probably be back in a few minutes, and we had at once to decide how to act.

“I have a bright idea,” exclaimed Guy; “I tell you what we will do. We’ll gag these two fellows to prevent them from crying out, and drag them behind those bushes close to the camp. You, Maurice, and the black, being also concealed, must threaten to shoot them if they attempt to make any noise. Hector and I will then take their places at the fire, and pretend to be cooking the breakfast. As there will not be much light for some time, the other men when they return will not at first discover us, and we shall be able to point our rifles and order them to give in before they are aware of the trap we have laid. To make things more certain, we’ll put on our prisoners’ cabbage straw hats and red shirts, so that the chances are that they will get close up before they find out their mistake.”

Hector and I highly approving of Guy’s suggestion, we immediately set about putting it into execution. The black, who, being a remarkably intelligent fellow, fully understood our object, seemed highly delighted, grinning from ear to ear, as he assisted us.

We quickly gagged our prisoners, and then, dragging them behind the bushes, took off their shirts and hats, which, as they were far from clean, I was secretly glad I had not got to wear. Guy and Hector put them on, and then examining the fire-arms to ascertain if they were properly loaded, drew them close to the fire, before which they sat down. While one turned the spits on which they had put some meat to roast, the other employed himself in chopping up sticks and placing them on the fire. So exactly did they act the parts in which we had found our present prisoners engaged, that I felt sure the other men would not suspect the trap laid for them until they were close up to the camp. It was to be hoped that both would come at the same time, for if not, though we might seize one, the other would probably be warned, and make his escape. There was a risk, of course, that they would come across the dominie and the horses, and if so, would guess that we had discovered their camp, and would at all events be on their guard. Guy had, however, especially charged the dominie that should the bushrangers by any accident discover him, he was to keep them at a distance by threatening to fire if they approached.

While my brother and Hector were bending over the fire as I have described, I kept peering through the bushes, keeping one eye on our two prisoners, though I felt sure that the black would watch them carefully as he squatted down by their side with a sharp knife in his hand. It was a nervous time, but we had not long to wait before we heard the dull sound of galloping feet, and several horses came in sight, followed by the big bushranger mounted on a powerful steed. I could nowhere see Vinson, so that he at all events would have a chance of escaping. The horses came rushing on, and as they got near the fire separated, some on one side, some on the other. With an oath the big man shouted out—

“Why don’t you stop them, you fellows?” The two figures bending over the fire did not appear to hear him, until, throwing himself from his horse, he approached them; when, snatching up their rifles, they suddenly turned round and presented the barrels at his head.

“Hands up, or we fire!” cried Guy and Hector in the same breath.

Notwithstanding this warning the bushranger’s right hand instantly moved towards the butt of the pistol in his belt, his left still holding the rein; he, however, quickly changed his mind, for he well knew, should he attempt to draw his weapon, before he could present it a couple of balls might be crashing through his brain. Another oath escaped his lips.

“Caught at last,” he cried out, as if he was going to yield, but the next instant with a bound he was in his saddle, leaning forward at the same time, so that the horse’s neck might protect his head. Guy fired.

The bullet only grazed the fellow’s shoulder. I was taking aim at the fugitive, when another person appeared, driving before him the remainder of the horses. Forgetting for a moment that the bushranger’s guns lay beside my brother and Hector, but recollecting that the big fellow had a brace of pistols in his belt, I was afraid of firing lest I should miss; and that he, coming back, would turn the tables on us. The next instant Hector and Guy had each picked up a gun. The big bushranger had, however, already got to a considerable distance, and although both fired, he continued his course, apparently uninjured.

While they were reloading, the fourth man, whom I took to be Vinson, had disappeared. We all three immediately rushed out to stop the horses, and succeeded in catching our own and two others. Our own saddles were in the robber’s camp, so all we had to do was to put them on ready for a start. We then placed our prisoners on the backs of the other two, securing their legs under the horses’ bellies, and fastening long leathern thongs to the bridles. We then, carrying off the ammunition, and two of the guns as trophies, smashed up the others, and threw the saddles and the few articles of baggage we found, on the fire, retaining, however, one or two things which were likely to prove acceptable to our black guide, who was highly delighted with his share of the plunder. Hoping to receive a further reward, he undertook to accompany us to Bracewell’s, and to lead our prisoners’ horses. We thought it prudent, however, not to trust him too much, though we accepted his offer, provided he could keep up to us.

We were anxious as soon as possible to hand our prisoners over to the police, lest their two comrades, still at large, with others of the gang they might fall in with, should attempt their rescue; but we felt pretty secure, as they would know that, so long as we were on the watch, they were not likely to succeed. Should we, however, be kept out another night, they would compel us to be very vigilant, while we should have to guard both ourselves and the horses.

Although the two bushrangers had escaped, we had succeeded in breaking up the gang, and without guns and ammunition they would have great difficulty in supporting themselves; while the two we had made prisoners would probably, on their trial, be ready to give such information as might assist in the capture of others.

Leading on our prisoners, we now set out to return to where we had left the dominie.

We had, I should have said, hurriedly eaten some of the provisions Guy and Hector had cooked, and we took the remainder so that no time need be lost in proceeding to Bracewell’s.

On reaching the spot, what was our dismay to see neither the dominie nor the horses. We shouted to him, but no reply came.

“What can have become of him?” exclaimed Guy. “Those fellows must have fallen in with him, and compelled him to accompany them.”

“I do not think that is possible,” I remarked, “for they went off in a different direction. Still his disappearance is very mysterious. We must try to learn what the black thinks about the matter.”

We inquired of our guide, by signs and such words as he understood.

He examined the ground on every side and then started off at a run in a southerly direction, and on closer examination we discovered traces of the horses.

After waiting some time, as the black did not return, Guy proposed that Hector should stay by the prisoners and the two animals we had recovered, while he and I went in search of our missing friend.

Hector undertook to do as proposed.

“I’ll hobble all four of them,” he observed, “and there’ll be no risk of their getting away.”

Not wishing to lose more time we started. After going on for some time we got separated, and I found to my right a deep gully, with steep cliff-like banks, mostly covered with trees of a character which showed that there was generally an abundance of water; indeed, I observed several small pools, joined by a trickling rivulet three or four feet only in width.

As I went along, I shouted out our friend’s name. At last I heard the tramp of horses, and looking about, I caught sight through the trees of our two animals with their saddles on their backs, the black following, driving them before him.

I was thankful to find that they had been recovered, though much grieved not to see the dominie, for I naturally feared that some serious accident had happened to him. I now once more returned, intending to rejoin Hector, when I heard a faint shout. It came from the direction of the gully. My hopes revived of finding the dominie. After going on some way, I again heard the shout followed by a cooey which I was sure, however, was not uttered by him. It was the voice either of Guy or Hector.

I cooeyed in return. Soon afterwards another reached my ears, coming from the same direction. At last I gained the summit of a cliff, when, looking down, I saw Guy bending over the prostrate form of a man.

I soon joined my brother, and found that the fallen person was the dominie. Guy was employed in chafing his hands, and trying to restore him to consciousness.

“Can he have been attacked by bushrangers, and thrown here?” I asked.

“I don’t think that,” answered Guy, pointing up to the cliff. “See, he must have fallen over, and striking his head on the ground, have become insensible. Go and get some water from yonder pool in your hat, and I think that if we bathe his head, he will come to.”

I did as Guy desired me, and in a short time we had the satisfaction of seeing our companion revive.

“Have you got the horses?” were the first words he spoke.

“All right!” I answered, “and we have captured two bushrangers into the bargain.”

The news seemed to have a good effect, and now that he had come to himself, he quickly, with our assistance, was able to get up the cliff, when we helped him along.

In a short time we joined Hector, who had caught the horses driven up to him by the black.

We immediately mounted, and Hector taking charge of one prisoner, and Guy of the other, I attended to the dominie. We expected that our black guide would have kept up with the horses, but when he found the rate at which we went, he appeared to have had enough of our society, and, suddenly bolting off into the bush, disappeared.

“It is the way of those black fellows,” observed Hector. “He has obtained more than he expected, and has no fancy to be shot by the bushrangers, should we encounter them; probably, also, he wants to join his gins, who, I dare say, are not far off, though they have kept out of our sight.”

We rode on, when the ground was level breaking into a gallop. The dominie now and then groaned, but when I offered to pull up, he always answered—

“Go on, go on; perhaps those villains will be watching for us; I don’t want to be stuck up again or shot.”

When I observed that they had only pistols, he answered—

“Ah, well! pistols will kill as well as rifles, and we don’t know at what moment they may pounce out from this thick scrub.”

As I thought it possible that they might make an attempt to surprise us, I was not sorry to follow the dominie’s wishes.

We made such good way that I hoped we should reach Bracewell’s before sundown. Late in the day, I began to recognise spots we had passed while staying with him, although so great is the sameness of the country, that I could not feel very certain that such was the case, until I heard Guy, who was ahead, sing out—

“Here we are! I see the top of Bracewell’s hut.”

We gave a cooey to let those at the station know of our approach, and in another moment old Bob came hurrying out to meet us.

“Thankful you’ve come, gentlemen,” he exclaimed; “though Mr Bracewell’s round the corner, he’ll be glad of your society. He’s in terribly low spirits at having only me to look after him. But, whom have you there? Picked up a couple of pirates on the road?”

We soon explained who our captives were. Old Bob shook his fist at them.

“You rascals! You’re caught at last, are you? You’ll be having your legs in chains before long I hope, and not be keeping honest folk in fear of their lives.”

“We must see where we can stow these fellows until we can send for the police,” said Guy.

“We’ll stow them safe enough,” said old Bob, “and, provided we keep their arms lashed behind their backs, and their legs in limbo, they’ll not escape from where I’ll put them.”

The captive bushrangers cast angry glances at the speaker, but as their mouths were still gagged, they could not express their feelings by words.

Before we went in to see Bracewell, we had hauled them off their horses, and under Bob’s directions, dragged them into a hut, which had only one door and one window. He then brought a couple of stout ropes, with which we secured them to the posts which supported the roof, one on either side of the hut, so that they could not reach each other. We next drew the gags from their mouths, expecting that they would make the first use of their tongues by abusing us, but they appeared to be too dull and brutal even to do that. After closing the door and window, we left them to their own devices.

“I’ll take care that they don’t get out during the night. If they try that dodge, I’ll send a bullet through their heads,” muttered old Bob.

Bracewell, who had been asleep when we arrived, awoke as we entered, delighted to see us, and insisted on getting up to do the honours of his hut. Old Bob in the meantime was cooking supper, and a very satisfactory one he managed to produce.

Our coming, as we expected, did our friend a great deal of good, and we hoped that the medicine which the dominie brought would still further restore him.

Old Bob insisted that a guard should be kept on the prisoners, and he offered to stand watch for four hours, provided we three took the remainder of the night between us. To this we could not object, though when he aroused me, I confess that I got up very unwillingly.

I was thankful, however, that his advice was followed. While standing before the door, I heard one of the fellows announce to his comrade that he had got one of his arms free, and that in another minute he would set him at liberty. Had they succeeded in doing this, they would have had no difficulty in working their way out of the hut.

I at once opened the door, and walked up to the fellow with a pistol in my hand. I found that he had really managed to get an arm free, though the moment he saw me he placed it behind him.

I shouted to old Bob, who quickly came to my assistance, and we soon had the fellow more securely fastened than before. We then examined the other. Though he had evidently been trying his best to get out his arms, he had not succeeded. As may be supposed, we did not allow them an opportunity of attempting the same trick again, and when I called up Guy, I charged him to keep a watch on the two fellows, a lantern being placed in the middle of the hut to throw its light upon them.

At day-break Hector rode off to execute the commissions for his father, and at the same time to summon the police.

As our prisoners required our constant attention, we were very thankful when a dozen black troopers came clattering up to the station under the command of an English officer, to whom we handed over the bushrangers, and gave a full description of how they had been caught, and of their two companions who had escaped.

We had, as we expected, to go and give evidence; but, fortunately, as their trial came on at once, we were not long delayed.

By the time we were wanted, Bracewell, thanks to the dominie’s medical skill, had almost entirely recovered. He was able to identify the two men as among the party who had attacked him, we also having found in their possession some of his property which they had taken. The other two were still at large, but the police entertained no doubt that they should catch them before long.

We all returned to Bracewell’s, and I was glad to find that he had accepted an invitation from Mr Strong, to pay him a visit, which he was able to do as he had engaged a trustworthy man to assist old Bob in taking care of the station. We therefore prepared to set out immediately.

Chapter Seven.

We were actually in our saddles and about to set off, when Hector received a letter from his father directing him to return to town to make some further purchases, and to transact other business.

The dominie, who had been expressing a wish to visit the city and buy some books, begged permission to accompany him.

“You go on leisurely, we’ll soon catch you up,” said Hector. “It is a pity that you should be delayed for us.”

Bracewell agreed to this arrangement. As his strength was not completely restored, it was considered advisable that he should make short stages. While we therefore rode on as we intended to the north-west, our friends, borrowing a couple of horses, that their own might be fresh when they returned to the station, galloped off towards the coast.

We were approaching a water-hole by the side of which we proposed encamping the first evening, when we caught sight of a native walking leisurely along with an axe in his hand. He came forward with a confidence which showed that he was accustomed to meet white men, and we recognised, as he approached, our former guide. He appeared to be highly pleased at seeing us, and began jabbering away in a language which neither Guy nor I could understand. Bracewell, who seemed to comprehend him, replied in the same lingo; and then told us that the black had informed him that his tribe was in the neighbourhood and would be happy if we would pay them a visit, that they might show their gratitude for the wealth we had showered upon them.

While he was speaking, another black popped his head out from behind the bushes, when the other called to him, and he came forward. As he was approaching he cast his eyes to the top of a tree, a little distance off, when a few words were exchanged between the two.

They both ran to it and without more ado, began to ascend, cutting slight notches with their axes, just of sufficient size to enable them to put in their toes and fingers.

We watched their proceedings with wonder at the rapidity with which they got up, almost indeed as fast as if they were mounting an ordinary ladder. Round and round the tree they climbed, giving a couple of strokes with their little axes sufficient to make a notch of the required size. Until I saw the confidence with which they proceeded, I expected every moment that they would drop down again to the ground. Though the tree must have been sixty feet high without a branch, they were at the top in less than a minute, when securing themselves they plunged down their hands. While the one drew out an opossum, the other, before the animal could bite him, knocked it on the head and threw it to the ground.

They descended with even greater celerity than they had mounted, and then to our surprise brought the animal to us, apparently as an offering.

Bracewell thanking them, told them to keep it for themselves, which they were evidently well content to do. They accompanied us to the water-hole, where, without being told to do so, they assisted in collecting sticks for a fire.

This being done, we having hobbled our horses, they squatted themselves on the ground to skin their opossum which they then brought to be roasted. The confidence they exhibited in us showed that we might trust them, and we allowed them to go about the camp as they liked, though Bracewell advised that we should keep an eye on our saddle-bags and valises lest the temptation to appropriate their contents might be too great to be resisted.

While we were discussing our supper, they managed to devour the whole of the opossum between them; and then, having stuck some boughs in the ground to form a hut, they lay down side by side beneath them, and were quickly asleep, evidently feeling perfectly secure in our neighbourhood.

Both Guy and I wanted to see more of the natives, and Bracewell consented, should our guests again offer to guide us to their camp, to ride round to it, as it would not take us much out of our way. There was, he said, a few miles off, a large shallow lagoon, near which they were assembled for the purpose of fishing and catching the wild fowl which frequented it; and that we should thus have an opportunity of seeing the way in which they engaged in those pursuits. As he knew the country well, he could easily make his way back to the direct route, so that we could run no risk of missing Hector and the dominie. That Bracewell might enjoy a full night’s rest, Guy and I agreed to keep watch and watch, but he laughed at our proposal, declaring that it was useless.

“But should bushrangers stumble upon us, we might all three be stuck up, and find ourselves minus our horses and rifles,” said Guy.

“No chance of that,” answered Bracewell, “the fellows were certain to clear out of this part of the country, when they knew the police were on their tracks. There is a greater risk from the blacks, though I feel sure those two fellows there can be trusted.”

In spite of Bracewell’s remarks, Guy and I determined to keep to our resolution, and as soon as he was asleep, I rose, and having made up the fire, walked about, endeavouring to keep my eyes open. I tried this for some time, when feeling tired, I sat down with my rifle by my side.

How it was I could not tell, but before long I found myself stretched on the ground, and when I awoke the fire was almost out. Giving a kick to the embers to obtain a flame, I looked at my watch. It was then almost day-break and I thought it useless to rouse my brother. Directly afterwards a chorus of cachinnations from a couple of laughing-jackasses, gave me notice that the morning would soon commence.

I called Guy and Bracewell, who shrewdly suspected what had happened, although as no harm had come of it, they spared me any severe remarks.

While we were breakfasting, the blacks, who had got on their legs, sauntered up to the camp, and begged for some of the tea and damper on which we were regaling ourselves.

To catch our horses, saddle up and mount, did not take us long, and as our new friends repeated their offer, we set off, the blacks running ahead. As they were making their way through scrub some distance ahead, one of them stopped and called to the other, when they each cut a long thin switch and ran towards an object which we just then saw moving in the grass. Presently the wicked-looking head of a large snake rose in the air. The blacks ran towards it, one on either side, and bestowing some sharp blows with their wands, down it dropped. On getting up to the spot, we found that it was a snake between nine and ten feet long.

The blacks seemed to consider it a great prize, for, chopping off the head, one of them slung the body over his shoulder, and they then again went on shouting with glee.

In a short time we arrived at the blacks’ camp. It consisted of a number of rude bowers, such as I have before described, tenanted by a few women, children, and old men, all the active men being out hunting in the lagoon which appeared just beyond.

Riding on we caught sight of a number of black figures, scattered in all directions, engaged in knocking down with their boomerangs some large birds perched on the withered branches of the trees overhanging the water.

Our friends brought us one of the boomerangs to examine. It was a curved piece of wood about two feet two inches from tip to tip, rather more than two inches wide in the middle, and diminishing towards the tips.

We saw bird after bird knocked off the trees with this remarkable weapon. When it first left the hand of the thrower, we could not decide in what direction it was going, but after making numberless circles in the air, it never failed to hit the object intended.

Most of the birds we saw struck were cormorants, which, as they fell into the water, the blacks seized and wrung their necks. Some, however, not being killed outright or stunned, showed fight, and attacked the naked bodies of their assailants with their sharp beaks. We witnessed the sport for some time, till the birds nearest us becoming alarmed, took to flight, but were followed by the persevering hunters, who marked where they again alighted.

As we did not wish to delay, we thanked our friends, who with the prospect of an ample feast before them, showed no inclination to accompany us. One of them, however, had a talk with Bracewell just before we started.

“What was the black fellow saying?” I asked as we rode along.

“He told me that a mob of bad black fellows, as he called them, are in the neighbourhood, and that we must take care not to fall in with them, as they will not scruple to spear our horses at night, or, should we be off our guard, murder us.”

“What had we better do then?” I enquired.

“Be on our guard and not let them surprise us,” he answered, laughing. “I have no fear of the blacks, provided they know that we are prepared to give them a warm reception. We will, however, keep a look-out for the fellows, and as soon as we get back to the regular track, I’ll leave a note fixed to a tree for Hector, telling him what we have heard, and advising him and the dominie to keep a watch at night on their horses, as I don’t think it’s worth while waiting for them.

“Still, notwithstanding what our black friend said, the chances are that we shall not fall in with the mob of bad natives,” he added; and as he knew the country much better than Guy or I did, we were perfectly ready to be guided by his opinion.

We soon again got into the main track.

On reaching it, Bracewell taking out his pocketbook, wrote a few lines, warning Hector that a mob of blacks were said to be in the neighbourhood, and telling him where we proposed camping.

Cutting some thorns, he pinned it to a tree in a conspicuous place.

“Hector will not fail to observe it,” he said, as he did so.

“But if the blacks see it they’ll tear it down surely,” I remarked.

“They’ll not do that,” he answered, “they’ll fancy it is some charm, and will not venture to touch it.”

This done, we pushed forward, rather faster than we had hitherto been going, in order to arrive at a spot at which Bracewell advised that we should camp early in the evening.

Although there were several stations scattered over the country in various directions, the traffic between them was so limited, that no inns or even liquor stores had been established; and travellers had consequently to camp out in the bush night after night when proceeding towards the interior.

We found doing this was no hardship, and infinitely preferred sleeping by our camp-fire with the canopy of heaven above us, to taking up our quarters in a shepherd’s hut or grog shop.

We were approaching the end of our day’s journey, when I caught sight of a black figure flitting among the trees in the distance. Presently another, and another appeared. They did not come near us, but were apparently moving in the same direction that we were.

I pointed them out to Bracewell.

“I saw the rascals,” he answered. “They are up to mischief very likely, and think it prudent to keep at a distance from us. I’ll soon make them vanish.”

Lifting his rifle, he uttered a loud whoop, when in an instant every black disappeared, either having dropped to the ground, or got behind the stems of trees.

“I don’t suppose they’ll come near us again, but it will be as well to be on our guard when passing any thick scrub. We must either give it a wide berth so that their spears cannot reach us, or gallop quickly by.”

During the day-time, however, there was not much probability that the blacks would venture to attack us; but we agreed that we must be very careful during the night, lest they should spear our horses,—a trick they are apt frequently to play when they think that they can do so and make their escape without the risk of a bullet through their bodies.

Though we looked out for them on every side, not another black did we see; but Bracewell remarked, that we must not consequently fancy that they had taken themselves off.

However, as the day wore on, and they did not again reappear, we began to hope that we had distanced them, and that they would not trouble us during the night. At length we reached the water-hole, near which grew several magnificent trees, where there was abundance of grass for the horses, so that they would not be tempted to stray away.

Choosing a spot with a water-hole on one side, and three or four fine trees of large girth on the other, we unsaddled our horses and made up our fire. We had provisions enough for the evening, but should have to go on short commons the next day, unless we could shoot a paddy-melon or some birds.

Bracewell offered, as there was still sufficient light, to try to do so; but Guy and I advised him to remain in camp while we endeavoured to shoot a few parrots or cockatoos, so many of which were flitting about among the boughs that we felt confident of shooting as many as we required.

No sooner, however, did we fire, than having each brought down a parrot, the remainder of the noisy birds flew away. We followed, expecting to get some more shots, but the sound of our guns having alarmed them, as soon as we approached they again took to flight.

By some means or other, I, having hurried on, lost sight of Guy, though I concluded that he was following me. At last I saw a large cockatoo nodding his head as if not aware of my presence. I fired, and brought him down, when directly afterwards I heard the report of Guy’s gun, much further off than I had expected.

The thought just then occurred to me, that should the blacks be in the neighbourhood, they might discover our whereabouts by the reports; so I felt that it would be wise to be satisfied with the birds we had killed, and return to camp.

I was therefore making my way back, when, turning my head, I caught sight of a black figure stealthily approaching with a lance in his hand. Suspecting that his intentions were hostile, I quickly reloaded, ramming down a ball. As he approached from behind the trunk of a tree, I levelled my rifle. He vanished in an instant, though when I moved on again, I felt pretty sure that he was following me. I therefore every now and then turned suddenly round and pointed my rifle towards my pursuer. At last, having gone on for some distance, I began to fear that I had lost my way, for I could not see either our camp-fire or the smoke rising from it. To ascertain if I was near it, I gave a loud cooey, expecting that Guy and Bracewell would hear me and reply.

No answer came. I began to feel rather uncomfortable, for although with my rifle in my hand, I was a match for two or three blacks, I should be in an awkward predicament should I be followed by a whole mob. It would not do to stop, so on I pushed.

Again I cooeyed, and this time I heard my friends cooey in return. Still the distance was apparently considerable, and at any moment the blacks might overtake me. I ran on as fast as the nature of the ground would allow, endeavouring to keep a straight course.

Once more I turned round when to my dismay I beheld a score or more of blacks armed with spears and shields. For a moment I faced them as before, presenting my rifle. I might bring down one of the fellows, I knew; but then, unarmed, I should be at their mercy; I therefore contented myself with threatening them. The instant I raised my weapon, they all vanished as before. Directly afterwards I caught sight of the glare of the fire: I dashed forward, when to my surprise I found my brother and Bracewell coolly seated on the ground, engaged in preparing a couple of parrots which the former had shot.

“Up, up!” I exclaimed: “the blacks are upon us—there is not a moment to lose if we intend to save our lives.”

“Oh, nonsense!” cried Bracewell. “You’ve seen a big ‘boomer,’ or the stump of a tree, which you have mistaken for a black fellow.”

I loudly protested that I was not mistaken, and advised them to load their rifles with ball.

While I was speaking, a spear quivered in the tree close to where they were sitting. They jumped to their feet in an instant.

“If we don’t take care, we shall have the horses wounded,” I exclaimed, and I ran to where they were feeding, leaving Guy and Bracewell to keep watch for the appearance of our enemies.

Just as I had brought the horses up, and was tethering them behind the clump of trees, the mob of blacks came in sight, shrieking and dancing and brandishing their spears.

Bracewell, on this, exclaimed, “We’ll show them that we’re not to be trifled with; or they will become bolder, and make a rush upon us with their waddies. Guy, do you pick off that fellow on the right; I’ll take the fellow in the centre who is nourishing his weapon—he intends to hurl it at us as soon as he gets near enough. Maurice, you must keep them in check while we are reloading, but don’t fire unless they advance.”

As he spoke, he and Guy pulled their triggers. As the smoke cleared off I saw two blacks on the ground—my companions were rapidly reloading while I kept my rifle pointed at the advancing mob. I had my eye upon one of them, who appeared to be leader. We were tolerably well sheltered by the roots of the trees, so that we could take aim without exposing ourselves.

The determined front we exhibited did not however deter the blacks from advancing, and as they did so, they sent a whole shower of spears, which stuck quivering in the trunk of the tree forming our chief protection. Several, however, passed and fell into the ground close to the horses, fortunately none of which were injured.

I fired and brought down the man at whom I had aimed; I then sprang behind shelter and reloaded, while my brother and Bracewell knocked over two more.

It was dreadful work, having thus to kill our fellow-creatures; but at that moment all we thought about was that they intended to kill us, and that it was our business to defend our lives. Whether or not we should do so successfully seemed very doubtful; for as far as we could judge, while they flitted in and out among the trees, there were a hundred or more of them yelling and shrieking and hurling their sharp-pointed spears towards us. A hundred opposed to three were fearful odds. Probably they were not aware of the smallness of our number, or they might have made a rush at our camp, and knocked us all over with their waddies. Every moment we expected that they would do so. Should one of us be killed or wounded so as to be unable to fire, the other two must inevitably become their victims.

As yet we had happily escaped injury, and the blacks did not appear inclined to venture closer than at first. We had been firing away as rapidly as we could reload, but though we had killed several, we had frequently missed, for as they kept springing in and out behind the trees in the thickening gloom, it was very difficult to hit them. Suddenly they vanished, and I was afraid were coming round to get on our flank; the width of the water-hole, and the marshy ground on the further side was, however, too great to allow them to hurl their spears across it. My gun was loaded, but when I put my hand into my bullet-pouch, to my dismay, I found that I had not another shot left. I told my companions. “Neither have I, and have just loaded with small shot,” said Bracewell.

“So have I,” said Guy; “but it will do to pepper them with if they come nearer.”

“But small shot will not go through their shields,” I remarked.

“Then we must aim at their legs,” answered Bracewell, calmly.

“Don’t you think it would be prudent to mount the horses and gallop off before they again attack us?” asked Guy.

“They will probably be on the look-out should we make the attempt, and surround us before we get to any distance,” said Bracewell. “Better try and hold our own here, where we have the shelter of the trees, only don’t throw a shot away.”

This discussion was cut short by a loud yell uttered by our savage enemies, who, the next instant, again came into view, and advanced with their spears poised. We had barely time to spring behind the trees, when a shower of spears flew through the air, some passing close to us, others sticking in the opposite side of the trunks. We immediately replied, but could not see whether our shots took effect. The spears now fell so thickly, that we could scarcely venture to show ourselves even for a moment to fire in return. By the sound of the savages’ voices we judged they were getting nearer, and now we all felt that we should have to sell our lives dearly, unless we could manage to mount our horses and gallop away; but it would take some time to saddle them, and the natives were not likely to allow us many moments to do so. Bracewell, however, desperate as was our condition, tried to keep up our spirits.

As far as we could judge, the savages showed no intention of abandoning their object. Just as we expected that they would make their final rush, a loud cooey was heard, and I caught the sound of the trampling of horses’ feet. We cooeyed in return again and again. The savages must have heard us, as well as the cooeys in the distance; for after vainly hurling another shower of spears, they turned and scampered off as fast as their legs could carry them, their flight hastened by the peppering we gave their backs with small shot. Almost immediately afterwards Hector and the dominie, accompanied by half a dozen troopers, came galloping up along the path close to the water-hole. As they appeared, without waiting to exchange words, we threw our saddles on our horses’ backs and mounted ready to join them in the pursuit of our foes.

Chapter Eight.

The sergeant in command of the troopers told us that they had been sent forward in search of some bushrangers who with unaccountable hardihood, notwithstanding the capture of two of their companions, were still committing their depredations in that part of the country; and that having accompanied Hector, who had discovered our note, they had come on to assist us in case we should be attacked by the blacks.

We all rode on together in the direction we supposed the savages to have taken. But darkness was coming on: the sergeant soon pulled up declaring that we might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay, as expect to catch one of them.

Had we had any natives with us we might have tracked them during the night. We should now however only run the risk of losing our way without the slightest chance of capturing a black man.

This was very evident, and we accordingly settled to return to the camp and wait until the following morning.

Hector and the dominie had brought a good supply of provisions in their saddle-bags, and our supper being cooked, we sat round the fire sipping our mugs of scalding tea, and fighting our battle over again.

The sergeant told us that the mob which had attacked us was said to be the most daring in that part of the country. They had already, it was supposed, murdered two hut-keepers and a shepherd, and had carried off large numbers of sheep. Without natives to track them it would be impossible to come upon their camp so as to capture their leaders. The punishment they had received from us might perhaps, we thought, prevent them from committing further depredations in the neighbourhood; and the sergeant’s business for the present was to hunt down the bushrangers, which was more in his way. He, as soon as he had seen us safely on our road, must continue his course in the direction he had been informed they had taken.

At length we began to get drowsy, and one after the other we lay down with our horse-cloths for bedding and our saddles for pillows.

The sergeant undertook that one of his men should keep watch, though it was very improbable that the blacks would venture to attack us during the night.

I was awakened just before dawn by the “settler’s clock,” as the laughing-jackass is frequently called; and lifting my head, by the light of the still burning embers of our fire saw the dominie rubbing his eyes, but no one else was moving. I suspected from this that the last man on guard had gone to sleep. No sticks had been thrown on for a considerable time, and on counting heads I discovered that the sergeant and his troopers were all snoring loudly, and sound asleep. I bethought me that we would play them a trick; so quickly arousing Guy and Bracewell, I proposed that we should unite our voices and give a terrific shriek as if a whole mob of black fellows were about to break into the camp. They agreed.

We did shriek with a vengeance, the echo resounding through the forest. The effect was electrical. Up jumped the sergeant and his men and seizing their arms prepared to receive their expected foes.

“Whereabouts are they?” exclaimed the sergeant. “Reserve your fire, until you see them,” he added—a caution I should not have considered necessary. “Did any of you gentlemen catch sight of them?” he asked. Our loud laugh told him the trick we had played. “Which of you lads was keeping guard?” he enquired.

“I was,” answered one, who had been among the loudest of the snorers, and we found that the speaker had in reality the middle watch, but having dropped off, had not called his relief.

We thought it best to say as little as possible about the matter, for according to strict military discipline, the man who goes to sleep on guard in the face of an enemy, becomes liable to the punishment of death. The sergeant also, who was a good-natured fellow, was evidently anxious not to take too much notice of the matter.

We soon got the fire made up, and having breakfasted, we mounted and rode in the direction we supposed that the blacks had taken, but except the dead bodies of the men we had shot, no trace of them could we discover. They probably could not tell whether or not we had any natives with us, and therefore took care to leave no trail by which they could be followed up. They might possibly have been hiding all the time in the neighbourhood, or might—contrary to their usual custom—have travelled during the night.

After looking for an hour or more we agreed that it would be useless to search further and pursued our course towards Mr Strong’s. The sergeant’s way for some distance lay in the same direction, and he and his men therefore accompanied us. We had got about half way, when we saw a white man running towards us. He appeared to be in a desperate hurry, and as he approached made signs entreating us to stop.

“What’s the matter, my man?” inquired Bracewell as he came up.

“I am a shepherd on Mr Robinson’s out-station,” he answered. “I had driven my flock to the run this morning, when who should I see coming towards me but old Bill the hut-keeper who had a spear in his side and another in his back. He had just time to tell me that, soon after I had gone, a whole mob of blacks surrounded the hut, and to the best of his belief were still either in or about it, when, though I did my best to help him by cutting out the spear, he sank back and died. On this I was afraid to stay where I was lest the blacks should find me out, and was trying to reach Mr Strong’s or some other station, when I saw you.”

This account made us resolve at once to try and surprise the blacks. The shepherd acknowledged that he and his mate had just before got in on the sly some bottles of rum, which it was possible the blacks might have found; and that if so, should we advance cautiously, we might very likely catch them. Not a moment however was to be lost, and one of the troopers taking the shepherd up behind him on his horse to act as our guide, we set off in the direction of the hut. It was so situated at the bottom of a hill, with a belt of trees on one side, that led by the shepherd we were able to get close up to it without being discovered.

We there dismounted, leaving our horses under the charge of the dominie who volunteered for the service.

We crept cautiously down towards the hut, the sounds proceeding from which showed us to our great satisfaction, that it was still in possession of the blacks. We now advanced with greater caution, Bracewell and Hector, who were the most experienced in bush life, leading, I following, until we could look right down upon the hut. A few blacks were squatting on the ground outside, and the hut itself appeared to be full of them. The sergeant and his men, I should have said, had brought some coils of rope with which to bind any prisoners they might capture. These they formed into lassoes for the purpose of throwing over the heads of the blacks. As we watched the hut, the people collected round it had, as far as we could judge, no intention of moving, probably fancying that they were safe, for the present, from pursuit.

Bracewell now made a sign to us to rise to our feet, so that we might rush down on the hut and capture all the blacks in it if not those outside. At the signal we were in motion, the troopers with their drawn swords in one hand and their pistols in the other, and we with our rifles. We had got half way down the slope before the blacks discovered us. Most of those outside scampered off, but we saw, by the crowd at the door, that the hut was full, and before many could escape, we were at the entrance. Some tried to get out of the window on one side of the hut, but Guy, Hector, and I shot them down as they reached the ground, thus putting a stop to any others escaping in that direction; while the sergeant and his troopers, bursting into the hut, soon had several of the rest secured by their necks. Others were knocked down. The greater number either lay helpless on the ground or stared stupidly at their assailants. Had our object been slaughter we might have killed the whole mob, but the sergeant had received orders to capture as many as possible alive, and we were thankful not to have to destroy any more of the poor wretches.

Altogether, thirty were made prisoners, but we could not calculate how many had made their escape. The greater number, however, had left their spears and waddies behind them, so that they were not likely for the present to attempt further mischief. At the request of the sergeant we brought down the horses and assisted him in securing the prisoners and arranging them in the order in which they were to march. It took some time to bind the unfortunate wretches, whom we secured with their arms behind them, and then fastened together by strong ropes six in a line. Our next care was to collect all the arms, which, with the exception of a few we desired to possess, were broken and thrown on the fire.

There was very little chance of rescue; indeed, had the blacks still at liberty made the attempt, they would to a certainty have hastened the death of their friends. The shepherd entreated us to assist him in bringing in the body of the hut-keeper—a task, from a sense of humanity, we undertook, while he remained to look after his sheep.

We accordingly brought the body in on the dominie’s horse and placed it in the bunk in which the unfortunate man, a few hours before, had been sleeping, little dreaming of the fate awaiting him. The dominie, Guy, and I remained at the hut, while Bracewell and Hector rode off to the head station to give information of what had occurred and to obtain a companion for the poor man.

Finding a couple of spades in the hut, Guy and I employed our time in burying the blacks who had been shot on the first onslaught. It was a far from pleasant undertaking, but it was better to put them underground before they were discovered by the dingoes or vultures, which would before long find them out.

The day was waning and as our companions had not returned we began to fear that we should have to spend the night in the hut. I was glad at length when I saw the shepherd returning with the flock. He thanked us heartily for what we had done.

When he entered the hut he seemed dreadfully upset at the sight of his dead mate. “It is a trying life, this shepherding, gentlemen,” he observed; “with the chance of being speared or clubbed by the blackfellows, or stuck up by a bushranger, while one has to spend day after day without a human being to speak to, from sunrise to sunset—and then to have one’s only chum killed so suddenly! It is well-nigh more than I can bear.”

It was late at night before Bracewell and Hector came back, accompanied by Mr Piatt, the overseer from the head station, and another man to take the place of the murdered hut-keeper. As it was now too late to think of proceeding on our journey that night, we turned our horses into a spare paddock, where they could find grass enough to satisfy their hunger until the morning.

Having stowed our baggage inside the hut, after supper we lay down, where we could find room on the ground; one of the party, however, keeping watch in case the blacks should return, though it was not at all likely they would do that.

Before sunrise the shepherd and his new mate got up to dig a grave for the murdered man, in which we saw him placed before we started. We then, having breakfasted, continued our route, Mr Piatt accompanying us, as, for a couple of miles or so, our roads lay in the same direction. He had come away without his rifle, or arms of any description, excepting his heavy riding-whip, and he declared that they were unnecessary; for the blacks, he said, would never venture to attack a well-mounted man, and as for bushrangers, when there was no booty to be obtained they were not likely to interfere with him. He had ridden about the country in all directions, and except when hunting a kangaroo or emu, he had never had to fire a shot.

“But with a mob of savage blacks in the neighbourhood, it would be more prudent to be armed,” I observed.

“My horse-whip will soon send them to the rightabout, should any of them venture to come near me,” he answered laughing. “However we have got half a dozen rifles at the head station, and as soon as I get back I’ll arm each man and we’ll quickly drive the remainder of the mob from the neighbourhood. Depend upon it if any are remaining they’ll clear out fast enough when they find we are after them.”

We soon got over the two miles the overseer was to accompany us. He then, thanking us for the service we had rendered his people, turned off to the right. He was still in sight, when we heard him shout, and I saw that he was galloping along with uplifted whip as if to strike some object on the ground. Supposing that he had called us, we rode towards him. Just then I saw a tall black man spring up from behind a bush and, with axe in hand, attack the overseer, who, it appeared to me, was in great danger of being killed; but as the savage was about to strike, the lash of the whip caught his arm and wrenched the weapon out of his hand.

The black, uttering a cry of disappointed rage, bounded away and a moment after was lost to sight among the scrub. On getting near to Piatt we saw two more natives on the ground, the one a youth badly wounded, the other a gin, old and wrinkled, apparently the mother of the lad.

“I would not have attempted to strike them, had I seen that one was a woman and that the lad was wounded,” said the overseer, as he pointed to the wretched beings; “but I fancied they were black fellows hiding away, and trying to escape my notice. The man who attacked me is probably the boy’s father, and they have shown more than usual affection for their son.”

“Don’t you think that we could do something for the poor lad?” observed Bracewell. “Mr Kimber will see what chance there is of his recovery.”

“With all the pleasure in the world,” said the dominie, dismounting, and he and Bracewell examined the lad’s hurt.

The gin sat watching their proceedings.

“He is shot through the body. It is a wonder that he has lived so long, for I make no doubt he is one of the blacks who attacked the hut,” observed the dominie. “I don’t believe that the best surgeon in the land could do him any good. If we were to attempt to move him, he would die before we had carried him a hundred yards.”

Bracewell expressed the same opinion.

We tried to make the old gin understand that there was no hope of her son’s recovery; indeed, the next instant, while lifting him up, and after he had given a few gasps, his arms fell helplessly by his side, and we saw that he was dead.

“We had better leave him to his mother, and probably his father will return as soon as we have gone,” observed Bracewell. “He has brought his fate upon himself, and we can do no more.”

This was very evident, and the overseer, who was in a hurry to get back, galloped on, while we once more rode forward, leaving the poor woman with her dead son.

We had had enough of fighting, and were truly glad to reach Mr Strong’s station without any other accident. Bracewell was warmly welcomed.

Although he had not before been a visitor at the house, his high character, his perseverance and industry were all known to Mr Strong, who might possibly have had no objection to bestow upon him one of his blooming daughters.

We spent our time in the usual way, working on the station, varied with an occasional hunt after kangaroos, for as they eat up the grass required for the sheep, it is considered necessary to destroy them when they are numerous near a station. The blacks, after the severe lesson they had received from us, and from other settlers in the neighbourhood, betook themselves to another part of the country, and we had no longer any fear of being troubled by them.

We had been some days at Mr Strong’s, and Bracewell was talking of returning home, when a hut-keeper from the most distant station arrived in great alarm, stating that he had been beset the previous evening by a party of white men on horseback, who, taking his gun and ammunition, his week’s supply of provisions and everything else, they could lay hands on in the hut, had lashed him hand and foot, threatening that if he gave information of their visit, they would return and kill him. Fortunately, soon after they had gone a shepherd arrived, but he had been afraid at first to leave the hut lest they should put their threat into execution. Waiting till daylight, he had followed their tracks for some distance, when he had hurried back to bring us information of the robbery. His idea was, that having supplied themselves with arms, they intended to pillage some of the larger stations, but how he arrived at this conclusion he did not say. His account was sufficiently clear to make us resolve to follow them up, and to try and put a stop to their career. Whether or not they were led by our former acquaintance, the big bushranger, and that unhappy fellow Vinson, we could not tell; but from the description the hut-keeper gave of two of the men who had attacked him, we strongly suspected that such was the case.

As there was no time to be lost, we at once organised a party to set out in search of the fellows. The only black on whom we could rely to act as a scout was our own attendant Toby, who volunteered, without hesitation, to accompany us. The party consisted of the three elder Strongs, Bracewell, Guy, and I, and two men from the station, with Toby. All of us were mounted, and we agreed to call on our way at Captain Mason’s to get further reinforcements, thinking it not unlikely that the bushrangers had already paid him a visit, or if not that they were lurking in the neighbourhood.

As we rode fast we arrived at the captain’s before the evening. He had seen nothing of the bushrangers; but we found the family somewhat in a state of alarm, as a shepherd had come in with the information that a keeper on one of the captain’s stations had been killed in his hut the previous night, and that he himself had narrowly escaped with his life.

Captain Mason, therefore, gladly reinforced us with a couple of men; he, however, thinking it prudent to remain to defend his house, lest, during our absence, the daring ruffians might venture to attack it.

Riding towards the hut, we hoped that we might come upon the track of the outlaws. In this we were not mistaken; and Toby assured us that we should be able to follow them up, as they had taken no pains to conceal their movements. As it grew dark he dismounted, and led the way in a manner which showed that he was well accustomed to the work.

After going some distance, he begged us to halt, saying that we were not far off from the camp of the bushrangers.

Having pulled up under the shelter of some tall bushes, we waited to hear the report Toby might bring us. He again crept forward. We had not remained long, when the crack of a rifle was heard. As Toby had gone unarmed, with the exception of a long knife which he usually carried in his belt, we feared that coming suddenly on the bushrangers he had been shot. At all events, as concealment was no longer necessary, we dashed forward, Bracewell and I, with Mr Strong’s overseer leading. We had not gone far, when we caught sight of Toby standing with his knife in his hand, and, some twenty paces from him, of a man in the act of levelling his musket to fire.

That the latter was one of the bushrangers, there could be no doubt, and the overseer, without waiting to inquire, raising his rifle, discharged it. The bullet took effect, but not until the man had fired; Toby at the same moment fell to the ground, and I thought was killed; but the bushranger, before the smoke had cleared away, had darted behind a tree.

I had not fired, and my attention was attracted for an instant by Toby, who, to my great satisfaction, I saw spring to his feet and make chase after the fugitive. We called him back, thinking, probably, that the man was not alone, and that our black follower would fall a victim to his intrepidity; but, without heeding us, he dashed forward, and as soon as Bracewell had reloaded, we followed him. It was no easy matter, however, to make our way between the trees, which here grew unusually thick, while the ground was encumbered by fallen trunks and boughs. The spot had evidently been chosen by the bushrangers as a place likely to afford concealment, and, at the same time, enable them to defend themselves.

“That fellow was placed here on watch, to warn his comrades of the approach of an enemy, and, depend upon it, they are not far off,” said Bracewell. “We shall come upon them presently, and it will be our own fault if we allow any of the gang to escape.”

We now heard the sound of fire-arms, and as the bushrangers were warned of our approach, we knew that their first impulse would be to mount their horses and gallop off.

Our great object, therefore, was to prevent them from doing this, and unless they had kept their animals saddled and bridled, we had still a prospect of succeeding.

Chapter Nine.

Darkness was coming on, but we had still light sufficient to see our way, and should we not come up with the bushrangers at once, they might be off, and we should find it a hard matter to overtake them. We had gone on for some minutes, expecting every instant to discover them, when Toby stopped.

“Dey dare,” he said, pointing to a rocky knoll which rose just above the wood through which we were making our way. The reason they had not mounted their horses was now apparent, for we caught sight of the animals scampering away in the distance. The outlaws had probably taken up this position under the idea that they could effectually defend themselves against us, evidently not knowing the numbers composing our party. The instant we emerged from among the trees, several bullets came flying past our heads. By a simultaneous impulse we fired in return.

“On, on! before they have time to reload,” cried Bracewell.

We dashed forward with our pistols in our hands. When we reached the knoll, not a man was to be seen on his feet, but three lay dead or dying among the rocks. At that instant a fourth sprang up with a rifle in his hand with which he was taking aim at Bracewell, when, before he had time to pull the trigger, the overseer fired and he fell. I had recognised Vinson, and as I rode up, I observed the look of agony and despair which overspread the countenance of my former school-fellow. I think he must have known me, but he was unable to speak, and before I could dismount he had ceased to breathe.

It was a sad end of a mis-spent life, and yet at one time Cyril Vinson was one of the most admired and sought after in a fashionable circle. Among the bodies we discovered that of the big bushranger, while we found that of the man who first fired a short distance from the knoll, where he had fallen and died before he had been able to reach his companions.

One of the gang only escaped, but Toby declined to go in search of him until the following morning, as he could not, he said, traverse the forest at night.

At daylight we followed him up, but found that he had managed to catch one of the horses, and for the time had made good his escape.

We got back to the station the next day. The information we brought of the destruction of the long dreaded gang, caused no small satisfaction to our neighbours. Some weeks afterwards the body of the bushranger who had escaped was discovered in a state of emaciation, showing that he must have been starved to death.

Although there is generally work enough on an Australian station to occupy everybody, we made frequent excursions to hunt kangaroo, dingoes, and emus. Mr Strong, however, objected to the younger members of his family expending the large amount of powder and shot they were apt to fire away. He would allow them, he said, only the use of bows and arrows, promising, however, to give each a rifle when they could bring a parrot down on the wing, an emu running, or a kangaroo bounding over the ground. We therefore employed ourselves during the longer evenings of winter in manufacturing bows and feathering a large supply of arrows, for both of which objects we found suitable material.

We were in the meantime daily gaining experience in all farming operations which would prove of the greatest value when we should have charge of a station on our own account.

I had long promised to make a hunting trip with Hector and his two young brothers, Oliver and Ralph. As soon as our weapons were finished we set off, accompanied by Toby, who, since the courage he had displayed in capturing the bushrangers, had become a person of no small importance. I took the liberty, however, of carrying my rifle, as Hector also did his. We agreed to camp out for one or two nights, or as long as the flour and biscuits in our wallets would last.

It is usual to hunt the emu on horseback with dogs, when the bird is pursued until the dogs can get up to it, and seizing it by the throat drag it down. We, however, hoped with Toby’s assistance to stalk it as the natives are in the habit of doing, and for this purpose our bows and arrows were likely to prove as efficient weapons as rifles, the report of which would be certain to drive the birds away from the spot where they were feeding; whereas the silent arrow might bring down one without frightening the others.

We tramped over many weary miles till we reached the edge of a large plain known to be frequented by emus, far beyond any of the sheep-runs. On one side it was bounded by an extensive scrub, which being fortunately to leeward, we hoped by creeping along under its cover to get within reach of the birds. We had proceeded some way when we caught sight of several, but they were all feeding too far off to give us any hope of shooting them without showing ourselves. Had we been mounted we might have been able to run down two or three, but being on foot, our best chance was to wait in ambush until some unwary bird got within range of our arrows. My idea was that, if we could shoot one, the others, from curiosity, would come to see what was the matter.

We accordingly agreed to wait patiently until we were certain of hitting our “quarry.” Toby set us a good example by taking post behind a bush, where he stood looking like a bronze statue well blackened by London smoke.

Had two or three emus come near enough, I do not think that Hector and I could have resisted the temptation to use our rifles. Not a sound was heard, except when an emu uttered its hollow, booming note, as if carrying on a conversation with its mate. At length one of the noble birds came stalking up directly towards where we lay hid. It was fully seven feet in height, with powerful, stout legs, while its wings were so small that they could not be distinguished from its lightish brown and grey plumage. It got up to within twenty yards, when Oliver and Ralph, unable longer to restrain their eagerness, leapt to their feet, and sent a couple of shafts into its body. The emu, seeing them, turned tail, and off it went at a rapid rate. Influenced by a natural impulse, they started off in chase, instead of getting under cover and watching for the chance of another bird coming up to it. Toby also sprang out from behind a tree, and Hector and I followed, trusting that the arrows had struck deep enough, if not mortally to wound the emu, at all events, to prevent its keeping up the pace at which it was going. Our plucky young companions were fixing fresh arrows to their strings as they ran on, while Toby, bounding over the ground, promised soon to come up with the wounded bird. What had become of the other emus, I could not see; and I had to look where I was stepping, for fear of toppling down on my nose. I do not think I ever ran faster in my life. The emu kept on, but still it did not gain upon us sufficiently fast to make us abandon the hope of coming up with it. At length its pace became slower, and Oliver, who was leading, sent another arrow into its body. It went off again on feeling the pain, faster than ever; but before long, once more slackened its speed, though it still managed to keep ahead. A pretty long chase it led us altogether, still the excitement and prospect of catching it at last induced us to proceed, Oliver and Ralph shouting and hallooing in high glee, as they dashed over the ground, while Toby held his axe ready to give it a finishing blow as soon as he could get up to it. I was but a short distance behind the others, and supposed that Hector was following me; but at last the hard-pressed emu showed evident signs of giving in, and Oliver was springing towards it, when Toby shouted—

“Take care, him give kick one side!”

Fortunately Oliver followed this advice, when, in spite of its hurts, the bird struck out so furiously behind and on one side, that it would have broken his leg, or have inflicted a dangerous wound, had it struck him.

The black now, getting in front of it, threw the axe with so sure an aim, that the bird, its head almost cleft in two, fell dead to the ground.

The two boys uttered a shout of triumph, in which I joined. I expected to hear Hector’s voice, but on looking round he was nowhere to be seen. What had become of him, neither his brothers nor the black could say. We were afraid that he must have hurt his foot, or fallen and been unable to follow. We could scarcely calculate how far we had come. Oliver declared that it must have been five miles at least; but I did not think the distance was nearly so much. The question was now, what to do with our emu while we went back in search of Hector, as we were unwilling to abandon so valuable a prize to the dingoes, who were very likely to find it out. Fortunately there were some bushes near which would afford fuel for a fire, and Toby consented to camp on the spot, while we returned to look for our companion.

I should have said that Guy and Bracewell had promised to ride after us the next morning with a spare horse or two, to carry back the spoils of the chase. I knew that they would come, although they had expressed great doubt whether we should have any game to carry home. They had settled to meet us at a spot with which Hector was acquainted; but if he were lost we should be unable to find it.

After we had taken some rest and food we set off, leaving Toby to skin and cut up the emu.

We had spent so much time in the chase, that it began to grow dark before we had got a mile on our way; still, as we had a compass with us, we were able to keep in the right direction.

“As the moon is about to rise, we shall soon be able to see our way,” said Oliver; “but what can have happened to Hector?”

No one was able to answer that question. As we went on we shouted out his name, but no reply came, and I began to feel very uneasy. I thought that I had seen him certainly close to the point we had now reached.

I twice fired off my rifle, but listened in vain for the report of his. I now began to regret that we had not brought Toby with us, for he would have been far more likely to find him than we were.

His brothers were almost in despair.

“We had better go back and get Toby,” exclaimed Oliver.

“Something dreadful must have happened. Perhaps he has been bitten by a poisonous snake, or kicked by an emu,” said Ralph.

“Unless a mob of blacks have been hiding in the scrub and tracked us,” I remarked.

“But then I don’t see how they could have overtaken him without our seeing them,” said Oliver.

At last it became so dark that we found it impossible to proceed, and it was proposed to halt until the moon should rise, when we should better be able to find our way.

We accordingly sat down on the ground to wait until the pale luminary of night could give us her light.

She rose even sooner than we had expected.

“Hurrah!” cried Oliver, “it will soon be almost as light as day, and unless Hector has fallen asleep, we shall find him.”

We accordingly went on, shouting out as before. Presently my foot slipped into a hole, and I very nearly dislocated my ankle.

“What could have made that hole?” I exclaimed.

“Wombats, I’ve a notion,” answered Oliver. “Look, there’s one of the creatures!” As he spoke we saw an animal like a small bear waddling along over the ground. Presently we caught sight of another and another. We had evidently got into a colony of the creatures.

“I wonder we did not come across these when we were running after the emu,” I observed. “I am afraid that we have got out of our way.”

“We must have been close on one side or the other, for I’m certain that we were at no great distance from this,” answered Oliver.

“Hector, Hector!” he shouted.

“Listen!” cried Ralph: “I heard a voice. It came from the right—it’s not far off there!”

Again we shouted, when listening attentively we all three heard a reply and felt sure that we were not mistaken as to the direction from which it came.

On making our way towards the spot we caught sight of a dozen or more wombats, and presently of the head and arms of a person rising above the ground.

“That must be Hector! Hector, Hector, is it you?” shouted Oliver.

“Yes, yes! make haste or I shall tumble back again,” was the answer.

We sprang forward and caught him by the arms; when, all three hauling away, we quickly dragged him out of a large hole into which he had fallen.

“Take care,” he said. “I cannot stand—I sprained my ankle when falling into the hole, and the pain was so great that I believe I must have fainted. When I came to myself, I found that it was perfectly dark, and no sooner had I managed to reach the top of the hole than a whole herd of those wombats came sniffing round me, wondering what strange creature had got among them. I shouldn’t have minded them, had they not tried to bite my hands and compelled me to let go again.”

The wombats, on our appearance, had waddled off, so that they did not interfere with us while we were attending to Hector.

On his trying to use his foot he found that his ankle was not so much injured as he had supposed, and that by supporting himself on our shoulders he could manage to hobble along. He therefore very willingly agreed to try and get back to the camp.

“But what has become of your gun?” I asked; “can you remember where you left it?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered Hector; “I had it in my hand when I fell, but when I felt about for it I could nowhere find it.”

We searched for the rifle round the hole and at last came to the conclusion that it must have fallen in.

Ralph offered to descend.

He got down without difficulty and soon cried out that he had found the rifle at the bottom. “Stay, I have found something else,” he added as he handed up the rifle. “While I was groping about, my hand came in contact with two hairy creatures. Here they are!” and stooping down again he hauled out two young wombats. We speedily knocked them on the head, agreeing that they would make a very good roast for supper.

We should have been puzzled to know how the big wombat got out of the hole, had not Ralph told us that he had found a passage sloping upwards to a smaller entrance some distance off.

As the two small wombats might not prove sufficient for all hands I shot a big fellow which measured nearly three feet in length, and was covered with a thick hairy coat.

Ralph undertook to carry it on his shoulders, while Oliver and I supported Hector.

We now lost no time in making our way back to the camp. Our progress was of necessity slow, but we reached it at last, having been guided during the latter part of the distance by the bright flames of Toby’s fire.

We immediately set to work to cook the wombat. Toby however had satisfied his hunger on the flesh of the emu, though he managed after a little rest to devour no small portion of the meat we had brought.

We then lay down to sleep, pretty well tired by the fatigue we had gone through. To our dismay Hector was utterly unable to walk the next morning, but fortunately our friends discovered us on their way to the rendezvous, and he mounting one of the horses we set off for home. We carried with us the emu, which it was calculated would yield between six and seven quarts of fine oil. It is for the sake of this valuable product that the bird is generally hunted.

Hector very good-naturedly bore the bantering of the rest of the party on the subject of his adventure among the wombats.

We had ridden some distance across the open country, when we observed ahead what looked like a dense black mist in the far distance above the scrub.

“What can that be?” I asked of Bracewell.

“I don’t like its appearance,” he answered. “I fear that the bush is on fire, and if so it is impossible to say where it will stop. It appears to be at no great distance from the station. What do you think, Hector?”

“I’m sure it’s very near,” he answered hurriedly; “and during this dry weather the rapidity with which it spreads is extraordinary. Push on, all of you; don’t mind me, I can be of no use with this lame foot, but you may still be in time to assist in saving our dear ones at home should the fire reach the house. Here, Maurice, do you mount my horse, and I’ll get on the animal carrying the emu; there’s not a moment to lose.”

I willingly acted according to his suggestion; and, leaving him with his two younger brothers and Toby, Bracewell, Guy, and I galloped forward.

Bracewell appeared more agitated than I had ever seen him before. He had been paying great attention to Mary Strong, and the thought now occurred to him that she was in danger. While we were dashing on as hard as we could go, it appeared to us that the conflagration was rapidly extending. Already dense wreaths of smoke, rising towards the sky, formed a thick canopy overhead; while we could see every now and then the bright flames darting upwards above the intervening bush as some tall tree was wrapped in their embrace.

It was very evident that the homestead was in the greatest danger, even if it was not already encircled in flames; and although the inmates might have made their escape, we could not tell in what direction they had fled. They would have endeavoured to save as much of their property as possible from destruction, and Bracewell’s fears conjured up the dreadful idea that they might have been caught by the rapidly advancing foe before they could reach a place of safety.

With whip and spur we urged on our animals. We had as yet seen no one to tell us in what direction our friends had gone. There was a stream to the left, used in the shearing season for washing the sheep, and Bracewell hoped that they might have made their way to it.

The intervening ground was free of trees, and the grass had been cropped so low that the fire was not likely to make much progress over it. They might, however, still be at the house, and towards it we directed our course.

As we galloped up what was our dismay to find it on fire, while the outbuildings were nearly burnt to the ground! We dashed up shouting to our friends, but no one replied.

“They must have gone across the stream,” cried Bracewell; and turning our horses’ heads we rode furiously on through the flames which had already caught the bushes on either side of us. After shouting again and again it was with unspeakable thankfulness that we heard our shouts answered, and dashing across the stream, we found the family assembled on a spot where the fire was not likely to reach.

Mary was on her palfrey, her father standing by her side endeavouring to quiet her alarm, while Mrs Strong with the children and young people were seated on the ground among such articles as they had been able to save.

Our arrival greatly relieved their anxiety, for they had fancied that we and the boys might have been passing through a part of the wood in which the fire had been raging.

The flames spread to the east and the west, but having nothing to feed on near the stream they fortunately did not cross to the side on which we had taken refuge.

The fire continued to rage long after darkness had come on, and grand and terrible was the spectacle it exhibited. We watched it anxiously not knowing how far it might extend. I was much struck with the calm way in which Mr Strong endured his hard fortune. Not a murmur escaped his lips, but over and over again he expressed his gratitude to Heaven for having preserved all those dear to him from injury.

Under his directions we all turned to and put up some huts for the ladies, in which they passed the night. Mercifully towards morning a heavy fall of rain came on and extinguished the fire almost as suddenly as it had begun.

Next morning Mr Strong set about ascertaining his losses and with wonderful energy took steps to repair them.

Bracewell invited the family to take up their abode at his hut until their new house was ready to receive them, and they immediately set off in one of the waggons which had escaped.

Guy and I, with the young Strongs, worked with the farm hands from morning till night, in putting up fences and rebuilding the house; and in a wonderfully short time the station, which had become little more than a mass of ruins, began to assume a habitable aspect.

Though we worked without wages the knowledge we gained was of the greatest value to us in our subsequent career. In a year or two our worthy cousin had completely recovered from the heavy losses he had sustained.

Bracewell before long became the husband of Mary Strong.

The proprietor of the next station to his wishing to sell out, we, assisted by him, were able to purchase it; and as soon as we had got up a tolerable residence, we sent to the old country for our mother and sisters; and I may honestly say we have had no cause to regret having fixed our home in Australia.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Adventures in the Far West"

Chapter One.

“I say, didn’t you hear a cry?” exclaimed Charley Fielding, starting up from the camp fire at which we were seated discussing our evening meal of venison, the result of our day’s hunting. He leaned forward in the attitude of listening. “I’m sure I heard it! There it is again, but whether uttered by Redskin or four-footed beast is more than I can say.”

We all listened, but our ears were not as sharp as Charley’s, for we could hear nothing.

“Sit down, Charley, my boy, and finish your supper. It was probably fancy, or maybe the hoot of an owl to its mate,” said our jovial companion, Dick Buntin, who never allowed any matter to disturb him, if he could help it, while engaged in stowing away his food.

Dick had been a lieutenant in the navy, and had knocked about the world in all climes, and seen no small amount of service. He had lately joined our party with Charley Fielding, a fatherless lad whom he had taken under his wing.

We, that is Jack Story and myself, Tom Rushforth, had come out from England together to the far west, to enjoy a few months’ buffalo hunting, deer stalking, grizzly and panther shooting, and beaver trapping, not to speak of the chances of an occasional brush with the Redskins, parties of whom were said to be on the war-path across the regions it was our intention to traverse, though none of us were inclined to be turned aside by the warnings we had received to that effect from our friends down east.

We had been pushing on further and further west, gaining experience, and becoming inured to the fatigues and dangers of a hunter’s life. Having traversed Missouri and Kansas, though we had hitherto met with no adventures worthy of note, we had that evening pitched our camp in the neighbourhood of Smoky-hill fork, the waters of which, falling into the Arkansas, were destined ultimately to reach the far-off Mississippi.

We had furnished ourselves with a stout horse apiece, and four mules to carry our stores, consisting of salt pork, beans, biscuit, coffee, and a few other necessaries, besides our spare guns, ammunition, and the meat and skins of the animals we might kill.

Having, a little before sunset, fixed on a spot for our camp, with a stream on one side, and on the other a wood, which would afford us fuel and shelter from the keen night air which blew off the distant mountains, we had unsaddled and unpacked our horses and mules, the packs being placed so as to form a circular enclosure about eight paces in diameter.

Our first care had been to water and hobble our animals, and then to turn them loose to graze, when we considered ourselves at liberty to attend to our own wants. Having collected a quantity of dry sticks, we had lighted our fire in the centre of the circle, filled our water-kettle, and put on our meat to cook. Our next care had been to arrange our sleeping places. For this purpose we cut a quantity of willows which grew on the banks of the stream hard by, and we each formed a semi-circular hut, by sticking the extremities of the osier twigs into the ground, and bending them over so as to form a succession of arches. These were further secured by weaving a few flexible twigs along the top and sides of the framework, thus giving it sufficient stability to support the saddle-cloths and skins with which we covered them. By placing our buffalo-robes within, we had thus a comfortable and warm bed-place apiece, and were better protected from the fiercest storm raging without than we should have been inside a tent or ordinary hut.

Though this was our usual custom when materials were to be found, when not, we were content to wrap ourselves in our buffalo-robes, with our saddles for pillows.

All arrangements having been made, we sat down with keen appetites, our backs to our respective huts, to discuss the viands which had been cooking during the operations I have described. Dick Buntin, who generally performed the office of cook, had concocted a pot of coffee, having first roasted the berries in the lid of our saucepan, and then, wrapping them in a piece of deer-skin, had pounded them on a log with the head of a hatchet. Dick was about to serve out the smoking-hot coffee when Charley’s exclamation made him stop to reply while he held the pot in his hand.

“I am sure I did hear a strange sound, and it was no owl’s hoot, of that I am convinced,” said Charley, still standing up, and peering out over the dark prairie. “Just keep silence for a few minutes, and you’ll hear it too before long.”

I listened, and almost directly afterwards a low mournful wail, wafted on the breeze, struck my ear. Dick and Story also acknowledged that they heard the sound.

“I knew I was not mistaken,” said Charley; “what can it be?”

“An owl, or some other night-bird, as I at first thought,” said Buntin. “Come, hand me your mugs, or I shall have to boil up the coffee again.”

Charley resumed his seat, and we continued the pleasant occupation in which we were engaged. Supper over, we crept into our sleeping-places, leaving our fire blazing, not having considered it necessary as yet to keep watch at night.

We were generally, directly after we had stretched ourselves on the ground, fast asleep, for we rose at break of day, and sometimes even before it; but ere I had closed my eyes, I again heard, apparently coming from far off, the same sound which had attracted Charley’s notice. It appeared to me more like the howl of a wolf than the cry of a night-bird, but I was too sleepy to pay any attention to it.

How long I had been in a state of unconsciousness I could not tell, when I was aroused by a chorus of howls and yelps, and, starting up, I saw a number of animals with glaring eyes almost in our very midst.

“Wolves, wolves!” I cried, calling to my companions at the top of my voice.

Before I could draw my rifle out of the hut, where I had placed it by my side, one of the brutes had seized on a large piece of venison, suspended at the end of a stick to keep it off the ground, and had darted off with it, while the depredators were searching round for other articles into which they could fix their fangs.

Our appearance greatly disconcerted them, as we shouted in chorus, and turning tail they began to decamp as fast as their legs would carry them.

“Bring down that fellow with the venison,” I cried out.

Charley, who had been most on the alert, had his rifle ready, and, firing, brought down the thief. Another of the pack instantly seized the meat and made off with it in spite of the shouts we sent after him. The wolves lost three of their number, but the rest got off with the venison in triumph. It was a lesson to us to keep a watch at night, and more carefully to secure our venison. We had, however, a portion remaining to serve us for breakfast next morning.

We took good care not to let the wolves get into our camp again, but we heard the brutes howling around and quarrelling over the carcase of one of their companions, who had been shot but had not immediately dropped. Having driven off our unwelcome visitors, Charley and I went in search of our horses, as we were afraid they might have been attacked. They were, however, well able to take care of themselves and had made their way to the border of the stream, where we found them safe.

In the meantime Buntin and Story dragged the carcases of the wolves we had killed to a distance from the camp, as their skins were not worth preserving. We all then met round the camp fire, but we soon found that to sleep was impossible, for the wolves, having despatched their wounded companions, came back to feast on the others we had shot. We might have killed numbers while so employed, but that would have only detained them longer in our neighbourhood, and we hoped when they had picked the bones of their friends that they would go away and leave us in peace.

We all wished to be off as soon as possible, so while it was still dark we caught and watered our horses; and, having cast off their hobbles and loaded the pack animals, we were in the saddle by sunrise. We rode on for several hours, and then encamped for breakfast, allowing our horses to graze while we went on foot in search of game. We succeeded in killing a couple of deer and a turkey, so that we were again amply supplied with food. Our baggage-mules being slow but sure-going animals we were unable to make more than twenty miles a day, though at a pinch we could accomplish thirty. We had again mounted and were moving forward. The country was covered with tall grass, five and sometimes eight feet in height, over which we could scarcely look even when on horseback. We had ridden about a couple of miles from our last camping-place, when Story, the tallest of our party, exclaimed—

“I see some objects moving to the northward. They look to me like mounted men, and are apparently coming in this direction.”

He unslung his glass, while we all pulled up and took a look in the direction he pointed.

“Yes, I thought so,” he exclaimed; “they are Indians, though, as there are not many of them, they are not likely to attack us; but we must be on our guard, notwithstanding.”

We consulted what was best to be done.

“Ride steadily in the direction we are going,” said Dick; “and, by showing that we are not afraid of them, when they see our rifles they will probably sheer off, whatever may be their present intentions. But keep together, my lads, and let nothing tempt us to separate.”

We followed Dick’s advice; indeed, although we had no ostensible leader, he always took the post on an emergency.

The strangers approached, moving considerably faster than we were doing. As they drew nearer, Story, who took another view of them through his glass, announced that there were two white men of the party, thus dispelling all fears we might have entertained of an encounter. We therefore pulled up to wait their arrival. As they got still nearer to us, one of the white men rode forward. He was followed by several dogs. Suddenly Dick, who had been regarding him attentively, exclaimed—

“What, Harry Armitage, my dear fellow! What has brought you here?”

“A question much easier asked than answered, and I’ll put the same to you,” said the stranger, shaking hands.

“I came out for a change of scene, and to get further from the ocean than I have ever before been in my life; and now let me introduce you to my friends,” said Dick. The usual forms were gone through. Mr Armitage then introduced his companion as Pierre Buffet, one of the best hunters and trappers throughout the continent. The Indians, he said, had been engaged by Pierre and himself to act as guides and scouts, and to take care of the horses and baggage-mules. As our objects were the same, before we had ridden very far we agreed to continue together, as we should thus, in passing through territories infested by hostile Indians, be the better able to defend ourselves.

We had reason, before long, to be thankful that our party had thus been strengthened. We encamped as usual; and, not forgetting the lesson we had lately received, we set a watch so that we should not be surprised, either by wolves or Redskins. Though the former were heard howling in the distance, we were not otherwise disturbed by them, and at dawn we were once more in our saddles traversing the wide extending prairie, our new associates and we exchanging accounts of the various adventures we had met with. Armitage was not very talkative, but Dick managed to draw him out more than could any of the rest of the party. Buffet, in his broken English, talked away sufficiently to make ample amends for his employer’s taciturnity. Our midday halt was over, and we did not again intend to encamp until nightfall, at a spot described by Buffet on the banks of a stream which ran round a rocky height on the borders of the prairie. It was, however, some distance off, and we did not expect to reach it until later in the day than usual.

We were riding on, when I saw one of the Indians standing up in his stirrups and looking to the northeast. Presently he called to Buntin and pointed in the same direction. The words uttered were such as to cause us no little anxiety. The prairie was on fire. The sharp eyes of the Indian had distinguished the wreaths of smoke which rose above the tall grass, and which I should have taken for a thick mist or cloud gathering in the horizon. The wind blew from the same quarter.

“Messieurs, we must put our horses to their best speed,” exclaimed Pierre. “If the wind gets up, that fire will come on faster than we can go, and we shall all be burnt into cinders if once overtaken.”

“How far off is it?” asked Dick. “Maybe eight or ten miles, but that is as nothing. It will travel five or six miles in the hour, even with this wind blowing—and twice as fast before a gale. On, on, messieurs, there is no time to talk about the matter, for between us and where the flames now rage, there is nothing to stop their progress.”

We needed no further urging, but driving on the mules with shouts and blows—as we had no wish to abandon them if it could be avoided—we dashed on. Every now and then I looked back to observe the progress of the conflagration. Dark wreaths were rising higher and higher in the sky, and below them forked flames ever and anon darted up as the fire caught the more combustible vegetation. Borne by the wind, light powdery ashes fell around us, while we were sensible of a strong odour of burning, which made it appear as if the enemy was already close at our heels. The grass on every side was too tall and dry to enable us—as is frequently done under such circumstances, by setting fire to the herbage—to clear a space in which we could remain while the conflagration passed by.

Our only chance of escaping was by pushing forward. On neither side did Pierre or the Indians know of any spot where we could take refuge nearer than the one ahead. Every instant the smoke grew thicker, and we could hear the roaring, crackling, rushing sound of the flames, though still, happily for us, far away. Prairie-hens, owls, and other birds would flit by, presently followed by numerous deer and buffalo; while whole packs of wolves rushed on regardless of each other and of us, prompted by instinct to make their escape from the apprehended danger. Now a bear who had been foraging on the plain ran by, eager to seek his mountain home; and I caught sight of two or more panthers springing over the ground at a speed which would secure their safety. Here and there small game scampered along, frequently meeting the death they were trying to avoid, from the feet of the larger animals; snakes went wriggling among the grass, owls hooted, wolves yelped, and other animals added their cries to the terror-prompted chorus. Our chance of escaping with our baggage-mules seemed small indeed. The hot air struck our cheeks, as we turned round every now and then to see how near the fire had approached. The dogs kept up bravely at the feet of their masters’ horse.

“If we are to save our own skins, we must abandon our mules,” cried out Dick Buntin in a voice such as that with which he was wont to hail the main-top.

“No help for it, I fear,” answered Armitage; “what do you say, Pierre?”

“Let the beasts go. Sauve qui peut!” answered the Canadian.

There was no time to stop and unload the poor brutes. To have done so would have afforded them a better chance of preserving their lives, though we must still lose our luggage.

The word was given, the halters by which we had been dragging the animals on were cast off; and, putting spurs into the flanks of our steeds, we galloped forward. Our horses seemed to know their danger as well as we did. I was just thinking of the serious consequences of a fall, when down came Dick, who was leading just ahead of me with Charley by his side. His horse had put its foot into a prairie-dog’s hole.

“Are you hurt?” I cried out.

“No, no; go on; don’t wait for me,” he answered. But neither Charley nor I was inclined to do that.

Dick was soon on his feet again, while we assisted him, in spite of what he had said, to get up his horse. The animal’s leg did not appear to be strained, and Dick quickly again climbed into the saddle.

“Thank you, my dear boys,” he exclaimed, “it must not happen again; I am a heavy weight for my brute, and, if he comes down, you must go on and let me shift for myself.”

We made no reply, for neither Charley nor I was inclined to desert our brave friend. The rest of the party had dashed by, scarcely observing what had taken place, the Indians taking the lead. It was impossible to calculate how many miles we had gone. Night was coming on, making the glare to the eastward appear brighter and more terrific. The mules were still instinctively following us, but we were distancing them fast, though we could distinguish their shrieks of terror amid the general uproar.

The hill for which we were making rose up before us, covered, as it appeared, by shrubs and grasses. It seemed doubtful whether it would afford us the safety we sought. We could scarcely hope that our horses would carry us beyond it, for already they were giving signs of becoming exhausted. We might be preserved by taking up a position in the centre of the stream, should it be sufficiently shallow to enable us to stand in it; but that was on the other side of the hill, and the fire might surround us before we could gain its banks. We could barely see the dark outline of the hill ahead, the darkness being increased by the contrast of the lurid flames raging behind us. We dashed across the more open space, where the grass was for some reason of less height than in her parts. Here many of the animals which had passed us, paralysed by fear, had halted as if expecting that they would be safe from the flames. Deer and wolves, bison, and even a huge bear—not a grizzly, however—and many smaller creatures were lying down or running round and round.

I thought Pierre would advise our stopping here, but he shouted, “On, on! This is no place for us; de beasts soon get up and run away too!”

We accordingly dashed forward, but every moment the heat and smell of the fire was increasing. The smoke, which blew around us in thick wreaths driven by the wind, was almost overpowering. This made the conflagration appear even nearer than it really was. At length, Pierre shouted out:

“Dis way, messieurs, dis way!” and I found that we had reached the foot of a rocky hill which rose abruptly out of the plain. He led us round its base until we arrived at a part up which we could manage to drag our horses. Still it seemed very doubtful if we should be safe, for grass covered the lower parts, and, as far as I could judge, shrubs and trees the upper: still there was nothing else to be done. Throwing ourselves from our horses, we continued to drag them up the height, Pierre’s shouts guiding us. I was the last but one, Dick insisting on taking the post of danger in the rear and sending Charley and me before him. The horses were as eager to get up as we were, their instinct showing them that safety was to be found near human beings. Our only fear was that the other animals would follow, and that we should have more companions than we desired. The top was soon gained, when we lost no time in setting to work to clear a space in which we could remain, by cutting down the grass immediately surrounding us, and then firing the rest on the side of the hill towards which the conflagration was approaching. We next beat down the flames we had kindled, with our blankets—a hot occupation during which we were nearly smothered by the smoke rushing in our faces. The fire burnt but slowly against the wind, which was so far an advantage.

“We are safe now, messieurs!” exclaimed Pierre at last; and we all, in one sense, began to breathe more freely, although the feeling of suffocation from the smoke was trying in the extreme.

We could now watch, more calmly than before, the progress of the fire as it rushed across the country, stretching far on either side of us, and lighting up the hills to the north and south, and the groves which grew near them. We often speak of the scarlet line of the British troops advancing on the foe, and such in appearance was the fire; for we could see it from the heights where we stood, forming a line of a width which it seemed possible to leap over, or at all events to dash through without injury. Now it divided, as it passed some rocky spot or marshy ground. Now it again united, and the flames were seen licking up the grass which they had previously spared.

Our poor baggage-animals caused us much anxiety. Had they escaped or fallen victims to the flames with our property, and the most valuable portion of it—the ammunition? Charley declared that he heard some ominous reports, and the Indians nodded as they listened to what he said, and made signs to signify that the baggage had been blown up. For some minutes we were surrounded by a sea of flame, and had to employ ourselves actively in rushing here and there and extinguishing the portions which advanced close upon us, our horses in the meantime standing perfectly still and trembling in every limb, fully alive to their dangerous position. At length, after a few anxious hours, the fire began to die out; but here we were on the top of a rock, without food or water, and with only so much powder and shot as each man carried in his pouch. Still, we had saved our lives and our horses, and had reason to be thankful. The spot was a bleak one to camp in, but we had no choice. To protect ourselves from the wind, we built up a hedge of brushwood, and lighted a fire. Food we could not hope to obtain until the morning, but Pierre and one of the Indians volunteered to go down to the river, and to bring some water in a leathern bottle which the Canadian carried at his saddle-bow. He had also saved a tin cup, but the whole of our camp equipage had shared the fate of the mules, whatever that might be. The sky was overcast, and, as we looked out from our height over the prairie, one vast mass of blackness alone could be seen.

After quenching the thirst produced by the smoke and heat with the water brought by Pierre and his companion, we lay down to sleep.

At daylight we were on foot. The first thing to be done was to ascertain the fate of the mules, and the next to obtain some game to satisfy the cravings of hunger. Pierre and the Indians descended into the plain for both purposes. Charley and I started off in one direction, and Armitage and Story in another, with our guns, along the rocky heights which extended away to the northward, while Dick volunteered to look after the horses and keep our fire burning.

We went on for some distance without falling in with any large game, and we were unwilling to expend our powder on small birds. Charley at last proposed that we should descend into the plain in the hopes of finding some animals killed by the fire.

“Very little chance of that,” I remarked, “for by this time the wolves have eaten them up. We are more likely, if we keep on, to fall in with deer on the opposite side, where the fire has not reached.”

We accordingly crossed the ridge, and were making our way to the westward, when we heard Armitage’s dog giving tongue in the distance.

“They have found deer, at all events, and perhaps we may be in time to pick off one or two of the herd,” I exclaimed.

We scrambled along over the rocks, until we reached the brink of a low precipice, looking over which we caught sight of a magnificent buck with a single dog at his heels. Just then the stag stopped, and, wheeling suddenly round, faced its pursuer. Near was a small pool which served to protect the stag from the attack of the hound in the rear. It appeared to us that it would have gone hard with the dog, for at any moment the antlers of the stag might have pinned it to the ground. We concluded, from not hearing the other dogs, that they had gone off in a different direction, leaving this bold fellow—Lion, by name—to follow his chase alone.

We crept along the rocks, keeping ourselves concealed until we had got near enough to take a steady aim at the stag. I agreed to fire first, and, should I miss, Charley was to try his skill. In the meantime the dog kept advancing and retreating, seeking for an opportunity to fly at the stag’s throat; but even then, should he succeed in fixing his fangs in the animal, he would run great risk of being knelt upon. The deer was as watchful as the dog, and the moment the latter approached, down again went its formidable antlers. Fearing that the deer might by some chance escape, taking a steady aim I fired. To my delight, over it rolled, when we both sprang down the rocks and ran towards it.

While I reloaded, Charley, having beaten off the dog, examined the deer to ascertain that it was really dead. We then set to work to cut up our prize, intending to carry back the best portions to the camp.

While thus employed, we heard a shout and saw our companions approaching with their dogs. They had missed the remainder of the herd, and were too happy in any way to obtain the deer to be jealous of our success.

Laden with the meat, the whole of which we carried with us, we returned to the camp, where we found Dick ready with spits for roasting it. In a short time Pierre and the Indians returned with the report that they had found the mules dead, and already almost devoured by the coyotes, while their cargoes had been blown up, as we feared would be the case, with the powder they contained. They brought the spare, guns—the stocks of which, however, were sadly damaged by the fire. Our camp equipage, which was very welcome, was uninjured, together with a few knives and other articles of iron.

So serious was our loss, that it became absolutely necessary to return to the nearest settlement to obtain fresh pack-animals and a supply of powder.

Chapter Two.

By the loss of our baggage, we were reduced to hard fare. We had no coffee, no corn meal, no salt or pepper; but our greatest want was powder. Should the ammunition in our pouches hold out, we hoped to obtain food enough to keep us from starving till we could reach the nearest settlement of Tillydrone. Before commencing our return journey, however, it would be necessary, we agreed, to obtain a supply of meat, as we should find but little game in the region we had to cross. We must push on through it, therefore, as fast as our horses could carry us; but after their hard gallop on the previous day, it would be necessary to give them several hours rest, and it was settled that we should remain encamped where we were until the following morning. The locality had many advantages: it was high and dry, while, commanding as it did an extensive view over the prairie, we could see any hostile Indians approaching, and could defend ourselves should they venture to attack us.

As soon as breakfast was over, and we had rested from the fatigues of the morning, we again set out on foot with our guns. Charley and I, as before, kept together. The rest divided into two parties, each hoping to add a good supply of meat to the common stock. We had entered into an agreement not to fire a shot, unless sure of our aim, as every charge, to us, was worth its weight in gold. A spot had been fixed on, where we were to meet, about a couple of miles from the camp, in the centre of the ridge. Charley and I had gone on for an hour or more, but had met with no game, when what was our delight to see a herd of a dozen large deer feeding in a glade below us; and, although too far off to risk a shot, we hoped that by making a wide circuit we should be able to creep up to them on the lee side.

Taking the proposed direction, we observed a large clump of rose-bushes, which grew in great profusion in that region. Near them also were two or three trees, behind which we expected to be able to conceal ourselves while we took aim at the deer. Keeping as much under cover as possible, we reached the rose-bushes, when we began to creep along on hands and knees, trailing our guns after us. To our delight we found that the deer were still feeding quietly, unsuspicious of danger. I managed to reach one of the trees, Charley another. The two nearest animals were a stag and a doe. I agreed to shoot the former, Charley the latter.

He waited until I gave the signal, when our guns went off at the same instant. As the smoke cleared away, we saw that both our shot had taken effect. It had been settled that, in case the animals should attempt to get up, we were to rush out and despatch them with our hunting-knives. I ran towards the stag, which made an effort to escape, but rolled over and died just as I reached it. Turning round to ascertain how it fared with Charley, I saw the doe rise to her feet, though bleeding from a wound in the neck. I instantly reloaded to be ready to fire, knowing that under such circumstances even a doe might prove a dangerous antagonist. It was fortunate that I did so, for the animal, throwing herself upon her haunches, began to strike out fiercely with her fore-feet, a blow from which would have fractured my friend’s skull. Seeing his hat fall to the ground, I was afraid that he had been struck. Holding his rifle, which he had unfortunately forgotten to reload, before him in the fashion of a single-stick, he attempted to defend himself; but one of the animal’s hoofs, striking his shoulder, brought him to the ground, so that he was unable to spring back out of harm’s way. For a moment the deer retreated, but then again came on with her fore-feet in the air, intent on mischief. Now was the moment to fire, as the next Charley might be struck lifeless to the ground. I pulled the trigger, aiming at the head of the doe; for, had I attempted to shoot her in the breast, I might have hit my companion. As the smoke cleared away I saw the deer spring into the air and fall lifeless to the ground. The bullet had struck her in the very spot I intended. Charley rose to his feet, and I ran forward, anxious to ascertain if he was injured. Providentially, his ramrod alone was broken, and, except a bruise on the shoulder which caused him some pain, he had escaped without damage.

We lost no time in skinning and cutting up the deer, which having done, we formed two packages of as much of the meat as we could carry, while we suspended the remainder to the bough of a neighbouring tree, to return for it before night-fall. Our companions were nearly as successful, each party having killed a deer, the whole of which they brought into camp. We left them all employed in cutting the chief portion into strips to dry in the sun, so that it could be transported more easily than in a fresh state. As we approached the spot where we had left the venison, a loud yelping which reached our ears told us that the coyotes had found it out. The brutes were not worth powder and shot, so getting some thick sticks, we rushed in among them and drove them off to a distance. They returned, however, as soon as we had got down the venison and were employed in packing it up, and we had to make several onslaughts, during which we killed three or four of the wolves, who were instantly devoured by their companions. While they were thus employed, we had time to pack up our game, but the rapacious creatures followed howling at our heels until we reached the camp. All night long also they continued their unpleasant chorus.

In the morning, having breakfasted on fresh venison, we started, each man carrying a load of the dried meat. Our object was to push on as fast as possible, only halting when necessary to rest our horses, or to kill some buffalo or deer, should any be seen. Pierre especially advised that we should otherwise make no delay, saying that he had observed the trails of Indians, who were probably out on the warpath, and that, at all events, it would be necessary to be on our guard against them.

We crossed the burnt prairie, our horses’ hoofs stirring up the ashes as we scampered along. Frequently we came upon the bodies of small animals which had failed to escape from the fire. We saw also numbers of snakes, some burnt to death, others only scorched and still managing to make their way over the ground. We were thankful when, having crossed a stream, we got into a more cheerful tract of country. Here Pierre advised that we should be doubly on our guard, as in all probability the Indians themselves had fired the grass, either to burn us, or to deprive us of our beasts of burden, as they succeeded in doing, that we might the more easily fall into their hands, but that such was the case it was difficult to say. Perhaps, when they found us strongly posted, they had considered it prudent not to attack us.

We had started before day-break, and proposed halting for a couple of hours to breakfast and rest our beasts, when, just as the rich glow which ushers in the rising sun had suffused the sky, one of the Indians, addressing Pierre, pointed to the south-west.

“What is it he says?” I asked.

“Indians!” answered Pierre, “on foot and on horseback, and no small number of them. We must be prepared for them, messieurs; for, if I mistake not, they are Coomanches, and they are difficult customers to deal with in the open. If we were within a stockade, we should quickly send them to the right about, though, as they stand in awe of our rifles, it is a question whether they will attack us as long as we show a bold front.”

“It is of little use to show a bold front in the centre of a wild prairie, with a hundred howling savages galloping about one,” I thought to myself.

However, none of our party were men to flinch. By Pierre’s advice we rode steadily forward. There was a slight elevation at some distance, with a small lake beyond it. Buntin, who took the lead, proposed that we should try to gain it, as it would give us an advantage over our nimble foes, as, while they were ascending its steep sides, we could shoot them down without difficulty. On we rode therefore as fast as we could venture to go, for it was important not to blow our horses, lest we should have to come to an encounter with the Redskins.

We had got to within a quarter of a mile or so from the height, when we saw that the Indians had divined our intention, a party of them, who must have made a wide circuit, having already taken possession of it.

“Never mind, boys,” said Dick in a cheery voice—“we can fight them if they are in a fighting mood just as well on the plains as on the top of yonder hill. They probably think that all our powder is lost, and expect to gain an easy victory.”

“It will be wise to dismount, messieurs,” said Pierre. “Each man must take post behind his horse, and when the savages come on we must wait until they get near enough to afford us a sure mark.”

“We will follow Pierre’s advice,” said Dick, “but we will wait to ascertain whether they have hostile intentions or not. Our best plan is to proceed steadily on as if we were not conscious of their presence.”

We continued, therefore, riding forward, so as to pass the hill about the eighth of a mile on our right, keeping a careful watch on the Redskins. Suddenly there was a movement among them, and out dashed several horsemen. Sweeping around the hill, they approached us. We lost not a moment, and, placing ourselves as arranged, we stood with our rifles ready to receive them. On they came, shrieking at the top of their voices and uttering their war-cries, until they got almost within shot. Seeing this we presented our rifles, but, just at the moment that we were about to fire, the warriors threw themselves over on the opposite side of their horses, and, sweeping by like a whirlwind, discharged their guns.

Although it was a fine exhibition of horsemanship, the fellows, evidently afraid of us, had kept too far off for their object, and the bullets fell short. At the same moment Armitage, Story, and Pierre fired. Armitage’s bullet struck the horse of the leading brave, which however still galloped on. Story wounded the next warrior, who turning tail rejoined his companions, while the third—who had lifted up his head to take better aim—got a bullet through it from Pierre’s unerring rifle. He fell to the ground, along which he was dragged by his horse, which followed the one immediately before it.

Seeing what had befallen their leaders, the other Indians, who were riding furiously towards us, reined in their steeds, considering discretion the better part of valour.

“We must not trust to the fellows,” cried Dick; “we must hold our ground until they move off.”

It was fortunate we did so, for in a short time the whole troop, gaining courage and hoping to frighten us with war-whoops, came sweeping down upon us. Fortunately but few had fire-arms, and their powder was none of the best. Their arrows fell short, while their bullets, which struck our saddles, failed to pierce them. I got a slight graze on my cheek, and a piece of lead went through Charley’s cap.

Our rifles in the meantime returned the salute in good earnest. Three of us only fired at a time, and three Indians were hit—one of whom was killed outright, though his companions managed to drag off his body. Still the odds were greatly against us. Had we been well supplied with ammunition we should have had no fear as to the result of the encounter, but we dared not fire a shot more than was absolutely necessary.

Notwithstanding the way we had handled them, the Indians did not appear inclined to give up the contest, but, after wheeling out of reach of our rifles, again halted.

“They have had enough of it, I should think,” observed Story.

“I’m not so sure of that,” answered Dick, “our scalps, our horses, and our fire-arms, are too tempting prizes to allow the rascals to let us escape if they fancy that they can get possession of them. See, here they come again!”

As he spoke the whole troop, giving utterance to a terrific war-whoop, passed ahead of us, and then, wheeling round, dashed forward at full speed to attack us on the opposite side. As they got within range, half our number, as before, fired. Three more of them appeared to be hit, and one, evidently a chief, fell from his saddle.

The Redskins had had enough of it, and the rest, crawling round the chief, bore him off. Away they went fleet as the wind. I felt very much inclined to follow. Dick advised us to remain where we were to see what they would do. At length we were satisfied that they had received a lesson by which they were likely to profit, and that they would not again venture to attack us, unless they could take us by surprise. We now found the advantage of not having over-exhausted our horses.

“Mount, and push forward!” cried Dick. “But I say, lads, while those fellows are watching us we’ll move at a steady pace.”

After we had ridden for a couple of miles or so, Dick advised that we should put our horses to their full speed, so as to place as wide a distance between us and our enemies as possible, before we halted for breakfast.

No sooner was the word given than away we went. Pierre proved an excellent guide, and took us across the most easy country, so that by noon it was considered that we might halt without fear of interruption from the same band, though it would be necessary to keep a sharp look out lest another troop of savages might be scouring the country in search of us.

We were by this time desperately sharp set, and while our steeds cropped the grass around, we quickly lighted our fire and put on our venison to cook. Pierre and the Indians did not wait for that operation, but ate the dried venison raw, and I was tempted to chew the end of a strip to stop the gnawings of hunger.

After a couple of hours’ rest, which our horses absolutely required, we again pushed on, anxious to find a safe camping-place for the night. Pierre led us to a spot which appeared as secure as we could desire, by the side of a broad stream of sufficient depth to afford us protection on that side, while a high knoll, with a bluff, would conceal our fire on the one side, and a thick wood on the other, leaving thus only one side towards the prairie. Thus, at all events, we had all the requirements for camping—wood, water, and grass.

The night passed quietly, and the following day we did not fall in with any Indians, so that we ventured to camp at an earlier hour, on a spot very similar to that we had chosen on the previous night. We were getting somewhat tired of our dry venison, and Armitage proposing to go out in search of a deer, I volunteered to accompany him, hoping to find one coming down to drink at the stream. We accordingly kept along its banks, taking with us one of the spare horses, that we might bring home any game we might shoot; but as I wished to give mine a rest I went on foot.

Armitage was some little way in advance, I following close along the borders of the stream, when I heard him fire. Pushing forward I saw him bending over the body of a fine deer. I was making my way through the bushes to assist him, when what was my dismay to catch sight of a huge bear, which Armitage had not perceived, coming along the edge of the stream from the opposite direction.

I shouted to him, to warn him of his danger. He rose to his feet, holding the rein of his horse; for the animal, conscious of the presence of the bear, showed a strong inclination to bolt. The bear, which had, apparently, not before perceived Armitage, came cantering slowly on, until within twenty paces of him. I shouted at the top of my voice for the purpose of distracting the bear’s attention; but Bruin, intent on mischief, took no notice. I was too far off to have any hope of mortally wounding the bear should I fire, and the undergrowth was so thick that I could only slowly make my way through it. Already the bear was scarcely more than a dozen paces off from Armitage, who with his gun levelled stood ready to receive his formidable antagonist. The bear raised itself on its hind legs, giving a roaring grunt, and balancing itself, as bears are wont to do, before making its fatal spring. Should Armitage miss, it seemed impossible that he could escape with his life. I struggled desperately to make my way through the brushwood to go to his assistance.

Again the bear roared, and stretched out its paws, evidently showing that it was about to spring, when my friend fired.

Great was my relief when I saw the bear roll over, floundering about for a few seconds in a vain endeavour to rise and renew the combat; but the bullet had been surely aimed, and before I reached the scene of the encounter the animal’s struggles were over.

We walked round and round the monster, surveying its vast proportions, and then set to work to remove its hide and cut off the most delicate portions of the meat. This occupied us some time. I suggested that the skin might be left behind, but, as the bear was of unusual size, Armitage declared his intention of preserving it if he could. At length we succeeded in strapping it on the back of the horse, and set off to return to the camp.

We walked leisurely along, leading the horse, well satisfied with the result of our short expedition; for bear’s flesh, though not equal to venison, is superior to that of the lean deer we often shot. We found our friends anxious about us; for two of the Indians who had gone out scouting reported that they had fallen in with a suspicious trail, and they warned us that we should very likely be again attacked before we could reach the settlement.

“Let them come on then!” cried Dick, “we’ll treat them as we did the others.”

I have said but little about the Indians accompanying Armitage. They were fine fellows, armed with spears and bows and arrows, as well as with carbines, while they carried in their belts the usual scalping-knives and tomahawks, so that they were likely to prove formidable opponents to our foes.

Having set a double watch, one man to look after the horses, and another the camp, we lay down to obtain the rest we so much needed.

Chapter Three.

Daybreak found us moving forward and already a couple of miles from our last resting-place. We hoped thus to keep ahead of our enemies, who, our Indian allies calculated, had camped some distance to the northward. We thought it probable also, should they have discovered our whereabouts, that they might have intended to attack us before we started in the morning. They would know that we should keep careful watch during the night, but they were very likely to fancy that while breakfasting we should be off our guard, and that they might then take us by surprise. If so, they were disappointed. We rode steadily on, we Whites keeping together, while the Indians on their active mustangs, scouted on either side, their keen eyes searching every thicket and bush for a concealed enemy.

“Can they be trusted?” asked Dick of Armitage.

“They will lose the reward I engaged to give them, should they prove treacherous,” was the answer, “and Pierre considers them honest.”

“I cannot help suspecting that they are very sure no enemy is near, by the way they are showing off,” observed Story.

“They behaved as well as men could do, when we were last attacked,” remarked Charley, who way always ready to stick up for the Indians, of whom he had a great admiration. I agreed with Jack, but at the same time I did not wish to disparage our gallant-looking allies.

While we were speaking two of them came up and addressed Pierre in their own language which he understood thoroughly.

“They say that they have caught sight of a mounted war-party, who are, they think, trying to steal upon us round yonder wood, and take us by surprise,” said Pierre.

“We’ll be prepared for them then, my friends!” exclaimed Dick; “but we’ll ride on as we have been going, and not dismount until they show themselves; we shall then be able to turn the tables on them. You all know what you have to do; but remember again, our powder is running short; don’t throw a shot away.”

“Ay, ay, captain,” was the reply from all of us, for we had given Dick a title he well deserved although the Lords of the Admiralty had not thus favoured him.

Our scouts on the left flank now drew in closer to us, they having made up their minds that we should be attacked on that side. Almost ahead—or, as Dick called it, on our starboard bow—was a clump of trees, backed by rocky ground. It would assist at all events to protect us, on one side. We accordingly directed our course towards it. Anyone seeing us riding along would not have supposed that we were well aware of a powerful body of enemies being close to us, as we might have been seen laughing and joking, one of the party occasionally breaking out into a jovial song.

Our behaviour encouraged our allies, and should the enemy have perceived us, it would have made them suppose that we were quite unconscious of their presence.

We had almost gained the clump of trees I have mentioned, when from the end of the wood about half a mile away, appeared the head of a column of mounted warriors. The moment they showed themselves, with fierce yells and shrieks they dashed on towards us. “Forward, my friends, and let us take up the post I proposed,” cried Dick; and, urging our horses into a gallop, we reached the clump just in time to dismount and arrange our horses before the Indians got within range of our rifles. We were thus better able to defend ourselves than we had been on the previous occasion. The Coomanches came on bravely enough at first, shrieking and hooting at the top of their voices, but we were prepared to receive them in a way they did not expect. Before they began to wheel and throw themselves over on the sides of their horses, Armitage, Story and I, who were considered the best shots of the party, each singled out a man. We fired, and three warriors dropped to the ground. At the same moment, our brave allies dashed forward, with lances in rest, and charged boldly at the advancing foe, who were discharging a shower of arrows at us. One of the Coomanches threw himself on the side of his horse and shot an arrow which pierced our friend’s shoulder, but he was himself the next instant thrust through by his opponent’s lance, his horse galloping off, however, with his dead body. This bold manoeuvre gave us time to reload. We were able to fire a volley as the rest of the party came sweeping by. Two more saddles were emptied, and another warrior was wounded. The latter, however, managed to regain his seat so as to wheel round and rejoin his companions.

Had we been a more numerous party, and armed with swords and lances, we might have mounted and pursued the enemy; but as we possessed only our rifles, it was far more prudent to remain on foot, whence we could take a steady aim.

It was surprising to see the way our persevering assailants came on, and threw themselves over the sides of their horses. It was not until we had an opportunity of examining their trappings, that we discovered how they managed to do so. We found attached to the mane of each horse a strong halter composed of horse-hair, which being passed under the animal’s neck, was firmly plaited into the mane, thus leaving a loop hanging under its neck. When about to fire, the warrior drops into this loop, and he manages to sustain the weight of his body by the upper part of the bent arm. In this way, both his arms are at liberty, either to use his bow or his spear. In his left hand he grasps a dozen arrows, together with his bow, and is not compelled to apply his hand to his quiver, which hangs with his shield at his back, while his long spear being supported by the bend of the elbow he can use it at any moment.

Our allies, on this occasion, rendered us essential service by distracting the attention of our active foes, thus preventing them from shooting with as much accuracy as usual. Their arrows came flying about us, many sticking in the trees behind our backs; but happily only two of our people and one of our horses were slightly wounded, although one of our Indian allies fell to the ground, and before any of his companions could rescue him, a Coomanche, who had ridden up, leaning over his horse, took his scalp and rejoined the main body.

The steady fire we kept up, prevented the Indians from coming close to us; still they were evidently unwilling to abandon, the attempt, in spite of the numbers they had already lost. As far as we could judge, the party which had before attacked us had been increased by many fresh warriors, eager to distinguish themselves. Could they obtain the white men’s scalps, they would be able to boast of their achievement to the end of their days.

We had no intention, could we help it, of giving them this satisfaction. One thing was remarkable—the regular way in which they came on and retreated, like any civilised people engaging in warfare. Our allies, after our first attack, had rejoined us, and waited close at hand to dash forward again, should they see a favourable opportunity. At length the Coomanches, having swept round out of rifle-shot, disappeared behind, the wood from which they had emerged. No sooner had they gone, than our allies threw themselves from their horses and dashed forward towards the bodies of the slain. In vain Dick shouted to Pierre to tell them to let the carcases alone. Never did I witness a more horrid sight; with their scalp-knives in their hands, they sprang forward, and in an instant had passed the sharp blades round the heads of two of them. A third, though badly wounded, both by one of our bullets and an arrow in his side, raised himself up, and fiercely regarding his advancing foe, mocked and derided him as an ally of the whites.

The Indian advanced, and springing on the prostrate man, without waiting to give him the merciful blow, whipped off his scalp, and left him still bleeding on the ground. On seeing this, Pierre, who seemed rather ashamed of his friends, sent a bullet into the poor wretch’s head, and put him out of his misery.

The knife of one of the others must have been blunt, for finding that the scalp did not come off as quickly as he wished, seating himself on the ground with his feet against the dead man’s shoulders, he pulled it away by main force. So far we had been more successful than we had expected; but our enemies might rally, and, hovering in the neighbourhood, keep us constantly in a state of anxiety. We were unwilling to leave our secure position until we could ascertain whether the Indians had retreated. To learn this, it was necessary to get to the other side of the wood, which hid them from view. For this purpose, one of our allies volunteered to ride forward and ascertain where they were. The risk, however, was great, for should he be pursued, and overtaken, his death was certain. Still, the advantage to us would be so great, that Armitage consented to his going. Instead of making directly towards the wood, however, he rode first to the east and then suddenly turning his course northward, galloped along at full speed, until he got a good view of the north side of the wood which was a mere belt of trees, scarcely thick enough to conceal a large body of horsemen.

We watched him anxiously. At any moment his enemies might sally out and attack him. At length we saw him turn his horse’s head, when he came riding leisurely back. Perceiving this we forthwith mounted and continued our journey, leaving the bodies of the Indians to be devoured by the prairie wolves, for we had no time, even had we wished it, to bury them.

We of course kept a bright look out behind us as well as on either side, for as Pierre observed, “It never does to trust those varmints of Redskins; they come like the wind, and are off again with as many scalps as they can lift before a man who has shut his eyes for a moment has time to open them.”

I confess that I heartily hoped we should in future be left alone; for, although I had no objection to an occasional brush with the red men, I had no fancy to be constantly harassed by them, and to be compelled to remain in camp without the chance of a shot at a deer or buffalo for fear of losing one’s scalp. I thought, however, that we had now done with them and should the next night be able to sleep in peace. Again we continued on until it was nearly dark, when we formed camp in as sheltered a position as we could find.

Of course our trail would show the way we had taken, and, should the Indians be so disposed, they might follow us. The only question was whether they could or could not take us by surprise. We had, fortunately, enough meat for supper, but we agreed that it would be necessary to hunt the next day at all risks. When, however, we came to examine our powder horns, we found that we had scarcely more than a couple of charges each. It would be impossible therefore to defend ourselves, should we be again attacked, and a difficult task to obtain game sufficient to last us to the end of the journey. We had fortunately a good supply of bear’s meat, which, as Dick observed, “went a long way;” but our Indian friends were voracious feeders and it was necessary to give them as much as they wanted. Our chief hope now of obtaining food was that we might come across some buffalo which our Indians would be able to shoot with their bows and arrows: at all events, having already escaped so many dangers, we determined to keep up our spirits and not to be cast down by the difficulties in the way.

As our Indians had been on the watch the previous night, we undertook to keep guard this night, two at a time. Charley and I were to be together.

What the captain called “the middle watch” was over, when we mounted guard, Charley on the horses, I on the camp. Just then the moon, in its last quarter, rose above the horizon, shedding a pale light over the prairie. We had been on foot a couple of hours and I was hoping that it would soon be time to rouse up my companions and commence the day’s march, when Charley came to me.

“Look there!” he said, “I fancy that I can make out some objects in the distance, but whether they are prairie wolves or men I am not quite certain. If they are Indians, the sooner we secure the horses the better. If they are wolves they can do us no great harm. We will awaken our friends, at all events!”

I quickly, in a low voice, called up all hands; and each man, without standing on his feet, crept towards his horse. In a few seconds we had secured the whole of them.

“Now!” cried Dick, “mount and away.” No sooner were the words uttered, than we sprang into our saddles. As we did so a loud shout saluted our ears, followed by the whistling of arrows; and, turning round, we saw fifty dark forms scampering after us. Had we possessed ammunition, we should not have dreamed of taking to flight; but, without the means of defending ourselves, it was the only safe thing to be done. The arrows came fast and thick.

“Keep together lads,” cried Dick, “never mind those bodkins, we shall soon distance our pursuers.”

I heard a sharp cry from Charley and turning round I saw an arrow sticking in his side. The captain had already been wounded, but he did not betray the fact of his being hurt.

Our horses, seeming to understand our dangerous position, stretched out at their greatest speed. I turned round and could still see the Indians coming on and discharging their arrows; but we were now beyond their range, and, provided our horses kept their feet, we had no fear of being overtaken. It was very trying to have to run away from foes whom we had twice defeated, for we had no doubt that they were the same band of Redskins we had before encountered and who now hoped, by approaching on foot, to take us by surprise. Had not Charley’s quick sight detected them indeed, we should probably have lost our horses and have been murdered into the bargain. On we galloped, yet for a long time we could hear the shrieks and shouts of our distant foes. Their horses were not likely to be far off, and we knew that they would probably return for them and again pursue us. We must, therefore, put a considerable distance between ourselves and them. Fortunately, not having tired our steeds, we should be able to go on without pulling rein for the whole day; we must, however, camp to feed them, but not for a moment longer than would be absolutely necessary for the purpose. I asked Charley how he felt.

“Never mind me,” he answered, “the arrow hurts somewhat, but I would not have our party stop to attend to me. If I feel worse I’ll tell you, lest I should drop from my horse.”

The captain said not a word of his wound, nor did anyone else complain of being hurt; though, as daylight increased, I observed blood streaming from the leg of one of the Indians, and another with a pierced coat through which an arrow had gone. At length our steeds gave signs of being tired, and we ourselves had become very hungry. We agreed, therefore, to pull up near a stream, with a knoll close to it, from which we could obtain, through our spy-glasses, a wide view across the prairie, so that we could see our enemies before they could discover us. To light a fire and cook our bear’s flesh while our horses were turned loose to feed, occupied but little time. We had saved a couple of tin mugs with which we brought water from the stream; but our kettle, and several other articles, in the hurry of our flight, had been left behind. Our first care was to see to Charley’s wound. He heroically bore the operation of cutting off the head of the arrow, which had to be done before the shaft of the arrow could be drawn out. We then, with a handkerchief, bound up the wound. Dick was less seriously hurt, an arrow having, however, torn its way through his shoulder. The Indian made light of his wound which was very similar to that Charley had received. His companions doctored him, we supplying them with a handkerchief which they bound round his wounded limb. I was still resting when Story, who had taken his post on the knoll, spy-glass in hand, shouted out—

“I have just caught sight of the heads of the Redskins, over the grass, so the sooner we are away the better.”

Saying this he hurried down the hill. We, having caught the horses and packed up the remainder of our meat, mounted and rode on. Both Charley and Dick declared they did not feel much the worse for their wounds, the blood they had lost probably preventing inflammation. Though the Indians could not see us, they must have discovered our trail; and they would soon ascertain, by the remains of our fire, that we were not far ahead. This might encourage them to pursue us; but our horses being better than theirs, we might still, should no accident happen, keep well ahead of them.

We galloped on until dark and then we were once more compelled to camp. Only half our party lay down at a time, the remainder keeping by the horses while they fed, to be ready to bring them in at a moment’s notice. Our pursuers would also have to stop to feed their horses, and as they had not come up to us during the first watch, we hoped that they would leave us in quiet for the remainder of the night.

We were not disturbed; and before daybreak, jumping into our saddles, we pushed on. I must pass over the two following days. As yet we had met with no signs of civilisation, when we saw a wreath of smoke rising above the trees in the far distance. It might come from a backwoodsman’s hut, or it might be simply that of a camp fire. It was not likely to rise from the camp of Indians, so Pierre thought, as they do not generally venture so far east. However, to run no risk of falling among foes, we sent forward one of our scouts, while we proceeded at the pace we had before been going. We felt most anxious to get some shelter, where we could sleep in security and obtain food, for our bear’s flesh was well-nigh exhausted, and we had not hitherto fallen in with buffalo; while both our wounded men required more care than we could give them in the camp, with the chance of having to mount and ride for our lives at any moment.

After riding some distance we heard a shot.

“All’s not right,” cried Dick; “we may have either to fight, or run for it.”

In a short time we saw an Indian riding at full speed towards us.

“What’s the matter?” asked Pierre as he came near.

He pointed to the wood, when presently two white men appeared with rifles in their hands. As soon as they caught sight of us, they shouted out and made signs of friendship to us, while they grounded their arms. We were soon up to them.

“Sorry to have shot at your Redskin friend, but we took him for an enemy, that’s a fact,” said one of them; “however, as the bit of lead missed his head, he’s none the worse for it.”

Dick assured him we had no wish to complain, and asked whether we could find any shelter in the neighbourhood.

“You are welcome to our hut, friends,” answered the other man, “it’s big enough for all hands except the Indians, and they can put up wigwams for themselves. Come along, for there’s a storm brewing, I guess; and you’ll be better under cover than in the open air.”

We gladly accepted the invitation, and guided by our new acquaintances, we soon found ourselves in a clearing, with a good-sized log-hut and a couple of shanties at the rear of it. The rain had already begun to fall; so speedily taking off the bridles and saddles of our steeds, we hobbled them and turned them loose; we then hurried under cover, our Indian guides taking possession of one of the shanties.

Our hosts, Mark and Simon Praeger, told us that they and their brothers had built the log-hut the previous winter. They had already a good-sized field fenced in and under cultivation and had besides a herd of cattle, the intention of the family being to move west in a few months.

On hearing of the loss of our provisions and stores, they at once set to work to get supper ready; and, as they had killed a deer that morning and had a good supply of flour, coffee and other articles, they soon placed an abundant meal smoking on the table. We at once discovered that they were superior to the general run of backwoodsmen, having a fair education, at the same time that they were hardy persevering fellows, and bold buffalo and deer hunters, who held the Redskins in supreme contempt. Their family, they told us, resided somewhere about a hundred miles away to the eastward. They had pushed thus far into the wilderness to form a home for themselves, both young men intending to marry shortly and set up house. Their father’s farm was close to the very settlement for which we were bound, and the nearest where we were likely to get our wants amply supplied. They were sure, they said, that their father would be happy to receive us and assist us in obtaining all we required. We thanked them and gladly accepted their kind offer.

Supper being over, we lay down in our buffalo robes; and I need scarcely say that, having no longer the fear of being aroused by finding an Indian’s scalping-knife running round my head, I was quickly fast asleep, fully expecting to have a good night’s rest.

My sleep, however, at length became troubled. I dreamed that I heard the Indian war-whoops, and saw a whole band of savages spring out of the darkness and rush with uplifted tomahawks towards me while I lay helpless on the ground. Presently the cries increased, and I awoke with a start to hear a terrific growling sound. It was that of a bear, I was convinced. I saw that Mark Praeger, having got up and struck a light, had taken down his rifle from the wall and was going towards the door. I jumped up, as did Armitage and Story, and followed him. As he threw open the door, we saw, not a dozen paces from the hut, a huge bear squatting on his hindquarters and apparently taking a leisurely survey of the hut.

Mark, as soon as he caught sight of his visitor, lifted his rifle and fired, but the cap failed to go off. It would have been a fine opportunity for Bruin to have made a rush upon us; when he might, by dashing into the hut, have taken possession and killed us all one after the other, or driven us out. Instead of doing so, alarmed by the shouts we raised, uttering a low growl, he turned round and broke away through the brushwood on one side of the hut.

“On lads!” cried Mark, “we must get that fellow for the sake of the meat and skin.”

As he spoke he replaced the copper cap and dashed forward in pursuit of the intruder. As we had no wish to go bear-hunting unarmed, we hurried back to obtain our rifles and some powder and bullets from Simon. By the time we were supplied, the rest of the party who had been aroused by our shouts, were on foot and preparing to accompany us. On returning to the door, we could nowhere see Mark; but Simon taking the lead we followed him. The moon had got up, so that we managed to see our way with tolerable clearness, by a path leading down to a stream, with precipitous banks, rising in some places into cliffs of considerable height. We had gone some distance when we heard a shot fired.

“Mark has brought Master Bruin to bay,” cried Simon; “I wish he had waited until we had come up.”

I heard the sound of footsteps behind us, and looking round saw that our Indian allies had followed, as eager as we were to get the bear’s meat. Just then we saw Mark bending over the bear which he had shot; but what was our horror the next moment to observe another huge monster rush out from behind a rock and lifting itself on its haunches make a spring at him, before he could even turn round to defend himself. His death seemed certain. In attempting to shoot the bear, we should too probably kill him. No one therefore dared to fire. In vain he endeavoured to escape from the claws of the creature who held him in a fast embrace. His brother and Armitage, who were leading, dashed forward, the one drawing a long knife, the other armed with an axe which he had caught up as we left the hut. I held my gun ready, waiting to fire should I be able to do so without running the risk of shooting one of my friends.

It was a fearful moment. It seemed scarcely possible, even should we kill the bear, that poor Mark would escape destruction. Simon, springing close to the monster, dealt it a tremendous blow with his axe, hoping to draw its attention on himself; while Armitage, with his uplifted knife, dashed forward, and as he did so plunged his weapon behind the bear’s shoulder. The monster turned round on feeling the wound, and I thought would have bitten Mark’s head. Simon again plied the brute with his axe. The huge jaws relaxed, the head sank down, Armitage had driven his knife home to the beast’s heart.

With shouts, indicative of their satisfaction, the Indians now hurried up and assisted us in dragging off the body from our fallen friend who was by this time nearly senseless. The bear’s claws had torn him fearfully about the breast and shoulders, besides having given him a tremendous hug, but had, we hoped, injured no vital part. He was unable, however, to speak or stand. We at once, therefore, formed a litter with poles speedily cut from the banks of the stream, on which we bore him back to the hut, leaving the Indians under the command of Pierre to cut up the bears and bring in their flesh and skins, an occupation to which they applied themselves with evident delight.

Chapter Four.

On arriving at the hut with our almost inanimate burden, we found the captain and Charlie in a state of great anxiety to know what had happened; for they had, I should have said, been undressed, and placed in our hosts’ beds, their wounds preventing them from putting on their clothes. The captain insisted on turning out when he saw the sad condition of Mark; and he moreover undertook to doctor him as well as he was able. It appeared evident, however, that as soon as possible Mark and Charley should be removed to the settlement, where they could obtain surgical aid. Mark in a short time revived. From the captain’s report, we had hopes that, on account of his fine constitution, he would escape inflammation, which was chiefly, under his circumstances, to be feared.

The Praegers had a light wagon, into which, soon after breakfast was over the next morning, we put our three wounded companions, and leaving Pierre and the Indians with Simon Praeger, we set off for Tillydrone. We would gladly have had another day’s rest, but the impossibility of obtaining medical assistance for poor Mark and Charley made us willing to undergo the fatigue.

The country was tolerably level, there being a fine open prairie, across which we rattled at a good speed, though the unavoidable jolting must have greatly tried our poor friends within. I was very thankful when Mark, looking out of the wagon, told us that we were approaching his father’s house. Our cavalcade must have been seen, for in a short time two horsemen came galloping up to us: the elder, a fine-looking, middle-aged man, Mark saluted as his father; the other as brother Peter. A few words explained what had happened. Mr Praeger immediately invited us all to his house, while Peter started off as fast as he could go to summon the doctor.

The house to which we were conducted was a picturesque, comfortable-looking building, constructed of wood, with a low pitched roof, and wide long verandah, up to which a flight of broad steps led us. We found a matronly-looking dame, with a bevy of young ones, standing in the verandah, evidently wondering at the number of guests Mr Praeger was bringing to the house. They were all activity on hearing the state of the occupants of the wagon, and hurried down the steps to assist in lifting in our wounded companions, for neither Charley nor Mark were able to walk. The captain, however, got up the steps by merely leaning on Mr Praeger’s arm.

In a few minutes all three were placed in bed, Mrs Praeger declaring that it was the only place fit for either of them, though her son was certainly the most hurt.

The young ladies were so busy during the evening, flitting about here and there, that I could scarcely tell how many there were of them. I remarked, however, that one was taller than the others, very fair, and with a graceful figure. When Armitage—who had remained out of sight, looking after the horses—came in, she was not in the room, and it was some time before she returned. When she did so, he rose to his feet, and regarded her earnestly, while the colour mounted to his cheek and brow; then he bowed, and stood apparently irresolute whether to advance or retreat. She started on seeing him and then put out her hand. He sprang across the room and took it.

“I little expected to have the happiness of seeing you, Miss Hargrave,” he said.

“Is it a happiness?” she asked, in a calm tone.

“Indeed it is,” he replied. “I heard that you had left England, but could not ascertain to what part of the world you had gone.”

What further passed between our friend and the young lady I cannot tell, as they lowered their voices, while they retired to a window at the other end of the room, Armitage forgetting all about his supper.

The ladies of the family, I should say, did not sit down to table, as they had already taken their evening meal, and insisted on waiting upon us.

Peter Praeger returned sooner than was expected with the doctor, whom he found on a visit to a family five or six miles off.

He gave a more favourable report of Dick and Charley than I expected, but young Mark, he said, would require the greatest possible care; a good constitution, however, he hoped, would enable him to pull through, though his hurts were of a most serious description.

I had no opportunity of speaking to Armitage before turning in, so I was unable to ascertain more about the young lady he had so unexpectedly met. The rest of the family were very nice and pretty girls, their manners much superior to what I had reasonably supposed would be found in the “Far West.”

Soon after breakfast the next morning, I saw Armitage and Miss Hargrave walking out together, he having asked her to show him a beautiful view she had spoken of at the other end of the estate. The rest of the young ladies being occupied, Story and I lit our pipes, and were sitting smoking them in the verandah, when we were joined by Mr Praeger.

“Your companion appears to be an old friend of my young relative,” he observed, as if apparently wishing to learn something about Armitage.

I replied that he was well known to Lieutenant Buntin, who spoke highly of him; and that he was evidently a man of some means, as we judged from his outfit and the number of his attendants, while we had found him a most excellent fellow in every respect.

“I’m glad to hear it, for the sake of my wife’s young cousin Ellen,” he answered. “She came out to us a few months ago, having lost her parents, and having no relatives for whom she cared in England. She had, however, very little idea of the rough style of life we are compelled to lead; but she at once got into our ways, though I observed what I could not account for, that she was often more melancholy than was consistent with her disposition. Now, however, I suspect the cause.”

I fully agreed with our out-spoken host. I soon found that we were not likely to learn anything of the interesting subject from Armitage himself, for he was remarkably reticent, and I saw that it would not do to banter him, or allude in any way to it.

I must pass over several days, during which the doctor as well as the ladies of the family were unremitting in their attentions to the wounded men. The captain was soon himself again, though still too weak to travel; but Charley’s wound took much longer to heal, and Mark was not likely to be on foot again for three or four weeks at soonest. In the meantime, Story and I, with our constant companion, Peter, rode over to the settlement to obtain the stores we required for our journey, as well as to replace our baggage mules.

While thus engaged, we found an old trapper also making purchases at the stores. He was tall and gaunt, his countenance weather beaten and sunburnt, of a ruddy brown hue, his hair—which hung over his shoulders—being only slightly grizzled, while his chin and face were smooth shaved. He was dressed in a hunting-frock of buckskin, and pantaloons of the same material ornamented down the seams with long fringes. On his feet he wore mocassins of Indian make; his head was covered by a neatly-made cap of beaver; an unusually large powder-horn was slung over his shoulders, together with a rifle, carefully covered up; while in his belt, in addition to a knife and tomahawk, he carried a brace of pistols with long barrels, showing that he was accustomed to travel amongst enemies, and was prepared to make a stout fight if he was attacked. On seeing us, he enquired who we were, where we had come from, and in what direction we were going.

We told him without hesitation.

“I guess the old hoss will go with you some of the way,” he said. “Tell Master Praeger that Ben Folkard will pay him a visit before long, I can’t say when. He knows me, and he knows when I say I’ll do a thing I intend to do it.”

We promised to give old Folkard’s message, and soon afterwards we parted from him. Peter told us that he had heard his father speak of Ben Folkard as one of the most noted and skilful trappers of the Rocky Mountains, and that he never turned up without a large supply of skins and peltries.

We were fortunate in obtaining some fine Mexican mules and all the articles we required, though we had to pay somewhat highly for them. Well satisfied, we set off to return to Mr Praeger’s. The houses and the stores were few and far between, the intermediate country being still in a state of nature. As our laden mules could not travel fast, we had to camp on the way. We chose a grassy spot near a wood, offering sufficient attractions to our animals to prevent them from straying, though of course we hobbled them as an additional security.

While Peter remained in camp, Story and I took our guns to get a turkey, or any other game which might come in our way. We had not gone far when Story called my attention to an animal standing on the fallen trunk of a tree, and told me to keep back the dogs, which would be sure to suffer if they were to attack it. I was about to fire, when I caught sight of another animal of similar size with a long, thin body and sharp nose, which I at once recognised as a marten. It had apparently been watching the porcupine, who, unconscious of its approach, remained perfectly still, its spines scarcely visible. The marten was intent on taking its enemy by surprise; and, stealing up, threw itself on the unsuspicious porcupine before it had time even to raise its spines. The moment it felt itself seized, it began to lash its tail about and throw out its quills in all directions; but the marten, by its wonderful agility, escaped the blows aimed at it. In a short time it gained the victory, and was already sucking the blood of its victim when Story fired and hit it in the head. As the skin was of considerable value, we quickly flayed it, and with a couple of turkeys which we were fortunate enough to shoot, returned to camp, where, to our surprise, we found old Folkard seated smoking his pipe.

“I’m going along with you, boys,” he said. “Good company isn’t always to be got, and it’s not always safe, while the Redskins are on the war-path, to travel through the country alone. You can help me and I can help you, so that we shall be quits.”

We, of course, told the trapper that we should be very happy to have the benefit of his experience.

We passed the night quietly enough; but the next morning, to our excessive disgust, half the mules were missing. In spite of their hobbles, they had managed to get away. Peter and I with two men at once set off in search of them; but it was not until late in the day that we found the runaways. As soon as we had brought them back we started, but of course could make but a short distance. On camping, with the assistance of the old trapper we hobbled them more securely than on the previous night, and by his advice a watch was set, we all taking the duty in turns. Old Ben, however, excused himself from watching, declaring that his mules never ran away and that as he should have to keep wide awake during most nights by and by, he should prefer a sound sleep while he could get it.

To this we made no objection. We placed the packs on one side of our camp-fire, near which, having taken our suppers, the old trapper, Peter, and Story lay down to sleep; while I, with my rifle in my hand, walked off to look after the horses and mules. I kept walking up and down, keeping my eyes open, and when any of the animals appeared inclined to head off from the rest turned them back. The night was fine and the stars shone out brightly, but it was otherwise somewhat dark. At last I began to yawn and to wish heartily that Story would come and relieve me. Once or twice I heard cries in the distance very similar to those which had disturbed us when further to the west, but here, so near the settled districts, I thought nothing of the matter. I suspected that the cunning mules were watching me, for when I turned towards the camp to call Story, off one or two of them bolted. They had played me this trick two or three times, and at last one of them led me so long a chase that when I caught him I determined to punish the brute by securing him to a tree. Having done so I turned towards the camp, but the fire had burnt so low that I could scarcely see the spot. There was light enough, however, to enable me to distinguish several objects moving over the ground. Can they be Indians? I thought, as I ran forward hoping to arouse my companions in time to defend themselves. Before I got up to the camp, however, I saw what I at once knew to be a pack of wolves. On they came without bark or yelp, making straight for our baggage. Among the provisions we had purchased was a quantity of pemmican placed on the top. I really believe that the wolves, cunning as foxes, had surveyed our camp and knew exactly what to go in for. I shouted loudly, hoping to frighten them off and awaken my friends; but even old Ben was sleeping so soundly that for some time no one heard my voice, while I was afraid to fire at the wolves for fear—in the uncertain light—of hitting one of my sleeping companions. At length up sprang Story and Peter, and their cries aroused the old trapper. It was too late, however, to prevent the wolves making an onslaught on our baggage. Each seized something in his mouth, but our cries prevented them from remaining and devouring the whole of our provisions, which they undoubtedly otherwise would have done. Off they went, several of the rascals carrying bags of pemmican or of flour, or packages of hams in their mouths. I fired and stopped the career of one of them, while my companions, imitating my example, shot three others. We then, having reloaded, made chase and brought down two or three more.

We should have regained the whole of our provisions, but, in several instances, the moment a wolf was shot another brute seized his prize and made off with it. Under other circumstances we should not have expended powder on the brutes. We fired away, however, as long as any remained within shot, and on searching for the booty we recovered nearly the whole of it. Our chief loss was in our flour, as the animals, while grabbing the bags from each other, had well nigh torn them to pieces and let the contents run out.

Old Ben took matters very coolly, but Story and Peter were so vexed that they undertook to ride back and replace our loss, if we would consent to move on slowly with the rest of the animals. This we gladly did, the old trapper managing them with perfect ease. He said that he had seldom known a pack of wolves to come so far east, and advised that in future we should keep a sharp look-out lest we might encounter others.

Our friends overtook us the next day, and in the evening we reached Mr Praeger’s. We found Dick quite recovered and ready to set off again; but it seemed doubtful whether Armitage would continue his expedition. It struck me that although Mr Praeger was very civil, he would be glad to have us go. To say the least, we occupied a great deal of the attention of the ladies of the family, and Charley hinted that honest Dick was somewhat spoony on one of them. Story had also been warm in his praises of another, and it struck me that the young lady’s colour heightened and her eyes brightened when he spoke to her.

Mr Praeger seemed less contented with his location than I should have thought. He had evidently been captivated by the accounts of the wealth of California, and he made his “woman kind” somewhat uneasy by talking of travelling across the country, bag and baggage, to settle in the new Eldorado. They evidently had no wish to move; which was but natural, as they appeared to me to have everything they could desire, besides being free from the risk of Indian raids to which the settlers farther west were constantly exposed. Dick, Story and I now made active preparations for our departure; and, to my surprise, and much to our satisfaction, Armitage expressed his intention of accompanying us.

I thought that Ellen’s countenance and those of some of the other young ladies had a shade of sadness on them as they saw us engaged in doing up our packs and trying our newly-bought mules. Dick and I each purchased a strong, active horse from Mr Praeger, for which we gave him long prices as some return for his hospitality; and we then presented him with our own steeds, which were likely to pick up muscle and flesh on his rich pastures.

Though he was as courteous as ever, he did not press us to stay, and at length, all our traps being prepared, we set off, accompanied by old Folkard, who did not even ask whether we wished for his society or not. Armitage remained behind, so I did not witness his parting with Miss Hargrave, but he soon galloped after us. Peter accompanied us as far as his brother’s, to take the place of poor Mark, who was still unfit for work, though in a fair way of recovery. We spent a day with the young backwoodsmen, whose hearts were delighted with a present of a first-rate Joe Manton. Our intention was to push on for the base of the Rocky Mountains to a region where deer and buffalo and big-horns abounded. We shot several deer, but as we had come across no buffalo, the larger herds had, we supposed, moved northward. We had encamped one afternoon earlier than usual, being tempted to halt by a wide stream and a wood near at hand. Our fire being lighted and our meat put on to roast and stew, Armitage, Story, and I took our guns to go out in search of turkeys or other small game, should we be unable to find deer. Armitage took two of his dogs, though they often gave us more trouble than assistance in hunting. We had, however, been tolerably successful, and shot three fine gobblers and some smaller birds, when, as we were returning towards camp, the dogs gave tongue and started off to the right, refusing to return at their master’s call.

We hurried on as fast as the rough nature of the ground would allow us. We were on the top of some low cliffs which had formed at some time or other of the world’s history the side of a torrent now dried up and overgrown with trees. Presently we heard a cry of—

“Here, boys, help, help!”

At the same time one of the dogs leaped over the cliff, and we saw a short distance from us Charley struggling with a brown bear, providentially not a grizzly, which with great courage he had grasped by the throat so as to prevent the brute from biting him; but he was brought on his knees, his cap had fallen off, and his gun lay on the ground beside him. In another instant the bear would have seized his head, when the dog leaped down on the creature’s back and caused a diversion in his favour. To fire would have been dangerous, for had we tried to kill the bear we should have run a fearful risk of shooting Charley. We therefore trusted to the assistance of the dogs, the other, following its companion, having fixed its teeth well into the bear. Charley manfully continued the contest, but was afraid of releasing his hold of the bear’s throat lest it should bite him.

We shouted and shrieked, hoping to frighten Bruin, as we scrambled over the rocks. At length Charley, still holding the bear’s throat with one hand, managed to get hold of his knife with the other, and in spite of the creature’s claws round his waist, using all his strength he struck the weapon into its breast. The bear opened its paws as it felt the knife entering, and Charley, having driven the weapon home, sprang back, when the creature rolled over, almost crushing one of the dogs in its convulsive struggles. Before we could get up to the scene of the contest it was dead, and most thankful were we to find Charley wonderfully little injured, though his clothes were somewhat torn. Our young friend showed indeed remarkable nerve, for he scarcely even trembled, though his cheek was somewhat paler than usual from the desperate exertions he had made.

On examining the bear we found that it was an old one, and somewhat thin from want of food; its claws also were blunted from old age, which circumstance accounted for Charley’s almost miraculous escape, for had it possessed its full strength a single hug would have pressed the life out of his body.

We congratulated him heartily on his preservation, and complimented him on the courage he had exhibited.

“Let us have the skin, at all events,” he said. “I would sooner carry it on my own shoulders into camp than leave it behind.”

“We’ll not disappoint you, my boy,” said Story; and he immediately began to flay the animal; but as its flesh was likely to prove tough, we left the carcase for the benefit of the prairie wolves.

While Story and I carried the skin between us, Armitage assisted Charley, who was less able to walk than he had at first supposed. A man cannot get even a moderate hug from a bear without suffering.

At the camp we found two strange Indians, who seemed disposed to be very friendly, and invited us to pay them a visit at their lodges only an hour’s march off. One of them was a fine young fellow, dressed in a leathern jacket and leggings richly ornamented, while on his head he wore a circlet of feathers. He appeared to be greatly struck with Charley on hearing of his exploit with the bear, and putting out his hand, declared that they must henceforth be brothers.

Dick, though greatly delighted at hearing of Charley’s behaviour, was much concerned on seeing the injuries he had received, which were more serious than we had at first supposed. He insisted on his turning into a hut which old Folkard and Pierre immediately set to work to construct.

Our guests begged that he might be conveyed to their wigwams, saying that their squaws would doctor him and soon restore his strength.

“They may be honest—those Shianees—but they may be rogues like many other Redskins,” observed old Ben. “Better not trust them.”

We therefore thanked our guests, but declined their offer for the present, saying that our young companion was unfit to be moved, though we hoped to pay them a visit on the following day.

They, nothing abashed, continued to squat round the fire, smoking tobacco and quaffing with evident pleasure the small glasses of usquebaugh which Dick bestowed upon them. Armitage objected, however, to the captain’s giving them liquor.

“Let them take as much as they’ve a fancy to,” said Ben. “It won’t do them any harm once in a way, and it will let us know what they are thinking about.”

Our guests having drunk the whisky, showed the same friendly disposition as at first, nor did they complain when Dick refused to give them any more.

“A little do good, too much do harm,” observed Dick, at which they nodded as if perfectly agreeing with him.

As the shades of evening approached, they got up, and shaking hands all round, took their departure.

“They’re all right, we may trust them,” said Ben.

We nevertheless kept a strict watch over our cattle, for the temptation to steal a fine stud might have been too great for our Indian neighbours to resist. No attempt was made on the camp however, and the next morning the animals were found feeding as quietly as usual.

Chapter Five.

A tremendous storm, such as we had not yet experienced, kept us in camp the next morning. The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain came down in torrents, compelling us to make trenches round our huts. Even when doing this, we were nearly wet to the skin. Our fires also were almost extinguished, though we contrived to keep them in by heaping up fresh fuel every few minutes. It was truly a battle between the flames and the rain, but the former would have been beaten without our assistance. The same cause probably kept the Indians inside their wigwams, for we saw nothing of them. We managed to cover up poor Charley so that he did not suffer. In the afternoon, the rain cleared off, and trusting to the professions of the Indians, Dick and I set off to pay them a visit. For prudence, according to the custom we had adopted, we wore our swords by our sides, at which, as they appeared rather more for ornament than use, the Indians were not likely to take offence. One of the Indians, who had come to our camp the previous evening, was, we discovered, their chief, by name Ocuno, or the Yellow Wolf. He received us with outstretched hands, appearing highly pleased at our coming, and without hesitation introduced us to his principal squaw, a very attractive young woman with a pleasing expression of countenance, and much fairer than Indians in general, indeed we had no doubt that she must have had a white father. She told us that she was much attached to the whites, and had not it been her lot to become the wife of Yellow Wolf, she would gladly have married a pale face. Dick was so well satisfied, that he agreed to bring his young friend over to their village the next morning, that he might be placed under her charge.

The Yellow Wolf told us that he intended to start in search of buffalo in a day or two, and that if we chose, we might accompany him, promising that we should have half the animals slain; “for,” as he observed, “he and his people were more expert hunters, yet our firearms would make amends for our want of skill.”

After spending some time with our new friends, we returned to our own camp. The offer of Yellow Wolf was accepted by all hands, and in the morning we conveyed Charley on a litter to his lodge, the baggage mules and spare horses being also moved forward to the neighbourhood of the village. We found the Indians preparing to engage in a dance, which we supposed was for our entertainment, but which we afterwards discovered, was for the sake of inducing the Good Spirit to send herds of buffalo to their neighbourhood.

As soon as Charley was comfortably placed inside his wigwam, and the fair Manoa, the “Flower of the Prairies”—as her lord was wont to call her—was examining his hurts, the Yellow Wolf desired us to be seated in front of it. Scarcely had we taken our places, than from every hut rushed forward some monstrous figures with buffalo heads, but the legs of men and huge tails trailing behind, the whole of the party collecting in an open space in front of us. They were about to begin, we were told, their famous buffalo dance. First round and round they tramped with measured steps, then they rushed against each other, then separated, then again met. Some were overthrown, but quickly getting on their feet, rejoined their companions. Now they bent down on all fours; now one buffalo, seizing a bow, shot a blunt arrow at another. Some had shields and spears; some, mounted on the backs of their companions, charged at everyone they met; all the time the whole band were stamping, bellowing, yelping, and making other terrific noises, while another party were seated on the ground beating their drums, and shaking their rattles, the dancers keeping time to the discordant music. It is difficult to describe the feats of the different performers, for each man appeared to dance until he could dance no more, except that when a pretended buffalo was shot by a blunt arrow, he was dragged out, and another immediately took his place. This amusement went on until we were utterly weary of witnessing it, though at first it was amusing enough. I then suggested to Yellow Wolf that he should order the dancers to “knock off;” but he replied that the efficacy of the ceremony depended upon its continuing until the buffalo should appear.

“But suppose they should not come for a whole moon, your braves will be pretty well worn out by that time,” I remarked.

“But they will come before then,” he answered.

“So I should hope,” I said, laughing.

At last a bevy of squaws placed on the ground, in front of the tent, an abundant feast of various messes, of which our host invited us to partake, suggesting that we should add a few articles from our own stores, including a bottle of fire-water, “for which,” he observed, “his lips felt a peculiar longing.”

We took the hint, but Dick ordered only a small bottle to be brought, observing that we kept the firewater for sick men, or for such occasions as the present, and that we could not venture to draw largely on our store.

Unattractive as were the dishes the Redskin damsels offered us, they were far more palatable than might have been expected.

As the Indians liked their own dishes best, and we preferred ours, we did not trespass very largely on theirs. We found from the small amount of meat in the village, that the inhabitants were more hard up for food than we had supposed.

The buffalo dancers all the time continued their performance, being evidently impressed with the belief that the more furiously they danced, the sooner the buffaloes would make their appearance. Night brought no cessation, one relay of performers relieving the other without intermission; so that I was afraid poor Charley would have but little chance of a sleep. He, however, when I paid him a visit before retiring, assured me that he had got accustomed to the noise; and that the Flower of the Prairies had taken such good care of him that he was perfectly ready to remain where he was. Although we had every confidence in the honesty of our new friends, we deemed it prudent to keep a watch at night, both in camp and over the animals, for fear some young brave might take it into his head to distinguish himself by running off with a horse or two, as he would be sure to find a welcome among any friendly tribe after the performance of such an act. I have no doubt there are some noble Redskins fit to become heroes of romances; but the greater part are unmitigated savages, with notions of right and wrong very different from those of civilised people.

The next day we paid a visit to Yellow Wolf, when we found his people still dancing with unabated vigour.

“The buffalo have not come yet!” I observed to him.

“Wait a bit, they come by-and-by,” he replied. Dick suggested that we should strike away westward in search of them, but Yellow Wolf replied that it would be of no use, and that probably the buffalo would turn back and take a different course, should the pale-faces pursue them.

Old Ben advised us not to act contrary to the chief’s wishes, observing that he undoubtedly had a very correct notion of when the buffalo would appear, as he never allowed the dance to commence until he calculated that the herd were not far off.

Wishing to cement our friendship with the chief we invited him and some of his principal braves to our camp, where we provided a feast as suitable to their tastes as we were capable of producing. They approved of the boiled ham and pork as well as the corn cakes, sweetened with sugar, which old Ben manufactured; but they hinted pretty strongly that the stuff our flasks contained was more to their taste than anything else we possessed. We took good care, however, not to give them enough to make them drunk; but Armitage observed that we were doing them harm by creating in them a taste for spirits, and that it would have been wiser not to allow them from the first to know that we had any.

The feast was over, and our guests were smoking the tobacco with which we provided them, puffing away with evident enjoyment, when a young brave was seen galloping towards our camp at headlong speed. As he approached, he cried out,—“The buffalo! the buffalo are coming!”

“I said so!” exclaimed Yellow Wolf, springing up and rushing towards his horse. We all followed his example, leaving Pierre and the Indians in charge of the camp.

Yellow Wolf and his followers directed their course towards their lodges to obtain their bows and arrows; for, to show the confidence they placed in us, they had come without them. As we came near, we saw, far to the north and north-west, the whole ground covered with a dark mass of shaggy monsters, tossing their heads and flourishing their tails, the ground literally trembling beneath their feet as they dashed on towards us. The course they were following would bring them directly down upon the camp. We might as well have endeavoured to stop a cataract as to have tried to turn them aside. Their sudden appearance caused the greatest excitement and confusion in the camp. The buffalo dancers, who had danced they were convinced to some purpose, having thrown off their masquerading dresses, were rushing here and there to obtain their arms and catch their horses. Before, however, the greater number were ready for the encounter, the buffalo were in their midst; and, to the dismay of the inmates, charged right through the camp, capsizing wigwams, trampling over women and children, dashing through the fires, and crushing pots and pans. Many of the brutes, however, paid dearly for their exploit; as the hunters, with shouts and shrieks, followed them up, shooting down some, spearing others, and ham-stringing the brutes right and left, who were too much astonished and confused at the unexpected reception they met with to escape. I made my way to the chief’s wigwam, which I was thankful to see still standing, and was just in time to shoot a buffalo charging at it with a force which would have upset a structure of ten times its stability. As it was, the animal rolled over, close to the tent poles. It was the first buffalo I had killed, and I was the prouder of the exploit as I had saved Charlie and the Flower of the Prairies from injury. I saw the chief galloping after another buffalo charging an old warrior fallen to the ground, and who would, in another moment, have been transfixed by its horns, had not Yellow Wolf stuck his spear behind its shoulder so powerful a blow that the creature rolled over, not, however, without almost crushing the old man’s legs. The fierce onslaught made by the Indians on the herd at length divided it, some of the animals going off to the south-east, others to the south-west. Greatly to our satisfaction they then passed by on either side of our camp, several of their number being brought down by Ben Folkard’s and Pierre’s unerring rifles, three also being killed by our Indian followers. We, as well as the Indians, however, excited by the chase, still followed the buffaloes, although it seemed to me that we had already as much meat as the people could possibly consume.

Away we went, the Indians pursuing the cows, which they had singled out, their flesh being of the most value, though they were much smaller than the bulls. I confess, as they were all galloping along together, that I could scarcely distinguish one from the other. I found myself at length alone, pursuing part of the herd which had turned away eastward. I had managed to knock over two animals, and having again loaded made chase after a cow which had separated from her companions, I being determined to shoot her and then return. For some time she gave me no chance, as, unless I could obtain a broadside shot, there was no use in firing. My horse was beginning to get blown, but I urged him on with whip and spur, until at length I managed to get up to within a few paces, when rising in my stirrups I fired down upon the animal. It seemed like the work of a moment, scarcely had I pulled the trigger than down dropped the buffalo, the bullet having broken her spine. So rapid was the pace of my horse, that he was unable to stop himself. He made an attempt, however, to spring over the buffalo, but his feet striking its body over he rolled sending me with my gun still grasped in my hand, flying to the opposite side, when down he came almost upon me. At first I was seized with the dreadful idea that both my legs were broken, and I expected that my horse in his struggles would crush me still further, but the well-trained creature, recovering himself, rose to his feet without trampling upon me. Fortunately my sword was not broken, nor thrown out of the scabbard.

For some time I lay holding his bridle but unable to move. I was far away from either of my companions and was much afraid that I should not be discovered. The first thing I had to do was to try and get into my saddle; but, should I fail, dreadful might be my fate. My horse might perhaps make his way into camp, and by his appearance show that some accident had happened to me. I had a pocketbook and tore out a leaf and wrote—“Lying on the ground with both legs broken, to the eastward of the camp,” and signed it, “Tom Rushforth.”

I endeavoured to reach one of my stirrups to which I intended to fasten the paper and then to set my horse at liberty. Before doing so, however, I thought I would examine my legs and ascertain if they were really broken. On feeling the bones, to my infinite satisfaction I could discover no fracture, though they pained me greatly. I accordingly tried and succeeded in getting up; and, although I do not think I could have walked a yard, I managed to scramble into my saddle with my gun. I then, having thrown down a handkerchief to mark the cow I had shot as my own put my horse’s head, as I supposed, in the direction of the camp.

I was anxious to get back as soon as possible, but the pain of riding fast was greater than I could bear, and I was compelled to make my horse walk at a pace not suited to his fancy.

I could still see the buffalo scampering over the prairie, moving off to the southward, and I concluded that they would be miles away before the end of the day. I looked round for any friends, but not a horseman could I discover.

The weather had been bright during the early part of the day, but clouds were now drifting rapidly over the sky, and I continued riding on towards the north-west until the sun became totally obscured. I still believed that I could direct my course right. To trot was unbearable, but I thought that I might venture on a gallop; the movement, however, caused me so much pain that I was compelled again to pull up. In rain my eyes ranged over the wide extent of the prairie, in search of the wigwams of our Indian friends. For some time I guided myself by the wind, but that also shifted and fell light, so that I was unable to steer by it. I could distinguish the trail of the buffalo, by the tall grass which they had trampled down; but that did not serve to guide me, for it seemed to bend in all directions, though I have no doubt it would have served an Indian perfectly. I arrived at length at the unpleasant conclusion, that I had lost myself; still, could I but get a gleam of sunshine, or see the distant hills, I might, I hoped, ascertain what direction to take.

Had I not been so severely injured, I should not have cared so much; for having just before taken a good meal, I could have gone without food until the following day. I felt sure that my friends would come to search for me, but it might be long before I should be discovered, and the pain I suffered warned me of the importance of getting into camp as soon as possible.

My rifle was loaded, and I fired it off two or three times, hoping that the sound might be heard. I listened eagerly expecting a reply. A perfect silence, however, reigned over the vast plain. At length I became seriously anxious about my safety. I was still convinced that I was riding towards the west, and I pushed on. From the feeling in my legs, I fancied they must have swelled to twice their natural size, but on looking down they appeared as usual. The pain caused my spirits to sink, and all sorts of gloomy thoughts passed through my mind. Again and again I looked round. At length I saw in the far distance, an object moving over the plain, which I at once conjectured was a horseman, though I could only distinguish the upper part of his body. I turned my horse’s head towards him, and raised my rifle in the air, hoping that he might perceive it. As I got nearer, I saw, by the plume on his head, that he was an Indian, and I naturally concluded that he was either Yellow Wolf or one of his braves, or perhaps one of our own people. I was somewhat surprised, however, when instead of coming on directly towards me, he turned to the right, and began to move on at a gallop over the ground. I then perceived that his headdress was different to that of my friends, and that he carried a long shield and spear, as well as a bow and arrows. I had just reached a slight knoll, on which I pulled up that I might the more carefully survey the stranger. An attentive look at him convinced me that he was a Coomanche, one of the same people who had before attacked us, so that I knew I must treat him as an enemy rather than a friend. Should I let him get near me, I felt pretty sure that, if he was a Coomanche, he would play me some treacherous trick. I therefore unslung my rifle, and in a loud voice shouted to him to keep his distance.

He heard me clearly enough, but instead of stopping galloping towards me, he threw himself on the side of his horse, and, before I could cover him with my rifle, I saw the head of an arrow projecting over his saddle. To avoid it by retreating was impossible, so, bringing my rifle up to my shoulder, I gave a sudden jerk to my rein, which made my horse step back a few paces, and the arrow, aimed at my body, flew by in front of his nose. I had refrained from firing. The Coomanche, for such I concluded that he was, seeing that he was in my power—having shot another arrow which in his flurry, he was prevented aiming truly—galloped off to a distance.

I now shouted to him, threatening to kill his horse, and advising him to take himself off. He seemed doubtful, apparently, what to do. He might have hoped, that, should I execute my threat, he might still bring me down with an arrow, and by mounting my steed make his escape; but he must have been well aware there are many chances in warfare, and that I might shoot him instead of his steed. He might have guessed, by my not having fired, that I had my wits about me. I of course narrowly watched his movements, and seeing him glance over his shoulder, the idea occurred to me, that he was expecting others of his tribe to appear, in which case I should have but little chance of escaping.

At length he decided how to act. Once more he made at me, shooting a couple of arrows in rapid succession. One went through the sleeve of my coat; another struck the saddle, narrowly missing my legs, but did not pierce through the leather.

He might have half-a-dozen more arrows in his hand, and it was necessary to be cautious. As he circled round, I kept turning so as always to face him, when he was afraid of riding directly at me, for should he do so, he would he knew inevitably expose himself, and I should scarcely fail to miss him. His object was, I concluded, to keep me employed until the arrival of his friends. It would be folly to do as he wished. As long as I remained on the same spot, I could at any moment take a steady aim at him. Though he was aware of this, he trusted to my not firing, for fear of being unarmed should he charge me. At length he came so near, that I resolved not to lose the opportunity of knocking over his horse. I aimed just behind the animal’s shoulder, and must have shot it through the heart; for, giving one bound, it fell over dead. The active Indian, however, in a moment extricating himself, leapt to his feet, and came bounding towards me.

In a moment my trusty sword was out of its sheath, when, with a howl of disappointed rage, the Coomanche, seeing it uplifted to cut him down, turned tail and ran off as fast as his legs would carry him. I immediately reloaded and should, I believe, have shot the Redskin also; but I had no wish to take the poor wretch’s life, though, for my own safety, I determined to do so, should he again approach me. At that moment, the sun coming out from behind a cloud, just above the horizon, shone on a distant peak, which I had remarked from our camp. I had now no doubt as to the direction I should take. In spite of the agony the movement caused me, I put my horse into a gallop, leaving my late antagonist to pursue his way unhindered, and steered my course towards the north-west, where I hoped before long to discover my friends. The sun, however, sunk before I had seen either them or the Indian wigwams. Still the glow in the western sky guided me long after darkness had crept over the open prairie. When that disappeared, I was again at a loss how to keep a straight course. Throwing therefore the reins on my horse’s neck, I trusted to his instinct to lead me aright.

I had gone on for two hours in the darkness when, to my joy, I saw a bright light ahead. It was that, I had little doubt, of our own camp fire. I was not mistaken. In a short time Dick’s cheery voice welcomed me. He and my other companions had become anxious at my non-appearance. I was almost falling from my horse, and could not have dismounted without assistance. On telling them of my fight with the Coomanche, Pierre immediately sent off to tell our Indian friends of my suspicions that a party of their enemies were in the neighbourhood.

Chapter Six.

Being fully satisfied that the Shianees would prove friendly and staunch, we agreed to move our camp close to theirs, that we might the better be able to withstand any attack which the Coomanches might venture to make upon us. I managed, with the assistance of my friends, to mount my horse so as to perform the short journey, though I suffered a considerable amount of pain. We found Yellow Wolf and his braves seated in council, to decide on a plan of operations against the enemy. He expressed his gratitude for the warning I had given him, and complimented me on the victory I had obtained over the Coomanche brave. “Scouts have been sent out,” he said, “to ascertain the position of the enemy, but as yet no information has been received of their whereabouts.” He suspected that they were very numerous, or they would not have ventured into that part of the country; but with our assistance he had no doubt about his being able to repel an attack. Had his tribe been alone he would have moved westward to escape from them, as his object at present was to kill buffalo, and lay in a winter store of pemmican.

There was little sleep for any of the party that night. The Indians were preparing to set out on the war-path, while my companions sat up not knowing at what moment the Coomanches might burst upon us, and I was kept awake by the pain my legs continued to cause me. Yellow Wolf, on seeing how much I suffered, sent his wife over with a supply of salves to doctor me.

The night, however, passed away in quietness: and when the scouts returned in the morning they reported that they had been unable to discover any traces of an enemy. We therefore remained in camp, both for my sake, and Charley’s; while all hands were employed in manufacturing pemmican. The rest, and the care bestowed upon me by the Flower of the Prairies, had so beneficial an effect that in the course of a couple of days I was myself again.

I should have said that the Indians had brought in the meat from the cow and two bulls I had killed, having discovered them in the direction I had described. The flesh of the buffaloes having by this time been cut up and turned into pemmican, no small portion having been eaten by the Indians, both they and we were ready to recommence our march.

Just as we were about to start, a scout brought word that he had discovered a Coomanche trail, but being alone he was afraid to follow it up. The chief rated him soundly for his cowardice, and declared his intention of setting out himself with one of his braves, to learn what he could from an inspection of the enemy’s position, so as to be able as far as possible to judge of their intended movements. I volunteered to accompany him.

“There are few pale-faces from whom I would accept such an offer,” he answered; “but you have shown so much courage and discretion, that I shall be glad of your company.”

I do not mean to say that he used these words, but it was something equivalent. I thanked him for the compliment, which I modestly remarked was scarcely deserved. Dick and Armitage strongly advised me not to go; but, having made the offer, I felt I should lose credit with the Redskins should I draw back. We were to proceed with three mounted attendants, who were to take charge of our steeds as we drew near the enemy’s camp, and we were then to go forward on foot.

“We may have to run for our lives should we be discovered,” said Yellow Wolf, as we rode along; “and unless you can depend upon your legs, it will be wise to remain with the horses.”

I replied that my object was to see the way of approaching an enemy’s camp, and to get a sight of it, and that I felt sure I could run as fast as he could. We accordingly continued on until we came upon the trail which the scout had discovered. Yellow Wolf now proceeded more cautiously, it being of the greatest importance that the enemy should not discover us. At length he announced his belief that we had got near the Coomanche camp. We therefore left our horses in charge of the three Indians, and then continued in the direction we were before going on foot. I observed that Yellow Wolf’s eye ranged over the ground on either side, as well as ahead. As I thought of the distance we had come since we left our horses, I began to repent somewhat of the task I had undertaken; however, I trusted to the sagacity of my companion, that we should not be detected, and that we should be able to retreat as we had advanced. Yellow Wolf led, and his brave followed, I bringing up the rear. My companions frequently stopped, and, bending their ears to the ground, listened for any sounds which might warn them they were reaching the Coomanche camp. At first they walked upright, but now they bent down, taking advantage of any cover which offered.

At length they stopped and whispered together, and Yellow Wolf told me to be more careful than ever. Then again he and his companion moved on, until he made a sign to me to keep under cover, while they crept forward along the top of a bank, covered by bushes of wild roses. I saw them eagerly stretching out their necks, so as to obtain a view beyond. I crept after them, looking through the bushes, and could distinguish in the plain below a considerable band of warriors, some engaged in lighting fires, others in collecting wood, or preparing provisions, while their horses ranged round near at hand.

It would have been a fine opportunity to take them by surprise, for a mounted party could have swept down upon them before they had time to catch their horses. I have no doubt the Yellow Wolf thought the same thing, but neither he nor his companion uttered a word.

After satisfying my curiosity, I crept back as cautiously as I had advanced; and the two Indians, who had surveyed the camp to their satisfaction, came after me. We at once commenced a retreat in the same fashion as we had advanced, being quite as careful to conceal ourselves. Their great object was to escape detection, so that their enemies might not be aware that the position of their camp was known, and might continue as unprepared for the reception of a foe as they appeared to be at present.

Not until we regained our horses, did the Yellow Wolf speak. As we galloped along on our return, he told me that the Coomanches would remain at their present camp for a couple of days, and would then proceed to the north-west in the hopes of coming up with the herds of buffalo which were feeding in that direction. How he knew this is more than I can say. I asked him whether he intended to attack the Coomanches.

He replied that he must hold a council with his braves, and that if they agreed to follow him, he proposed doing so the next morning in the hopes of catching his foes off their guard. He inquired whether I and my friends would assist. I replied that I could not give an answer without consulting them; that we had come to the country, not to make war on the Redskins, and that it was our practice to fight only when we were attacked. This answer did not appear particularly to please him. I said, however, that should he and his people be attacked, we would no doubt fulfil our promise in assisting them.

“The pale-faces are wise,” he remarked, “they fight only when they are obliged; that is the reason why red man go down and they live.”

Great excitement was produced in the camp by the news we brought, and without loss of time a council was held. I told my friends what Yellow Wolf had said, but they decided at once not to assist him in attacking the Coomanche camp. “We shall have quite enough to do in making our way through the country, without joining in quarrels not our own,” observed Armitage.

We waited with come anxiety, therefore, the result of our friends’ deliberations. At last Yellow Wolf came to our camp and announced that his braves were unanimous in their resolution of attacking the Coomanches; that they intended to set out that night so as to surprise them just before daybreak. He invited us to accompany them; when Dick, getting up, made him a speech in true Indian fashion, expressing our gratitude for the treatment Charley and I had received from the “Flower of the Prairies,” and our affection for him and his; but at the same time observing that we must decline to cut the throats of a number of people with whom we had no quarrel.

The chief, who took our refusal very good-humouredly, asked if we would assist in guarding the camp and the women and children during his absence. This request we could not well refuse, and we had therefore to agree to await his return, Dick telling him that we hoped he would come back victorious.

This matter settled, he and his braves immediately set out; while we kept a strict watch on the camp, which we thought it more than probable might be attacked during the absence of the warriors whose departure their cunning enemies might have discovered.

Although there were two or three alarms caused by a pack of coyotes which approached the camp, the morning broke without an enemy having been seen. We had still many hours to wait the result of the battle. It was not until near the evening that a band of horsemen were seen approaching from the northeast. They might be friends or they might be enemies. We all hastened to our posts, old men and boys seizing their arms ready to fight if necessary. As the horsemen drew nearer, the Indians uttered loud cries of satisfaction, for they were discovered to be their friends. Still they came on slowly. It appeared to me that their numbers were diminished. Presently Yellow Wolf dashed forward bearing a couple of scalps at the end of his spear. Other braves followed, several of them having the same gory trophies. On getting up close to the camp, they halted to receive the congratulations of their friends.

The old men and women then began to inquire for the relatives who were no longer among them. The same answer was given to all, “He fell fighting bravely.” On hearing this, loud wails arose from those who had lost husbands, brothers, and sons.

It was some time before we could learn from Yellow Wolf what had happened. He had been entirely successful in surprising the Coomanche camp, but they had fought desperately and many of his braves fell before he had succeeded in putting his enemies to flight. The scalps he had brought showed the number of slain on the other side. Another day was lost, while our savage friends blackened their faces and mourned for the dead, after which they danced their hideous scalp-dance. I was thankful that they had returned without prisoners; for I am certain they would have put them to death with all sorts of horrible tortures, even though we might have protested against so barbarous a custom. They, however, managed to bring back one of their people desperately wounded, with two arrows and a bullet through his body. It seemed surprising that he could have lived so long. It was, however, evident to us that he was dying; but his friends thought that he might be recovered by the efforts of one of their medicine-men, whose vocation we had not before discovered. The patient was laid on the ground half-stripped, while the tribe sat round in a circle. Presently, from out of one of the tents, the most grotesque figure I ever beheld made his appearance. A huge wolf-skin cloak covered his back; on his head he wore a mask, representing the head of a wolf double the ordinary size. Dried frogs and fish and snakes hung down from his neck, his whole body being concealed by skins. In one hand he carried a spear, ornamented with a variety of coloured feathers and snakes twisting up it, and in the other a sort of tambourine, from which also were hung snakes and frog-skins. He advanced, making a series of jumps and uttering wild yells accompanied by the rattling of his magic drum until, entering the circle, he approached his patient. He then began to dance round him, striking and rattling his drum, shrieking and shouting; sometimes leaping over the wounded man, then shaking him from side to side.

I watched the poor sufferer, who endured the fearful pain to which he was put without a groan, gazing at the hideous figure, the last sight he was destined to behold on earth; for in a short time his jaw fell, his eyes became fixed, and he was dead. Still the conjurer, utterly unconscious of this, went on with his performance; until at length his eye falling on the body and perceiving what had occurred, he turned round and darted into his tent. The Indians did not appear to be very much surprised, but I suppose fancied that they had done their best for their friend, and that their medicine-man had done all that he could do to save the life of the brave.

As Charley was now sufficiently recovered to move, Armitage proposed that we should recommence our march, and we prepared accordingly. Our new friends, however, were not so easily to be shaken off, and when they discovered our intentions, they made preparations to accompany us.

I have not described their lodges. They were of a conical form, the frame-work of straight long poles about twenty-five feet long. This was first erected, when round it were stretched a number of well-dressed buffalo robes, sewn tightly together and perfectly water-proof. The point where the ends of the poles protruded was left open to allow the smoke to escape. On one side was the entrance closed by a door, also of buffalo hide. The fire was made in the centre, immediately under the aperture. In cold weather the Indians slept on buffalo rugs, with their feet towards the fire, and these rugs were rolled up during the day and placed at the back of the lodge.

The women had all the work of putting up the lodges. We watched the poor creatures taking them down again, rolling up the skins, and placing them on bars near the lower ends of the poles, which trailed on the ground, the upper ends being secured half on each side of the horses. The young squaws and children were mounted on the horses, while the older had to toil along on foot often with loads on their backs. Besides horses, our friends had a number of dogs which were employed in drawing loads on small sledges, and very hard work they must have found it in summer. They had also other dogs of a smaller species which were reserved for food when buffalo meat was not to be obtained.

For three days we travelled on in their company, when the scouts brought word that a large herd of buffaloes were feeding a few leagues off to the southwest. Our friends immediately encamped and prepared to set off in chase, trusting that the Coomanches, after the signal defeat they had received, would not attack them. We should have been glad of an excuse for separating from our friends; but as we wished to see more of their mode of hunting the buffalo, we agreed to accompany them. Charley, I was glad to see, was as well able to sit his horse as before, and he declared that he was ready to undergo any amount of fatigue. According to our custom, we kept as much together as possible; but we endeavoured not to show that we doubted the honest intentions of the Indians.

Occasionally the Yellow Wolf, getting off his horse, put his ear to the ground to listen, as he said “for the feet of the buffalo.”

At length, quickly mounting, he exclaimed that he heard them and that we should soon come in sight of the herd. We therefore pushed rapidly forward; and, reaching the top of a slight rising, we saw a large number of black dots scattered over the plain. To the right, on one side of where the buffalo were feeding, was a smaller elevation to that on which we were posted. Guided by the chief we made towards it. On reaching the further or western side, the chief advised that we should dismount, saying that he wished to attack the buffalo in a way often adopted by his people before charging in among them on horseback. We of course agreed, anxious to see the method he spoke of.

The Indians had brought with them several wolfskins with the heads and tails. Creeping up the hill, over the brow of which we looked to watch what was going forward, we saw them put the skins on their backs, and take their bows and a quantity of arrows in their hands, so that at a distance they much resembled wolves. On they went, whenever shelter could be obtained, running rapidly forward, but as they got on the open plain again bending down and creeping on all fours. Whenever they saw the shaggy beasts looking at them, they stopped and seemed to be engaged with something on the ground, as if they had no intention of approaching the herd. When the buffaloes went on feeding they again advanced.

Were the buffaloes sharp-sighted animals they might have discovered their foes; but their hair covering their eyes prevents them from seeing clearly. The hunters got closer and closer.

Having selected the fattest animal in sight, presently one, rising for a moment, let fly his arrow, which entered the breast of a buffalo near him. The animal, after running for a few paces, dropped without disturbing the rest, who seemed to fancy that their companion had merely lain down on the ground. Each of the other Indians did the same, and, without taking any notice of the beasts they had killed, continued their course, shooting arrow after arrow, until upwards of a dozen buffaloes had bit the ground.

It is only, however, when the bison are quietly feeding that they can be approached in this way. When they are on the move, they keep their eyes about them, and a man on foot can with difficulty get near. The disguised hunters would probably have killed many more, but that for some reason or other the herd began to move on. The moment the chief observed this he called to us and the others to come forward; and away we dashed after the herd, which, alarmed at the sound of the horses’ hoofs, rushed on, every instant increasing their speed. As before all was silence and quiet, now the air was rent with a confusion of sounds—the tramp of the bisons and the pursuing horses, the shouts and cries of the hunters as they dashed forward in chase.

We let them take the lead for some time, to see their mode of proceeding. We remarked especially the force and precision with which, while going at full gallop, they let fly their arrows, always aiming behind the shoulders of the shaggy beasts. They took good care never to head them, while they kept at a sufficient distance to have room to avoid the fierce charges the terror-stricken bisons occasionally made.

After they had shot a considerable number, we who had hitherto kept in the rear gave our horses the rein and were soon up with the herd.

Armitage and Story were in their glory, and upheld the honour of the white man by each shooting three buffaloes, while Dick and I killed two. I saw Charley shoot down one in very good style, and then pursue another which he had made up his mind to overtake. I was on the point of following him, when my horse stumbled in a hole and threw me over its head. I quickly recovered my feet and was about to remount, my steed appearing none the worse for its fall, when I saw a huge buffalo dashing up with the intention of tossing me into the air. I had barely time to spring into my saddle and to get a few paces off, when the buffalo’s horns pierced the ground at the very spot where I had been standing. Disappointed at not finding me, he looked about and again lowered his head to charge. Flight was my only resource; so off I galloped, hoping to get to such a distance from the brute as would allow me time to reload and again to face him. I succeeded better than I expected; and at length, wheeling round my horse who stood stock-still, I fired and brought the buffalo to the ground. In the meantime the rest of the herd galloped off followed by the hunters, who were now a long distance away, so far indeed as to make it impossible for me to overtake them. Well satisfied with my performance, I cut out the tongue of the last animal I had killed and directed my course back to the camp, stopping on my way to extract the tongues of the two other bisons I had killed. I was soon overtaken by Dick, who had also turned back. He said that the rest of our party had gone on with the Indians, in pursuit of the herd.

He regretted that Charley had not returned with us, as he would be overcome with fatigue by so long a ride. We employed ourselves in lighting a fire and getting supper ready for our friends. At last Armitage and Story came in, but Charley did not make his appearance.

“He’ll return soon,” said Dick. “Let me consider, when did I see him last? I cannot quite recollect, but I remember that he was following a buffalo; and I had no doubt that he shot the brute, and fully expected to see him here.”

We waited, but we waited in vain. At last we applied to our Indian friends, but they were revelling in buffalo meat, and were not disposed to set out in search of Charley; promising, however, to go in the morning should the young pale-face not have returned by that time.

I am afraid to say how much buffalo meat the savages consumed before daybreak, for they sat up nearly all night eating, and had their enemies pounced down upon them they would have made but a poor defence, I suspect.

When morning came they excused themselves from going in search of Charley, saying that they must bring in the buffalo meat they had killed.

We therefore had to set off alone, not a little disgusted at their behaviour. We bade them, however, a friendly farewell, saying that the life of one of our party was more precious to us than all the buffalo meat in the world. We however took with us the tongues and other portions of the animals we had killed, so that we had abundance of provisions which would last us until we could obtain venison or fall in with another herd of buffalo.

Though we made diligent search, with the assistance of old Folkard and the Indians engaged by Armitage, we failed to discover Charley’s trail; and we felt more out of spirits when we encamped that evening than we had done during the whole of our expedition.

Chapter Seven.

Several days were spent in a vain search for Charley. Armitage and Story said they feared that he must either have been killed by a buffalo, and his body devoured by wolves; or that he had been carried away by some small party of Indians who had been watching us, and had captured him, though afraid to attack our camp.

Both Dick and I, however, could not bring ourselves to believe that he was dead. We were glad to find that old Folkard was of our opinion. He had known men, he said, who had wandered away from camp and been absent several weeks before they were found or managed to make their way back themselves. Charley had a good supply of ammunition, and being a fair shot, would be able to procure food. We begged Armitage and Dick to remain in the locality some time longer. This they consented to do. We were now in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains, where they might obtain a variety of sport, so that they had no cause to complain of their detention. My thoughts, as well as Dick’s, were entirely occupied by Charley, and we could take no interest in hunting. We, however, did our duty in trying to supply the camp with game.

The chief part of our time was taken up in scouring the country in the hopes of discovering our young friend, or ascertaining the cause of his death.

At length the old trapper bade us farewell, saying that he should strike away north, to a district where beavers abounded, for he could no longer spend his time in comparative idleness. We were sorry to lose him, for he was a capital companion, especially round the camp fire, when he indulged us in his quaint way with his numberless adventures and hair-breadth escapes, sufficient to make the hair of my old uncle, the Alderman, stand out from his head.

Day after day went by. When we met Pierre and the Indians who had assisted us in the search, the same reply alone was forthcoming.

“You see, it is hopeless,” said Jack to Dick Buntin. “Your young friend must have lost his life. I am very sorry, but we must be moving westward. It won’t do to detain Armitage longer. He is very good-natured, but from what he said to me yesterday, he will be starting away without us. He requires action. He is not happy, I suspect, from something which took place between him and Ellen Hargrave, so that we must decide what to do.”

Dick pleaded hard for another day, still persisting in his belief that we should find Charley. Our Indian friends had promised should they discover any traces of him to send us word, but nothing had been heard from them.

Dick and I had made a longer expedition than usual, and returned so tired, that the next morning we were utterly unable to set out. A day’s rest would, however, we thought, restore our strength. Towards the evening, while the remainder of the party were still away, Dick walked to a shady spot some distance from the camp, taking a large buffalo robe to lie upon, with a book, his pipe and gun.

One of the Indians who had remained with us, had meantime made up a fire. I saw at length by my watch, that it was time to prepare for supper, and as Dick still acted as cook, I sent the Indian to summon him. The man had not gone long, when I heard him shout. Fearing that something was the matter, I hurried forward, when what was my dismay to see a huge grizzly standing on its hind legs, as if about to make its last fatal spring, close to Dick, who had no weapon in his hand with which to defend himself. I had brought my gun, but dared not fire for fear of killing my friend instead of the bear. Dick, however, seemed in no way dismayed, and as I got a little nearer, I saw that he held a large buffalo robe in both his hands. The Indian and I shouted in the hopes of distracting Bruin’s attention. Our cries were responded to by Armitage and Story, who at that moment providentially made their appearance. Still none of us dared to fire, though we approached nearer and nearer, hoping that the bear would postpone his spring until we could get near enough to shoot him through the head without injuring our friend. Presently the bear growling savagely, indicative of his intention to seize his victim, began to advance; when Dick, who had never for a moment withdrawn his eyes from the monster, in an instant threw the cloak over its head. He then springing back, ran off as hard as his legs could carry him, his example being imitated by the Indians. The bear in its struggles drew the cloak close over its eyes, when I fired and over it rolled with its legs in the air. Still it was not dead, and might at any moment be up again; and, more savage than ever from its wound, would be certain to attack us fiercely.

Armitage and Story, making their way through the brushwood, had now got near enough to fire. They pulled their triggers at the same moment, while I quickly reloaded. It was fortunate that I did so, for notwithstanding its wounds, the bear, suddenly regaining its feet, made a dash at me who was nearest to it, and in another instant I should have been torn by its tremendous claws, when I fired and to my infinite satisfaction it again rolled over and, giving another convulsive struggle, lay dead.

Dick thanked us for our timely assistance, and promised that he would never as long as he lived go to sleep away from the camp in a region infested by grizzlies.

This was the first we had seen for some time, and the adventure was a caution to us to look out for them in future. With great reluctance on the part of Dick and me, we once more packed up and moved westward; still we did not abandon all hope that we should find our young friend. I, however, had lost the interest I had before felt in hunting, and would rather have gone back and contented myself with less exciting sport in one of the eastern states. As things turned out, it would have been better for all of us had we done so.

We made a good show as we rode over the prairie, with our baggage mules, our led horses, mounted Indians, our Canadian guide and our four selves; so that no ordinary band of Redskins was likely to attack our party, unless they could take us by surprise, and against that it was our constant care effectually to guard by keeping a bright look-out during the day, and a careful watch over the camp at night. Our Indians knew very well that they would be the first victims should we be attacked.

We were sure, in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains which we had now reached, to fall in with big-horns, elks and antelopes, as well as buffalo in the lower ground. We accordingly encamped in a beautiful spot with the lofty mountains rising above us, while below extended the prairie far away to the horizon. I must not stop to describe our various adventures. Dick continued indifferent to sport, but occasionally went out with me; while Armitage and Story shot together, and never returned without a big-horn or two, or an elk. One day they appeared leading or rather dragging along what looked like a mass of shaggy fur of a tawny colour. As they approached, I saw that their captive was a young bear, with its head thoroughly covered up with the skin of another animal of the same description. They were laughing heartily, and every now and then springing forward to avoid the rushes made at them by the little creature. On finding all its efforts vain, it at length stopped, and refused to move. They told me that they had shot the mother and then one of her cubs; that the other refusing to leave the body of its parent, they had time to take off the skin from the cub they had killed and had adroitly thrown it over the head of its brother, and that having a coil of rope they had managed to secure it. We hoped to tame our captive, but the moment the skin was taken off its head, darting at Jack, it gave him a severe bite in the leg, and nearly treated Armitage in the same manner, but fortunately he had a thick stick with which he gave the little brute so severe a blow on the nose, that it lay down, as we thought, in the sulks. We managed to tether it in a way effectually to prevent its escape, but the next morning we found, to our disappointment, that it was dead. The skins of the two animals were beautiful, their fur being very thick and long, and of a brown colour, with a stripe of darker hue along the back.

Next day our friends having again set out, I was endeavouring to persuade Dick to accompany me in another direction, when one of the Indians brought word that a herd of buffalo were feeding in the plain below. I should have said that the country was beautiful in the extreme, with thick woods of cedar and rhododendron covering it in all directions. The forests were, however, easily traversed, as paths were made through them by the buffalo and elk, who following each other’s footsteps, had opened up bridle roads to all points of the compass. Feeling ashamed of not adding something to our store of provisions, when Dick declined accompanying me on the plea of not being up to work, I mounted my horse, and set off alone, hoping to shoot a buffalo before going far. I soon came in sight of a couple of herds, one of cows and another of bulls. Most of the former were followed by calves and were out of condition, but seeing some fat animals among them, I made chase. When the cows began to run they were joined by the bulls, and the whole set off together, scampering along at a tremendous rate. I kept the fat cows in sight, however, as away they went. Lightly built and more active than the bulls, they took the lead. At length I was getting up with one of the former which I had singled out, when a big bull, blown by his unusual exercise, halted just between me and the cow, and lowering his head prepared to charge, when his horns would in an instant have ripped open the breast of my noble steed. As I saw it about to charge, a thought occurred to me. Holding my gun in my left hand, and giving my horse the rein, I bestowed a tremendous cut with my heavy riding-whip on his flanks, which made him spring to a height sufficient to have cleared a five-barred gate; and when the bull rushed forward, over its back he went, clearing it in the most beautiful style, his hinder feet just grazing its shaggy hair. The next moment, instead of being rolled over on the ground, I found myself (though without my hat) safe on the other side; while the bull, not knowing what had become of me, dashed forward bellowing loudly in an opposite direction. A few more strides brought me close to the cow, when standing up in my stirrups I fired, and the animal instantly rolled over dead. I at once reloaded, and made chase after another, which I was also fortunate enough to kill. The rest of the herd made their escape. Satisfied with the result of my hunt, I dismounted and took possession of the tongues and marrow-bones, as well as some portions of the meat, intending to send the Indians back for the remainder, should the carcases have escaped the scent of the wolves. The buffalo meat was highly appreciated; indeed we lived like fighting cocks, and had every reason to expect to do so while we remained in that region. Pierre, however, advised that we should proceed, as some bands of hostile Indians were sure, before long, to find out that we were in the neighbourhood, and would take an opportunity of cutting us off when separated from each other should they not venture to attack our camp. Armitage and Jack were, however, inclined to laugh at Pierre’s warnings. Jack too, who found his leg suffering from the bite that the little bear had given him, was disinclined to take a long journey. Dick, who had warned him from the first not to neglect the wound, took him under his care and insisted on his remaining quietly in camp for two or three days until he was well again. We employed the time in cleaning our arms, repairing our harness and clothes, and performing several other tasks such as the wear and tear of a hunter’s life from time to time renders necessary. We had long discussions in camp as to what course we should pursue, Pierre advising that we should strike northward, and then take one of the passes through the Rocky Mountains generally followed by the emigrants to California.

Several days had passed away. Story was quite recovered, and we were once more encamped, not much to Pierre’s satisfaction, he declaring that we were still in a dangerous region, frequently visited by Apaches and other roving tribes, the deadly enemies of the pale-faces. Armitage and Story only laughed at his warnings, and even Dick felt much inclined to agree with them.

We had, as before, proceeded in three parties, one of the Indians having accompanied Armitage, and Jack and three others going with Pierre, while the rest remained with Dick and me in camp. Evening was approaching, and none of our friends had returned. Dick had sent out one of the Indians to see if they were coming, while he and I prepared the supper. In a short time the scout returned with a long face. He had caught sight, he said, of a large party of strange Redskins; who, not knowing that they were discovered, were making their way in the direction of our camp, evidently endeavouring to keep themselves concealed. He advised that we should gallop off on our horses, and leave our baggage and the other animals to their fate, as it would be impossible to defend the camp against so overwhelming a force. To this neither Dick nor I was inclined to agree, though of course it made us anxious for the arrival of our friends, when we hoped, by showing a bold front, to drive back the enemy.

We at once brought in our horses and mules, and tethered them in the rear of the camp; then calling on our Indians to assist us, we felled a couple of trees, which we placed so as to form a barricade in front. It would afford us but a slight protection, but it was better than nothing.

We now looked out with more anxiety than ever for our friends, for they certainly ought to have returned to the camp some time before this. It was important not to be surprised, and knowing the stealthy way in which the savages were likely to approach, we were aware that any moment we might hear their fearful war-whoops, and find ourselves engaged in a desperate struggle for life. To prevent this, Dick proposed sending out the Indians to scout and ascertain the exact position of the enemy. They went more willingly than I should have supposed; but I remembered not being very well satisfied with the expression of their countenances. Dick and I were thus left alone in camp. To save ourselves from being shot down without warning, we took up our position behind the logs, with the spare rifles by our sides. Here we sat, expecting every moment the return of our Indians. We waited in vain. Darkness was coming on. Our position was indeed critical. If the savages, as reported by the scout, were in the neighbourhood, at any moment they might be down upon us. We now began to fear that our Indians had fallen into their hands. Perhaps, also, such might have been the fate of our friends. We had been sitting thus for an hour or more, and had become very hungry, when Dick proposed going to the fire to obtain some venison which had lone been roasting there. He brought it, and I need not say that it was devoured with considerable satisfaction. “Another piece won’t do us any harm,” I observed, as I made my way towards the fire. I was returning, when what was my dismay to see half-a-dozen dark forms leap over the barricade and place themselves between Dick and me. I sprang towards our rifles, one of which Dick was in the act of grasping, to have a fight for life, when a savage knocking it out of his hand three others sprang upon him. The remainder throwing themselves upon me, we were in an instant prisoners. I fully expected the next moment to have my scalp taken off my head, and it was some satisfaction to find that it was allowed to remain on.

“I hope the other fellows have escaped,” said Dick; “we might, by giving a shout, warn them of their danger; and if Pierre joins them, they might manage to get hold of some of the horses.”

As he spoke, he shouted at the top of his voice, and I joined him, crying out—

“Keep away from the camp!”

No reply came. The Indians, instead of trying to stop us, only laughed; and, from the voices we heard around, we knew there must be many more of them.

Having bound our arms behind us, our captors sat themselves down to examine and consume the food we had provided for the rest of the party, and then proceeded to inspect the contents of our packs. While they were thus employed, a shout was raised, and shortly after another, when several Indians appeared, dragging Armitage and Jack along with them.

Still Pierre was at liberty; and we hoped that he might escape and give notice of our fate, or form some plan for our liberation. Great, therefore, was our disappointment when he too, shortly afterwards, was brought into camp. What had become of our Indians we could not tell. They had, we concluded, however, either been captured or deserted us.

Our captors, after a long consultation, carried us all a short distance from the camp to a clump of trees, to the trunks of which they bound us in a way which made it impossible to move either our arms or legs, when, having thus tied us up, they returned to our camp to examine and divide the spoil.

“We are in a bad case, I am afraid,” said Armitage; “the savages have proved themselves more cunning than I had supposed, for they were upon Jack and me before we had time to lift our rifles to our shoulders.”

“We might try to bribe them to let us off,” I observed.

“Very little chance of their doing that; they’ll help themselves to everything we possess, and won’t trust to our promises,” said Jack.

“They have the ugly custom of torturing prisoners before they kill them,” said Dick. “I’m very glad Charley escaped our fate, poor fellow provided he hasn’t met with a worse one.”

I made no remark, though I was thinking all the time of various plans. I was anxious to hear what Pierre would say.

“Better tell them we English pale-faces,” he observed at last; “dey kill us if dey like; but if dey do, our great Queen hunt up every man jack of dem, and hang dem.”

I was very much inclined to agree with Pierre that our best chance of escaping was to make the savages understand that we belonged to the palefaces over the frontier, of whom they might possibly have heard, and that our Sovereign always punished those who injured her subjects.

The savages, however, at present, gave us no opportunity of addressing them; but we could see them unpacking our valises, pulling to pieces out well-made-up packs, overhauling our cooking utensils, apparently appropriating various articles, not, however, without a considerable amount of talking and gesticulation. They then put on our buffalo meat and venison to cook, and began laughing and jeering at us as they ate it. At length they discovered several packages which had before escaped their notice, having been hidden in the grass. Among them was a case containing brandy; but as we kept it locked, it was some time before they managed to break it open with their axes. On finding that it contained bottles, they raised a shout of joy; and one being forthwith opened by knocking off the neck, the savage who had performed the operation poured some of the contents down his throat. Uttering a howl of satisfaction, he was about to take a second draught, when another seized it, and it was rapidly passed on, until it was empty. Another and another bottle was treated in the same way, although the chief of the party appeared to be urging his followers to take no more for the present; but to this they evidently did not agree; and while his back was turned, two more bottles were abstracted. On seeing this, he seized one of them, and poured no small part of the contents down his own throat, apparently fearing that his companions would drink it up and leave him none. The result which was to be expected followed; but they had swallowed the liquor too rapidly to render them immediately helpless, though it excited their fiercest passions; and to our horror, getting on their legs, they drew their tomahawks and approached us with the evident intention of taking our lives. Before, however, they had made many steps towards us, they sank to the ground; while others—with the bump of appropriativeness—took possession of all the goods within their reach. This was seen by the more sanguinarily disposed of the party, who turned their rage towards their companions, and, rushing on them, attempted to retake the articles they considered theirs. A fearful scuffle ensued: some, it appeared to us, were struck dead, or desperately wounded; but in the uncertain light afforded by the fire we could not exactly see what had happened. We could only make out that the whole party were quickly stretched on the ground, the victors and the vanquished lying side by side, including the chief, who appeared to be as helpless as the rest.

At length their shouts and groans were silenced. Not a sound reached our ears. Now was our opportunity; but in vain we endeavoured to break loose from our bonds. The savages had fastened them too securely to enable us to liberate ourselves. Dick made desperate efforts to reach with his mouth the rope which secured his arms.

“If I could but once get my teeth to it, I would soon bite it through,” he exclaimed.

But again and again he tried to no purpose. We all followed his example, with the same result. In the morning, the savages would too probably recover, and revenge themselves on our heads for the death of their companions whom they themselves had killed. Hour after hour went by, and each brought us nearer to the moment that we must expect a fearful death.

Chapter Eight.

We and the savage Redskins were both utterly helpless; they from being overcome by liquor, we from having our arms firmly bound to the trees. All the efforts we had made to liberate ourselves had only tended to draw more tightly the thongs; while we were left to contemplate the dreadful fate to which we were doomed as soon as the savages had recovered from the fumes of the spirits they had swallowed. All sorts of horrible ideas passed through my mind. Should a pack of wolves come to the camp, they might, helpless as we were, tear us to pieces, as well as the unconscious Indians. It would be a worse fate than any the savages might inflict upon us. Scarcely had the idea entered my brain, than the well-known howls and yelps of the animals I dreaded reached my ears. Louder and louder they grew. They were approaching the camp. In a few minutes they would be upon us. It was no fancy of my brain, for my companions heard them also. Darkness prevented us from seeing each other’s countenances; but I could distinguish Dick, who was nearest me, again making efforts to free himself, and he could not help crying out in desperation when he found himself foiled as before. The wolves were close upon us, when presently we heard the tramp of a horse’s feet, and one of our own animals, which either Armitage or Jack had been riding, and from whose back the Indians had neglected to remove the saddle dashed by, closely pursued by a pack of large wolves, who intent on the chase did not regard us. I saw the head of an Indian lifted up for a moment, awakened to partial consciousness by the yelping of the wolves and the tramp of the horse; but perhaps the savage fancied he was dreaming, for the next moment his head again sank to the ground. We were preserved for the moment, but what would happen should the wolves succeed in pulling down and devouring the horse? They would, to a certainty, return and attack us, as we had feared; or, even if they did not, the Indians would be recovering from their debauch. I could only hope that they had not consumed all the liquor, and that the first to awaken would take another pull at the bottles. In spite of our fearful position, a drowsiness began to steal over me, produced perhaps by exhaustion. I even now do not like to think of those dreadful hours, when my mind dwelt on the various tortures the savages were wont to inflict on their helpless prisoners. I fully expected that arrows would be shot at my limbs while all vital parts were avoided; to have my flesh burnt with hot irons; to be scalped; to suffer the most lingering and painful of deaths. In vain I tried to banish such thoughts, and to encourage the stupor stealing over me. At length I had almost succeeded, though I was not really asleep, when I heard a voice whisper in my ear, “Do not move or speak when you find the thongs cut.”

The next instant I was free. The darkness prevented me seeing clearly what was happening to my companions, but I could distinguish a figure stealing along the ground, and appearing behind each of them.

“Now friends! you have your choice, either to cut the throats of the Redskins as they lie, or to catch the horses and put a wide space between them and yourselves before daybreak,” said a voice which I recognised as that of old Folkard—“don’t trust those villains, they may not be as fast asleep as you fancy. If they hear you moving they may be on their feet again before you have had time to pass your knives across their throats.”

“Savages as they are, I would not for one moment dream of killing them, whatever they intended to do to us,” said Jack.

Armitage and Story agreed with him, as did I. We therefore at once resolved to steal off as soon as we had recovered our rifles, the only weapons of which we had been deprived; and though they were close to where our captors were sleeping, they might easily be reached. Our plan was then to try and get hold of our horses, and when they were secured we might recover the remainder of our property and deprive the Indians of their arms. We should thus teach them a lesson of mercy; for when they recovered their senses they could not fail to see how completely they had been in our power, and that we might have put the whole of them to death had we been so disposed.

The old trapper volunteered to manage the most dangerous part of the undertaking, that of recovering our rifles. Telling us to remain where we were, apparently still bound to the trees, he crept forward on hands and knees, disappearing in the surrounding gloom. Not a sound did we hear until he came back, carrying in either hand a rifle, which he placed at our feet. He then made a second trip, which was as successful as the first; but the Indians’ spears and several of our spare rifles had still to be obtained. He went very cautiously to work, for he was evidently not at all confident that one of the Indians might not awake. I would gladly have assisted him, had he not urged us to remain quiet. I felt greatly relieved when he at length returned with the last rifles.

“But we want our saddles!” whispered Dick.

I told Folkard where to find them.

“You shall have them,” he answered, and again set off. I much feared that he might be discovered, as he would have to go into the camp itself, and the slightest sound might awaken our enemies.

We waited and waited: again I felt a strong inclination to steal forward and assist him. Just as I was about to do so, he reappeared bringing two saddles and bridles.

Still it was of consequence, if we could manage it, to possess ourselves of the Indians’ bows and spears. I again offered to accompany the trapper. He thought a moment.

“It may be done,” he said, “if you step cautiously, for they are more soundly asleep than I had supposed; but, if any of them should awake, you must be prepared to knock them on the head—our own safety will demand it.”

I agreed to this, hoping that the contingency might not arrive. We set out and soon reached the camp. So sound asleep did they appear, that I believe even had we trodden on them, they could not have been aroused. They lay where they had fallen in their drunken fits, in every variety of attitude. We each possessed ourselves of two tomahawks for our defence, and all the bows we could find; and, carrying them under our arms, returned to our companions. Folkard immediately cut the strings and broke off the ends of the bows. We had thus far been more successful than we had anticipated.

We now, having recovered our weapons and two saddles,—for the Indians had left the others on the backs of the horses,—glided behind the trees to which we had been bound, and stole off, cautiously following the footsteps of old Folkard, who led the way.

“I left my horse down in the hollow yonder,” said the trapper; “we will get him first, and then I’ll try and help catch yours; they are not far off I suspect. It will be daylight soon, and we have no time to lose.”

Several more minutes were spent before we reached the spot where old Folkard’s horse was securely tethered. He having mounted, we set out in search of our own steeds.

“It is just possible that the Indians may have left one of their number to watch their horses as well as ours, and if so, it will be necessary to either capture or kill the man,” said Dick.

Unwilling as we were to put to death any of our savage enemies, even in our own defence, we saw the necessity of doing as Dick proposed.

Greatly to our satisfaction, as we approached a glade, the whinny of a horse was heard, and Armitage’s favourite steed came trotting up to him. We immediately put on its saddle and bridle. Pierre’s and mine were still wanting. His had probably been torn to pieces by the wolves, but we still had a chance of getting mine. I was almost in despair, when to my joy it came up, and I was quickly on its back. Pierre was very unhappy at delaying us.

At length old Folkard observed—

“Jump up behind me, we’ll soon catch a horse for you; the Indians had a lot of animals with them, and we’ll take one of theirs if we can’t find yours.”

By this time morning had dawned, and we had no longer any fear of encountering our enemies. We rode on to where old Folkard told us he expected to find the horses.

Surmounting a slight elevation, we soon caught sight of a score of animals, evidently those of the Indians. To catch them was no easy matter, for just at the moment we appeared they seemed to be seized by a sudden panic, and began prancing and rearing in the strangest fashion. We dashed forward, and, as they saw us coming, off they started across the prairie at a rate which would have rendered pursuit utterly hopeless.

We had now to settle what course to pursue. Should we return to the camp and take possession of our property, or put as many miles as we could between ourselves and the Indians?

On calculating, however, the quantity of liquor among our stores, we arrived at the conclusion that there was enough to keep the Indians drunk for another day or two, and that we should probably find them as helpless as before. We accordingly kept our rifles ready for instant service, and rode towards our camp. On our way we found our mules, which according to their usual custom had not mixed with the horses. Pierre mounted one of them, and led the rest. The loud snores and perfect silence around where the Indians lay showed us that they had not recovered from their debauch. While two of our party stood guard, ready to deal with any who might come to their senses, the rest of us loaded the mules with our goods, including two remaining bottles of spirits.

Folkard proposed leaving these to prevent the enemy from pursuing us. “There is no fear of their doing that, for they have neither horses nor arms,” observed Dick. “They may consider themselves fortunate in escaping with their lives.” We could scarcely help laughing at the thought of their astonishment when, on coming to themselves, they should find how completely the tables had been turned: we hoped they would duly appreciate the mercy shown to them. We now rode off, thankful for the happy termination of our adventure.

We found that the old trapper had been very successful and wished to turn his steps eastward.

“I should be glad of your company, friends,” he said, “in the first place; and in the second I don’t think it would be safe for you to remain in this region, as the rest of the tribe may consider themselves insulted, and, ungrateful for the mercy shown their people, may endeavour to cut you off. When the Redskins have made up their minds to do a thing, they’ll do it if they can, however long they may have to wait.”

We all agreed that, although not frightened by the Indians, we had had enough of fighting and hunting for the present. We accordingly made up our minds to accompany old Folkard. We felt that, in gratitude to him for having preserved our lives, we were bound to do as he wished.

Having reached the spot where he had left his mules with his traps and peltries, we turned our horses’ heads eastward. As we rode along he told us that he had come upon our trail, and that soon afterwards he had fallen in with one which he knew must be made by an Indian war-party, and feeling sure that they intended us mischief he had followed them up. He had scarcely expected, however, to find us still alive; but having stolen up to the camp, he saw the state to which our liquor had fortunately reduced our captors, and had at once formed the plan for liberating us so happily carried out. One of Dick’s first questions was about Charley. The old trapper replied that he had failed to hear of him; but he still held out hopes that our friend might have escaped, and that some well-disposed Indians might have spared his life, and taken care of him, hoping to induce him to join their tribe, according to a by no means unusual custom among them.

This idea somewhat cheered up the worthy lieutenant’s spirits, and made him unwilling to return eastward; still, as he could not remain by himself, he agreed to accompany us. The journey appeared very long. For the first few days we pushed forward to get beyond the reach of the Indians, in case they should fall in with any of their tribe and venture to pursue us. After this we were compelled, for the sake of our horses, to make more easy stages. We had also to halt for the purpose of providing ourselves with meat; but as we shot only for the pot, that caused us no great delay.

At last we reached Saint Louis, where we spent several months enjoying the hospitality of numerous friends to whom we had letters of introduction. For a time we were looked upon as heroes on a small scale by society; but probably the hunters and trappers who frequent that city would have considered our adventures as every-day occurrences and scarcely worth talking about.

Old Folkard, having disposed of his peltries, and obtained new traps and a fresh outfit, started westward in the course of a fortnight, declaring that he could not breathe among the bricks and mortar. He promised that he would not fail to look out for Charley, for whose recovery, however, even Dick, by this time, had begun to despair. We were beginning to get a little tired of civilised ways and to sigh for the wild life of the prairie, when Armitage received a letter calling him to New York to meet an agent.

“I should like to continue the expedition I began with you,” he said, “and I shall esteem it a favour if you will wait for my return; I shall not be longer than I can help.”

His request, made in so courteous a way, was not to be refused. We all consented to stop. Week after week went by, and Armitage was still delayed; but as we had remained so long, we agreed to wait until he returned, though our stay was double the length we intended. We were employed in adding to our outfit such articles as, from our experience, we considered useful. At length Armitage rejoined us, and we were once more en route. From the way his Indians had behaved when it came to a pinch, he had resolved to take no more. Besides Pierre, who was accompanied by another Canadian, we had a Yankee trapper yclept “Long Sam,” who, according to his own showing, was likely to prove of far more value than half-a-dozen Indians. He was ready for anything—to hunt on horseback, to shoot on foot, or to trap beavers. We had been travelling on some time when Armitage began to talk of Tillydrone, and suggested that, as it was not far out of our way, it would be but courteous to pay a visit there and inquire after the family who had treated us so hospitably. He said not a word, however, about Miss Hargrave, nor from the tone of his voice would anyone have suspected that he was thinking of her.

When Long Sam heard us mention the place, he exclaimed—

“Why, that’s wha’r Praeger used to live, and it was burnt with mighty near the whole of the property when the forest caught fire last fall, though he and his family escaped. I heard say that they were going to move westward, and they must be on their journey by this time, I guess.”

Armitage questioned and cross-questioned his informant, and seemed perfectly satisfied with his statement. After this he expressed no further wish to visit Tillydrone.

We had been travelling on for more than a month, when we once more found ourselves among the wild and grand scenery in the neighbourhood of the Rocky Mountains. We encamped not far from a spot we had before occupied, where we knew an abundance of game was to be found. This time we had determined that nothing should turn us back until the western coast was reached. We were now enabled to detect the trails of animals as well as of men, an art indeed in which Pierre and Sam were equal to the Indians themselves. As we had camped pretty early, we started in different directions, hoping to bring in a good supply of meat, of which our consumption was considerable, Long Sam declaring when really hungry, that he could eat half a buffalo at a sitting—I wonder he didn’t say a whole one. We had espied some big-horns on the rocky heights in the distance, and were making our way towards them, when Sam exclaimed—

“A white man has passed this way, though those are the marks of moccasins, but no Indian treads in that fashion.”

I agreed with him, and soon afterwards we came upon a pool out of which a stream ran to the eastward. Sam was not long before he ferreted out several beaver-traps, and, examining one of them, pronounced it of the best make, and belonging to a white trapper. Of course we allowed it to remain unchanged. We thought of old Folkard, but scarcely expected to fall in with him again. We were making our way through a wood, along a ridge with a valley below us, when, looking through a gap in the trees, I caught sight of two persons, the one seated, supporting the head of another, who was stretched on the ground on his knees. Though I was too far off to distinguish their features, I saw by the dress of one that he was a trapper, but could not make out the other. On coming nearer, however, I recognised old Folkard; but who was the other? His cheeks were hollow, his countenance haggard, and, though sunburnt, showed none of the hue of health. A second glance, however, convinced me that he was Charley Fielding. The old hunter was engaged in giving him some food, treating him as he would a helpless child. They both recognised me, and Charley’s eye brightened as he stretched out his hand to welcome me while I knelt by his side.

“Where have you been? How did you come here?” I asked eagerly.

“Don’t trouble him with questions,” said the old trapper; “he’ll answer you better when he’s had some broth. I found him not long since pretty well at his last gasp. I guess he has got away from some Redskins. I always said he was carried off by them. If I am right they are not likely to be far away. We must be on the look-out not to be caught by them.”

Charley, though unable to speak, showed by the expression of his countenance that the old trapper had truly conjectured what had happened.

We naturally, forgetting all about the big-horns, thought only of how we could best convey Charley to the camp. As we had come over some excessively rough ground, it would be no easy matter to get him there.

“Then go back to your friends, and get them to move camp up here,” said the trapper; “by keeping along the lower ground, they can be here quickly, and it’s a more secure spot, I guess, than where they are.”

I asked Long Sam, who now came up, to go back with a message to our friends, as I was unwilling to leave Charley. This he agreed to do, and Folkard was glad to have me remain. The food quickly revived Charley, when Folkard went off to fetch some water from a neighbouring spring. We then together carried him to the trapper’s camp, which was not many paces off, though so securely hidden that even an Indian’s eye could scarcely have detected it.

This done, I looked out anxiously for the arrival of our friends. The shades of evening were already extending far away over the lower ground.

“They’ll surely come!” I said to myself. Presently I caught sight of our party, and shouted to them to come on.

Poor Dick burst into tears when he saw Charley, partly from joy at having found him, and partly from pity at his condition.

It was some time before Charley could speak. The first use he made of his returning strength, was to tell us that he had been captured by Indians, and kept a prisoner ever since,—exactly as old Folkard had supposed; that he was not as badly treated as he expected, but so strictly watched, that in spite of all the attempts he had made, he could not effect his escape until two days before, when he found that a war-party was about to set off to attack an emigrant train coming westward, of which they had just gained tidings. While the braves were performing their war-dance to the admiration of the squaws, he had managed to slip out of camp unperceived, his intention being to warn the white men of their danger. The train had been encamped some days, and it was not known how soon they would move forward. He had hoped therefore to be in time, as the Indians would not venture to attack them while they remained stationary.

On hearing this we were all eager to set out to the rescue of the white people. Armitage especially was unusually excited, but to move at that time of night, with our horses already tired, the country also being of a somewhat rough description, was scarcely possible. Old Folkard, as well as Pierre and Long Sam, was of opinion that we should gain time by waiting, as we might otherwise lose our way, or lame our animals over the rocky tract we should have to pass. We arranged therefore to wait for daylight, and it was settled that the Canadian should remain with the old trapper to assist him in taking care of Charley, and looking after our baggage mules and spare horses. The greater part of the night was spent in cleaning our rifles and pistols, as we expected to have use for them should we find that the emigrant train had moved on, and that the Indians had kept up their intention of attacking it. We breakfasted before dawn so that we might ride if necessary several hours without food, and might be some distance on our way before the first streaks of the coming day should appear in the sky.

Pierre and Long Sam, after a consultation, undertook to guide us, so that we might fall in with the usual track followed by emigrants, a short distance only to the northward of the place where we were encamped. We felt somewhat anxious about leaving Charley in his present state, with so slender a guard.

“Do not trouble yourselves about that,” observed the old trapper. “I’ll keep a good look-out, and no Redskins are likely to come this way.”

As we rode on and daylight increased, we looked out eagerly for any smoke which might indicate a camp fire, but not the slightest wreath dimmed the clear sky. Pierre and Long Sam both agreed that we were not far from the high road, and that we must soon come upon the track of the train if it had passed. Not a quarter-of-an-hour after this, we saw—not a fire burning—but the remains of several, and all the signs of a train having halted on the spot. We hastily rode over the ground, when Armitage, suddenly leaping from his horse, picked up a small object which he intently examined. It was a lady’s glove, such as the usual travellers by emigrant trains are not wont to wear. He placed it in his pocket.

“On, friends, on!” he cried; “if Charley’s information is correct we have not a moment to lose. Already the work of plunder and murder may have begun.”

We needed no further incitement to make us urge on our steeds. Armitage and Long Sam, who were the best mounted of our party, leading, the latter being our guide. The country was wooded so that we could not see far ahead. Suddenly our guide turned to the left.

“We will take a short cut for the waggons. The road makes a bend here,” he observed. “Maybe we shall find ourselves in front of the train. No Redskins will venture to attack it when they see us.”

No sounds had hitherto reached our ears, but presently a shot was heard from a short distance off, then another and another.

“On, on!” cried Armitage, and in a few minutes, through an opening in the forest, we caught sight of a large band of Indians rapidly descending the hill, while nearer to us there came the leading waggon of an emigrant train, the drivers of which were endeavouring to turn back their cattle as probably those following were attempting to do.

From the shrieks and cries which arose, it seemed too likely that the Redskins had already attacked the travellers, and we knew well what quick work they would make of it should they have gained any advantage; so, digging spurs into our horses’ flanks, we passed round the head of the train, and uttering a loud cheer as we did so to encourage the emigrants, we rode full tilt at the savages.

Chapter Nine.

As we rode round the head of the train, we saw to our sorrow that the Redskins had already fought their way to two of the centre waggons, the white men belonging to which were engaged in a fierce fight with them. Armitage took an anxious glance at the occupants of the leading waggon.

“Who commands this train?” he asked eagerly of one of the drivers.

The man, owing to the war-whoops of the savages, the shrieks of the women, and the shouts of his companion, did not perhaps hear the question, and there was no time to repeat it as we swooped by. Already it appeared to us that the work of murder had commenced. Two or three of the people lay on the ground, and while part of the Indians were fighting, some were engaged in attempting to drag off the female occupants of the waggon. To prevent them succeeding in their desperate attempt was our first object. Leaving the Indians we had intended to charge, we turned our horses and dashed forward towards the point where our services were most required. The savages saw us coming, and most of them leaving the waggon, some leapt on their horses, while others attempted to defend themselves on foot. Firing a volley from our rifles which brought several to the ground, we rushed at our foes. Just then I saw, to my horror, an Indian, who by his dress appeared to be a chief, dragging off a female, a fair girl she seemed, whom he lifted on his horse. In vain she struggled to free herself. He was mounted on a powerful animal which he evidently had under perfect command. Shouting to his followers he galloped off, while they stood their ground boldly. We dashed at them pistoling some and cutting down others; but not until half their number lay dead on the ground or desperately wounded did they attempt to escape; by which time the main body were almost up to us. Leaving the first to be dealt with by the emigrants who had rallied, we reloaded our rifles and charged the larger party of the enemy. They received us with a shower of arrows, by which, wonderful as it seemed, none of us were wounded. The odds, however, were fearfully against us; for the Indians fought bravely, and rapidly wheeling their horses attacked us now in front, now on our flanks, and we had to turn every instant to defend ourselves. Several of their number had been shot. Dick and Armitage were wounded, and Pierre’s horse was killed. It was with the greatest difficulty that we defended him until he managed to make his escape towards the waggons. I shouted to him to send some of the men to our assistance. We in the meantime having fired our rifles and pistols had our swords alone to depend upon. They served us well, and the Indians, as we approached, evidently showed their dread of them by endeavouring to get out of their reach as we flashed them round our heads. Still, numbers might prevail, unless we could speedily compel the Indians to take to flight.

In the meantime, what had become of the female I had seen carried off! I could not tell whether Armitage or the rest had witnessed the occurrence; but, whether or not, it would be impossible to attempt her rescue until we had defeated our present opponents. If we could have retreated even to a short distance to reload our firearms, we would have done so, but our agile foes gave us no time. I scarcely even dared to look round to ascertain if any help was coming; probably the emigrants had enough to do in keeping in check other parties of Indians who were threatening them. The fight had not continued many minutes, though it seemed to me as many hours, when an Indian charged at Armitage with a long spear, the weapon pierced his side, and over rolled horse and man. Another savage was coming on to repeat the blow, when Long Sam, dashing up, cut down the first savage, and then engaged the second. Our friend, notwithstanding, would speedily have been killed, had we not rallied round him and kept the enemy at bay; while, although evidently much hurt, he managed to regain his feet.

Now deprived of two of our number, and having to defend Armitage as well as ourselves, we were nearly overpowered. At any moment another of us might be wounded. The Indians, seeing their advantage, retreated to a short distance, in order to make another fierce charge, the result of which would very probably have been our overthrow, when we heard a loud shout raised in our rear, and presently, with a wild war-cry of “Erin go bragh,” a strange figure dashed by us, mounted on a powerful horse, with a target on one arm, and a broadsword flashing in his right hand. Several arrows were shot at him, but he caught them on his target, and dashed on unharmed. The first Indian he attacked bit the dust; another made at him, the head of whose spear he lopped off with a single blow, and he then clove his opponent from the crown of the head to the neck. On seeing this, the Indians, crying out to each other, turned their horses’ heads and attempted to escape.

Their flight was expedited by several of the emigrants who, brought up by Pierre, fired a volley at them as they retreated. On looking at the old warrior who had come so opportunely to our aid, what was my surprise to recognise Ben Folkard.

The diversion thus made in our favour, had enabled the emigrants to form their waggons into a square, so as to be able to repel any further attacks of the Indians, who showed no disposition however to come on. Our first care was to commit Armitage—the most severely wounded of our party—to the charge of Pierre and the emigrants who had accompanied him. Lifting him up between them, they carried him to the waggons.

“I’m main sure that Mr Praeger will be grateful to the gentlemen,” I heard one of the men say.

As the man uttered the name, the thought flashed across me, “Could it have been one of his daughters, or Miss Hargrave, I had seen carried off? Poor Armitage, how fearful would be his feelings should he find that his Ellen had disappeared. As soon as I could, I turned to the old trapper and anxiously inquired what had become of Charley.”

“I left him in safe keeping,” he answered, “but, finding from a companion of mine who rejoined me after you had gone that the Indians were about to attack the train in greater force than I had at first supposed, I resolved to come to your assistance.”

“You did well,” observed Dick, who came up while he was speaking. “Had it not been for your arrival, I suspect that one and all of us would have gone down, for those rascals pressed us hard.”

We had been proceeding towards a height which commanded a view in the direction our late opponents were supposed to have taken, and we were thankful to see them moving off, forming a more numerous body than we had at first supposed. We accounted for this by concluding that, while one portion of the savages attacked the train, the others had remained concealed to act as a reserve should the first not succeed. What had become of the female I had seen carried off, we could not ascertain. We could nowhere distinguish her, but she might easily have been concealed from our sight if she were among the leading Indians.

Our party, however, was too small to pursue the fugitives, with any chance of recovering her. On reaching the camp formed by the train, we at once repaired to Mr Praeger’s waggon. We found him and his family almost overcome with grief and anxiety. Two of his sons were severely wounded, and Miss Hargrave had disappeared. My worst fears were realised. She must have been the person I had seen carried off by the Indian chief.

No one was certain as to the direction her captor had taken, for his followers immediately surrounded him, and they had retreated together. Three men of the emigrant party had been killed, and half a dozen more or less wounded. They were full of gratitude to us for coming to their assistance; for they acknowledged, surprised as they had been, that every one of them might have been massacred had we not attacked the savages. We on our part had to thank the trapper for his assistance. When, however, we looked round for him, he had disappeared, and some of the people said they had seen him galloping back in the direction from which he had come. We guessed therefore that he had returned to take care of our friend Charley. Poor Armitage had been placed in one of the waggons, and a surgeon who had accompanied the train was attending to his wounds. He had not been told of what had happened to Miss Hargrave.

We had now to consider what was next to be done. Of course we all agreed that the first thing was to endeavour to recover the young lady. The leaders of the train, in consequence of having so many wounded among them, resolved to remain encamped where they were, as the neighbourhood afforded wood and water, with abundance of game, and they felt pretty confident that the Indians would not again venture to attack them. Pierre and Long Sam at once volunteered to visit old Folkard’s camp, and to assist in bringing on Charley, should he, as we hoped would be the case, be in a fit state to be moved. They also promised to consult the trapper, as his experience would be of value in forming a plan for the recovery of the young lady: that she had been killed, we none of us could bring ourselves to believe.

All hands were now employed in strengthening the camp,—Dick, Story, and I, assisted our friends, working as hard as any one. We were of use also in attending to poor Armitage. I was afraid every moment that he would inquire for Miss Hargrave, for he would naturally wonder that she had not appeared.

As may be supposed, we kept a very strict watch at night, while all the men lay down with their arms by their sides under the waggons, with the cattle placed in the centre of the square; but no Indians, we believed, came near us.

As the morning advanced, I looked out eagerly for the arrival of Charley. We were anxious to place him under the protection of our friends, and until Pierre and Long Sam came, we could take no steps for the recovery of Miss Hargrave. We talked the subject over with Mr Praeger, who was naturally too much agitated to be able with sufficient calmness to design any feasible plan of operation.

At length, greatly to our relief, soon after mid-day Pierre and Long Sam appeared with two other men, carrying Charley on a litter; while old Folkard and another trapper followed, leading the horses and laden mules. Charley was much revived, and declared that he could have walked had his companions allowed him; but when he came to be placed on his feet, it was very evident that he could not have proceeded many yards by himself.

No time was lost in holding a council round the camp fire, while the new arrivals ate the dinner provided for them. Old Folkard advised that we should in the first place examine the neighbourhood of the camp, in order to try and discover the trail of Miss Hargrave’s captor, for Long Sam was of opinion that, though he might have been accompanied by a few of his braves, he had not gone off with the larger body of Redskins. Charley, who listened attentively to all that was said, agreed with Long Sam; and, as he had been so long amongst the tribe, his opinion was of value. He was certain that it was only a chief who was likely to have committed such an act, probably the younger brother of the head chief; who, Charley said, had frequently talked to him of the beauty of the pale faced women, and of his intention of obtaining one of them for his wife. This had always greatly angered his elder brother, who had declared, should he bring a pale-face to their lodges, that he should be turned out of the tribe, and that she should be put to death. Charley was certain, therefore, that Black Eagle—so the chief was called—would not return to his people; and that, should we be able to discover his trail, we should find him protected with only a small band, with whom it would not be difficult to deal.

The first thing was to discover the trail, and Folkard, Long Sam, and Pierre set out for the purpose. We, in the meantime, were engaged in organising the pursuing party, if so I may call it. Dick, though wounded, made light of the matter, and insisted on going. Folkard had offered to take all his people. Besides Story and I, we had Pierre, and Long Sam, the Canadian, and two other men; making altogether a well-armed party of twelve, mostly experienced hunters and backwoodsmen, accustomed all their lives to encounters with the red men.

Long Sam, who in his wanderings in South America had learned the use of the lasso, never went on an expedition without carrying a long coil of rope at his saddle bow; which he used, not only for catching horses, but for stopping the career of a wounded buffalo or deer; and he had, he asserted, made captives at different times of several Indians by whom he had been attacked, when they, approaching within the radius of his long line, were surprised to find themselves jerked to the ground and dragged along at a rate which rendered all resistance useless.

It was late in the evening when the three trappers returned. They had discovered a trail made by a small party, though they had been unable to decide whether it was that which had carried off the lady, until Long Sam, observing an object glittering on the ground, had, on picking it up, found it to be a golden locket, such as was not likely to have belonged to an Indian. On showing it to Mr Praeger and his family, they at once recognised it as having been worn by Miss Hargrave, thus leaving us in no doubt on the subject.

It was too late that night to follow up the trail, though every moment was precious. We had to wait therefore, until about three hours before dawn; when, mounting our steeds, we rode forward under the guidance of old Folkard, expecting at daybreak to reach the spot where the locket had been found. We agreed to breakfast there, and then to follow up the trail as soon as there was sufficient light to see it.

We carried out our plan, and the rising sun saw us pushing eagerly forward, the trail being sufficiently marked to enable the practical eyes of our guides to detect it.

To our surprise, instead of keeping to the right, as both old Folkard and Long Sam expected, it turned suddenly to the left, in the direction the main body had taken.

“There’s a reason for this,” observed Folkard, after we had ridden some way. “See, there was a message sent by the head chief to Black Eagle. Look, there is the trail of his horse, but whether the young chief joined the main body we shall know by and by.”

This information was a great disappointment, as it would render our enterprise far more difficult, for we should now have the whole tribe to deal with instead of a small party as we expected.

We were not to be deterred, however, and rode forward as rapidly as the necessary examination of the trail would allow. At last we had to halt and rest our horses, but we refrained from lighting a fire and ate our provisions cold.

As soon as possible we again pushed forward, but darkness coming on we had again to camp. Of course we did not light a fire, lest, should our enemies be in the neighbourhood, they might discover us.

Our faithful attendants kept watch, insisting that Story and I should lie down and take the rest we so greatly needed.

Next morning, instead of riding on together, Long Sam undertook to scout in advance, that we might not come suddenly upon the enemy, who it was believed could not be far ahead. We were passing round a wood when presently we heard a shout, and directly afterwards caught sight of Long Sam galloping towards us followed by an Indian—evidently a chief, from his war plumes and gaily bedecked shield,—but as we got nearer we saw that a rope was round the Indian’s body, and that he was attempting to free himself from it. He was on the point of drawing his knife when, by a sudden jerk, Long Sam brought him to the ground.

Folkard and Pierre, throwing themselves from their horses, rushed forward to seize him before he had regained his feet. Pierre, with his knife in his hand, was about to plunge it into the heart of the Indian; but I shouted out to him to desist, and Long Sam drawing tight the lasso, the next instant dragged the Indian clear of his frightened steed, which galloped off leaving him utterly helpless. Springing upon him, we then secured his arms by some leathern thongs, and removed the lasso from round his body.

“He is Black Eagle, no doubt about that,” cried old Folkard. “What have you done with the lady you carried off?” he added in the Indian tongue.

The prisoner refused to reply.

“If the chief will tell us what we want to know, he shall live; but, if not, he must be prepared to die,” said Long Sam.

An expression of irresolution passed over the Indian’s countenance.

“I would that I could tell the pale-faces where she is to be found, but she has been taken from me; though, if they will restore me to liberty, I will endeavour to find her,” he said at length.

“If the chief speaks the truth, he will find the palefaces willing to grant him any favour he may ask,” said Long Sam; then, turning to us, he added, “We must not trust the rascal. Though decked with fine feathers he has a cowardly heart, I suspect. We’ll keep him bound and take him with us. If he plays us false, knock him on the head without scruple; that’s my advice. We must not let his horse escape, however; wait here while I catch the animal.”

Saying this, Long Sam threw himself into the saddle, and taking his lasso which he had again coiled up, started off in the direction the Indian’s horse had taken. In a shorter time than I had expected, he returned leading the animal by the lasso which he had thrown over its neck, and whenever it became restive, a sudden jerk quickly brought it again under subjection.

“Of course, it won’t do to put the Redskin on his own horse, or he may be giving us the slip. He shall have mine,” said Long Sam, “and old ‘Knotty’ will stick by us, even if Mr Black Eagle should try and gallop off.”

We now, by means of the three hunters, endeavoured to obtain all the information we could from our captive.

He acknowledged that he had carried off the palefaced girl, and that he intended to make her his bride; but that he had been inveigled into the camp of his people, when she had been taken from him; and that, when he complained, he had been turned away to seek his own fortunes.

As we had no reason to doubt his word we asked him to guide us to wherever his people were now encamped, making him promise to warn us as we drew near the spot so that we might not be taken by surprise. We kept a bright look out on Black Eagle, Long Sam hinting gently that, should he show any treachery, he would be immediately shot through the head. The warning was not lost upon our friend. We rode on and on, until the sun sinking in the west showed us that we must again camp.

Black Eagle informed us that we should probably not reach his people until late on the following day. We had therefore to restrain our anxiety, and trust to his assurances that there were no Indians in the neighbourhood. We lighted a fire to cook a deer which Long Sam had shot just before we reached the camp.

We were seated round the fire enjoying our suppers, the first satisfactory meal we had taken since we started, when the well-known cry of a pack of wolves reached our ears. From the yelps and barks which they continued to utter in full chorus, we knew that they were in chase of some unfortunate animal which they hoped to drag to the ground.

The sounds grew nearer and nearer, but as the spot where we were encamped was surrounded with rocks and trees we could not see to any distance. At last Dick jumped up, saying he must have a look at the wolves and the animal they were chasing. Story and I quickly followed.

“They are not worth powder and shot,” observed Long Sam, but notwithstanding he came after us, as did indeed the whole party.

Just then the moon rose behind the cliffs, shedding a bright light over the rocky ground which surrounded the spot. From where we stood, we could see an animal, apparently a horse, dashing on at full speed with a savage pack of llovo wolves close at its heels. The next instant, as it came bounding on over the rocks, what was our horror to observe a female form lashed to its back.

To stop it in its mad career seemed impossible. The only hope was to shoot some of the wolves, and thus give a better chance for the escape of the horse. As I fired, I heard several other shots, and saw that most of the brutes, already at the horse’s heels, were rolled over. Still the condition of the female was perilous in the extreme. Unless we could catch our own horses, and overtake the affrighted steed, her destruction appeared inevitable. Scarcely had this thought flashed across my mind, when I saw Long Sam, who had thrown himself on horseback, galloping along with his lasso to intercept the runaway.

I ran as I had never run before, regardless of the wolves, in the same direction. As I passed by I saw that the pack had stopped and were already engaged in tearing to pieces the brutes we had shot. In an instant afterwards, it seemed, I observed Long Sam’s lasso cast with unerring aim over the neck of the frantic steed, which plunged and reared, but happily did not fall over. In another moment Sam had drawn the lasso so tightly round its neck that it was unable to move.

We sprang forward, cut the thongs which bound the female to the animal’s back, and lifting her to the ground, carried her out of danger. She still breathed, though apparently perfectly unconscious. The light of the moon showed us the features of Ellen Hargrave.

We did not stop to see what Long Sam did with the captured horse, but at once carried the young lady to the camp, when, by sprinkling her face with water and bathing her hands, she in a short time was restored to consciousness.

Her first impulse was to return thanks to heaven for her preservation. Looking up he recognised Dick and me.

“Where is Harry? Where is Mr Armitage?” she asked, evidently concluding that he must be of our party.

Dick replied that he was safe in the camp with her friends; that we had beaten the savages who had attacked them, and, finding that she had been carried off, had come in search of her. Though we did not inquire how she had been treated in the Indian camp, she without hesitation told us that Black Eagle had been compelled to release her by his superior chief; when, having been kept in a wigwam by herself for some hours, she had been bound to a horse, which being led away from the camp had been driven out into the wilds. She was fully prepared, she said, for a lingering death, but still she prayed that she might be preserved. All hope however had gone when she heard in the distance the howls of the wolves, and the horse sprang forward on its mad career over the rocky ground. “The rest you know,” she added. “I would thankfully forget those fearful moments.”

I must make a long story short. Miss Hargrave appeared much recovered after a night’s rest in the hut we built for her, and the next morning we formed a litter on which we carried her a day’s journey; but on the following morning she insisted on mounting one of the horses, and, a side-saddle being prepared, she performed the rest of the distance to camp with out apparent suffering.

I need not say that she was received by her relatives as one returned from the dead, while they expressed their gratitude to us by every means in their power. Armitage, they stated, had been in a very precarious state, but he revived on seeing Miss Hargrave, and quickly regained his strength. We allowed the Black Eagle to go free with his horse and arms, he promising, in return for the merciful treatment he had received, that he would in future be the friend of the pale-faces. The wounded men having now recovered sufficiently to travel, camp was struck, and the train continued its course westward.

We, of course, felt ourselves in honour bound to escort our friends on their way; and, although we at first talked of leaving them as soon as all fear of an attack from the Indians had passed, we continued on from day to day.

Before the journey was over, it was generally known that Armitage was to marry Miss Hargrave, while Dick and Story, though supposed to be confirmed bachelors, lost their hearts to the two youngest Miss Praegers; and a very pleasant wedding it was which took place soon after our arrival at Mr Praeger’s new location. We frequently afterwards met in old England, where my friends took their wives, and many a long yarn was spun about our adventures in the wild regions of the “Far West.”

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Afar in the Forest"

Chapter One.

Our habitation in the forest—My share of the spoils of the day’s chase—Uncle Mark commences his narrative—Why my uncles decided to emigrate—Landing in safety, they start up country—Their meeting with Simon Yearsley, an old settler—The settlement is found in ruins—Lily and I rescued—Uncle Mark promises to resume his narrative on the first opportunity—My love of natural history—Uncle Mark continues his narrative—Yearsley goes in pursuit of the indians—The burial of Lily’s mother—The return to the waggon—They reach the nearest settlement—Alarm of the settlers upon hearing of the outrage committed by the indians—Uncle Stephen’s marriage—Conclusion of Uncle Mark’s narrative—Lily and I go berrying—We are attacked by a wolf—Kepenau saves our lives—His present of venison to Aunt Hannah—Kepenau’s belief in the goodness of the Great Spirit—The Indian’s advice.

“Is Lily not Uncle Stephen’s daughter, then?” I asked.

The question was put to my uncle, Mark Tregellis, whom I found seated in front of our hut as I returned one evening from a hunting excursion—it having been my duty that day to go out in search of game for our larder. Uncle Mark had just come in from his day’s work, which had been that of felling the tall trees surrounding our habitation. He and I together had cleared an acre and a half since we came to our new location.

It was a wild region in which we had fixed ourselves. Dark forests were on every side of us. To the north and the east was the great chain of lakes which extend a third of the way across North America. Numberless mountain-ranges rose in the distance, with intervening heights,—some rugged and precipitous, others clothed to their summits with vegetation. Numerous rivers and streams ran through the country; one of which, on whose banks we purposed building our future abode, passed close to our hut. Besides the features I have described, there were waterfalls and rapids, deep valleys and narrow gorges penetrating amid the hills; while to the south-west could be seen, from the higher ground near us, the wide prairie, extending away far beyond human ken. Wild indeed it was, for not a single habitation of white men was to be found to the westward; and on the other side, beyond the newly-formed settlement in which Uncle Stephen resided, but few cottages or huts of the hardy pioneers of civilisation,—and these scattered only here and there,—existed for a hundred miles or more.

Uncle Mark, having lighted the fire and put the pot on to boil, had thrown himself down on the ground in front of the hut, with his back to the wall, and was busy contemplating the dark pines which towered up before him, and calculating how long it would take, with his sharp axe, to fell them.

I had brought home a haunch of venison as my share of the spoils of the chase (in which I had joined Uncle Stephen); and it was in consequence of a remark made by him while we were out hunting, that I had somewhat eagerly asked at Uncle Mark the question with which this story opens.

“No; Lily is not Stephen’s daughter,—nor even related to him,” he answered. “But we will cut some steaks off that haunch and broil them; and while we are discussing our supper, I will tell you all about the matter.”

The slices of venison, and flour-cakes baked on the fire, were soon ready; and seated at the door of our hut, with a fire burning before us to keep off the mosquitoes, we commenced our repast, when I reminded my uncle of his promise.

“It is a good many years ago, but even now it is painful to think of those days,” he began. “We came from Cornwall, in the ‘old country,’ where your Uncle Stephen, your mother, and I were born. She had married your father, Michael Penrose, however, and had emigrated to America, when we were mere boys; and we were just out of our apprenticeship (Stephen as a blacksmith and I as a carpenter) when we received a letter from your father and mother inviting us to join them in America, and setting forth the advantages to be obtained in the new country. We were not long in making up our minds to accept the invitation; and in the spring of the next year we crossed the sea, with well nigh three hundred other emigrants,—some going out to relatives and friends, others bent on seeking their fortunes, trusting alone to their own strong arms and determined will for success.

“We found, on landing, that we had a journey of some hundred miles before us; part of which could be performed in boats up the rivers, but the greater portion was along ‘corduroy’ roads, through dark forests, and over mountains and plains. Our brother-in-law, a bold, determined person, had turned backwoodsman, and, uniting himself with a party of hardy fellows of similar tastes, had pushed on in advance of the old settlers, far to the westward, in spite of the difficulties of obtaining stores and provisions, and the dangers they knew they must encounter from hostile Indians whose territories they were invading. We did not, however, think much of these things, and liked the idea of being ahead, as it seemed to us, of others. The forest was before us. We were to win our way through it, and establish a home for ourselves and our families.

“We had been travelling on for a couple of weeks or so, following the directions your father had given us in order to find his new location, but greatly in doubt as to whether we were going right, when we were fortunate enough to fall in with a settler who knew him, and who was returning with a waggon and team. He readily undertook to be our guide, glad to have our assistance in making way through the forest. We provided ourselves with crowbars to lift the waggon out of the ruts and holes and up the steep ascents; for we had left the ‘corduroy’ roads—or, indeed, any road at all—far behind. Our new acquaintance seemed to be somewhat out of spirits about the prospects of the new settlement; but, notwithstanding, he had determined to chance it with the rest. The Indians, he said, had lately been troublesome, and some of them who had been found prowling about, evidently bent on mischief, had been shot. ‘We have won the ground, and we must keep it against all odds,’ he observed.

“Everything in the country was then new to us. I remember feeling almost awe-struck with the stillness which reigned in the forest. Not a leaf or bough was in motion; nor was a sound heard, except when now and then our ears caught the soughing of the wind among the lofty heads of the pine-trees, the tapping of the woodpeckers on the decaying trunks, or the whistling cry of the little chitmonk as it ran from bough to bough.

“I had expected to meet with bears, wolves, raccoons, lynxes, and other animals, and was surprised at encountering so few living creatures. ‘They are here, notwithstanding,’ observed our friend; ‘you will get your eyes sharpened to find them in time. In the course of a year or two you may become expert backwoodsmen. You can’t expect to drop into the life all at once.’ By attending to the advice our friend gave us, and keeping our senses wide awake, we gained some knowledge even during that journey.

“We were now approaching the settlement—Weatherford, it was called. It was a long way to the eastward of where we are now, with numerous towns and villages in the neighbourhood. The waggon had gained the last height, from the top of which, our guide told us, we should be able to catch sight of the settlement. We had been working away with our crowbars, helping on the wheels,—our friend being ahead of the team,—and had just reached level ground, when we heard him utter a cry of dismay. Rushing forward, we found him pointing, with distended eyes, into the plain beyond us, from which could be seen, near the bank of a river, thick volumes of smoke ascending, while bright names kept flickering up from below.

“‘The settlement has been surprised by Indians!’ he exclaimed, as soon as he could find words to speak. ‘I know the bloodthirsty nature of the savages. They don’t do things by halves, or allow a single human being to escape, if they can help it. Lads, you will stick by me; though we can do nothing, I fear, but be revenged on the Redskins. I left my wife and children down there, and I know that I shall never see them alive again.’

“He spoke quite calmly, like a man who had made up his mind for the worst.

“‘We cannot leave the waggon here, or the Indians will see it,—if they have not done so already,—and know that we are following them. We will take it down to yonder hollow, and leave it and the oxen. There is pasture enough for them, and they will not stray far. Then we will follow up the Indians’ trail; and maybe some of their braves won’t get back to boast of their victory, if you will only do as I tell you.’

“Of course, we at once agreed to accompany Simon Yearsley—such was our friend’s name—and follow his directions. Quickly turning the waggon round, we got it down to the spot he had indicated, where the oxen were unyoked, and left to crop the grass by the side of a stream flowing from the hill above. Then taking our rifles, with a supply of ammunition, and some food in our wallets, we again set off, Yearsley leading the way.

“We next descended the hill, concealing ourselves as much as possible among the rocks and shrubs until we gained the plain. Although Simon moved at a rapid rate, there was nothing frantic in his gestures. He had made up his mind, should he find his loved ones destroyed, to follow the murderers with deadly vengeance, utterly regardless of the consequences to himself. As none of the intervening country had been cleared except a straight road through the forest, where the trees had been felled, and the stumps grubbed up here and there to allow of a waggon passing between the remainder, we were able to conceal ourselves until we got close to the settlement.

“We now saw that, though the greater number were in flames, two or three huts on one side remained uninjured. Still, not a sound reached us,—neither the cries of the inhabitants nor the shouts of the savages. Nothing was heard save the sharp crackling of the flames.

“‘The Indians have retreated, and the settlers are following. We shall be in time to join them!’ exclaimed Yearsley, dashing forward. ‘But we must first search for any who have survived.’ His previous calmness disappeared as he spoke, and he rushed, through the burning huts, towards one of the buildings.

“Stephen and I were about to follow, when we heard a cry proceeding from one of the huts at hand, which, though the doorway was charred and the burning embers lay around it, had as yet escaped destruction. Hurrying in, I stumbled over the corpse of a man. His rifle lay on the ground, while his hand grasped an axe, the blade covered with gore. I gazed on his face, and recognised, after a moment’s scrutiny, my own brother-in-law. He had fallen while defending his hearth and home. Close to him lay a young boy, who, I guessed, was his eldest child, shot through the head.

“My poor sister! where could she be?

“Again a cry reached my ear. It came from an inner room. It was Martha, your mother, who had uttered the cry. She was stretched on the ground, holding you in her arms. Her neck was fearfully wounded, her life-blood ebbing fast away.

“I endeavoured to stanch it, telling her meanwhile who I was.

“‘Stephen and I have come at your invitation,’ I said.

“‘Heaven, rather, has sent you, to protect my Roger,’ she faintly gasped out, trying to put you in my arms. ‘His father and brother are dead; I saw them fall. Hearing voices which I knew to be those of white men, I cried out, that they might come and protect him. Mark! I am dying. You will ever be a father to him?’

“The blood continued to flow; and soon she breathed her last, her head resting on my arm. Your dress and little hands were stained with her blood; but you were too young to understand clearly what had happened, although, as I took you up to carry you from the hut, you cried out lustily to be taken back to your poor mother.

“Thinking it possible that the Indians might return, I hurried out to look for Stephen, so that we might make our escape. I was resolved at all costs to save your life. I tried to comfort you, at the same time, by telling you that I was your uncle, and that your mother had wished me to take care of you.

“Going on a little way, I found another hut, the door of which was open, and smoke coming out of it. The savages had thrown in their firebrands as they quitted the village, and the front part was already on fire.

“While I was shouting for Stephen he rushed out of the hut, with a blanket rolled up in his arms, the end thrown over his own head.

“‘I have saved this child, and thank Heaven you are here to take her!’ he exclaimed, unfolding the blanket, and putting a little girl into my arms. ‘I must try and preserve the mother;’ and again throwing the blanket over his head, he dashed in through the flames.

“In another minute he reappeared, struggling along under the heavy burden of a grown-up person wrapped in the blanket. As he reached me he sank down, overcome by the smoke, and I noticed that his clothes and hair were singed.

“On opening the blanket I saw a young woman, her dress partly burned. She too was wounded. The fresh air somewhat revived her; and on opening her eyes and seeing the little girl, she stretched out her arms for her. ‘Lilias! my little Lily! she’s saved,’ she whispered, as she pressed her lips to the child’s brow. ‘May Heaven reward you!’

“It was the final effort of exhausted nature, and in a few minutes she breathed her last.

“The flames, meantime, had gained the mastery over the building, and we saw that it was impossible to save it.

“But it’s time to turn in, Roger,” said Uncle Mark. “I’ll tell you more about the matter to-morrow.”

As Uncle Mark always meant what he said, I knew that there would be no use in trying to get him to go on then, eager as I was to hear more of what had, as may be supposed, so deeply interested me. I accordingly turned into my bunk, and was soon asleep.

I dreamed of shrieking Indians and burning villages; and more than once I started up and listened to the strange unearthly sounds which came from the depths of the forest.

These noises, I may here say, were caused by the wolves; for the savage brutes occasionally came near the settlement, attracted by the sheep and cattle which the inhabitants had brought with them. A bright look-out being kept, however, it was seldom that any of our stock was carried off. Bears also occasionally came into the neighbourhood; and we had already shot two, whose skins supplied us with winter coats. Our intention was to kill as many more as we could meet with, that their skins might serve us for other purposes—especially as coverlets for our beds. And, besides, their flesh was always a welcome addition to our larder.

Next morning we went about our usual work. My uncle with his bright axe commenced felling the trees round our hut—working away from sunrise to sunset, with only an hour’s intermission for dinner. I aided him, as far as my strength would allow, for a certain number of hours daily. But my uncle encouraged me to follow the bent of my inclination, which was to get away and observe the habits of the creatures dwelling in the surrounding forest.

I had been a naturalist from my earliest days. The study had been my poor father’s hobby—so my uncle told me—and I inherited his love for it. It had, moreover, been developed and encouraged by a visit we had received, some few years back, from a scientific gentleman, who had come over to America to make himself acquainted with the feathered tribes, the quadrupeds, and the reptiles of the New World.

It had been my delight to accompany this gentleman on his excursions while he was with us; and I prized a couple of books he had left with me more than I should have done a lump of gold of the same weight. From him I learned to preserve and stuff the skins of the birds and animals I killed; a knowledge which I turned to profitable account, by my uncle’s advice—as they were sent, when opportunity occurred, to the Eastern States, where they found a ready market.

“It pays very well in its way, Roger,” observed Uncle Mark; “but work is better. If you can combine the two, I have no objection; but you are now too old to play, and, for your own sake, you should do your best to gain your own living. While you were young, I was ready to work for you; and so I should be now, if you could not work for yourself. I want you, however, to understand that it is far nobler for a man to labour for his daily bread, than to allow others to labour for him.”

I fully agreed with Uncle Mark. Indeed, my ambition had long been to support myself. I had an idea, nevertheless, that the skins I preserved brought more immediate profit than did the result of his labours with the axe. But, everything considered, we got on very well together; for I was grateful to him for the affection and care he had bestowed on me during my childhood.

I was hard at work that day preparing a number of birds I had shot in the morning; and when dinnertime came, Uncle Mark, telling me to continue my task, said he would get our meal ready. Having quickly prepared it, he brought out the platters, and set himself down near me. I washed my hands, and speedily despatched my dinner; after which I returned to my work.

“Will you go on with the account you were giving me last night?” I said, observing that he did not seem inclined to move. “You have more than half an hour to rest, and I will then come and help you.”

“Where was I? Oh! I remember,” said my uncle. “In the middle of the burning settlement, with you and Lily in my arms.

“We were wondering what had become of Yearsley, when we caught sight of him rushing out from amid the burning huts.

“‘They are all killed!—all, all, all!’ he shrieked out. ‘Follow me, lads;’ and he pointed with a significant gesture in the direction he supposed the Indians had taken.

“‘But these children, Mr Yearsley! You would not have us desert them! And my brother is too much injured, I fear, to accompany you,’ I observed.

“He looked at the children for a moment.

“‘You are right,’ he answered. ‘Stay by them; or rather, make your way back eastward with them. Ignorant as you are of the habits of the savages, you could aid me but little. If I do not return, the waggon and its contents, with the team, will be yours.’

“Before I had time to reply, or to ask him the name of the poor young woman who lay dead at my feet, he had dashed across the stream, and soon disappeared amid the forest beyond. He had doubtless discovered the trail of the Indians, or of the band of settlers who had gone in pursuit of them; although we at that time were quite unable to perceive what was visible to his more practised eye.

“I told Stephen how I had discovered our sister’s house; so we agreed to return to it, and to carry there the body of the poor young woman, that we might bury it with those of our own family. The hut was one of the very few which had escaped the flames, and we found some spades and a pickaxe within. Not knowing how soon we might be interrupted, we at once set to work and dug two graves under a maple-tree at the further end of the garden. One was large enough to hold our brother-in-law and sister, and their boy; and in the other we placed the poor young lady—for a lady she appeared to be, judging from her dress, her ear-rings and brooch, and a ring which she wore on her finger. These trinkets we removed, in order to preserve them for her little daughter; as also a miniature which hung round her neck,—that of a handsome young man, who was doubtless her husband. Stephen told me that the cottage from which he had rescued her, as far as he had time to take notice, seemed to be neatly and tastefully furnished.

“We concluded that her husband, if he had not been killed when the village was surprised, had followed the savages along with the rest; and he would be able on his return to identify his child, while we should know him by his portrait.

“Before beginning our sad occupation, we had got some water and washed the stains from your hands and clothes, and left you in a room playing with little Lily; and on our return we gave you both some food which we found in the house. By this time, too, you seemed perfectly at home with us.

“At first we thought of remaining in the house until Mr Yearsley and the settlers whom we supposed had gone in pursuit of the savages should return; but Stephen suggested that this might be dangerous, as we should not know what was happening outside. The Indians might come back and surprise us, when we should to a certainty share the fate which had befallen so many others. We agreed, therefore, that our safest course would be to make our way back to the waggon, where we had abundance of provisions, and where we could find shelter for the children who had been committed to us, we felt sure, by Providence.

“They were now our chief care. While I took charge of them, Stephen hurriedly examined the other huts which had escaped destruction; crying out in case any one should be concealed, in order to let them know that we were ready to help them. No answer came, however, and we were soon convinced that every person in the settlement, with the exception of those who had gone in pursuit of the savages, had been slaughtered.

“As soon as we were satisfied as to this, we began our retreat, hoping to get back to the waggon before nightfall. Our intention was to wait there for Mr Yearsley, as we felt sure that, after he had punished the Indians, he would come and look for us where he had left the waggon.

“The sun was setting as we reached the top of the ridge; but we were too far off to distinguish any one moving in the settlement, although we made out the smouldering fire, from which thin wreaths of smoke alone ascended in the calm evening air. On reaching the waggon, we found the cattle grazing quietly beside it. Having removed some packages, among which was one of new blankets, we made up beds for the two children; and after giving them some supper, we placed them, sleeping, side by side.

“We agreed that one of us should watch while the other slept. We also resolved that, in the event of our being attacked by Indians, we should show them fight; for we had a good store of ammunition, and knew well how to handle our weapons. Although we hoped they would not come, yet we knew that they might possibly fall upon our trail and discover our whereabouts. Indeed, had we not thought it our duty to wait for Mr Yearsley, we should have harnessed the cattle, and endeavoured to make our way down the mountain in the dark.

“After we had put you and Lily to bed, and had refreshed ourselves with some supper, I climbed again to the top of the ridge; but I could see no object moving in the plain, nor could I hear the slightest sound to indicate the approach of any one. I therefore returned.

“While Stephen lay down under the waggon, I kept watch, walking up and down with my rifle ready in my hand, and resting occasionally by leaning against the wheel of the waggon. After I had watched thus for about four hours, I called Stephen, who took my place.

“I was again on foot by daybreak, and once more climbed to the top of the ridge to look out. But I had the same report as before to give. The fire had burned itself out, and I could see no one moving. We waited all that day—and might have waited for several more, until our cattle had eaten up the herbage—without being discovered; but Mr Yearsley did not appear, nor could we see any signs of the other settlers.

“We did our best to amuse you and Lily. You asked frequently after your poor mother; and it went to my heart to tell you that you would never see her again.

“Stephen proposed that we should the next morning set out on our journey eastward; but as I thought it possible that Mr Yearsley would by that time have got back to the settlement, I undertook to go and search for him—or to try and find any of the other people, and learn what had become of him. Stephen agreed to this; undertaking to look after the children and guard the waggon during my absence.

“At daybreak I set out, keeping myself concealed, as much as possible, behind bushes and trunks of trees, until I got back to the scene of the catastrophe. I listened; but all was still as death. Excepting the two or three huts around my brother-in-law’s abode, the whole ground where the settlement had stood presented only black heaps of ashes, surrounded by palings and trunks of trees charred by the flames. I could see no one moving across the river, either; and the dreadful idea seized me that the settlers who had gone in pursuit of the foe had been cut off, and that Mr Yearsley had in all likelihood shared the same fate. Had it not been for Stephen and the children, I would have watched all day, in the hope of our friend’s return; but I had promised not to be longer than I could help.

“I again visited my poor brother-in-law’s hut, and packed up such clothes as I saw belonging to you. I also brought away a few other articles, to remind us of your mother; for I thought it probable that the settlement would be revisited by the savages, who would take good care to finish the work they had begun. I then set off on my return to the waggon, looking back every now and then, lest I might be followed by any of the foe.

“On reaching the waggon, Stephen agreed with me that we might safely wait till the next morning. We did so; and poor Yearsley not then appearing, we proceeded with the waggon along the road we had taken in coming, until we reached Watfield, a large settlement which had then been established for three or four years.

“The account we gave of what had happened caused the inhabitants considerable anxiety and alarm. The men at once flew to arms; stockades were put up; and sentries were posted at all points, to watch for the possible approach of the Indians.

“Stephen and I having now no wish to go further east, we determined to remain where we were. As for the waggon and team, though we had no written document to show that Yearsley had given them to us, our statement was believed; and it was agreed that we should be allowed to keep them,—especially as we consented to give them up should the original owner return. But nothing was ever heard of him, or of the other settlers who had gone in pursuit of the retreating foe; and it was generally believed that the whole had been surrounded and murdered by the savages.

“As we could not spare time to look after the children, one of us agreed to marry. Stephen therefore fixed upon your Aunt Hannah, who was, he had discovered, likely to prove a good housewife, and was kind-hearted and gentle-mannered. A true mother, too, she has ever proved to our Lily.”

Uncle Mark only spoke the truth when he praised Aunt Hannah; for she had been like an affectionate mother to me, as well as to Lily, and much I owed her for the care she had bestowed upon me.

I need not describe my own early days; indeed, several years passed without the occurrence of any incidents which would be especially interesting to others. Gradually the border-village grew into a town, although even then the country continued in almost its original wild state within a mile or two of us. Both Lily and I got a fair amount of schooling; and in the holidays I was able to indulge my taste, by rambling into the forest and increasing my knowledge of the habits of its denizens. Occasionally I got leave for Lily to accompany me, although Aunt Hannah did not much approve of her going so far from home.

One day I had persuaded our aunt to let her accompany me—Lily herself was always ready to go—for the sake of collecting some baskets of berries. “I promise to come back with as many as I can carry, to fill your jam-pots,” said I. There were whortleberries, and thimble-berries, blue-berries, raspberries, and strawberries, and many others which, I reminded her, were now in season. “If we do not get them now, the time will pass. Lily’s fingers, too, will pick them quicker than mine, so that we shall get double as many as I should get by myself,” I observed.

My arguments prevailed, and Lily and I set out, happy as the red-birds we saw flying in and out among the trees around us.

We had nearly filled our baskets, and I was on my knees picking some strawberries which grew on the bank of a small stream running through an open part of the forest, when Lily, who was at a little distance from me, shrieked out. I was about to spring to my feet and hurry to her assistance—supposing that she had been frightened by some animal—when what was my horror to see, close to me, a huge wolf, with open jaws, ready to seize me! My stick, the only weapon I carried, lay just within my reach; so I put out my hand and instinctively grasped it, determined to fight for my own life and Lily’s too—knowing how, if the wolf killed me, it would next attack her.

As I moved the creature snarled, but did not advance any nearer. So, grasping the stick, I sprang to my feet and swung the weapon round with all my might, despair giving energy to my muscles. The savage creature retreated a few paces, astonished at the unexpected blow, snarling, and eyeing me, as if about to make another attack.

Again Lily shrieked.

“Run, run!” I cried; “I will tackle the wolf.”

But she did not move; indeed, she saw that the creature was more likely to come off victor than I was.

I stood ready to receive the animal, doubtful whether I ought to make the attack; Lily, in the meantime, continuing to cry aloud for help. The wolf at length seemed to get tired of waiting for his expected prey, and giving a fierce howl, he was on the point of springing at me, when a bullet fired by an unseen hand laid him dead at my feet.

Lily sprang towards me, exclaiming, “You are safe! you are safe, Roger!” and then burst into tears. She scarcely seemed to consider how I had been saved. All she saw was the dead wolf, and that I was unhurt.

On looking round, I observed an Indian advancing towards us from among the trees.

“That must be the man who killed the wolf,” I exclaimed. “We must thank him, Lily.”

Lily had ever a great dread of Indians. “We must run! we must run, Roger!” she cried. “He may kill us as easily as he did the wolf, or carry us away prisoners.”

“We cannot escape him, Lily; and I do not think he will hurt us,” I answered in an encouraging tone. “I will go forward and thank him for saving my life. It will not do to show any fear; and if he is disposed to be friendly, he would think it ungrateful if we were to run off without thanking him.”

I took Lily’s hand as I spoke, and led her towards the Indian. He was dressed in skins, with an axe hanging from his belt, and had long black hair streaming over his shoulders,—unlike most of the Indians I had seen, who wear it tied up and ornamented with feathers. A small silver medal hung from his neck, and I guessed from this that he was a friend to the white men, and had received it as a token for some service he had rendered them.

He made a friendly sign as he saw us approach, and put out his hand.

“We come to thank you for killing the wolf that was about to spring upon me,” I said in English, for though I knew a few words of the Indian tongue, I could not at that time speak it sufficiently well to express what I wished to say.

“Kepenau is glad to have done you a service,” he answered in English. “I heard the young maiden cry out, and guessed that she would not do so without cause, so I hurried on to help you. But why are you so far from home? It is dangerous for unarmed people to wander in this forest.”

“We came out to gather berries, and were about to return,” said Lily. “You will not detain us?”

“Not if you wish to go,” answered the Indian.

“But come with me, and you shall return with something of more value than these berries.”

I felt sure that the Indian would not injure us, so Lily and I followed him, hand in hand.

He moved through the forest faster than we could, and presently stopped near some rocks, amid which lay the body of a deer with huge antlers. Placing himself across the carcass of the animal, he exclaimed with a look of exultation, “See! I have overcome the king of these forests. Once, thousands of these animals wandered here, but since the white man has come they have all disappeared; and now that I have slain him, we must go likewise, and seek for fresh hunting-grounds. Still, Kepenau bears the Whiteskins no malice. He was ever their friend, and intends to remain so. You must take some of the meat and present it to your friends.”

Saying this, he commenced skinning the deer, in which operation I assisted him. He then cut off several slices, which he wrapped up in some large leaves and placed in my basket.

“Take the venison to your mother, and say that Kepenau sends it,” he observed.

“He has no mother,” said Lily.

“Is he not your brother?” asked the Indian.

“No!” said Lily. “His mother was killed by the Redskins long, long ago.”

Lily at that time did not know that her own mother had been murdered when mine was.

“You do not bear the red men any malice on that account, I trust?” said Kepenau, turning to me.

“The Great Spirit tells us to forgive our enemies; and there are good and bad Indians.”

“You are a good Indian, I am sure,” said Lily, looking up at him with more confidence in her manner than she had before shown.

“I wish to become so,” he said, smiling. “I have learned to love the Great Spirit, and wish to obey him. But it is time for you to return home. Wait until I have secured the flesh of the deer, and then I will accompany you.”

Kepenau quickly cut up the animal, and fastened the more valuable portion’s to the bough of a tree—out of the reach of the wolves—by means of some lithe creepers which grew at hand; then loading himself with as much of the venison as he could conveniently carry, he said, “We will move on.”

Having accompanied us to the edge of the forest, he bade us farewell. “Should there be more wolves in the forest, they will not follow you further than this,” he said; “but if they do, remember that it will be better to sacrifice some of the venison, than to allow them to overtake you. Throw them a small bit at a time; and as in all likelihood they will stop to quarrel over it, you will thus have time to escape.”

I remembered the Indian’s advice, although we did not need to practise it on this occasion.

We reached home before dark, and greatly surprised Aunt Hannah with the present of venison. She had, she told us, been very anxious at our prolonged absence.

Chapter Two.

Greenford settlement—The flying squirrels—Mike Laffan and Tom Quambo—Their dogs, Yelp and Snap—A raccoon-hunt—Mike having seen a bear, we go in chase—Our dogs scent Bruin—Quambo in danger—The bear is killed, and Quambo released—We return to the hut—The logging bee—Uncle Stephen’s house—Indian summer—Mike Laffan’s Cremona—The night attack of the wolves—We determine to go lumbering for the winter—Mike and I go on ahead—Uncle Mark is attacked by a wolf—Mike saves him, and we proceed onwards.

We had only lately, as I have already said, arrived at our new location. My uncles had been imbued with the restless spirit of backwoodsmen, and Aunt Hannah was ready to do whatever Uncle Stephen wished. So, having grown weary of the life at Watfield, where we had at first been located, they had resolved, along with several other inhabitants of that place, to push westward; and after making their way through forests, rivers, and swamps, and over hills and plains, had formed the new settlement where Uncle Stephen now was, and which they had named Greenford.

To the hut where Uncle Mark and I lived no name had been given; but he expressed his belief that it would one day become the centre of a great city. “Before that day arrives, however, you and I, Roger, will have moved far away westward,” he observed.

I used to exercise diligence while I was at work, in order that I might have more time to attend to the study of natural history. My great delight was to get away into the forest and observe the habits of its various inhabitants. Often would I sit on the root of an old tree watching the playful squirrels at their gambols. When I spied a hole in which I knew that a family were likely to have taken up their abode, I would hide myself; and before long I was generally rewarded by seeing a “papa” squirrel poking out his nose. Soon he would give an inaudible sniff, sniff, sniff, then out would come his head, and he would look round to ascertain whether danger was near. Presently I would catch sight of his thick furry body and lovely brush, the tail curling over his head. Then another nose would appear, and large shining eyes; and out another would pop; followed in rapid succession by the whole family. Then, how delightful it was to watch them frolicking about, darting round the trunks, sending the bark rattling down as they chased each other; whisking their tails; darting along the boughs, and bounding fearlessly from branch to branch. One, reaching the end of a bough, would spread out its arms and tail, exhibiting the white fur beneath, and fly down to a lower branch, or to the earth below, followed by its companions; then away they would go along the logs or swinging vines, and up another trunk, quick as lightning. Sometimes I would catch them at their supper, nibbling away at the nuts which they had plucked, or had dug out of the ground with their sharp little paws.

A flying squirrel is indeed a beautiful creature. Its colour is a most delicate grey; the fur thick and short, and as soft as velvet; the eyes large and full. The membrane by which it is enabled to take its flights is of a soft texture, and white, like the fur of the chinchilla. The tail greatly resembles an elegantly-formed broad feather.

One day, as I was wandering along the banks of a stream, for the purpose of observing the habits of a family of beavers that had lately made their abode there, I caught sight of a number of squirrels. They were evidently about some important operation, since they were moving steadily along the branches, and refraining from their usual frisking and playing. Having concealed myself from their view, in order that they might not be disturbed by my presence, I noticed that they went on until they reached the branch of a tree overhanging the stream, at the extreme end of which one, who appeared to be their leader, took post, looking eagerly up the current. In a short time a small log floated near, with a tendency to move over to the opposite side. As it came beneath the leader of the party he dropped down upon it, at the same time uttering a sharp cry. Quick as lightning some others followed his example; and by holding on to the lower twigs they arrested its progress until the whole party were seated on board, when the log was allowed to float, as they sagaciously knew it would, towards the opposite bank. It seemed to me as if some of them were steering it with their tails; but of that I am not positive. In a short time, after floating some way down the stream it was guided to the shore; when one after the other leaped off, and quickly running along the boughs of the trees, gained a point exactly opposite to that from which they had started; after which they went away into the forest,—bent, I doubted not, on some predatory expedition. They would soon make their presence known, when they reached the pumpkin-grounds or maize-fields of the settlers.

I was not always alone in my rambles through the forest. Lily would have been only too happy to accompany me, but Aunt Hannah judged it prudent to keep her at home; and, indeed, she had plenty of occupation there. My chief companion, therefore, was one of Uncle Stephen’s labourers—an Irishman, Mike Laffan by name.

Although Mike had no great knowledge of natural history, he was as fond of searching for animals as I was, and consequently was always ready to accompany me when he had the chance. He was an honest fellow; a thorough Patlander in look, manners, language, and ideas. When he could, he used to press Tom Quambo, an old free negro, into the service; and Quambo enjoyed the fun as much as Mike did. Each possessed a dog, of which they were very proud, ugly as the animals were to look at.

“Den, you see, massa, if Yelp not ’ansome, he know eberyting,” Quambo used to remark. “He braver dan painter (meaning the puma), and run like greased lightning.”

It was difficult to say whether Yelp or Mike’s dog was the ugliest; but both masters were equally proud of their canine friends.

I too had a dog, which, if not a beauty, was certainly handsomer than either of his two acquaintances. He was clever enough in his way, but more useful in watching the hut than in hunting; indeed, when I went out by myself for the purpose of observing the habits of the denizens of the forest, I never took him, knowing that he would only interfere with their sports.

On one occasion I had been over to see my Uncle Stephen, and as I was returning home Mike Laffan met me.

“Would you loike to be afther looking for a ’coon to-night, Masther Roger?” he asked. “Quambo says he can come; and Yelp and Snap are moighty ager for the sport.”

I at once agreed to meet my two friends, accompanied by my dog Pop.

Accordingly, at the time appointed, the day’s work being over, Mike and Quambo made their appearance at the hut; while running at their heels were their two dogs, who were soon warmly greeted by Pop.

Setting out, we took our way along the banks of the river, near which we fully expected to fall in with several raccoons. We had our guns, and were provided with torches and the means of lighting them. We had not gone far before we heard voices, and soon we were joined by three lads from the settlement, who had got notice of the expedition. As they had brought their dogs, we had a full pack of mongrels of high and low degree, but united by one feeling,—that of deadly enmity to raccoons.

On we went, while the dogs, who had just then scented one of their foes, yelled in chorus. Over huge logs and rotten trunks, through the brush and dead trees and briars, we went at full speed; and sometimes wading across bogs, sometimes climbing up banks, and occasionally tumbling over on our noses, we continued to make our way at the heels of the dogs, until old Quambo, waving his torch above his head, and suddenly stopping short, shouted out, “De ’coon’s treed!”

He had made a mistake, however, for the dogs bayed loudly and continued their course.

“Dat a mighty old ’coon,” cried Quambo. “He know what he about.”

The raccoon, if it had got up the tree, had come down again, and was still ahead. Some of the party were almost in despair; but I knew the habits of the creature too well not to feel sure that we should get it at last, so I encouraged my friends, while we dashed on as before.

Yelp and Snap, having kept well ahead of the other dogs, were now heard baying under a big tree, and no doubt remained that the raccoon had taken refuge amid its branches. Our difficulty was to get it down. As the others hesitated to encounter the fierce little animal amid the boughs, Mike, for the honour of “Old Ireland,” offered to make his way up. Without more ado, then, he got on Quambo’s shoulders, sprang to a branch within his reach, and was soon lost to sight among the foliage.

“I see him!” he shouted at last; and bits of bark, leaves, and rotten twigs came rattling down, while the loud whacks of his stick reached our ears. Presently there was a “flop;” the raccoon had been compelled to evacuate its stronghold. The dogs once more gave chase; and I, torch in hand, followed them. In less than a minute I came up with the dogs, and found the creature at bay, its eyes flashing fire, while it bravely faced the pack, which, with gnashing growls and savage yells, were about to dash upon it, though each seemed unwilling to receive the first bite from its sharp teeth. But, hearing the voices of their masters, they gained courage, and in another instant had the poor animal struggling vainly in their midst; while our blows came rattling down, to finish its sufferings, and prevent them tearing its skin to pieces.

Such was one of several raccoon-hunts in which I took part.

The raccoon is about the size of a spaniel, and its colour is a blackish grey. Its tail is short and bushy, and is marked with five or six blackish rings on a grey ground. When the animal walks slowly, or sits, it plants the soles of its feet upon the ground; but when in a hurry it runs along on the tips of its toes. It hunts for its prey chiefly at night, when it devours any small animals it can catch. It has no objection, however, to a vegetable diet; and, indeed, its teeth show that it is capable of feeding on both descriptions of food.

I once caught a young raccoon, which soon became domesticated—being quite as tame as a dog. It possessed, however, a habit of which I could not cure it; that of seizing any fowls it set eyes on, and biting off their heads. It having treated two or three of Aunt Hannah’s in this way, I was compelled to carry it into the forest and set it at liberty. It enjoyed its freedom but a short time, however, as it was soon afterwards hunted and killed by some of our boys.

Having got so far from home, our party were not inclined to return without something in addition to the unfortunate animal we had slaughtered. Mike, too, announced to us that he had seen a brown bear at a spot a little further on; so it was at once agreed that we should “knock up the quarters of Mr Bruin.”

It was necessary to proceed with caution; for though the “musquaw” or brown bear will seldom attack a human being unless first assaulted, our friend, if unceremoniously disturbed at night, would probably not be in a good-humour. Our three well-trained dogs kept at our heels, but the other curs went yelping away through the forest; nor could their masters’ voices succeed in calling them back. We feared, therefore, that they would rouse up the bear, and thus give it time to escape before we could reach its dwelling.

“Faix, though, I am not sure that the noise outside won’t make the old gentleman keep quiet in his den,” observed Mike. “He will be after saying to his wife, ‘Sure, what would be the use, Molly, of turning out to go hunting thim noisy spalpeens of dogs? I’ll sit snug and quiet till they come to the door; and thin, sure, it will be toime enough to axe thim what they want.’”

Mike’s notion encouraged us to go on; and at length Pop, Snap, and Yelp gave signs of uneasiness, and showed a decided inclination to rush forward.

“Let dem go!” exclaimed Quambo.

“Off with you!” we cried at once; and the dogs darted on, barking furiously, until they stopped before the decayed trunk of a huge tree, round which several smaller trees, once saplings, had grown up—a well-selected natural fortification. As the light of our torches fell on it, we fully expected to see Mr Bruin stalk forth and inquire what we wanted.

Quambo proposed that we should light a fire in the neighbourhood, so that, did our enemy appear, we might be better able to attack him and defend ourselves. We followed the black’s advice; but still nothing appeared. The dogs, however, showed they were convinced that some animal or other was concealed within the trunk.

At last, growing impatient, we approached and thrust our long sticks into the hollow, feeling about in every direction.

“I am sure that mine has struck something soft!” I exclaimed; and scarcely had I uttered the words when a low growl reached our ears. A dark body next appeared for an instant among the stems of the trees surrounding the hollow trunk, and then out rushed a bear through an opening which we had not perceived.

The dogs gave chase, and so did we. Bruin had but a short start; and although he must have been well acquainted with the locality, we, scorning all impediments, soon overtook him—the dogs having already commenced biting at his hind feet. This was too much for his equanimity, so, suddenly turning round, he struck two or three of them with his fore paws, sending them sprawling to a distance. As he did so the glare of our torches dazzled his eyes, and so perplexed him that he seemed not to know what to do. Of one thing only he must have been convinced,—that he was in for a fight; and, brave bear as he was, he sat up on his hind legs and prepared to receive us.

Mike fired, but only wounded him in the shoulder. This stirred up Bruin’s anger to a pitch of fury, and, with a growl like thunder, he dashed forward at his opponent. Mike, however, nimbly skipped on one side, and the bear’s eye fell on Quambo, who had lifted his rifle to fire. But scarcely had he pulled the trigger when the bear was upon him, and both rolled over together.

For an instant I thought that the black was killed, but his voice shouting to us to drag off the bear reassured me; and Mike’s hunting-knife quickly finished the animal, which was struggling in the agonies of death. Happily, his teeth had only torn Quambo’s jacket; and on our dragging away the dead body the black sprang to his feet.

“Berry good sport,” he observed, shaking himself. “I’se wonder wedder Mrs Bear not remain behind! and piccaninny bears too, perhaps! We look as we go by. Howeber, we now make ready dis gen’leman to carry home.” He and Mike then fastened the bear’s feet together, and hung the animal to a long pole, which they cut from a sapling growing near. Then having placed it on their shoulders, with short pieces at right angles at either end to prevent it slipping, they announced that they were ready to set off; so, while they led the way with our prize, we commenced our homeward journey.

Whether Mrs Bruin had occupied part of the trunk, we could not positively ascertain. Quambo expressed his belief that she had been there, but had taken the opportunity, while we went in chase of her spouse, to make her escape with her offspring. We possibly might have found her; but, with her young to defend, she would have proved a dangerous foe, and, as our torches were almost burnt out, we should have had to encounter her in the dark. We therefore considered it prudent to proceed on our way.

I remained at the hut while the rest of the party went back to the settlement. Aunt Hannah was well pleased to obtain so valuable a prize; and she sent us, some weeks afterwards, a smoked bear’s ham as our share of the spoil.

I can give but a very brief account of the adventures of those days; indeed, sometimes weeks went by during which I was hard at work without intermission, either assisting Uncle Mark, or joining in one or other of the “bees” got up for various purposes—when we went to help others, as our neighbours, when required, came to help us.

Sometimes we joined what was called a “logging bee,” which I may explain thus:—When a new hut was to be erected, we and others united to drag the logs out of the forest, and to hew them into proper lengths to form the walls of the hut. These are placed, not upright, but horizontally, one above another. The length of the outside walls is first determined; whereupon the lowest log is let a little way into the earth, and a groove is cut on the upper side with a deep notch at each end. The next log is placed on the top of it, each end being so cut as to dovetail into the others at right angles; thus one log is placed upon another until the destined height of the wall is reached. Doors and windows are afterwards sawed out; and the rafters are fixed on in the usual fashion. The roof is formed of rough slabs of wood called shingles; the interstices being filled up with clay. A big iron stove, the flues running from one end to the other, keeps the hut thoroughly warm in winter; while the thickness of the walls causes it to be cool in summer.

Many of the settlers had large houses of this description; but stores, and buildings where warmth was not of so much consequence, had their walls merely of planks nailed on to the framework. Uncle Stephen’s house was built of logs raised on a platform above the ground, with steps leading to it, and a broad verandah in front. It contained a sitting-room, several bedrooms, and a kitchen; the verandah being painted a bright green, with stripes of pink, while the window-frames and doors were yellow. I used to think it a beautiful mansion, but perhaps that was on account of those who lived within. The abode of Lily was of necessity, to my mind, charming.

The autumn of that year was now approaching its close. There is in North America, at that period of the year, what is called the “Indian summer.” The air is balmy, but fresh, and mere existence to those in health is delightful; a light gauze-like mist pervades the atmosphere, preventing the rays of the sun, beaming forth from an unclouded sky, from proving over-oppressive. Already the forest has assumed its particoloured tints. The maple has put on a dress of every hue,—of yellow, red, pink, and green. The leaves of the beeches become of a golden tinge, and those of the oak appear as if turned into bronze, while numerous creepers present the richest reds.

We settlers, however, had but little time in which to admire the beauties of Nature, for we knew that every day was rapidly bringing us to the period when all agricultural labour must cease, and the ground would be covered with a sheet of snow. Not that we were then doomed to idleness, however, for we had abundance of out-of-door work during the winter, in felling trees; and, as soon as the snow had hardened, dragging them over it,—either to form huge heaps, where they could be burned, or to be placed in the spots where they were required for putting up buildings or fences.

Uncle Stephen having engaged some new hands,—who, being fresh from the “old country,” were unwilling, as they were unfit, to go further into the forest,—allowed Mike and Quambo to come to us. We therefore put up a room for them next to our own, and which could be heated in winter by the same stove. We were thus able to get on much more rapidly with our task of clearing the ground. Mike, indeed, was a great acquisition to our party; for, besides singing a good Irish song, he had learned to play the fiddle,—and, of course, he had brought his “Cremona,” of which he was justly proud, along with him. He beguiled the long winter evenings with many a merry tune, and not unfrequently set old Quambo dancing. Sometimes we would look in; and we found it great fun to see Quambo, in the confined space of the cabin, coming the “double shuffle”—bounding up and down, and whirling round and round, snapping his fingers and stamping his feet, until the perspiration streamed down his sooty cheeks. Mike would continue bobbing his head, meanwhile, and applauding with voice and gesture, though keeping his countenance, and looking as grave as a judge while listening to the counsel for a prisoner.

We had now made an opening which enabled us to see the river from our hut; and Mike declared that we were getting quite civilised, and were beginning to look like being in the midst of a great city, barring the houses, and streets, and people.

“Sure, they’ll be afther coming one of these days,” he added.

“When that happens, it will be time for us to think of moving further westward,” observed Uncle Mark.

A violent storm, which sent the boughs and leaves flying about our heads, brought the “Indian summer” to a conclusion, and the frost set in soon afterwards.

One evening, after the day’s work was over, and supper had been finished, we were sitting in our hut employed in various occupations before turning in for the night, when a low howl reached our ears.

“What is that?” I exclaimed.

Before Uncle Mark could make answer, the howl was answered by another; and presently, others joining in, the whole forest reverberated with a melancholy and spirit-depressing chorus.

“Wolves!” said Uncle Mark. “The frost has driven them from the high ground, and they are contemplating a raid on our porkers and cattle. We must send them to the right-about, or they will become audacious.”

Calling to Mike and Quambo, we put on our coats and sallied forth, armed with guns and sticks. The moon was shining brightly, so we required no torches. We made our way over the fallen trunks and rough rocks which formed the bank of the river, but after a while the howls appeared to come from a still greater distance than before.

Uncle Mark now called a halt. “The brutes hear us, and are retreating,” he said. “Keep silence for a few minutes, and maybe we shall catch sight of them.”

Under his directions I seated myself on the trunk of a tree, while he and the two men stayed near. Presently I caught sight of a pair of glaring eyeballs, and soon another wolf came into view.

“Get your rifles ready,” whispered Uncle Mark. “You, Roger, shoot the one to the left. I will aim at the next. Mike and Quambo, you take two others. Unless they run off, we may give a good account of the whole pack.”

As he finished speaking I fired, followed by Uncle Mark and the other men; and, as the result, four wolves rolled over dead. The rest of them, however, disappointed us by turning tail and scampering off to a safe distance, from whence only their howls reached us. Uncle Mark, however, did not consider it prudent to follow them. Indeed, had they heard us approaching they would probably have retreated out of shot; for wolves, though they will follow a fugitive, like other savage animals, will generally try to escape when pursued. So, having secured the skins of those we had killed, although they were of no great value, we returned homewards.

After this we had alternately rain and frost, with a few fine days, till the snow came down, and the winter commenced in earnest. But we were all pretty well inured to it. Indeed, except when the wind blew, we were in the habit of hewing in the forest with our coats off; and even then we often found it hot work.

Mike came back one day from the settlement—where he had been sent for a few stores and powder and shot—with the information that a party of lumberers had commenced operations some miles up a river which ran into the great lake, and that the “boss” had sent a ganger to hire hands, more of whom were wanted.

“A few dollars of ready cash would be very acceptable,” observed Uncle Mark. “What say you, Roger? We’ll start away, and spend a month or so with them. We can take Mike with us, while Quambo will look after the hut, the cattle, and pigs.”

I was ready, of course; and so, as my uncle was a man of action, he determined to set off the next morning. We were all good skaters; and although, during the first part of our journey, we should be unable to make use of our skates, we settled to carry them with us.

At daybreak, then, we were up, and having taken breakfast, were ready to start,—our provisions consisting of flour-cakes and cold pork, with a pot and pannikins. Mike also carried his fiddle hung around his neck.

“It will help to amuse the gossoons—and maybe put a few dollars in my pocket,” he remarked with a wink. “Bedad! I’ll keep their feet going, when the work is over for the day, and they are afther sharpening their axes.”

We had but one gun with us, which Mike carried, as we wished to travel with as little encumbrance as possible.

But just as we were starting off, Uncle Mark recollected that he had forgotten to write to Uncle Stephen upon a matter of importance.

“You, Roger, and Mike, can go on ahead,” he said, “while I finish my letter, which I will leave with Quambo to be forwarded; and I will soon overtake you.”

As there was now light enough for us to see our way through the forest, we commenced our tramp. There was no risk of our taking the wrong road, seeing there was but one—along the course of the stream, which ran into the larger river; and it was now frozen in such a manner as to afford us a good highway. Mike was always amusing, and I was glad of his company; besides which, as we had had a good start of my uncle, I was in hopes that we might have time to get a shot at something.

We had accomplished three or four miles, and I had begun to wonder why Uncle Mark had not overtaken us, as he was a quick walker, and intended to carry only his axe, and a small skin bag over his shoulder containing some necessaries. We were looking about us, in the hope of catching sight of a raccoon or opossum, or some larger game, when a howl, such as had aroused us one night a short time before, sounded through the forest.

“Sure, that comes from a pack of wolves,” observed Mike. “But no! I belave one of the brutes is capable of making that noise. We have heard the echoes among the trees. I hope that there are not many of them, as they might take it into their heads to attack us, and that would not be pleasant.”

We went on, however, troubling ourselves very little about the wolf, for I felt sure that there was only one, or a couple at the most. The stream, as we proceeded, became wider, running round the foot of some hills, with larches scattered on either side, their boughs bent down by the snow which had frozen hard on them. The sky had become cloudy by this time, too, and there was every appearance of a fresh fall.

“Surely Uncle Mark will be up with us soon, Mike!” I observed.

But scarcely had I spoken when I heard my uncle shouting to us. He was in the middle of the frozen stream, and was hurrying towards us, axe in hand. He had good reason to keep it there, for just then we saw a huge wolf rush out from behind a clump of trees close at hand. He stopped to receive his assailant, which, probably well nigh famished, seemed bent on his destruction.

Mike, without saying a word, had unslung the gun and dropped on his knee, for there was not a moment to be lost. In another instant the fierce wolf would have sprung at my uncle’s throat, and might have taken his life; or, at all events, have severely injured him, and that before we could get near enough to render him any assistance. It all depended on Mike’s steady aim, therefore; and although I was a good shot, still I was thankful that he had the gun.

He fired; and the brute, the moment that it was making its spring, fell over, snarling and hissing, with its shoulder broken. A blow on the head from my uncle’s axe finished its existence.

“You have rendered me good service, Laffan,” said my uncle, when we got up to him. “Had you not taken steady aim, that brute’s fangs would have been at my throat in another moment.”

“Faix, thin, Mr Mark, it is only what I would have wished to be done,” answered Mike. “And if you ever catch sight of a bear about to give me a hug, or such a brute as this at my heels,”—and he gave the dead wolf a kick—“you will be afther shooting him, sure enough!”

“Well, Mike, we shall then be quits. In the meantime I am your debtor,” answered my uncle, laughing. Notwithstanding the danger he had been in, he was quite unmoved. His cheek had not lost its ruddy glow, nor did a limb tremble.

We quickly skinned the wolf, and hung the hide up to the branch of a tree a little way from the bank, where it would be concealed from any passers-by. We did not wish to encumber ourselves with it in the meantime, and we hoped to find it on our return. We were not likely to forget the spot, any more than those boys in the “old country” would do, who, as I have heard, are taken to certain landmarks and whipped, in order that they may afterwards bear them duly in mind.

We were thankful that the wolf which had attacked my uncle was alone, as it would have been unpleasant to find ourselves followed by a howling pack; and we now regretted that we had not all of us brought our guns.

Trudging on some miles further, we came upon a part of the river which had not been frozen over until after the snow fell. Here, the ice being clear, we put on our skates, and glided merrily along towards the spot where we understood the lumberers were at work.

Chapter Three.

A terrific snowstorm—Kepenau’s timely appearance—We visit Kepenau’s camp—His hospitality—An Indian’s dread of the “fire water”—We bid adieu to our Indian friends—Our arrival at the logging encampment—Jacques Michaud takes a fancy to Mike—Jacques’ raft story—My uncle and I start on our return—We are attacked by a fierce pack of wolves, and are saved by Kepenau and his men—Mike Laffan in a difficulty—We rescue him—Ashatea, Kepenau’s daughter—My visit to Lily—Mr and Mrs Claxton—Dora and Reuben—Reuben visits our hut—The marten and porcupine—An opossum-hunt.

The snow had for some time been falling lightly, but the wind which had arisen blew it off the ice, and thus it did not impede our progress; but that same wind, which was now by a turn of the river brought directly ahead of us, soon increased in strength, and drove the particles of snow, sharp as needles, into our faces. Indeed, the cold every instant became more intense, while the snow fell more thickly.

“Faix, and it’s moighty loike a shower of penknives, mixed with needles and pins!” cried Mike. “It’s a hard matther to keep the eyes open. What will we be afther doing, Mr Mark, if it gets worse?”

“We’ll go on till it does get worse,” said Uncle Mark. “It would not do to turn back now.”

Mike said no more, but, bending down his head, worked away manfully with might and main.

I did my best to keep up, but I may say that seldom have I endured such suffering. At last I felt that I could stand it no longer; so I proposed to my uncle that we should make for the shore, and there build a hut, light a fire, and wait till the storm was over.

He was, however, bent upon going on. “We should be half-frozen before we could get up a wigwam,” he answered.

Just then I heard a voice hailing us in gruff tones, and I guessed it was that of an Indian; but we had no reason to dread the Indians of these parts. As we looked about to see from whence it proceeded, I caught sight of the tops of two or three wigwams just peeping out from a cedar-bush at a little distance from the shore.

“Friends, come here!” exclaimed some one, and we observed an Indian making towards us; whereupon we turned round and skated up to him.

“Ah, friends! I know you,” he said. “You cannot face the storm, which will soon blow stronger still. Come to my wigwam, where you shall have shelter till it has passed by.”

As he spoke I recognised my old friend Kepenau, whom I had not seen since we had come to our present location. I had so grown, too, that he did not at first recognise me.

Having taken off our skates, we followed him to his camp, where he introduced us to several other Indians and their squaws, among whom were a number of children of all ages.

The thick cedar-bushes sheltered the spot completely from the wind, and the fire which burned in the centre afforded us a welcome warmth; for, in spite of the exercise we had gone through, our blood was chilled by the piercing snowstorm. The Indians were dressed partly in skins, and partly in garments made of blankets, received from the white men; most of the squaws wore a large blanket over their heads, forming a cloak in which they were shrouded. The wigwams were constructed of long thin poles, fastened at the top, and spread out in a conical form, the whole being covered thickly with slabs of birch-bark.

Our red-skinned hosts put us at once at our ease; and I asked Kepenau how he came to be in that part of the country.

“The white men compelled us to move westward,” he answered. “They have planted on our lands, and shot the game on which we subsisted; and though I should have been content to remain among them and adopt their customs, yet my people wished to live as our fathers have lived; and I would not desert them. My desire is to instruct them in the truths I have myself learned; and it is only by dwelling with them, and showing them that I love them, that I can hope to do that.”

We had much interesting conversation with Kepenau, and I was surprised at the amount of information on religious subjects which he possessed; indeed. I confess that he put us all to shame.

Uncle Mark looked grave, and sighed. “I used once to read my Bible, and listen gladly to God’s Word read and preached, when I lived with my good father and mother in the ‘old country,’ though I have sadly neglected it since I came out here,” he said; “but I will do so no longer. You have reminded me of my duty, friend Kepenau.”

“What you say makes me glad. Keep to your resolve, for you cannot do God’s will without reading his Word, to know what that will is,” remarked Kepenau.

Our host gave up one of the wigwams for our special use, in the centre of which a fire burned, prevented from spreading by a circle of stones. The ground around the sides was covered with thick rushes which served as our beds, and we lay with our feet towards the fire. Severe as was the cold outside, and thin as appeared the walls, the heat from the fire kept us thoroughly warm; and I never slept more soundly in my life, for, although our hosts were Redskins, we felt as secure as in our own hut. Notwithstanding that the storm raged without, the wigwams were so well protected by the cedar-bushes that the fierce wind failed to reach us.

In the morning, when we came out of our wigwam we found that the squaws had prepared breakfast; which consisted of dried venison, cakes made from Indian corn, and fish which had been caught before the frost set in, and had remained hard-frozen ever since.

“You can now continue your journey, for the storm has ceased; and may the Great Spirit protect you!” observed Kepenau, looking up at the sky, across which the clouds were now scarcely moving.

Uncle Mark inquired why he did not bring his camp nearer the settlement.

“I will tell you,” answered Kepenau. “Though I have been ever friendly with the white men, and value the advantages to be obtained from them, there is one thing for which I fear them,—their accursed ‘fire water.’ Already it has slain thousands of my people, or reduced them to a state lower than the brutes which perish; and I know not whether my young men would resist the temptation were it placed in their way.”

“But all the white men do not sell the ‘fire water’ of which you speak,” observed Uncle Mark. “I have none in my hut.”

“But while one among you possesses the poison, and is ready to barter it with my people, the harm may be done,” answered Kepenau. “Until I am sure that none of the ‘fire water’ exists in your settlement, I will not allow my people to come near it.”

“I am afraid, then, that you will fail to civilise them, as you desire,” observed Uncle Mark.

“Do you call it civilising them, to teach them the vices of the white men?” exclaimed the Indian in a tone of scorn. “If so, then I would rather that they remained savages, as you call them, than obtain knowledge at such a price.”

“I believe that you are right,” answered Uncle Mark, as we bade our host and his family good-bye; “and I have learned more than one lesson from you.”

Kepenau accompanied us to the bank of the river; where we put on our skates, and continued our course without interruption till we caught sight of several thin wreaths of smoke above the tops of the trees.

“Sure, that smoke must come from the lumberers’ fires,” observed Mike.

“Such is probably the case; but it is just possible that it may proceed from a camp of Indians, who might not be so friendly as those we left this morning,” said my uncle.

Still we were not to be stopped, and on we skated. Even should we meet enemies, we had not much cause to fear them, unless they possessed firearms. On we went, I say, gliding along at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour; and as I had never before had an opportunity of performing so great a distance, I enjoyed it amazingly.

As we advanced we caught sight of numerous logs of timber hauled out into the middle of the stream. Shortly afterwards the sound of voices reached our ears, and we saw a number of men scattered about—some engaged, with gleaming axes, in felling trees; others with horses dragging the trunks, placed on sleighs, over the hard snow on to the ice. They were there arranged alongside each other, and bound together so as to form numerous small rafts. Here they would remain until the giving way of the frost; when, on the disappearance of the ice, they would be floated down towards the mouth of the river and towed across the lake to the various saw-mills on its banks.

We were glad to be welcomed by the “boss;” who at once engaged Uncle Mark and Mike to hew, while I was to undertake the less onerous task of driving a team.

The shores of the river had been already pretty well cleared of large timber, so that I had to bring the trunks from some distance.

Uncle Mark and Laffan soon showed that they were well practised axemen.

Our companions were to spend some months engaged in the occupation I have described; till the return of spring, in fact, when, the rafts being put together, they would descend the river till rapids or cataracts were reached. The rafts would then be separated, and each log of timber, or two or three together at most, would be allowed to make their way as they best could down the fall, till they reached calm water at the foot of it; when they would be again put together, and navigated by the raftsmen guiding them with long poles. In some places, where rough rocks exist in the rapids by which the timber might be injured, slides had been formed. These slides are channels, or rather canals, as they are open at the top; and are constructed of thick boards—just as much water being allowed to rush down them as will drive on the logs. Some of these slides are two hundred feet long; others reach even to the length of seven hundred feet. The timbers are placed on cribs,—which are frames to fit the slides,—then, with a couple of men on them to guide their course, when they get through they shoot away at a furious rate down the inclined plane, and without the slightest risk of injury.

When evening approached we all assembled in a huge shanty, which had been built under the shelter of the thick bush. Round it were arranged rows of bunks, with the cooking-stove in the centre, which was kept burning at all hours, and served thoroughly to warm our abode. On each side of the stove were tables, with benches round them. Here we took our meals; which, although sufficient, were not too delicate,—salt pork being the chief dish. Rough as were the men, too, they were tolerably well-behaved; but quarrels occasionally took place, as might have been expected among such a motley crowd.

On the first evening of our arrival Mike’s fiddle attracted universal attention, and he was, of course, asked to play a tune.

“Why thin, sure, I will play one with all the pleasure in life,” he answered. “And, sure, some of you gintlemen will be afther loiking to take a dance;” and without more ado he seated himself on the top of a bench at the further end of the shanty, and began to scrape away with might and main, nodding his head and kicking his heels to keep time. The effect was electrical. The tables were quickly removed to the sides of the shanty; and every man, from the “boss” downwards, began shuffling away, circling round his neighbour, leaping from the ground, and shrieking at the top of his voice.

When Mike’s fiddle was not going, our lumbering companions were wont to spin long yarns, as we sat at the supper-table. Several of them had worked up the northern rivers of Canada, where the winter lasts much longer than it does in the district I am describing; and among these was a fine old French Canadian, Jacques Michaud by name, who had come south with a party, tempted by the prospect of obtaining a pocketful of dollars. He stood six feet two inches in his stockings; and his strength was in proportion to his size. At the same time, he was one of the most good-natured and kind-hearted men I ever met.

Among our party were several rough characters; and it happened that one evening two of them fell out. They were about to draw their knives, when Jacques seized each of them in his vice-like grasp, and, holding them at arm’s-length, gradually lifted them off the ground. There he kept them; mildly expostulating,—now smiling at one, and now at the other,—till they had consented to settle their dispute amicably; he then set them on their legs again, and made them shake hands.

This man took a great fancy to Mike. “Ah, I do wish all your countrymen were like you,” he observed, smiling benignantly on him; “but they are generally very different, especially when they get the grog on board: then they often lose their lives,—and all their own fault, too.

“I had come down the Ottawa with several rafts, some two hundred miles or more. My own raft was manned by Canadians,—steady boys, who stuck to our laws, whatever they do to those of other people, and kept sober till they brought their raft safe into dock. Another raft was manned chiefly by Irishmen,—who, although I warned them, would indulge in strong drink. We were nearing the Chaudiere Falls, and I had brought my raft safe to shore, where it was taken to pieces, so that the logs might be sent down the slide. I had gone on to a point where I could watch this being done, when I heard loud cries; and on looking up the river I saw that part of another raft, with four men on it, had got adrift, and, to my horror, was hurrying towards the most dangerous part of the rapids. I saw at once that in a few moments it must be dashed to pieces, and, as I thought, the fate of the four unfortunates on it was surely sealed.

“On it hurried, whirling round and round amid the foaming waters. The next instant dashing against the rocks, it separated into as many fragments as there were timbers, each of which was whirled down towards the falls. Three of the poor wretches soon disappeared among the tossing waves; but the fourth clung to the end of a piece of timber with the grasp of despair—to that end which reached nearly to the edge of the cataract. A fearful position! Still, the Irishman held on. I was almost sure that the next moment would be his last; but just then the current turned the log, so that the opposite end pointed to the fall. On it went, with even greater rapidity than at first; then balancing for an instant on the brink, the end to which he held was lifted up high in the air, and he was sent from it as from a catapult, far out into the calm water below the caldron! I never expected again to see him, but he rose uninjured to the surface; and being a good swimmer, struck out boldly till he was picked up by one of several canoes which put off instantly to his assistance. Tim Nolan, I have a notion, was the first man who ever came over those terrific falls and lived; and I would not advise any of you young fellows to try the experiment, for, in my opinion, he is the last who will ever do so and escape destruction.”

Such was one of the many anecdotes I heard from the lips of old Jacques and our other associates.

I was not sorry when, after some weeks, Uncle Mark told me that he had made up his mind to return home. Mike had agreed to finish a job which would occupy him a day or so longer; but as Uncle Mark was anxious to be off, it was settled that he and I should start together, leaving the rifle with Mike, as he would have to come on alone. We believed that no animals were likely at that season to attack two people; besides, Uncle Mark had purchased a pair of pistols from Jacques Michaud, which he considered would be sufficient for our defence. Accordingly, pocketing our dollars and slinging our wolf-skin knapsacks over our backs, we put on our skates and commenced our journey.

We got on famously, for the air was calm, although the cold was intense. We found our friend Kepenau, too, encamped where we had left him; and stopping for a short time, we took our mid-day meal with him. As we had made such good progress during the morning, we hoped to reach the hut before midnight, for the moon was up, and we could not miss our way. Uncle Mark was in good spirits, well satisfied with the result of our expedition, and we laughed and chatted as we glided over the smooth ice.

“We must not forget our wolf-skin,” I observed. “We shall get up to the spot before daylight is over, and I would rather carry it on my back than leave it behind.”

“I shall not let you do that,” answered my uncle. “It will weigh less on my shoulders than on yours.”

We were approaching a part of the river where, the ice having formed before the snow fell, we should be compelled to take off our skates and travel on foot. I had just remarked that I supposed the wolves had gone off to some other district, where game was more abundant than with us, when a howl reached our ears, coming down the stream, from the very direction in which we were going. Another and another followed. Presently we heard the full chorus of a whole pack, and soon we caught sight of numerous dark spots on the white snow in the distance.

Uncle Mark watched them for an instant or two. “We must beat a retreat, Roger, or the brutes will be upon us. We cannot hope to fight our way through them. Off we go!” and turning round, we skated away for dear life in the direction from whence we had come.

We hoped soon to distance the savage creatures; in which case, losing sight and scent of us, they might turn off into the forest and leave the road clear. As we went on, however, we heard their cries becoming more and more distinct; and casting a glance over our shoulders, we saw, to our horror, that they had already gained considerably on us; for with their light bodies they ran very quickly over the hard-frozen snow.

Forward we dashed, faster than I had ever skated before; but nearer and nearer grew those terrible sounds. When once, however, the wolves reached the smooth ice, they were no longer able to run so fast as before; still, they gradually gained on us, and we felt sure that ere long they must be at our heels, as they were not now likely to give up the chase.

“Never give up while life remains! Keep on, keep on, Roger!” cried Uncle Mark. “My pistols will do for two of their leaders; our sticks must knock over some of the others; and we must hope that the rest of the pack will stop to devour their carcasses.”

It might have been a quarter of an hour after this, although the time appeared longer, when, looking round, I saw a dozen wolves at least within twenty yards of us.

“We must try a dodge I have heard of,” said Uncle Mark. “When they get near us we must wheel rapidly round, and as they cannot turn on the ice so fast as we can, we shall gain on them.”

We waited until the wolves were almost up to us, then we followed the proposed plan. The brutes, after rushing on a short distance, tried to turn also. In doing so, those behind tumbled over their leaders, and we skated on as before. We did this several times, until the cunning wolves, perceiving our object, instead of turning kept straight forward. Uncle Mark now drew one of his pistols, and as he skated round shot the leading wolf. It rolled over dead. The next he treated in the same manner. We then brought our sticks down on the heads of several others.

As we had expected, their followers instantly began tearing away at the dead bodies, and this enabled us to get some distance ahead of them. I was in hopes that they would be content with this feast, and allow us to proceed unmolested; but before long our ears were again saluted with their abominable howls, and we saw the survivors of the pack coming along in full chase.

As we skated on Uncle Mark deliberately reloaded his pistols, observing, “We shall have to play the same game over again, and I hope we shall play it as well.”

The wolves, however, seemed resolved not to let us escape. They nearly overtook us; and though we turned, skating away now to the right and now to the left bank of the river, they declined imitating our example.

“Our best chance is to keep straight on,” said Uncle Mark. “Don’t give in, whatever you do. Our legs are as strong as theirs, and they will begin to get tired at last.”

I was not so sure of that till, looking back for a moment, I saw that the pack was drawn out into a long line, showing that some, at all events—probably the younger animals—were losing wind. If, however, only one brute had succeeded in catching hold of our legs, it would have been all up with us.

Fearfully depressing indeed were their howls; as they sounded close behind us, they almost took the life out of me. Two of the largest of the brutes were not five yards from us, and I was already beginning to feel as if their sharp fangs were fixed in the calves of my legs, when I saw several figures in the distance, and faint shouts were borne on the breeze towards us.

“Courage, Roger! courage!” cried Uncle Mark. “Put forth all your strength, and we shall be saved. Those are friends.”

As we moved on we perceived Kepenau and a number of Indians rushing towards us, flourishing sticks, and shouting at the top of their voices. Kepenau himself, and three others, were armed with rifles.

“Turn on one side,” he shouted, “and let us aim at the wolves.”

We followed his advice; when four rifle-shots sent over as many of the howling brutes. The rest, frightened by the shouts of the Indians as much probably as by the death of their companions, turned off on one side, and allowed us to escape. Instead, however, of going back, they continued their course down the river. Probably they had been bound in that direction when they first winded us.

We were saved; but so overcome were we by our long-continued violent exertions, that, had not our Indian friends caught us in their arms, we should have sunk exhausted on the ice. Taking off our skates, they supported us between their arms to their camp. Here, seated on mats, with our feet before the fire, we were kindly tended by the squaws, who rubbed our ankles and legs, and bathed our feet in water. Some warm broth—we did not examine too minutely the ingredients—quickly restored us; and we were able to give an account of our adventure.

It was now too late to think of continuing our journey that night, so the Indians pressed us to remain with them till the next morning; promising to ascertain the direction taken by the pack of wolves, so that we might not run the risk of again falling in with the hungry brutes.

Kepenau would not allow us to use our own provisions,—observing that we might want them the next day,—and he insisted on supplying us with everything needful.

We slept soundly, but when I tried to get up next morning I felt little able to continue the journey. I did not so much feel the effects of the exercise as of the anxiety I had so long endured. Even Uncle Mark was very stiff, and seemed inclined to enjoy a longer rest.

The Indians told us that during the night the wolves had come back; probably to devour the carcasses of their slain companions. It was thought probable that they had returned up the river. One of the men went out to ascertain this, and on coming back told us that the first surmise was correct—that the pack had indeed gone up the river, but that it had afterwards gone down again, as was evident from the bloody marks left by their feet.

Suddenly my uncle exclaimed: “By-the-by, Mike will be on his way home some time to-day; and if so, it is more than possible that he may fall in with the wolves! Though he has a gun, it will go hard with him should they follow his trail.”

My uncle accordingly expressed his fears to Kepenau.

“Then we must set out to meet your white friend,” said the Indian; “for should he be coming over the ice to-day, the wolves are certain to espy him.”

Mike had told me that he would visit our Indian friends on the way, and spend the night with them, should he start too late to perform the whole distance in one day. The recollection of this increased my apprehension for his safety.

Kepenau said that he and four of the best-armed of his people would set out early in the afternoon to look for our friend. Of course, we insisted on accompanying them; and being pretty well rested, we started at the hour proposed. We put on our skates, but the Indians kept pace with us by running.

We went on and on, but no sign could we see of Mike. It was already getting dusk when Kepenau stopped and examined the ice.

“A man has passed this way,” he said, “and has turned off to the right.”

Telling one of his people to follow up the trail, he proceeded onwards, narrowly scrutinising the ice.

“It is as I thought,” he observed; “he was coming along on foot when he saw a pack of wolves following him, and instead of continuing on the ice he made his way for the shore, to try and reach a tree into which he could climb—the wisest thing he could do.”

Having made this remark, he led the way in the direction the other Indian had taken. He soon overtook him; but as darkness was increasing we had to proceed slowly, so as not to lose the trail, which I was utterly unable to perceive. The banks here were of a low, marshy nature, so that there were few trees about up which the fugitive could have escaped. I did not confidently expect to meet Mike on this occasion, for he, I thought, would have come along on his skates, whereas this person, the Indian said, was on foot.

We had not gone far when Kepenau stopped. “That is the howl of wolves,” he observed; “but it is accompanied by a curious sound, and they are not howling in their usual fashion.”

Advancing further, I could clearly distinguish the howling of the wolves, accompanied by another sound.

“Why, as I am alive, those are the tones of Mike Laffan’s fiddle!” exclaimed Uncle Mark. “He is safe, at all events—that is one comfort; but it is a curious place to be playing in.”

Kepenau now told us that the path we were following would lead us to the ruins of an old fort, erected by the early French settlers, and that he had little doubt our friend had found his way to it for refuge from the wolves; but they had followed him, and were certainly not far off.

We hurried on, and as the sounds of the fiddle became more distinct, the full moon rose from behind a dark mass which proved to be a ruined wall of the building; and immediately afterwards, directly in front of us, we discovered Mike Laffan seated on one of the time-worn and rickety beams which had once formed part of the fort. There he was, bow in hand, fiddling with might and main; while below him were a whole pack of wolves, their mouths open, singing an inharmonious chorus to his music. So entranced were they, that the brutes actually did not discover us; nor, so far as we could see, were they making any attempt to reach Mike.

At a sign from Kepenau we stopped; but Mike, though he had perceived us, went on fiddling. Presently he changed the tune to one of extraordinary rapidity: this evidently astonished his vulpine audience, which began to leap about. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Now! shout, friends, shout! and we shall put the spalpeens of wolves to flight.” As we raised our voices he made his instrument produce the most fearful shrieks and cries, while he uttered at the same time a true Irish howl.

Mike’s plan had the desired effect. The wolves, bewildered by the strange sounds, were seized with terror, and off they scampered like a pack of curs, howling and biting at each other as they rushed along towards the forest, in which they soon disappeared.

Mike on this jumped down from his perch, laughing heartily, and thanked us all for having come to his assistance. Of course, our opportune appearance had very much astonished him; but we soon explained matters, and expressed our hope that he was none the worse for his adventure.

“Sorra a bit,” he answered, “except that I am mighty cowld, sitting up there among the snow for so long; but I’ll soon be afther warming my limbs.”

Saying this he set off with us, and at a rapid rate we retraced our steps to the Indian camp. We were all glad enough to turn in; and next morning our friends, after examining the country around, assured us that the wolves were not likely to follow our footsteps.

My uncle had taken a great liking to Kepenau, and invited him to come and pitch his camp near us; promising to supply him with powder and shot, and also to assist him in trading with the white men so that no risk might be run of whisky being given in exchange for game and furs. Kepenau said he would think about the matter.

One of the young squaws who happened to be present was his daughter. On hearing of the invitation, she begged her father to accept it. She was far superior to the other Indian women in appearance; and although not so old as Lily, she was taller than any of them. Her complexion was of the lightest olive, through which rich colour could be seen on her cheeks. She was, indeed, fairer than many Europeans. Her figure was extremely graceful, too. I did not, however, observe this when I first saw her, for she was then dressed in her thick blanket robe. Her name was Ashatea, or “White Poplar;” a very suitable name, as I thought. She had seen Lily, I found, two or three times, before they had moved westward; and she longed, she told me, to meet her again, and begged that I would tell Lily so when I returned home. It was this that made her so anxious that her father and his tribe should come and camp near us.

Before we started, Kepenau had almost promised to come, though he would not bind himself to do so. “Circumstances might change,” he observed. “He was well located where his camp was pitched, and it was trying work to change quarters at that season of the year.”

Ashatea accompanied us, with her people, down to the ice. “Do not forget,” she said, “my message to your sister Lily.”

“You may trust me,” I answered, making her a bow—for I felt that she was a lady, although an Indian squaw; then off we set, hoping this time to reach home before nightfall. Having completely recovered from our fatigue, we got on famously. Mike did not forget to secure the wolf-skin; and just as the sun sank behind the trees, we were saluted by the sharp, joyous barking of Snap, Yelp, and Pop, and by the gruffer tones of Quambo, who rushed out of the hut to welcome us home.

We had plenty of work to do after we returned home, but I managed to make a run over to the settlement to pay a visit to my uncle and aunt and Lily. I did not fail to give her Ashatea’s message; and she was much pleased to hear of her.

“I do hope they will come into our neighbourhood; I should be so glad to see her again,” said Lily. “Ashatea promised to take me out in her canoe; for, you know, she is as expert as any of the men in paddling one. She wished to show me how the Indians catch fish. And then she said that when the rice was ripe we should go to the rice-lake to collect it. I hope that Aunt Hannah won’t object. It would be very interesting; and there could be no possible danger, as all the Indians in this part of the country are friendly. But, to tell you the truth, Roger, I am quite jealous of you, as you are now able to go out into the forest by yourself, and meet with all sorts of adventures; whilst I, alas! am compelled to stay at home, with no other amusement than occasionally a ‘sewing’ or an ‘apple bee.’”

I, of course, sympathised with Lily, and said that I wished Aunt Hannah would let her come out with me, and that I should take very great care of her.

“I am afraid that she thinks we are now too old to run about together as we used to do, when you were a boy and I was a girl,” she answered.

“I wish, then, that we were young again!” I exclaimed; “although I should not then be able to take as much care of you as I can now. I would sooner die, Lily, than allow any harm to happen to you.”

“That I am sure you would, Roger,” she said; “and I should not be afraid to trust myself with you anywhere.”

We were not very old even then, I should remark: but I was feeling myself a man, and was ready to do all sorts of manly things.

“By-the-by,” observed Lily, “we have become intimate with a family among the settlers who arrived last fall,—Mr and Mrs Claxton, and Dora their daughter, a very nice girl of my age, and a great friend of mine. Dora has a brother called Reuben, and I think you will like him. Although he is younger than you are, he seems to be a fine fellow, and has your taste for natural history and sporting.”

“I shall be very glad to meet with him; but I have not time to look him up now, as I must get back to the hut. But you may tell him about me; and say that, if he will come over, I shall be happy to take him out into the forest, where we can have a hunt together.”

Although I had said that I must go immediately, I lingered for some time with Lily, for I never was in a hurry to leave her. It was consequently quite dark before I got half-way to the hut; still, I knew the path—indeed, there was only one. The snow, however, thickly covered the ground, and I had to guide myself by feeling the scores on the trunks of the trees. Had every tree been thus marked, there would have been no great difficulty; but, of course, they were scored only at intervals, and sometimes I was uncertain whether I had not somehow got out of the direct line. I knew that, did I once go wrong, it would be a hard matter, if not impossible, to find my way back again. There might be wolves prowling about, too; or I might by chance find myself in the grasp of a hungry bear, bent on a visit to the hog-pens in the settlement. Intending to return early, I had left without my gun—an act of folly I resolved not to repeat. Should I lose myself, I should have no means of making a signal, and I might very possibly be frozen to death before the morning.

I had gone some distance without finding a score, and I began to fear that I really had lost myself; but it would not do to stand still, so I walked on; and greatly to my relief, as I touched tree after tree, I at length felt a scored one, and knew that I was in the right direction. Presently a light appeared ahead. I ran towards it, shouting at the top of my voice. A welcome halloo came from Mike, who was standing, with a pine torch in his hand, at the door of the hut.

Two days after this, a tall lad, of fair complexion, made his appearance at the hut, gun in hand, and introduced himself as Reuben Claxton. “Miss Lily, who is a great friend of my sister Dora, told me that you would be glad to see me; and so I have come, and I should much like to have a hunt with you in the forest,” he said abruptly.

It was his way, I found. He always went directly to the point, whether in talking or in doing anything: and I liked him the better for that.

Uncle Mark invited him to stay with us.

“I said that I would if you asked me, so they will not be expecting me at home again,” he answered.

In ten minutes we were on as friendly terms as if we had known each other all our lives. Next day we started with our guns, accompanied by Mike and Quambo, and our three dogs. The sky was bright, the air calm, and, except for the snow and the leafless trees, we might have supposed ourselves to have been in the middle of summer.

We had not gone far when we caught sight of an animal making its way along the trunk of a fallen tree. I soon recognised it to be a marten, and was just going to fire, when I perceived another creature coming out of a hole hard by. The former animal was evidently bent on attacking the latter. The marten immediately stopped, and carefully eyed the hermit, the character of which I could not at first make out on account of the distance it was from us. Quambo would probably have known, but he and Mike were some way behind us. Of the marten I had no doubt; I recognised it by its agile and graceful movements, by its length, which was about a foot and a half, with a bushy tail somewhat under a foot long, and by its dark tawny coat and white throat, its pointed muzzle, and bright and lively eyes. We stopped to watch what would take place, keeping back the dogs, which were about to rush forward and seize the animals.

The marten soon made up its mind to assault its opponent, which, instead of retreating into its hole, came boldly forward and ascended the fallen trunk. I at once saw that it was an “urson,” or porcupine; although my companion supposed it to be another animal, as he could not see the long quills with which the English porcupine is armed. This creature was fully two feet long. Its back was covered with thick hair of a dusky brown colour; its head was short, and its nose blunt; it had small round ears, very powerful teeth, short limbs, and feet armed with strong crooked claws. These particulars I was afterwards able to exhibit to him.

The porcupine stood eyeing its opponent for nearly a minute; then the marten began the attack by showing its teeth, erecting its hairs, and springing forward with graceful bounds. At the same time the porcupine, erecting an armour of quills, which had till then been concealed under its thick hair, appeared all at once to become twice its former size. The marten had too much impetus to stop its attempt to seize the porcupine by the snout; but the latter, suddenly whisking round, dealt the marten a tremendous blow with its tail, filling its body with short darts, and sending it off the trunk sprawling among the snow.

The marten was now animated by rage as well as by the desire to capture its foe. It again sprang up, ran along the boughs of the fallen tree, and advanced once more towards the porcupine; but its courage and agility did not avail it. Another blow from that formidable tail cast it once more into the snow; while the porcupine looked down with contempt on its defeated antagonist. Reuben, taking good aim with his rifle, put the marten out of misery; while I killed the victorious porcupine. The dogs then rushed forward; but Snap, the most eager, had reason to repent his eagerness, as before we could keep him off the animal he had received several sharp quills in his jaws. These we immediately extracted, but he never again attempted to seize either a living or a dead porcupine.

We killed another marten and some squirrels, and were returning home just at sundown, when we met Uncle Mark, who had followed our trail—no difficult thing to do over the snow, even for a white man. He had just before caught sight of an opossum, which had escaped him. It had evidently paid a visit to our poultry-yard a short time previously, and having succeeded in carrying off one of the inhabitants, was making its way with its prey to its mate or hungry family when Uncle Mark overtook it. He had knocked it over with his stick, and supposed it dying or dead, as it lay with open mouth, extended tongue, and dim eyes. At that moment he had caught sight of a marten or some other animal moving through the forest. The creature thereupon proved that it was only “’possuming;” for the instant his eye was withdrawn it sprang up, and set off at a rate which showed that its powers of locomotion, at least, had not been impaired by the blows it had received.

He was telling us this, when the dogs began to yelp, and presently right ahead of us appeared a creature of the size of a large cat.

“Dere a ’possum,” exclaimed Quambo; and we hurried after it with the dogs.

“Master ’Possum” was not going to be caught so easily, however. In an instant it was up a tree, and lost to sight amid the branches, while the dogs yelped around it.

“The creature is lost,” cried Reuben.

“No fear ob dat,” answered Quambo. “We soon find him out.”

Then he and Mike, with the rest of us, began to collect all the decayed branches to be found above the snow. We soon bad enough wood for a fire; when Quambo striking a light, it quickly blazed up, and the flames exhibited the opossum making its way along one of the branches. The dogs leaped about, and yelped loudly. Quambo had thrown himself on the ground to watch the animal’s proceedings; for the moment we had attempted to take aim, it had nimbly sprung round to the dark side, apparently watching us as eagerly as we were watching it. Mike on this hurried off to a little distance and lifted his rifle. He fired, and down came the opossum.

The dogs seized it, and in a few moments life was extinct. There was no shamming now, though the Irishman gave it another blow, after we had taken off the dogs, just to make sure. He having slung it over his back, we put out the fire to prevent the risk of igniting the trees, and proceeded homewards well content with our evening’s sport.

It was the last idle day we had for some time, for we had an abundance of work to get through before the return of spring, which was now rapidly approaching. It was the least pleasant time of the year, too; for we had thaws of two or three days at a time, during which the hardened snow was turned into slush. Then frost would come on again, and hold the timber with such a grasp that we could not move it. We occupied the time in putting up sheds, and in such other work as could be done before the ground was clear. No one, however, complained; for we knew that the snow would soon disappear, that the leaves would again come forth, and that the rivers would be open, when we should be able to move about much more rapidly in our canoes than we had done over the frozen ground.

Chapter Four.

Uncle Mark’s good opinion of Reuben—Mike Laffan’s fiddle—The beaver—Reuben’s desire to turn trapper—Quambo takes a pipe—Kepenau’s canoe—Ashatea paddles Reuben home—Kepenau’s sagacity—Uncle Mark welcomes Kepenau and his daughter—The old trapper—Reuben carries Samson’s pack—Ashatea is taught English by Lily and Dora—Martin Godfrey’s visit to the settlement—Kepenau’s and Ashatea’s departure—Sandy McColl, the half-breed—A visit to Kepenau—Portaging.

The summer had now come. The trees were all decked with their rich and varied foliage; the notes of the feathered inhabitants were heard in the forest; and numerous animals which had either gone south during the winter, or had concealed themselves in sheltered places, were moving about. There had been too much ploughing and sowing to allow of my indulging in my favourite pursuits. All I could do was to run over and pay my uncle and aunt a visit; but it may be that Lily was the chief attraction.

I found her friend Dora with her one day. She was certainly a very nice girl, although not equal to Lily by a long way, in my opinion. They inquired whether we had seen anything of Kepenau and his daughter Ashatea.

“They have not yet appeared,” I answered; “nor have we received any tidings of them.”

“Dora wants to make the acquaintance of a real Indian girl, fit to be a heroine,” said Lily, laughing. “She has hitherto only seen the wretched squaws who appear in the Eastern States. She can scarcely believe that Ashatea is the interesting creature I describe her.”

I said that I would try to communicate with Kepenau, if I could learn his whereabouts from any passing Indians.

“Oh do!” said Lily; “and let him understand how glad we shall be to see him and his daughter again.”

While we were talking Reuben came in, and offered to accompany me back to the hut. He, like me, had been very busy all the spring. He certainly did not look well suited for hard labour; but his face was more bronzed than heretofore, and he seemed perfectly well. Wishing the girls good-bye, we shouldered our guns, and commenced the walk to the hut. There was no risk of losing our way at this time, for the days were long, and there was a bright moon that evening.

Uncle Mark welcomed Reuben, whom he liked for his straightforward character and honesty.

“I am glad you have got such a companion as that young fellow,” he said to me. “When two harum-scarum fellows associate, they are sure to get into trouble; but you two will help each other out of difficulties, should you unexpectedly fall into them.”

Mike amused us that evening with a tune on his fiddle; and Quambo diverted us still more by a dance he performed to the music, which made Reuben, who was not addicted to laughing, almost split his sides.

We agreed to have a long ramble into the forest next day, my uncle giving me leave of absence. He could not spare Mike, but he allowed Quambo to accompany us.

“We can cook our dinner without him,” I said; “though, to be sure, we cannot expect to dress it as well as he would.”

“Ah! Massa Mark, poor black fellow do one t’ing well; you do ebery t’ing well,” observed Quambo, with a grimace, by which he intended to show that he was paying a deserved compliment.

We carried our guns, with provisions in our knapsacks to last us for a day, although we expected to kill more game than we should want. As we wished to make a long excursion, we started at daybreak; that is to say, Reuben, Quambo, and I, with the dogs. Reuben had a great desire to see a beaver settlement which I had once visited when we first came into that part of the country; and I thought that I could find my way to it. Quambo amused us, as we walked along, with all sorts of tales about beavers, raccoons, opossums, bears, and other animals, with the habits of which he was well acquainted.

The beaver is a good-sized animal, being two and a half feet long exclusive of the tail, which is one foot more. It is of a deep chestnut colour; the hair very fine, smooth, and glossy. The Indians use its incisor teeth, which are very large and hard, to cut the bone or horn with which they tip their spears. It is a rodent, or gnawing animal. It has a broad, horizontal, flattened tail, nearly of an oval form, which is covered with scales. The hind feet are webbed, and, with the aid of the tail, which acts as a rudder, enable it to swim through the water with ease and rapidity. Except in one respect, I do not know that it can be considered a sagacious animal; but it is a marvellous engineer, its faculties being employed in building houses, and in forming dams for the protection of its village.

One of its chief characteristics is the power it possesses of producing a substance termed “castor,”—which is contained in two bags, each about the size of a hen’s egg. This castor is peculiarly attractive to beavers. They scent it at a distance, and invariably make their way towards it. No sooner does the beaver discover the delicious odour than he sits upright, sniffs about in every direction, and squeals with excitement until he can get up to it. The trapper, knowing this, always carries a supply of castor, or bark-stone; and when he reaches a stream or any other water near which he believes beavers may be found, he sets his trap, about six inches under the water. He then chews the end of a twig, dips it in the castor, and sticks it in with the scented end uppermost, just a little above the water. The nearest beaver, on discovering the scent, hurries up to the spot; and, if a young animal, is nearly certain to be caught by the trap. The older beavers are more knowing and cautious, and frequently bite off the end of the twig without entangling themselves.

Another curious circumstance connected with this “castoreum” is, that as soon as one beaver has deposited any of it on the ground, the beavers from another lodge go to the spot, and after covering it with earth and leaves, deposit their own “castoreum” on it. When they have gone away, others in turn perform the same operation; and thus the process goes on till a heap four or five feet in height has been raised. No one has as yet been able to ascertain the object of this proceeding. It gives the trapper, however, the means of catching the poor creatures—means which they would undoubtedly withhold, if they had the power. Like human beings, they are sufferers from their own acts.

The teeth of the beavers are sharp and powerful, and their jaws possess an extraordinary amount of strength. This enables them to bite through wood, tear the bark from trees, and chew vegetable substances of all sorts. During summer they regale themselves on fruits and plants of various descriptions; but their winter stock of food consists of the bark of the birch, plane, and other trees—and even of the young wood itself, which they steep in water before devouring it.

Their favourite resort is a stream or a pool near trees. Here they will assemble to the number of some hundreds, living in communities, and working together. They select, when they can, a stream with a current, because it affords them the means of conveying wood and other materials for their habitations. They choose such parts as will afford them depth of water sufficient to resist the frost in winter, and prevent it freezing to the bottom. When, however, they find that there is not depth enough for this purpose, they build a dam across the stream, at a convenient distance below their habitations. If the current is gentle, the dam is made perfectly straight; but if rapid, it is constructed with a considerable curve, the convex side being towards the upper part of the stream. The materials employed are drift wood, green willows, birch, and poplar; these are placed horizontally, and kept down by mud and stones. So strong do these dams become, that they are capable of resisting a considerable force both of water and ice; for generally the wood, taking root, shoots upwards, and forms ultimately a thick hedge. In some cases even trees sprout up, in the branches of which the birds form their nests.

Beavers build their houses of the same materials as their dams, and of various sizes, according to the number of the inmates. These, however, do not often exceed four or eight old ones, and from six to fourteen young ones. The houses are of a circular form, elevated some feet above the surface of the water; but the entrance is always low down beneath it. They are more rudely constructed than the dams, too. The wood is laid nearly horizontally, and crosswise; the branches, which project inwards, they cut off with their teeth. First there is a layer of wood, and then one of mud and stones; and so they work on till a sufficient height is gained, when the roof, of rough branches, is placed on the top, and plastered down with mud and stones.

Such was the interesting account which Quambo gave us as we walked along.

No event worthy of description occurred during our walk, though it took us some hours to reach the spot for which I was directing our course.

I was not disappointed. As we approached it cautiously, we caught sight of several beavers running about on the banks of the stream, some nibbling away at the trunks of saplings and small trees which they were engaged in felling. Had we fired, we might have killed two or three; but the rest would have disappeared, and we should then have lost the opportunity of observing them. We therefore crept on, concealing ourselves among the thick underwood.

At length I was afraid, should we get closer, that we might make some noise and alarm the animals. I therefore made a sign to my companions to stop; and looking down, we could discern one of the dams I have spoken of carried across the stream from one side to the other, and apparently not quite finished. Though several beavers were running about it, they were not at work; indeed, all their operations are carried on during darkness. Nature, of course, has given them the instinct to work at this time, which saves them the destruction that would otherwise probably overtake them, both from men and beasts.

After watching them for some time, I wished to retire and let them amuse themselves undisturbed; but Quambo took it into his head to give a loud shout, when in an instant the startled creatures scampered off, and dived under the water. Our chance of seeing more of them was gone; they were evidently on the watch for us, for now and then I saw a snout popping up above the surface, to ascertain if we had taken our departure.

We made our way along the banks of the stream for some distance, till we saw before us a broad expanse of water; and we discovered that it was a shallow lake or pond, bordered by reeds, and with numerous dead trees rising up out of the water near its shores. It struck me that this lake had been produced by the beaver-dams; and on our proceeding downwards towards what appeared to be its outlet, we found what had the appearance of being a long bank, of a convex form, stretched directly across the stream. This, on further examination, I had no doubt was the work of beavers. Alders and willows, and other water-loving trees of considerable size, were growing out of it; and digging down to a slight depth, we found that it consisted of lengths of the trunks of young trees, now rapidly decaying and turning into a vegetable mould, thus affording nourishment to all sorts of plants.

Above the surface of the lake were numerous beaver-houses, and after we had concealed ourselves for some time we caught sight of the inhabitants coming forth and swimming about; while one or two knowing old fellows climbed to the roof of their houses, to keep a look-out, as we supposed, and give notice of approaching danger. We might have shot several, but without the dogs we should not have been able to recover them. Indeed, their skins would have been of much less value than those caught in traps. After watching them for some time, then, we agreed that we ought to be on our homeward way, or we should certainly be benighted. Though we had found the path easily enough in daylight, it would be a hard matter to do so in the dark.

“I should very much like to turn trapper,” said Reuben to me as we walked along. “I once heard a good deal about the lives the trappers lead, from a fine old man who stopped at our house one night, on his way to dispose of his packs of skins at one of the fur-traders’ posts.”

“I suspect that it must be a very hard life, and you would soon get tired of it, Reuben,” I answered.

“As to that, I fancy that when I got accustomed to the hardships I should like it more and more; but I would be a trapper on my own hook—have my own animals and traps, hunt where I chose, and sell my peltries to whom I pleased. Our old friend had a horse and two mules. He rode the horse, and the mules served to carry his packs. He had six traps, which he carried in a leathern bag called his trap-sack. I was particularly struck by his appearance as he rode up to our cottage. His costume was a hunting-shirt of dressed buckskin, ornamented with long fringes; pantaloons of the same material, decorated with porcupine-quills hanging down the outside of the leg. He wore moccasins on his feet, and a flexible felt hat upon his head. Under his right arm, and suspended from his left shoulder, hung his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, in which he carried balls, flint, and steel His long knife, in a sheath of buffalo, hung from a belt round his waist—made fast to it by a steel chain. Also, he carried a tomahawk; and slung over his shoulder was his long heavy rifle; while from his neck hung his pipe-holder, garnished with beads and porcupine-quills.

“He had come many hundreds of miles from the west, having trapped as far off as the Rocky Mountains, and had met with all sorts of adventures among the Indians, from whom he had often narrowly escaped with his life. He said that he would take me with him, as he much wanted a companion, and would answer for my life with his own; though I should run no more risk than he did, if I only followed his directions. But my father would not hear of it, and was quite angry with the old man for putting the idea into my head; so, of course, I had to give it up.

“‘Well, Reuben, my boy,’ he said as he rode away, ‘should your father change his mind, and you hold fast to yours, when I come back I will take you with me.’

“But he never has come back since.”

I laughed at Reuben’s notion; for, knowing him as I did, I saw that he was utterly unfit for the sort of life he proposed to lead, and would be heartily sick of it before long. He had a fertile imagination, and had pictured a trapper’s life as something very delightful, although I was sure he would in reality hate it. And I believe that is the case with many other boys,—especially with those who take it into their head to go to sea, and who have never been on board a ship, and know nothing whatever of sea-life.

We had now performed the greater part of our journey home, and had reached the bank of the larger river, where it extended into lake-like dimensions, narrowing again shortly to its former width. Here several rocks were seen rising out of it—the waters rushing between them with great force, and forming a cataract, down which I should have thought it impossible for the strongest boat to make its way without being dashed to pieces.

At this point we sat down on the bank to rest and take some refreshment, when Quambo pulled out his pipe.

“You no smoke, young gen’lemen; but ole neegur, he fond of baccy, and you no object,” said Quambo.

Quambo was always a pattern of politeness. We begged him to smoke as much as he liked, although we had not taken to it ourselves.

When Quambo was enjoying his pipe, he was never in a hurry to move, so we sat on longer than we should otherwise have done. I considered, at length, that it was time to move; when, looking up the stream, across the broad expanse I have mentioned, I caught sight of a light canoe skimming rapidly over the surface. It was approaching us; so, prompted by curiosity, we agreed to wait its arrival at the shore—for it did not occur to us it could possibly descend the rapids. It kept, however, in the middle of the current, and before we had got far from where we had been sitting I saw that it was about to make its way amid the tumbling waters.

“These people must be strangers, and cannot be aware of the danger they are running,” I observed. “Their canoe will be destroyed, and we must do our best to save them.”

We accordingly hurried back. As the canoe approached, I saw that there were four people in her: one in the stern, and two in the bows paddling; the other, who appeared to be a female, sitting near the after end, was also dexterously using a paddle, now on one side and now on the other. On looking again, I felt nearly sure that the Indian in the stern was our friend Kepenau, and that the female was his daughter Ashatea.

I shouted, but it was too late to warn him to turn back; indeed, from the calm way in which he sat, I was convinced that he well knew where he was going: and almost before I had time to think much about the danger my friends were running, they had passed it, and their canoe was floating in the calm water at the foot of the rapids.

My shout attracted the notice of Kepenau, who at once recognised me, and steered his canoe for the bank. He and Ashatea stepped on shore, and seemed much pleased at seeing me. I introduced Reuben, who made as polite a bow to the Indian girl as he would have done to a princess. She put out her hand, and in her broken language inquired if he had a sister. On his replying that such was the case, Ashatea expressed a hope that she would become a friend to her, as Lily was.

Kepenau told me that they were on their way to visit our settlement, according to his promise. “I thought it wisest,” he said “to keep my people at a distance, so we have fixed our camp on the banks of a stream some miles to the westward; and as the rivers are now open, we can easily hold communication with you. At the same time, as there are several intervening rapids and waterfalls, the white men are not likely to find their way often to us, or to bring the ‘fire water’ which I so much dread.”

On hearing that we were on our way home, he offered to accompany us; observing that Ashatea could steer the canoe as well as he could, and though the distance by the river was greater, she would not be long after us. “There are no more rapids or waterfalls to be passed, so that the remainder of the voyage can be performed without danger,” he observed.

Reuben, on hearing this, asked leave to take his place, saying that he should much like the trip by the river.

“But you cannot use a paddle,” said Kepenau.

“Not very well,” answered Reuben.

“Then don’t make the attempt, or you may upset the canoe, or lose your paddle. If you go, you must sit perfectly quiet,” said Kepenau.

Reuben promised to obey orders. Ashatea smiled, and appeared to be highly amused at the idea of having a white man as her passenger.

As we had no time to lose, Ashatea resumed her seat in the stern of the canoe.

“Now, take care,” she said, laughing, as she saw Reuben about to step in, “else you will tumble over on the other side, or make a hole in the canoe and go through it.”

Reuben looked somewhat alarmed, and in his eagerness was very nearly doing both the things against which he was being warned. Kepenau, however taking his arm, helped him in.

“Now, don’t move till you reach the end of your voyage,” said the Indian. “Perhaps we shall be there to help you out.”

Ashatea gave a flourish with her paddle as a farewell signal, and striking the water, away the canoe shot down the stream. We meanwhile took the path homewards, and as we were anxious to arrive before the canoe we hurried forward.

Kepenau told me that his daughter had so much wished to see Lily,—or my sister, as he called her,—that he had consented to bring her, and to leave her for two or three days, if my friends would allow it.

I said that I was sure they would.

He desired, he told me, to make some trade arrangements for disposing of the peltries which he and his people obtained; his object, at the same time, being to keep them away from the white men, for fear of the “fire water.” This subject was continually on his mind. He had seen it prove the destruction of so many of his countrymen, that he dreaded its introduction among his own tribe, who had hitherto been kept free from it. However, as my uncles and Mr Claxton were men who never touched liquor, he was not afraid of dealing with them.

I remarked, as we walked along, that his eyes were constantly turning in every direction,—now on the ground, now on the trees and hushes on either side,—as if he was on the look-out for game, or fancied that an enemy was lurking near. I at last inquired why he did this.

“It is the habit of my people,” he answered. “We never can tell whether our foes may be before us or tracking our footsteps. I noticed that some one besides you and your young friend and the black has passed this way lately. He wore moccasins, and may therefore be a red man and an enemy; but I have just discovered that he is one of your people, and has a load on his shoulders. Observe that soft ground; his feet sank deeper into it than would have been the case had he been unencumbered. He is either an old man, or overcome with fatigue. He cannot be very far before us, and is going in the direction of your hut.” Kepenau pointed as he spoke to some mossy ground, where I could just distinguish a faint outline of the footsteps of a man; but I should have been unable to read anything beyond that fact from the marks left behind.

Quambo, who saw them, thought that they might have been, after all, only the footsteps of Uncle Mark or Mike, who might have come out thus far in search of game; but Kepenau laughed when this was said.

“No, no,” he answered; “these are moccasins. You will see that I am right.”

We hurried on, for the sun was getting low, and already the gloom had settled down in the recesses of the forest.

As we emerged into more open ground near the banks of the river, the rays of the sun glancing along it sparkled on the flakes of foam, as the stream hurried rippling along the banks. Nearing the hut, we caught sight of three figures standing in front of it.

“I told you so,” observed Kepenau. “Yonder is the man whose trail I discovered. A trapper, who has come east with his peltries. He is an old man, too, as I thought, and carried a heavy load.”

Before even our friends saw us, the canoe shot into view down the stream; and after helping Ashatea and Reuben to land—or rather the latter, for the Indian girl sprang lightly on shore without assistance—we proceeded to the hut.

Uncle Mark advanced to meet us. “All friends are welcome,” he said, taking Kepenau’s hand, and then greeting the young girl in his kind, friendly way. “You will, however, have to submit to pretty close stowage, if, as I hope you intend to do, you will remain the night with us.”

“We can quickly put up sufficient shelter for this time of the year for ourselves, so that we need not crowd you, my friend,” answered the Indian. “And our aged brother there, I doubt not, is as well accustomed to the open air as we are.”

“Many days and nights have passed since I slept under a roof,” observed the old hunter, who, hearing himself mentioned, now came forward. “We have met before, brother,” he added, looking at the Indian; “ay, and fought and hunted together! Don’t you recollect me?”

“Ay, that I do. You saved my life when the Apaches were about to take my scalp, and enabled me to reach my horse and escape,” answered Kepenau.

“Ah! I have a faint recollection of that; but I remember more clearly how, when I was hunted by a party of Araphoes, you and your people came sweeping down to my assistance, and put them to flight,” replied the old trapper.

“I recollect the event,” observed Kepenau; “but I have long since buried the war-hatchet, and now strive to live at peace with my neighbours, if they will let me.”

While the Indian and the old trapper had been speaking, I had been looking at the latter. I had no doubt, from the description Reuben had given of the visitor to his father’s house, that this was the same person; and I was therefore not surprised to see him and Reuben shaking hands as old acquaintances.

Quambo, knowing that food would be required for our guests, lost no time, with the assistance of Mike, in lighting a fire, and immediately set about cooking whatever his larder supplied. Though we had killed but little game on our excursion, Uncle Mark and Mike had been more fortunate during our absence, and there was no lack of food.

In the meantime Kepenau had called up his people from the canoe, and they set to work to collect materials for two small wigwams, which, though they were more rudely constructed than usual, served the purpose intended. One was for the accommodation of Ashatea, and the other for the chief—his men contenting themselves with a rough lean-to.

The whole party joined us in the hut at supper, which, thanks to the diligence of Mike and Quambo, was quickly prepared. The old trapper had many anecdotes to tell, and many a wild adventure to recount, which, I saw, was greatly interesting to Reuben. Ashatea spoke but little, though I could see, by her quick glance, that she understood much, if not all, that was said.

At night the chief and his daughter retired to their wigwams, while the old trapper accepted a shakedown in the corner of our hut. He smiled when Uncle Mark offered him a bed. “For many a long year I have not slept in one,” he answered; “and I possibly may never again put my head on a pillow softer than my saddle or a pack of skins.”

Without taking off his clothes, and merely unbuckling his belt, he lay down, and was soon fast asleep. Reuben and I, after a few minutes’ talk, did the same. Before I closed my eyes, however, I saw that Uncle Mark was sitting at the table, resting his head upon his hands, apparently lost in thought.

At break of day the next morning our Indian friends were on foot, and we turned out to receive them. As our hut was close, we had our breakfast spread on a grassy spot beneath the trees, where we could enjoy fresh air, which was certainly more suited to their taste.

Ashatea looked handsomer than ever. She was eager to set out to see Lily. Reuben offered to accompany her, and show the way: at which Kepenau laughed, observing that an Indian never required a guide through his own country; but, for all that, he should be happy to have the white stranger’s society.

Kepenau had brought several packages of skins, which it was his object to dispose of.

“My friend,” said the old trapper, touching him on the shoulder, “let me sell them for you. I know how the white men will treat you if they think that they are yours: they will offer a third of the value, and then insist on your taking articles you do not require.”

“I wish to open a fair trade with the white men,” answered Kepenau. “I will let them understand that I have more skins to bring.”

“The greater reason they will have for putting a small value on them,” observed the old trapper.

“I would advise you to accept Samson Micklan’s offer,” said Uncle Mark, turning to the Indian.

Kepenau considered the matter for some time. “I will do as you advise,” he said at length. “I know that I can trust you. When you have fixed a price, I will not consent to sell under it. I intend, nevertheless, to go to the settlement.”

The old trapper, whose name I now for the first time heard, appeared to be in no hurry to continue his journey. When at length he declared that he was ready to start, Reuben offered to carry his pack.

Old Samson smiled. “It may make your young shoulders ache more than you suppose,” he observed.

“Let me try,” answered Reuben; and I helped him to place it on his shoulders. In doing so I was able to judge of its weight.

“If my uncle can spare me, I will assist you,” I said; “for I doubt very much whether you will be able to carry it all the way.”

Reuben, however, had made up his mind to fulfil his promise. I saw a twinkle in the old man’s eyes when he trudged off trying to look as if he did not feel the weight. My uncle told me I might go too, so we set off. Kepenau and Samson led the way, talking together. Reuben, as I expected, dropped alongside Ashatea; and I followed. The other Indians brought up the rear, carrying Kepenau’s packs.

Before long, I saw that Reuben was walking with difficulty, and putting his hands behind his back to try and lift the pack off his shoulders. I ranged up to him.

“You had better let me carry that a little way for you,” I said. “Or suppose we sling it on our sticks! we shall then get along more easily, and neither of us will feel the weight too much.”

Still Reuben declared that he could carry it.

Ashatea looked at him, evidently understanding the matter as well as I did. “You better let your friend do as he says,” she observed.

At length Reuben, who was getting very hot, and had stumbled more than once, said, “Well, I do think it will be the best way. I am much obliged to you, Roger.”

We soon had the pack slung to the sticks, and poor Reuben stepped along much more easily than before.

We soon reached Uncle Stephen’s house, when the old trapper turned round to Reuben. “You are a brave lad,” he said; “I like your pluck. In a few years, when you get more muscle in your limbs, you will laugh at a pack twice the weight of that.”

Lily was delighted to see Ashatea, and we left them together while we went on to Mr Claxton’s, where old Samson intended to stay. He had arranged with Kepenau to sell his peltries, and the next day they were all disposed of at a price which greatly astonished and delighted our Indian friend. He made an arrangement with Uncle Stephen to sell all the produce of the chase which he might bring, and to purchase for him such articles as he required.

Reuben brought his sister Dora over to see Ashatea, and the three girls seemed very happy together. The Indian girl was as eager to learn English as Lily and Dora were to instruct her; and she got on rapidly.

Old Samson had suffered more from his long tramp on foot than he was at first willing to confess, and a fit of illness was the consequence. He was well cared for, however, by the Claxtons, who treated him as kindly as if he had been a relation. He was grateful in his way; but it struck me that there was something hard and unsympathising in his character. He spoke of his fights with the Indians, of the scalps he had taken, of his hairbreadth escapes; but he never uttered a word which showed that he had any religious feeling. Indeed, he seemed to me to be as much of a heathen as the Indians among whom he had lived so long. It appeared strange to me that an old man should be so hardened. I was not aware, at the time, that when people once begin to give up trusting God they go further and further from him; and thus, of course, as they advance in years they think less and less of their souls, and, in fact, become more dead with regard to all spiritual matters.

I had been accustomed to see Uncle Stephen read the Bible to his family, and offer up prayers morning and night; while he never did any work, except such as necessity demanded, on the Sabbath. Uncle Mark had been less exact in these respects, although even he was accustomed to read the Bible on the Sabbath, and to refrain from work; and occasionally we went over to Uncle Stephen’s on that day and joined his family at worship. Most of the people of the settlement, however, paid but little attention to the day, though they ceased from all rough work, and made a sort of holiday of it. There was no church or chapel of any description in the neighbourhood, and few paid any attention to what are called religious duties.

The day after I went to stay with Uncle Stephen, some little time before sunset I saw a horseman approaching the house from the eastward. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit of dark grey, with his legs encased in strong leather gaiters, and a broad-brimmed hat on his head; a pair of huge saddle-bags, too, were thrown across the hardy-looking mustang he bestrode. He had neither gun over his shoulder nor sword by his side; but he carried a thick staff of considerable length in his hand.

“Canst tell me, young friend, if yonder house is the abode of Stephen Tregellis?” he asked as I advanced towards him.

“Yes, sir. He is my uncle,” I answered, offering to hold his nag’s head while he dismounted.

He threw himself from the saddle with the activity of a young man.

“I hope, then, that I shall not intrude, for I have come far, and should like to spend a few days with one who, if I am not wrongly informed, will receive me as a brother Christian,” he said.

“Uncle Stephen will be glad to see you, sir,” I answered, feeling sure that I was only saying what was the case.

“Well, then, young man, go in and tell him that Martin Godfrey has come to claim his hospitality.”

As my uncle had just reached home, I hurried in and gave him the message. He immediately came out and welcomed the stranger, with whom he had a short conversation, which I did not hear, as I was holding the pony at a little distance. I only caught the words, uttered by my uncle, “We will make ready a small upper room, and to that you shall be welcome as long as you remain in these parts.”

He then told me to take the mustang round to the stable, to rub him down, and feed him well, and to bring the minister’s saddle-bags into the house. When I returned, after having obeyed these orders, I found the stranger seated at table—on which Aunt Hannah and Lily had spread supper—talking cheerfully; and from what he said I gathered that he had visited a number of outlying settlements, accompanied by several young ministers, one of whom he had left at each.

“I had no one to bring on here, and was unwilling to leave you without the ‘bread of life,’ so I was fain to come on myself,” he observed.

I wondered what he could mean. Aunt Hannah explained, after he and Uncle Mark had gone out, that he was one of those energetic Gospellers who had done so much for the back settlements of America; that he was an overseer among them—his duty being to move from place to place to form new congregations where none existed, and to strengthen and encourage the older ones.

He had much conversation with Kepenau and Ashatea, with whom he could converse in their own language. They were evidently deeply interested in what he said, and I saw him frequently produce his Bible and refer to it to strengthen what he was saying. Kepenau had, as I have already said, some knowledge of Christianity, and he and his daughter very gladly received the instruction which the missionary afforded them.

Uncle Stephen went out and succeeded in bringing in three or four of our neighbours, among whom were Mr Claxton and Reuben, and we had a regular service in the cottage,—the first of the sort I can recollect. The Bible was read, prayers were offered up, and the missionary gave an address; after which some of Wesley’s hymns were sung by Lily and Dora—Ashatea occasionally joining in, with a very sweet voice, although she had never heard them before.

Mr Claxton afterwards begged the missionary to come and visit old Samson. He gladly complied; but I heard him next day tell Uncle Stephen that he feared no impression had been made on the old trapper’s heart. “Still, I do not despair,” he added. “It may be as hard as iron, or stone; but iron can be melted by the fire, and stone worn away by the constant dripping of water. One thing I know,—that nothing is too difficult for God to accomplish; though we, his instruments, are obliged to confess our own weakness.”

I must not, however, dwell further on the various events which took place at this time.

Martin Godfrey spent some days with Uncle Stephen, preaching every evening in the open air, and three times on the Sabbath; and he promised the people, if they would put up a chapel, that he would ere long find a minister for them. Having distributed some Bibles and other books contained in his saddle-bags, he at length mounted his mustang and went his way.

I remember Uncle Stephen asking him if he was not afraid of travelling without firearms.

“I trust to One well able to protect me,” he answered, smiling. “Whenever I have to employ the arm of flesh, I find my trusty stick sufficient to defend myself against hostile Indians or savage beasts;” and as he whisked it round his head with a rapidity which dazzled the eyes, I could easily understand how it would prove a formidable weapon against either bears or wolves—a tap of it on their skulls being sufficient to stun them; while it seemed to me that he might be able to ward off either the arrows or the tomahawks of hostile Indians.

Kepenau and Ashatea returned to their settlement; and the old trapper, who had now recovered, began to make preparations for his departure. He had again invited Reuben to join him, but Mr Claxton, very wisely, would not hear of his son going away with the old man.

“It is more than likely we shall never see him again,” he observed. “Whatever his fate may be, you would probably share it; either to be killed by Indians, or starved, or drowned, or frozen to death, or torn to pieces by bears or wolves.”

Reuben was inclined to complain. “Father thinks I cannot take care of myself,” he said to me. “As old Samson has spent so many years out trapping by himself, why should not I have as good a chance of escaping from danger?”

“There is an old saying, ‘That the water-pot which goes often to the well, gets broken at last,’” I observed. “Such may be the case with regard to old Samson; and you know nothing of the country, or of the cunning of the Redskins, and would be very sure to lose your life if he lost his.”

The old man, who had set his heart on obtaining a companion of some sort, succeeded in persuading a half-breed to accompany him. This was a man named Sandy McColl, whose father was a Scotchman and his mother an Indian, and who had long been accustomed to the wild life of the prairies. He had come to the settlement intending to remain, and had built a hut and begun to cultivate a garden, with the intention, as was supposed, of taking unto himself a wife; but the damsel on whom he had set his affections had refused him. Sandy after this became very downcast; he neglected his garden, and spent most of his time wandering about gun in hand, shooting any game he could come across. He had few associates, and was of a morose disposition. People, indeed, whispered that he had been guilty of some crime or other, and was forced to leave the part of the country where he had before resided. Uncle Stephen, who occasionally exchanged a few words with him, did not believe that this was the case, and declared that Sandy, in spite of his taciturnity and love of solitude, was an honest fellow. Be that as it may, Samson was satisfied with him, and the two agreed to start together.

Soon after the old man’s arrival, he had asked Reuben and me to make a journey to the place where he had left his other packs of skins hidden away; and he described the spot so exactly, that we believed we should have no difficulty in finding it. My uncle said I might go with Mike Laffan. Reuben, too, got leave from his father; and Sandy volunteered to accompany us. Without him we should, I believe, have lost our way, for he knew the country much better than we did.

We had to proceed cautiously during the latter part of the journey for fear of Indians, as we were far in advance of the territory claimed by the white men. But I do not give an account of the expedition, because, in reality, we met with no adventure worthy of notice. Thanks to Sandy, we discovered the packs, and succeeded in bringing them back safe to their owner; for which Samson was very grateful, and rewarded us handsomely. With the proceeds he purchased two mustangs, six beaver-traps, a supply of powder and shot, and other articles. Sandy had the means of obtaining another mustang, and such supplies as he required.

After this old Samson quickly recovered. As soon as he was well enough he and Sandy mounted their ponies, reserving a third animal to carry their goods; and having bidden us all good-bye, they set off into the wilderness—going to the westward, intending to push forward to the spurs of the Rocky Mountains, where, they said, game in abundance was to be found. Reuben, who was really a very good fellow, soon got reconciled to remaining at home and attending to his duty.

Kepenau had made me promise to come and visit him, and had agreed to send one of his people with a canoe to take me to his lodges; and at last the Indian arrived at our hut.

Kepenau, he said, had sent but a small canoe, as we might thus more easily make our way up the stream, and pass the several portages we should have to go over.

I knew that Reuben would take delight in the excursion, so I hurried to the settlement to see if he could come. His father was very willing to give him leave, as it might turn his thoughts from the wilder and more dangerous adventures on which he was set. He had, some time before this, obtained a birch-bark canoe, which Kepenau, and sometimes Ashatea, had taught him how to use; and as he was constantly practising, he was by this time well able to employ his paddle. We obtained leave to take Mike Laffan with us, too; and thus, with the Indian, we made a party of four in the two canoes.

We carried our guns and axes and the usual woodmen’s knives, a pot and pan for cooking our meals, some tin cups, and a few small bales of cloths and coloured calicoes with which to pay the Indians for any peltries they might have to sell—for our expedition was on business as well as pleasure. We enjoyed the thoughts of it all the more on that account. We expected also to get some hunting, and to come back with a supply of dried venison, as well as some skins.

The Indian told us that his name was Kakaik, or the “Small Hawk;” he let us understand that he was a great hunter, but as he could speak no English, and as we understood but a few words of his language, we could not carry on much conversation with him. However, we managed to understand each other very well by means of signs.

The first part of the voyage was along the main river, with which we were well acquainted. We afterwards struck off up one of its tributaries, which varied greatly in width; sometimes it expanded into a lake-like form, and at other parts it contracted into narrow dimensions, where the current ran with great force, and we had hard work to stem it.

At length we reached a waterfall of nearly thirty feet in height, where the river rushed over the rocks and fell down perpendicularly in masses of foam. Kakaik made signs to us that we must land and carry our canoes for some distance through the wood. This is what is called making a “portage.” Accordingly we unloaded them, and piled up our goods at the foot of the fall. We then lifted the canoes out of the water; Kakaik taking one bottom upwards on his shoulders and walking off with it. Mike imitated his example, as one man could get between the trees better than two, and the canoes were so light that they could be carried with ease. Reuben, shouldering a portion of the goods, followed the Indian; and I, with another bale on my shoulders and the paddles and gun under my arm, kept close after Mike—leaving the remainder of the things for a second trip.

The ground was rough in the extreme, and it was some way up a steep bank among rocks. My fear was lest Mike should knock the canoe against the branches of the overhanging trees and make a hole in her bottom, so I sang out to him to be cautious.

“Faix! Masther Roger, it’s that same I intind to be,” he answered. “I have no fancy to walk all the way back again, or forward either, if this is the sort of ground we should have to pass over.”

We had to traverse a quarter of a mile or more till we saw the stream ahead of us, running placid as before. Kakaik, going down into the water, placed his canoe gently on the surface, and then helped to take Mike’s off his shoulders. The goods we had brought were next placed in them, and the Indian sat down on the bank to watch them while we went back for the remainder.

“Suppose some hostile Indians or prowling bear should have paid a visit to the landing-place, and carried off our property,” said Reuben.

“We will hope for the best,” I answered, laughing; “but I will take my gun, in case of accidents.”

Chapter Five.

An intruder—We arrive at Kepenau’s camp—Ashatea inquires kindly after Lily and Dora—Deer-hunting—The strange Indians—Kepenau’s precautions—Mike amuses the camp with his fiddle—Our farewell—Kakaik’s advice with regard to rapid-shooting—The treacherous Indian on shore—Mike and I paddle desperately—The canoe is upset—Carried down the stream—A natural place of concealment in a hollow trunk—My terror on perceiving the Indians—Forced by hunger to leave my concealment, I am taken prisoner by four Indians.

On arriving at the foot of the falls we found our goods safe; but just as we were about to shoulder them we heard a rustling among the bushes. Advancing cautiously towards the spot, not knowing what might be there, I caught sight of a dark hairy form. It was a brown bear, which in another minute would in all likelihood have been examining our property with no delicate fingers. I hesitated to fire, for I was sure that I should be unable to hit any vital part; and as even a brown bear, if wounded, will turn furiously on his pursuers, before I could have reloaded the beast might have been upon me. In another instant Bruin had plunged in among the thick underwood, and was concealed from view; but I heard him making his way rapidly from us, doubtless considering that discretion was the better part of valour.

Having taken up our goods, and looked carefully round to see that nothing was left behind, we set off towards the canoes. Kakaik by this time had them both secured alongside the bank, so that we quickly reloaded them and recommenced our voyage up the stream.

I asked Mike to sing one of his Irish songs: this he was never loath to do, and he soon made the banks echo with his melody. As soon as he had ceased, the Indian took up the strain with one of his native songs. It was melancholy in the extreme, and contrasted greatly with Mike’s joyous notes.

“Faix! if it’s tears he wants to draw from our eyes, I can bate him there,” observed Mike, when Kakaik had ceased; and he began one of those sad ditties descriptive of the death of some Irish heroine. Though the Indian could not understand the meaning, he appeared to be much affected, and it was some time before he began another song. From the few words we could make out, we supposed him to be recounting the misfortunes of his people, and their departure from the hunting-grounds of their fathers.

Mike had brought his fiddle, but of course he could not play it while paddling.

“When we get to Kepenau’s, I’ll show the people what I can do, and set them all jigging away, and laughing till they split their sides,” he observed.

The scenery amid which we passed was wild in the extreme. Not a sign of a human being, or a habitation of any sort, was visible. Sometimes dark rocks rose up in precipitous cliffs on both sides of us, and at other times the trees of the forest overhung the water. We had several portages to make, as it was easier to carry the canoes over the land than to drag them up the rapids, but Kakaik signified that on our return we might shoot them without danger.

At last, in the far-off distance, we caught sight of a wreath of smoke ascending from near the bank, and from the gestures of the Indian we understood that we were now approaching Kepenau’s camp. In a short time shouts were heard, and we saw several wigwams erected on the greensward in a recess of the forest, surrounded by trees which sheltered them completely from the wind.

A canoe immediately put off and came paddling out towards us; then turned round and accompanied us back to the bank, on which Kepenau, with Ashatea and other members of his family, stood ready to receive us. As we shook hands he told us how glad he was to see us; and Ashatea had many questions to ask about Lily and Dora.

“I have been longing to come and visit them again,” she said. “Now that the rice is ripe, I want to take them down to the lake where it grows, that we may gather our canoe full.”

Kepenau said that his people would be very glad to receive the goods we had brought, and would be ready to purchase them with their beaver-skins and other peltries, of which they had a considerable store.

When we talked about hunting, he assured us that we need have no fear of obtaining plenty of sport, as, with our rifles, we should be certain to kill the game much more easily than his people could do with their bows and arrows. A hunting-party was accordingly arranged for the next day, on the shores of a lake some miles off. He had already transported a couple of canoes to it, so that, should any of the deer take to the water, we might be able to pursue them. Ashatea was much inclined to come with us, but her father told her that she would be acting more like an English girl if she would stay at home and attend to household affairs.

We started the next morning with Kepenau, Kakaik, and several other Indians, who carried long spears as well as bows and arrows. We were also accompanied by a pack of dogs, well-trained by the Indians for chasing the deer, though they were noisy, ill-looking curs.

We commenced our hunt at some distance from the shores of the lake, but for an hour or more we saw no signs of deer, and Reuben and I began to fancy that we should have to return home without venison.

We had separated from Kepenau, but now we heard his voice, and immediately afterwards the dogs gave tongue. We were looking about to ascertain in what direction to bend our steps, when a fine deer started out from among the trees on our right into the open glade. My gun being ready, I fired, and felt sure that I had wounded the deer; but the animal still continued its course. The next instant the dogs appeared from the same direction, in hot chase after the deer.

We followed, joined by Kepenau and the other men. Marks of blood on the grass showed us that the deer had been wounded. Still, it might run, should the dogs not overtake it, for several miles, and might escape us after all. It was too valuable a prize to be lost, so we continued the pursuit.

The country now became much more open, and we saw that the deer had made its way across the plain. On the further side there were some lofty pines, towards which the animal appeared to have directed its course.

We had been running on for several minutes, when, before I could distinguish anything, the exclamations of the Indians showed me that the deer was in sight; and presently I saw it standing at bay under the trees, with the dogs yelping round it and preventing it from proceeding further.

When I got within gun-shot, I stopped for a moment to reload my rifle; and crying out to my friends not to get in the way, I again fired, and the noble beast rolled over. Kakaik then dashed forward with his hunting-knife, and quickly put an end to the creature’s sufferings, while the rest beat off the dogs.

The deer was soon cut up, and each man loading himself with as much as he could carry, the venison was conveyed to the spot selected for an encampment; where two of them remained to take care of it while we went in search of more game.

We had been for some time beating about, when once more we heard the dogs giving tongue; and after making our way through the forest, and reaching the borders of an open glade, we caught sight of a herd of eight or ten deer scampering along at full speed, with the pack of dogs at their heels. We all of us fired, but although two or three shots took effect none of the deer stopped. We saw them directing their course towards the lake; but they ran faster than we did, and did not allow us an opportunity of firing. We managed, however, to keep them in view, and saw that they did not turn either to the right hand or to the left, so that we felt sure of overtaking them when they reached the shore of the lake.

Kakaik, who was on my left hand, made signs to me to accompany him towards the spot where we had left one of the canoes. I also understood him to signify that the dogs would prevent the deer from turning back. On reaching the canoe he lifted me into it, and stepping after me, seized a paddle, and with a few strokes sent it skimming out into the lake. Rounding a point, we soon caught sight of the deer, which stood on the shore with the dogs barking behind them. The shouts of some of the people who now came up increased the terror of the poor animals. First one plunged into the water, then another, and another; till the whole herd, with the exception of two which had fallen, were striking out in different directions, making for the opposite bank.

Kakaik pointed out one fine deer, and paddled towards it. I might have shot the animal, but my Indian companion made signs to me to use a spear which lay at the bottom of the canoe; so, standing up, I grasped the weapon with both my hands, and drove it with all my force into the creature’s skull. In an instant its head went down, and its feet rising, it lay dead on the surface. Kakaik handed me a rope to cast round its antlers, and we forthwith towed it in triumph to the shore. This done, we made chase after a second deer, which was swimming across the lake towards a spot some little way off. Greatly to my satisfaction, I succeeded in striking this animal as I had done the first.

In the meantime the other canoe was paddling away in chase of two more deer, which had made towards the further end of the lake.

While we were occupied as I have described, I saw a third canoe, paddled by two strangers, darting out from behind a point in pursuit of another deer. Whether the people were friends or foes, I could not tell; but as soon as Kakaik saw them he declared that they were the latter, and that we must be prepared for an attack should they have many companions in the neighbourhood.

“Then let us at once tow our deer up the lake towards the camp, where we can obtain assistance,” I said.

I now observed that those who had been unable to embark in the canoe were making their way in that direction. They had probably caught sight of the strange Indians. My fear was that Kepenau and Reuben might be attacked on their return. I made signs to my companion that we would land the deer and then go to the assistance of our friends. As Reuben and I had our rifles, and the strange Indians were probably without firearms, we might easily keep them in check or put them to flight; or should they venture to attack us, we might sink their canoes, even if we did not kill them with our rifle-bullets, before they got up to us.

As we reached the shore at the end of the lake, we found Mike and several of the Indians standing ready to receive us.

Mike was fall of fight. “Arrah! be aisy, Masther Roger,” he said. “Sure, if the inimy come, I will sind them to the right-about wid me firelock, and they’ll not be afther taking our venison from us in a hurry.”

He and the Indians taking charge of the deer, which they immediately set about cutting up, Kakaik and I paddled off again down the lake to the assistance of our friends. The strange Indians had succeeded in capturing one of the deer; but as we considered that it was their lawful prize, although we had driven it into the water, we did not interfere with them.

Seeing another deer still swimming, though at considerable distance, I fired at it, for the purpose of showing the strange Indians, in case they should not have heard our other shots, that we had firearms, and thus probably prevent them attacking us. Whether or not my shot had taken effect I could not tell, as the deer continued to swim on towards the bank.

We now directed our course for our friends, who had killed the two deer of which they had gone in chase. I told them of the strangers we had seen; and Kakaik, in his own language, gave a long account to Kepenau of the matter.

“We will let them alone, if they do not molest us,” answered Kepenau, after expressing his approval of my conduct.

Having secured the bodies of the two deer to ropes,—Kepenau and Reuben towing one, and Kakaik and I the other,—we began to paddle back towards the end of the lake from which we had come.

As we passed the part of the shore near which I had shot the last deer, we observed several Indians, who had seized the animal as it landed, and were now employed in cutting it up. They had evidently only one canoe with them, and were therefore afraid of coming off to attack us, whatever may have been their disposition. We might, therefore, consider ourselves masters of the seas.

Kepenau was well pleased with the success of our expedition, and having made up his mind to live at peace with his neighbours, he was very glad to avoid a collision with the strangers, even though we might come off victorious. “We must, however, be on the watch for them as we return homewards,” he observed. “They may possibly greatly outnumber our party; and though our firearms will keep them in check, they may try to overcome us by stratagem.”

The deer we had first killed were soon cut up, and all the best parts made ready for transportation to the camp. Those we had now towed on shore were treated in the same manner; and each man being loaded with as much as he could possibly carry, we set off for the camp. Here we found a blazing fire ready for cooking the venison, of which our friends ate an enormous quantity—with the exception of Kepenau, who was as moderate as we were.

Knowing that we had foes in the neighbourhood sentinels were posted, two of whom kept watch all the night round the camp; but the strangers, seeing us prepared, did not make their appearance, and on the following morning we started, an hour before dawn, on our return. Kepenau kept in the rear, turning round very frequently to ascertain if we were followed. He also gave his people directions to keep a look-out on either hand. Once he caught sight of a warrior’s plume in the distance, but although his eyes were of the sharpest he could not discover whether his foe approached nearer. Before evening we arrived safely at his lodges; the ample supply of food we brought affording great satisfaction. The chief, however, did not fail to send out scouts to bring word whether the enemy had ventured into the neighbourhood. As no traces of them could be seen, Kepenau came to the conclusion that the strangers had gone off again to the westward, content with the game they had obtained. Still, he thought it prudent, in case of treachery, to keep on the watch; and day and night two or three of the party were constantly scouring the country round, in search of tracks made by strange Indians.

The time had now arrived for us to return. Mike had made himself a universal favourite; the Indians, notwithstanding their general gravity, delighting in the merry tunes he played on his fiddle. He frequently set them jigging; and Reuben and I showed them how white people danced—though neither of us had any exact notions on the subject. Ashatea sometimes joined us, and moved about very gracefully, performing figures of her own invention, which I have since discovered greatly resemble those of the minuet of Europe.

She often told me how much she longed to go back and stay with Lily. Native of the wilds as she was, she had gained a taste for civilised life, she told Reuben and me. We assured her that Lily and Dora would be delighted to see her, and that, if her father would allow her to accompany us, we should be glad to take her at once. This, however, Kepenau refused. He did not tell us why; only saying that he could not let her go unless he went with her, and for the present he must not leave his people, who had to hunt and fish, so as to lay in a store of provisions for the winter.

I should have said that at the back of the lodges were several pieces of cleared ground, on which Indian corn was growing and potatoes had been planted. This showed that Kepenau and his people were in advance of the hunting Indians, who trust only to the chase for subsistence, and are thereby frequently reduced to a state of starvation.

All the inhabitants of the camp turned out to wish us farewell, and offered up prayers for our safety as we stepped into our canoes. Kakaik and Reuben led the way in one canoe, and Mike and I followed in the other, flourishing our paddles over our heads as a farewell salute. We plied them diligently, and, gliding rapidly down the stream, were soon lost to sight. Having the current with us, we expected to reach home before nightfall, should no accident happen.

“I’m afther hoping that none of those Indians we saw the other day are lurking about, or maybe they will take a fancy to our packs of dried venison and skins, and stop us,” observed Mike.

“What put that idea into your head?” I asked.

“Sure, because they are cunning spalpeens; and as they know the way we must take, they are likely enough to be on the watch for us,” he replied.

“We must be on the watch for them, then,” I answered, laughing. “If any of them appear, and look as if they intended to interfere with us, we shall have to show them the muzzles of our rifles; although, as I never have shot a man, I trust that I shall not be obliged to do so.”

We paddled on for some time after this, and now and then we caught up Reuben’s canoe and had a talk with him. I told him what Mike had said.

“Oh! I don’t think there is much chance of that,” he answered, lightly. “A few rifle-bullets will soon drive the fellows into the woods, if they show their noses.”

We were now entering a part of the stream which ran between broken cliffs; on one side rocks rose almost perpendicularly from the water, their summits shaped like the parapets of ruined castles, while on the other the trees came down to the river’s brink. Kakaik reminded us that we were approaching a series of rapids; and he explained by signs that he would lead the way, and advised Mike and me to keep exactly in his course. He and Reuben paddled on, therefore, while we followed at a little distance. We saw them descend one of the first rapids. Immediately below this, in a turn of the river, was another, the fall in which being probably about four or five feet, was not sufficient to endanger the safety of the canoes if carefully handled.

We were approaching the highest of the rapids, which, as I have said, the other canoe had just descended, when we saw an Indian dart out from behind the trunk of a tree growing close to the water, and point his arrow at the first canoe, aiming at Reuben. The arrow flew from the bow, but whether my friend was hit or not I could not say, as the canoe, darting down the rapid, was lost to sight.

We were too near the rapid to paddle back, for in turning round we should have run the risk of upsetting the canoe, when it would have been carried down sideways, and probably dashed to pieces. Our only safe course, therefore, was to dash forward; and we hoped to pass the Indian before he could perceive us, or have time to fix another arrow in his bow. Had we been in still water I might have lifted my rifle and shot the Indian, but I dared not leave my paddle for a moment. Down the rapid we dashed, then, paddling with might and main to turn the canoe so as to be ready for the next descent. The Indian had disappeared, but we heard his voice, calling, as we supposed, to his companions,—and directly afterwards we caught sight of him running along the bank among the trees; but he could not have seen us.

A short way below this was another and still more dangerous rapid. Kakaik signified that he had often shot it, but he at the same time advised that we should land and make a portage. To do this was now, however, out of the question, as we should be seized by the Indians on shore did we land on the side on which they were; the only practicable one along which we could make our way.

“Paddle, Mike! paddle!” I said in a low voice, fearing that I might be heard should I shout. “Our only chance is to dash down the rapid. We cannot stop to look out for rocks ahead, and must run all risks.”

Mike saw this as well as I did. “Sure, it’s the only thing to be done, any way. May all the saints in the calendar help us!” he exclaimed.

I don’t think, however, that Mike had much faith in the saints, although he uttered the expression.

We dashed on, the water hissing and bubbling and foaming round us, and had almost reached the bottom, when I felt the bow of the canoe strike something. The next instant I found myself struggling in the seething waters, and instinctively striking out for dear life. Looking down the stream, I caught a glance of the canoe being rapidly hurried downwards, with Mike clinging to it. The next moment, he and the canoe had disappeared.

I had been carried down some distance, when, on more perfectly recovering my senses, I discovered that I was happily near the side opposite to that on which I had seen the Indians. I scrambled up on the bank, therefore, hoping to find some place of concealment before they could discover me. I had not gone far, however, before I recollected that my footprints would certainly betray me. I therefore retraced my steps and threw myself backwards into the water; and as I looked up towards the bank, I clearly perceived the marks I had left.

The river in this place was narrow, but though the current ran strong it was smooth, and I felt sure that I could swim across it and hide myself among some thick bushes which I saw growing over the water. It was my only hope of saving myself, and I determined to run the risk; but no time was to be lost, as the Indians might look up the stream and discover me. I struck out boldly, and found that I could stem the current, though it certainly required all the strength I possessed. I looked down the stream every now and then, to ascertain whether the Indians were returning, which I thought they might do when they saw only one person clinging to the canoe; otherwise I kept my eye as steadily as I could on the bushes for which I was making. Of course, I might have crossed the stream much more easily by allowing myself to be carried down with the current, but then I should have landed much below the place where I hoped to find concealment. I could distinguish for some time, even amid the roar of the waters, the voices of the Indians as they shouted to each other; but they gradually became fainter and fainter, and this gave me encouragement, as it informed me that they were getting further off.

Even then I thought of poor Mike. What might be his fate, should he be captured by the Indians? His fiddle, and probably everything else in the canoe, would be lost, and he would have no means of softening their savage hearts. With his fiddle in his hand, I felt that he might succeed in saving his life. It may seem strange that such thoughts entered my mind at that time; but the truth is, I was less anxious about myself than I was about him.

I had got more than half-way across when I began to find my strength failing me. It seemed that I should never reach the shore; still, I struck out, straining every nerve. I was afraid at length that I should be obliged to allow myself to be carried down by the current, and be glad to cling to the first rock or bough I could reach. My eyes were growing dim, and I could scarcely see the bushes on which they had so long been fixed. Still I struggled on, determined if possible to succeed. Suddenly I felt myself caught by an eddy, and the next instant I was carried close under the bank. I was about to grasp one of the branches, when I recollected that the sharp eyes of the Indians would discover where my hand had crushed the leaves, so I resisted the temptation, turning myself on my back for a minute to rest; then I dived down, and came up again in the very middle of the bush.

I now without fear drew myself out of the water, and climbing up, discovered a thick trunk hollowed out by age, the larger portion of which had been broken off either by a storm or lightning, the boughs having sprung out of the remainder—forming, indeed, a natural pollard. No concealment could have been more perfect; for even an Indian’s eye would fail to penetrate through the bark. By slipping down I was concealed on all sides, while at the same time a slit in the trunk afforded me a “look-out” through the boughs in the direction of the river. Here, therefore, I considered that I was safe for the present. The difficulty would be to get away; although I might remain concealed as long as I should desire, hunger would at length compel me to leave my hiding-place in search of food. I remained crouched down, listening anxiously for any sounds which might indicate the whereabouts of the Indians. Mike, I felt sure, had he escaped drowning, would be captured by them; but I had hopes that Reuben and his companion, by being so much ahead, might escape altogether.

The ground was excessively rough; numerous high rocky ridges, and intervening spaces filled by trees and dense underwood, abounded.

The fact that the Indians had been so long shouting to each other convinced me that they had not up to that time captured the first canoe. As I heard no one approaching, I should not have been afraid of leaving my hiding-place; but then I knew that my footsteps would betray me.

I must have remained an hour or more, when I heard voices in the distance. The sounds came nearer, and I knew that the Indians were returning. I scarcely dared to draw breath. They passed close to the tree in which I lay concealed; but I did not venture to look out, lest they should discover me. I was sure as they went along that they were trying to discover my trail. I knew, too, by the voices, that there was only a small party. What had become of the rest?

I calculated, by the direction their voices came from, that they were making their way up the stream. Some distance off, the low cliffs between which the river forced its way were surmounted by trees, which formed a natural bridge. I knew, therefore, that should they wish to get to the opposite side they might easily pass over.

Nearly another anxious hour went by, when I again heard their voices coming across the stream; and looking through the slit, I saw three painted savages standing together in the shallow water, narrowly examining the bank on both sides. Presently one of them stopped and pointed at the marks which my feet had made as I sprang up the bank. I saw them standing consulting eagerly together, but whether their sagacity would enable them to decide if I had gone forward across the country, or leaped back into the water, I could not tell. I anxiously watched, in order to ascertain to what decision they had come. At length one of them climbed up the bank and looked about; then the others followed, and walked for some distance, closely scrutinising the ground. At first I hoped that they were at fault. I had noticed that the bank was composed, a little way on, of hard stones, which could scarcely, I thought, receive any impression from my feet.

They went on for some distance; and then I saw from their gestures that they were fairly puzzled. At length they came back to the bank, and gazed down at the rapidly-flowing stream. They were evidently of opinion that I could not have swam across it. Greatly to my relief, I saw them continuing their course down the river, examining the bank as they went along, under the belief that I must have landed again further down, or else have been swept away by the current. This greatly relieved my mind. I sincerely hoped that they would give me up as lost, and abandon the idea that they should have the pleasure of exhibiting me to their squaws, and torturing me.

On and on they went, until they disappeared among the trees which grew on the bank. Whether or not they would again cross the stream I could not tell, or if indeed they had the means of doing so. They had come from the right bank, so I concluded that they must know of some way or other to get back to it. Still, I was anxious to be certain that they had done this before I left my shelter. I had made up my mind to swim back, and to descend the stream on the left bank, following it down till I reached home. There were by this time ripe fruits of all sorts to be found, I knew, so that I had no fear of starving.

I sat crouched dowd, feeling very much as I suppose a hare does, listening for the hunters—eager to be off, yet not daring to leave her cover. Hour after hour passed by, but I could hear no sounds except the notes of the birds in the trees, the woodpeckers searching for insects in the bark, and the cries of the squirrels as they skipped from branch to branch. I really wished that one of them would poke his nose into my nest, that I might have the chance of capturing him, for I was getting very hungry, and would have eaten him raw without compunction; but none came within my grasp.

At last I could bear it no longer. Food I must have, or strength sufficient would not be left me to swim across the river. I fully believed that the Indians had gone to a distance, and that I might therefore make the attempt without being seen by them. However, I did not intend to swim directly across, as I had done before, but to allow myself to float down with the stream, paddling easily till I could gain the opposite bank. I should thus be assisted rather than impeded by the current.

I nerved myself up for the enterprise. I believed that it would be more easy to make my way out of the hole through the branches on the land-side, and then, going round them, take to the water where there was no back eddy. I had observed, a little lower down, that the current set directly across to the opposite bank, and it was this which had caused me so much trouble to reach the spot where I now was.

Popping up my head, I was about to climb out of the hole, when what was my horror to see four Indians sitting silently smoking their pipes, directly in front of me! To escape was impossible, for I knew that they had perceived me by the loud grunts they uttered, and by one of them immediately springing to his feet and rushing forward towards the tree.

Endeavouring to conceal my fears, I leaped down and advanced towards them, putting out my hand. Instead of taking it, the man who was advancing grasped me by the shoulder; while the others burst into a loud guttural laugh, as much as to say, “You thought yourself very clever, young master, but we have outwitted you.”

How they came to know that I was in the tree, I could not divine; perhaps they only suspected that I was in the neighbourhood, from not finding my dead body lower down, and had taken their seats on that spot by chance.

One of the men now addressed me, but I could not understand a word he said. I answered him, however, in English, interspersed with such Indian expressions as I could recollect. He on this rose to his feet, patted me on the shoulder, and pointed to the tree; intimating, as I fancied, that I had been very clever to conceal myself as I had done, but that he and his companions were cleverer still to discover me.

As I was famishing, for my anxiety had not taken away my appetite, I thought it as well to let them understand that I wanted something to eat. Espying some berries growing on bushes near at hand, I pointed to them; and the man who held me letting me go, I sprang forward and ravenously devoured a number. They quenched my thirst, though they did not much tend to appease my hunger. One of the Indians, suspecting that this was the case, produced some dried buffalo meat from his pouch, and offered it to me.

I thanked him by signs, and showed how I appreciated his gift by immediately eating it up. He and his companions, on observing how hungry I was, again laughed. One of them now pointed to the sun, which was getting low, and made me understand that I must accompany them. As I knew that I had no chance of escaping, I nodded,—as much as to say that I was ready to go if they wished it,—and tried to look as cheerful as possible.

Their leader, the man who had first spoken to me, pointed to the west and stalked off; and two of the others seizing me by the arms, one on each side, we followed him.

Chapter Six.

My Indian captors commence their homeward journey—Arrival at the camp—Aguskogaut the chief—His kindness to me—My astonishment on seeing Mike a prisoner—His ludicrous fiddling—His comical account of his capture—Return of the warriors from the war-path—Mike and I join the buffalo-hunters—The herd—Exciting sport—The bison—Its importance to the Indians—My hope of escape—I am in great danger from the herd—Mike rescues me—Our return to camp.

My captors led me along at a rapid rate over the rough ground; nimbly climbing the rocks, and dragging me after them without much consideration as to whether I was hurt or not. Of course, I had made up my mind to attempt escaping on the first opportunity. Perhaps they suspected this, for they took good care not to afford me the chance.

On we went due west, as I knew by the position of the sun, scorning all impediments—up hills and across valleys, through streams and marshes. They were, I knew, in an enemy’s country, and were in a hurry to get out of it. Their leader did not fail to keep a look-out on every side—sometimes hurrying on ahead to the top of a rock, from whence he could take a glance over the country around to ascertain whether any one was moving; still they did not appear to be very anxious, and they must have been aware of the exact spot in which Kepenau and his tribe were encamped, while they knew that they were not likely to encounter other foes.

We must have traversed a good many miles before the sun set; and a thick grove now appearing ahead, with a stream running by its side, they hurried towards it. Having entered the grove, they immediately began stripping off the bark from some of the older trees, and collecting firewood. With the bark they formed a lean-to; and igniting the wood, they soon had a fire blazing.

While the daylight lasted they allowed me to search for berries; one of the party helping me, but keeping a constant watch on my movements. The rest, in the meantime, toasted on sticks some dried buffalo meat, a small portion of which they gave to me. Having satisfied my hunger, and feeling very tired, I lay down before the fire, glad of the warmth; for my clothes, though partly dry, were still damp, and I every now and then gave a shiver, which made me fear that I was going to be seized with illness.

From the way in which my captors had hitherto behaved towards me I hoped that I should not be ill-treated, and believing that I should some day or other make my escape, I determined not to be unhappy. I was soon, therefore, fast asleep. Just before I closed my eyes I saw the Indians sitting round the fire smoking their pipes, and eagerly discussing some subject or other—probably, what they should do with me—but, in spite of my precarious position, I never slept so soundly in my life as I did for some hours. When I at length awoke, I saw that a few embers alone of the fire remained. One of the Indians was walking up and down, acting as sentry; while the others lay, with their feet towards the fire, wrapped in their buffalo robes. I was nearly certain that they were the same men who had discovered my footprints, and they probably had then left their robes concealed somewhere while they searched for me in the river, and had afterwards resumed them.

How I wished that that sentinel would sit down and go to sleep! If he should do so, I had determined to get up and run away. They would be unable to follow my tracks in the dark, so that I should have a long start of them; and I thought that I might possibly reach the river before they could overtake me, and either swim down it, or get floated down on a log of timber or a raft of rushes.

I had still my axe in my belt, which the Indians had not taken from me, as also my hunting-knife. I was nearly throwing away the first when crossing the river, but, feeling its value, I resolved to keep it as long as I could, and was very glad I had done so. Once the thought came into my mind that, should the sentry at last go to sleep, I might kill all the Indians with my axe before they could awake. I remembered a story I had heard of a white woman who had been made prisoner thus killing all her captors while sleeping, and ultimately escaping; but I put the idea from me as a temptation of Satan, and felt more happy when I had done so. They had unjustly made me captive, it is true, but they were only following the instincts of their savage nature; and it would be a dreadful thing to think of afterwards, should I deprive them of life.

As the sentry kept his post, and presently brought some more wood, which he threw on the embers, I felt sure that he was not likely to neglect his duty; therefore, closing my eyes, I again went off to sleep. When I next awoke the Indians were yawning and stretching themselves. One got up, and then another, and I saw that day had broken.

I sprang to my feet, and the idea came into my head to pretend that I was not aware I was their captive; so, putting out my hand, I signified that I would wish them a good morning and take my way homewards. They shook their heads—laughing, however, as if they thought the idea a good joke; and two of them walking on either side of me, we set off in the same order as before.

We travelled on all day, till, leaving the hilly country and crossing several streams, we saw the wide prairie stretching out before us, beyond some thick clumps of trees. Towards one of these clumps the Indians advanced, when I heard the neigh of a horse. In a few minutes we saw a couple of Indians, who had charge of several steeds tethered among the trees. A few words were exchanged between my captors and them, after which they immediately set to work to build a lean-to and light a fire. From this I knew that they were going to pass the night in the wood. Again the hope rose in my breast that I might have a chance of escaping, but I tried to put on as unconcerned an air as possible.

The Indians we had found in the wood exhibited the carcass of a deer, which they had, I supposed, killed during the day. This was quickly cut up in large pieces, and placed before, the fire to roast.

“I only hope, my friends, that you will gorge yourselves till you are unable to move,” I thought. “Then, if I can but get on the back of one of those horses, I will gallop off to the hills, and not let you see my face again if I can help it.”

I was not sorry, however, to eat some of the venison which the Indians gave me; and then I lay down and pretended to go to sleep. They sat up feeding for some time after this; then, greatly to my disappointment, one got on his feet and began to walk backwards and forwards, while the rest stretched themselves on the ground, as they had done the night before. I watched and watched, and at last believing that they were too cunning to allow me to escape, I closed my eyes and went to sleep. I awoke twice, and on each occasion observed that one of them was on the watch.

When daylight appeared they all rose, and after shaking themselves, the horses were caught and they got on horseback; their leader making a sign to me to mount one of the spare animals, of which there were several. This done, we immediately set off at full gallop across the plain, taking a south-westerly direction. We stopped twice during the day, to allow our animals to crop the grass; while we took some food, a stream near at hand supplying us with water.

Towards evening I espied several wigwams partly concealed by the wood before us. On approaching nearer, I saw that they were very different from those to which I had been accustomed further east, where the Indian dwellings are constructed of birch-bark. These were, however, much larger; the framework, consisting of long poles tied together at the top in a conical shape, was covered with the tanned skins of buffalo and deer, and was ornamented with figures of animals and men,—apparently hunting scenes.

There were five or six of these wigwams pitched close together. Several women were moving about, or sitting on the ground. In front of one stood a tall man wrapped in a buffalo robe, with a spear in his hand, whom I at once guessed to be the chief. He contemplated us, as we drew near, without moving, or seeming in any way interested. This manner was, I suspected, put on to show his own importance, when he discovered that a white person was among our party. Getting still nearer, another Indian, who had been, I concluded, sleeping, and just awakened by the tramp of our horses, crawled out of the tent to have a look at us. It was a perfect scene of Indian domestic life. Near the chief, his wife sat on the ground playing with her child, a fat little urchin; a second woman was busy chopping wood; a third was coming in, axe in hand, with a huge bundle of sticks on her back, and a child clinging round her neck while a dog was too busy gnawing a bone to turn round and bark at us.

On drawing near, our leader got off his horse, and ordered us also to dismount. We then approached the chief, to whom he described, as I concluded, the mode in which I had been taken prisoner. The clever way in which I had hidden myself, and the efforts I had made to escape, elicited no small amount of admiration from the chief. I could, of course, only guess at what he said, but I caught a word here and there; and he looked down on me and smiled with such benignity as his stern features were capable of assuming. At all events, I thought that these people, whatever they might do, would not torture me or put me to death.

My captors having unsaddled their horses, turned them adrift to pick up food on the surrounding prairie, where the grass grew with unusual luxuriance. The men then went to their lodges, leaving me with the chief. He seemed to have taken a fancy to me from the first, and now invited me into his lodge, where his wife brought me a mess of broth, which, hungry as I was, I found very palatable.

The floor of the greater part of the lodge was covered with buffalo-skins, and a sort of divan, composed of stuffed cushions, was arranged round the walls; while in the centre burned a large fire, from which ascended volumes of smoke through the aperture at the top, though no small quantity pervaded the wigwam. Though disagreeable, it had the effect of driving away mosquitoes and other flying things.

I had not expected to be so well treated; still, I could not tell how long the chief might remain in his present good-humour.

The chief’s name was, I found, Aguskogaut. The tribe into whose hands I had fallen were Sioux, who live entirely on the prairies, and subsist by hunting the buffalo. They had come further east than they generally venture, in order that their warriors might make predatory excursions against the more pacific and civilised Indians living near the white men. They seemed to have no fear of being attacked by the latter, as, being well supplied with horses, they could beat a rapid retreat to the westward; and I discovered that they had scouts out in all directions to give notice of the approach of a foe.

Not knowing how long I might be kept a prisoner, I set to work at once to try and learn the language of my captors. The women, especially, were very ready to teach me; and my willingness to learn gaining me their friendship, they supplied me plentifully with food. I was puzzled, however, to know on what account they had carried me off, as I certainly could in no way benefit them. I concluded that one object might be to hold me as a hostage, in case any of their party should be taken prisoners.

The chief took me out riding with him, in search of deer or other game. He was armed with his bow and a long spear; and knowing that a bow would be of little use in my hands, he gave me a spear, with which to defend myself or attack any animals we might come across. He kept a sharp look-out on me, however, in case I might try to escape; but I well knew that, under present circumstances, it would be useless to make the attempt.

We were successful the first day in running down a young deer, with which we returned to the camp. As we approached, what was my surprise to hear the sound of a fiddle! Surely those tones could be produced by no one but Mike Laffan! Could he have escaped? There, sure enough, as we rode up to the lodges, was Mike himself, standing in the midst of a group of Indians; while he was fiddling away with might and main, they were dancing to the best of their ability, and keeping very good time too.

On seeing me he shouted out, “Good luck to ye, Masther Roger! Sure my heart was nigh breaking, when I thought ye had been drownded or shot to death by these rid gintlemen; but it would not do to show me grafe, lest it would make them think manely of me, so thinks I to meself, I’ll fiddle away as long as me elbow can move.”

All the time he was speaking, he continued to play as furiously as at first; most of those surrounding him jumping and whirling round and round, or keeping time with their hands. The Indians, we knew, must have been aware that we were friends, and therefore it would be of no use to pretend that we were strangers to each other.

Mike was at length obliged to stop playing; upon which the chief ordered that he should be brought before him, and inquired how he had been captured. What account those who had taken him gave, I could not make out; but Mike told me how, after the canoe had been upset, he had floated some way down the stream clinging tightly to it. Most of the articles were soon thrown out. The guns, of course, had at once gone to the bottom, but the bales floated down. At last he saw his beloved fiddle washed out.

“Faix! it would have broken me heart to lose it,” he observed; “so I made a grab and caught it and the bow, and held them tight, although the wetting, to be sure, was doing them no good. Down I went, fasther and fasther. I could hear the roar of the lower cataract. Thinks I to meself, If I go over that I shall be done for, and just then I found the canoe carried by the current towards the shore. I struck out with me feet to help it; and glad I was when, as I let them dhrop, I felt them touch the ground. I sprang up the bank, but, to me sorrow, the canoe floated off, and it was more than I could do to get a hold of it again. I climbed to the top of a cliff, hoping to catch sight of you, or of Reuben and the Indian; but no one could I see. And grieving from the bottom of me heart at the thought that you were lost, I scrambled down again, and made me way through the wood, guided by the sound of the waterfall.

“I went on and on till I had passed it, looking out for our friends; but not a glimpse of them could I see. At last, as I was getting pretty tired, I thought to meself that I would climb up into a tree to get some rest, and hide away in case the inimy should be looking for me. Scarcely had I stowed meself away among the branches when I heard voices. I dared not look out, but I guessed they were those of the Indians, who had by some means or other missed me tracks, and having gone down the bank before me, were now returning. They passed by without seeing me, which shows that they are not always so sharp-sighted as is supposed. I stayed up in the tree all night; but next morning, being very hungry, I came down to make me breakfast off the berries I had seen growing about. There was no lack of them, and I was lucky enough to knock down two young squirrels with a stick I had picked up.

“I was not happy in me mind all the time at going away without looking for you, so, thinks I to myself, I’ll try and find him. I started up the stream again to the place where the canoe was upset. Not a trace of you could I discover; so with a sad heart I began to make me way back again. It struck me that, somehow or other, I must have wandered away from the river; and after trudging along all day I could nowhere find it. I felt still more unhappy than I had done before, and so, thinking to solace myself, I sat down on a rock, and putting me fiddle to me chin, began playing away. I tried one tune and then another, and a mighty dale of good it seemed to do me. I was playing the ‘Groves of Blarney,’ when half a dozen rid-skinned savages jumped out of the bushes and looked me full in the face.

“‘Whoo!’ says I. ‘Whaugh!’ says they, in chorus. ‘Whoo!’ says I again. On which they came nearer, flourishing their ugly-looking scalping-knives.

“‘Is that what you’re going to be afther?’ said I, feeling uncomfortable on the top of me head. ‘Keep off, me beauties, till I give you another tune.’ And putting up me fiddle to me chin—for I had let it drop, and small blame to me!—I began scraping away as if I would be afther shaking me arm off.

“‘Whaugh!’ says they again, beginning to skip and leap about.

“On this I played faster and faster; and the faster I played, the higher they bounded. ‘It’s all right,’ thinks I to meself; ‘they will not be doing me any harm if I can keep them at that game.’ So I thought I had best give them a tune with me voice into the bargain; and I sang, and scraped, and shook me head, till they all burst out into fits of laughter.

“On this I got up and made them a low bow; though I clapped my hat on again pretty quick, in case of accidents. And says I—‘If you will all sit down, and behave yourselves like dacent men, I’ll tell you a tale which will astonish you.’

“Whether or not they understood me, I could not for the life of me tell; but, sure enough, down they all squatted. And I began to recount to them how Daniel O’Rourke one night, returning from waking Widow Casey at Ballybotherem, and having taken a drop more than usual of the ‘crayther,’ saw the fairies come dancing round him; and I went on to describe what Daniel said, and what the fairies did. ‘And now,’ says I, ‘just sit quiet where you are till I come back and finish me story.’ And on this, giving another whoop, and a hop, skip, and a jump, I was making me way back to the river, when up sprang the Ridskins and came bounding afther me. ‘Sure, thin,’ says I, stopping short, and beginning to scrape away as before on me fiddle, ‘you don’t understand me.’ And, by me faith, indade they did not; for without more ado they got round me, and suspecting that I had been bamboozling them, began to prick me with their spears behind, as a gentle hint that I was to march forward.

“Seeing that there was no use trying to make me escape—for, of course, six men can run faster than one—I took their hints, which were not to be mistaken, and stepped out in the direction they pointed, now and then playing a tune to keep up me spirits and put them in good-humour.

“The long and the short of it is, that they made me prisoner, and brought me along with them; until we found some horses, on which—stopping a night or two on the way—we galloped along till we reached this place.

“And here I am, Masther Roger! well pleased to find that you’re alive, and to bear you company.”

And so Mike concluded his story.

The Indians allowed Mike and me to talk together without interfering with us. I told him that I would try to escape as soon as I could.

“Sure, and that is what I’ll be afther,” he answered. “But it’s more easily said than done, I am afraid. However, where there is a will there is a way; and cunning as the Ridskins think themselves, maybe we’ll be even with them.”

While we were talking we had observed some commotion among the inhabitants of the lodges; and presently we caught sight of a band of horsemen scouring across the prairie towards us, and flourishing their spears as they came along. At first I thought they might be enemies; but as no preparations were made for the defence of the camp, I knew that they must be friends. In a few minutes they galloped up; and the leading warriors, decked in war-paint and feathers, dismounted, each of them carrying one or more scalps hanging to the end of his spear. Our chief, Aguskogaut, who had put on his finest robes, advanced to meet them while they stepped forward; and their leader began a long harangue, which sounded very fine, although I could not make out what it was all about.

Mike and I stood on one side, thinking it as well to keep out of the way. The new-comers, however, after a time began to point towards where we were standing; and I guessed they were talking about us, and inquiring how we happened to be there.

Aguskogaut then, as we supposed, gave them an account of what had occurred; to which (as I judged from their gestures) they replied, that we ought to have been killed, and our scalps taken to adorn their lodges. On this Aguskogaut—who was, happily, our friend—made another speech; and lifting up his hand to heaven, appeared to be invoking the Great Spirit, and letting his countrymen understand that we were under his protection, and that no harm must happen to us. So successful was his eloquence, that the warriors appeared to be satisfied. At all events, we were allowed to move about within sight of the camp, no one molesting us.

The next day there was a great feast in honour of the victory which had been gained.

Mike and I were generally kept apart; but we occasionally found opportunities for meeting, when we did not fail to discuss plans for escaping. We were, however, too narrowly watched to allow at present of any of them being feasible: wherever we went, an Indian, apparently appointed for the purpose, had his eye on us. Had we managed to mount any of the horses tethered near the lodges or feeding around, we should have been immediately tracked and followed. Still, it kept up our spirits to talk of what we would do. We were not otherwise ill-treated, and were amply supplied with dried buffalo meat. Sometimes the hunters brought in a deer or a bear; but as there was always on such occasions a grand feast, the fresh meat did not last long.

At last, one morning the Indians turned out at daybreak, and immediately began taking down the tents and packing up their goods. The coverings for the tents were divided and done up in bales, and then secured to the backs of horses. The poor women were loaded with as much as they could carry, in addition to the younger children. The chief’s squaws were allowed to mount; but their animals were also loaded like the rest of the horses. The men carried only their arms, and spare buffalo robes strapped on to their saddles. Mike and I were compelled to assist in doing up the bales, the squaws showing us how to perform the operation; sometimes scolding us, at other times laughing at what they considered our clumsiness.

When all was done, we were left standing; so we concluded that it was the intention of the Indians to compel us to march on foot.

“Begorrah,” exclaimed Mike, “I don’t like this fun at all, at all! See, there are two mustangs without anything on their backs! Small blame to us if we just get astride them.” And suiting the action to the word, he leaped on to one of the ponies, while I mounted the other. Whether they belonged to any of the Indians, we could not tell, but there were several spare animals besides.

Urging on our steeds, we joined the throng of warriors, who were already forming at a little distance from our late camp. The chief laughed when he saw us, and exchanged remarks with some of his companions. We concluded that these were in our favour, for we were allowed to retain our steeds.

The signal was now given to advance, and the tribe moved forward in a south-westerly direction. Though we were glad to be on horseback, yet our spirits sank when we found that we were getting further and further from home, and saw our chances of escape diminishing.

“No matter,” cried Mike; “the longer we stay with these Indians, the more we shall know of their ways, and be the better able to desave them. We must appear to be perfectly continted and happy, and try to spake their language—though it gives me a pain in me jaws whenever I utter one of their long words.”

“You are right, Mike; I will try to practise your philosophy,” I answered.

We marched on all day, stopping only for a short time to take our scanty meals. We could proceed but slowly, on account of the women and loaded animals; but the warriors scoured over the plain on both sides of our line of march, either looking out for an enemy or in search of game. Mike and I, however, were kept with the main body. At night we encamped either near a wood or by the side of a stream, where there were always trees to afford us fuel for our fires. Thus we went on for several days.

The Indians were, we guessed, making for a region frequented by buffalo, which had not this year come so far east as usual. At last we reached the spot at which they considered it desirable to remain; there being a full stream from which water could be obtained, and plenty of wood to afford fuel for our fires. In every other direction, as far as we could see, the country was nearly level, with little or no timber of any size growing on it. The women immediately set about their usual avocations. But as our meals were very scanty, it was evident that there was a scarcity of meat in the camp.

Early next morning a band of twenty men mounted their best horses to set out, as we concluded, in search of buffalo. Without asking leave, Mike and I got on our steeds and joined them. They did not object to this; probably supposing that we should not attempt to make our escape so far from home. We each of us obtained a bow and a quiver full of arrows, besides a long spear. None of the tribe possessed firearms.

We rode on for some distance, the main body keeping together, while scouts were sent forward to look out for buffalo. At last we reached a broad stream, and were proceeding along the bank, when my companions became greatly interested; and looking out to the left, I saw the whole plain covered with a dense mass of dark objects, which I at once guessed to be buffalo. It was evident that they were making for the river. The Indians, urging on their horses, dashed forward to try to intercept the herd before they could cross it. It seemed to me, however, that we should be too late to do that.

I could see the scouts galloping along the flank of the herd nearest us, trying to find an opening among them into which they might penetrate; while every now and then they let fly one of their arrows into the neck of an animal. As to turning the herd, or preventing it from crossing the stream, they might as well have attempted to stop the falls of Niagara in their downward course. With a tramp which shook the earth, and terrific bellowings sounding far across the plain, onward rushed the seemingly maddened creatures, tossing their heads, throwing high their tails, and turning up the earth in their course.

The river was reached before we could get up to them; and their leaders plunging in, they began to swim across, the animals in the rear driving those in front into the water. The former would have treated the latter in the same way had they reached the edge of a precipice, when all would have gone over together. As it was, they proved themselves good swimmers, quickly gaining the opposite bank, and rushing forward as at first.

Before we got within shot of them, the greater number had crossed; but the hunters, urging on their well-trained steeds, rode boldly up, shooting their arrows within a few feet of the creatures. Three or four only fell; others seemed to take no notice of their wounds; and several, springing out of the herd, with heads lowered to the ground, plunged forward furiously at their assailants. The nimble horses wheeled as they approached, and escaped the attack made on them; their riders never failing to discharge one or two arrows in return at the infuriated buffalo. Had we possessed firearms, many more would have been killed.

The Indians had no intention of giving up the pursuit. Where the herd had crossed the river, the water was too deep to allow us to wade over. At a signal from their leader, however, the hunters turned their horses, and galloped back in the direction from whence we had come; soon we reached a ford, where we all crossed, though the water almost covered the backs of our short-legged ponies. The herd could still be seen in the far distance, so we immediately galloped on to overtake it.

Though called buffalo, the animal I am speaking of is really the bison. It has a protuberant hunch on its shoulders, and the body is covered, especially towards the head, by long, fine, woolly hair, which makes the animal appear much more bulky than it really is. That over the head, neck, and fore part of the body is long and shaggy, and forms a beard beneath the lower jaw, descending to the knees in a tuft; while on the top it rises in a dense mass nearly to the tops of the horns, and is strongly curled and matted on the front. The tail is short, and has a tuft at the end—the general colour of the hair being a uniform dun. The legs are especially slender, and appear to be out of all proportion to the body; indeed, it seems wonderful that they are able to bear it, and that the animals can at the same time exhibit the activity they seemed possessed of.

In summer the buffalo finds an abundance of food by cropping the sweet grass which springs up after the fires so frequent in one part or other of the prairies. In winter, in the northern regions, it would starve, were it not possessed of a blunt nose, covered by tough skin, with which it manages to dig into the snow and shovel it away, so as to get at the herbage below. In winter, too, the hair grows to a much greater length than in summer, when the hinder part is covered only by a very short fine hair, smooth as velvet. Many thousands of these magnificent animals congregate in herds, which roam from north to south over the western prairies. At a certain time of the year the bulls fight desperately with each other, on which occasions their roaring is truly terrific.

The hunters select, when they can, female buffalo, as their flesh is far superior in quality and tenderness to that of the males. The females are, however, far more active than the males, and can run three times as fast, so that swift horses are required to keep up with them. The Indians complain of the destruction of the buffalo—forgetting that their own folly in killing the females is one of the chief causes of the diminution of their numbers.

Huge and unwieldy as is the buffalo, it dashes over the ground at a surprising rate, bounding with large and clumsy-looking strides across the roughest country, plunging down the broken sides of ravines, and trying the mettle of horses and the courage of riders in pursuit of it.

To the Indians of the prairies the buffalo is of the greatest possible value, for they depend on these animals for their food, tents, clothing, and numerous other articles. They dress the skins with the hair on, and these serve as cloaks or coverings at night. The horns are converted into powder-flasks; the hides, when tanned, serve to cover their tents; and the wool makes a coarse cloth. When the flesh is eaten fresh, it is considered superior in tenderness and flavour to that of the domestic ox; the hump especially being celebrated for its delicacy. It is also cut into strips and dried in the sun; or it is pounded up with the fat and converted into pemmican. The hides are used also for leggings, saddles, or, when cut into strips, form halters. With the sinews, strings are made for their bows. From the bones they manufacture a variety of tools—of the smaller ones making needles, and using the finer sinews as threads. From the ribs, strengthened by some of the stronger sinews, are manufactured the bows which they use so dexterously. The bladder of the animal is used as a bottle; and often, when the Indian is crossing the prairie where no water is to be found, he is saved from perishing of thirst by killing a buffalo and extracting the water which is found in its inside.

To resume: In spite of the rate at which the buffalo were going, we soon overtook them on our swift mustangs; and now began the most exciting part of our day’s sport. The leading portion of the herd kept close together; but in the rear the animals were separated—some lagging behind, others scattering on either side. The Indians, with their bows drawn or their spears couched in their hands, dashed in among them, shooting right and left, or plunging their weapons into the shoulders of the brutes—so dexterously aiming the blows, that many of their victims fell pierced to the heart.

Mike and I, though good horsemen, were but little accustomed to the Indian weapons; and although we did our best, many of the buffalo at which we rode either escaped being wounded, or galloped off with our arrows sticking in their bodies. We each of us, however, managed to kill an animal, and were galloping on, closely following one of the principal hunters, when a huge bull, after which the Indian was riding, turned suddenly round, and with its head to the ground rushed madly at him. His horse for a moment stood stock-still, watching the buffalo, while the Indian shot his arrow. It struck the animal on the neck, but failed to kill it. I expected that the next moment I should see both horse and rider rolling on the ground; but the well-trained steed sprang nimbly on one side, and the now infuriated buffalo dashed towards Mike and me. I shot my last arrow, but it glanced off the skull of the creature, which now came towards me, looking the picture of savageness.

I endeavoured to make my steed spring on one side, but barely in time to escape the tremendous battering-ram—for to nothing else can I liken the buffalo’s head. The creature went rushing on till it was met by two Indians, one of whom shot his arrow, while the other struck his spear so exactly in the buffalo’s breast that the huge creature immediately fell over dead.

Such was the beginning of our day’s hunt. I was completely carried away by the excitement of the chase, and was as eager to kill buffalo as any Indian amongst them. As I had exhausted all my arrows, I had now only my spear to trust to. Had I been dependent on my own skill, I should have been quickly overthrown, and probably gored to death; but my well-trained mustang knew far more about the matter than I did, so I let him get out of the way of any of the animals which attacked me as he thought best.

I had singled out a young bull which turned off from the herd, and I followed it up, expecting to be able to get ahead of it, so that I might point my spear full at its breast in the way I had seen several of the Indians do, knowing that my mustang would spring on one side should it be necessary. Suddenly the bull stopped; then turning round and seeing me before it, came rushing towards me. I endeavoured to run my spear into its breast, and then make my steed spring out of the way. I thrust my spear with all my force; but before I could let go my grasp it was whisked out of my hand, after which my horse sprang clear of the animal with a bound which very nearly threw me from the saddle, and had galloped some distance away before I could stop it.

What a glorious opportunity this would be for escaping! I thought to myself. Had Mike been near me, I should have proposed doing so. I was looking round, to try and ascertain where he was, when down came my steed—having stepped into the hole of a prairie dog, numbers of which honeycombed the ground around—and I was thrown right over his head. As I lay half-stunned, I saw to my horror the whole herd of buffalo tearing along towards me, ploughing up the turf with their hoofs, and bellowing loudly. I fully expected to be trampled to death before many minutes had passed, or to be tossed high in the air over their shaggy backs. My horse, looking up, saw his danger, and seemed to understand the state of affairs as well as I did. He made desperate struggles to rise; and I endeavoured to get on my feet and seize the reins, hoping to mount before the herd was upon me. I might thus gallop off, and keep ahead of them till I could find an opportunity of turning on one side.

I rose, but fell again before I could reach the reins which hung over my steed’s neck. Already I could almost see the eyes of the infuriated beasts; but I was not going to give up my life if I could help it. I therefore made another desperate effort, and reaching the rein, patted the animal’s nose, turning his eyes away from the approaching foe; then in an instant—I scarcely know how I did it—I was on his back.

I was fully aware that the same accident which had brought me to the ground might again occur; but of that I must run the risk. Before, however, my horse could spring forward, the herd was close upon us. Digging my heels into his flanks, I urged him on, shrieking at the top of my voice. The sound of the tramping hoofs behind him, the bellowing of the bulls, and the expectation every instant of being probed by their horns, made him strain every muscle to keep ahead of them. His speed was far greater than theirs, and he soon distanced them; but still, the danger of again falling was imminent, for as we flew along I could see in every direction the burrows of those abominable little prairie dogs, though the inhabitants had taken good care to ensconce themselves far down out of the way of the hoofs of the buffalo. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that by turning to the right I might soon get clear of the herd, which did not extend far on that side. I accordingly pulled the right rein, so as to ride almost across the course the herd was taking; and observed, as I did so, a number of the Indians galloping along by the side of the buffalo, and shooting their arrows.

I was congratulating myself on the prospect of escaping, when down came my steed once more; and as I was as unprepared for the accident as before, I was thrown over his head, and more severely injured than at first. Still, though partly stunned, I could see what was taking place. I fancied that I was, at all events, sufficiently to the right of the herd to escape being trampled to death, when just then a huge bull, who must have had his eye upon me, wheeled from his companions, and, putting his head to the ground, made, as I thought, towards me. To escape by mounting my horse was now out of the question, for I had been thrown too far to seize the reins, and the poor animal still lay struggling to get his feet out of the hole. Any other than a prairie horse would have broken his legs, or sprained himself irretrievably. Just when I expected to be trampled to death or gored by the bull’s horns, I saw that the savage creature was making towards my horse instead of me; but as it reached the mustang, the latter drew his feet out of the hole, and throwing up his heels at the bull’s nose, scampered off, followed by his enemy, while the rest of the herd swept by like a torrent, not ten yards from where I lay. Some stragglers, however, caught sight of me; and another big bull was rushing on to give me a taste of his horns and hoofs, when a loud “Whallop-ahoo-aboo! Erin go bragh!” sounded in my ears.

“Don’t be afraid, Masther Roger, me darlint!” shouted Mike, for it was he who had uttered the cry; and dashing forward with spear in rest, he struck the bull behind the shoulder with such force that his weapon must have pierced the animal’s heart. It swerved on one side, thereby enabling Mike to avoid trampling on me, and the next moment fell over perfectly dead.

A number of Indians passing at the moment, applauded Mike’s achievement. I managed at the same time to get on my feet, and pointed to my horse.

“Ay, to be sure; I’ll be afther him,” cried Mike, “as soon as I can git me shtick out of this baste’s carcass.”

He tugged and tugged till he liberated his spear, then galloped off in the direction my horse had taken, leaving me by the dead bull.

I had no longer any fear of being knocked over by the buffalo, as all, except a few laggards, had passed by, and were further away to the left. I could just see Mike attacking with his spear the animal which had pursued my horse; but a faintness again came over me, and I was obliged to sit down on the ground. I had no fear of being deserted, as I was sure that the Indians would come to look after the animals they had killed; and in a few minutes Mike returned, leading my horse, who appeared none the worse for his falls or his encounter with the buffalo.

We had by this time reached a part of the country where woods and hills could be seen rising here and there above the plain. The rearmost of the buffalo had become separated, and many of the Indians, having exhausted their arrows, were now attacking them with their spears; two hunters generally singling out one animal, and riding alongside it till they had wounded it to death. As far as I could see, on either side, the country exhibited an animated scene,—the buffalo scampering along in every direction, with Indians riding after them, their robes wildly flying in the air, while they flourished their spears above their heads. On the ground over which we had come could be distinguished numerous dark spots,—the bodies of the buffalo we had slain. Indeed, our comparatively small party had, I afterwards found, killed upwards of two hundred animals; which will give some idea of the numbers annually slaughtered by the Indians.

At length they gave over the chase, and commenced the operation of skinning their victims, leaving most of the carcasses a prey to the wolves. The tongues and humps, however, were generally secured, as well as the flesh of the cows, which is, as I have said, far superior in tenderness to that of the bulls.

The horses loaded with skins and meat, we returned at night to the camp; and as our captors had now an abundance of provisions, they were in an unusually good-humour.

“Sure, thin, but this wouldn’t be a bad opportunity for us to git away from these rid gintlemen,” observed Mike, as we watched them feasting on the produce of the day’s hunt—stuffing such huge quantities of flesh into their insides, that it seemed impossible, were they long to continue the operation, that they would be able to move.

Chapter Seven.

Mike’s precaution—We again go buffalo-hunting—The prairie on fire—A ride for life—Our escape from the fire and the Indians—Hobbling horses—The fire is stopped by the river—A brief sleep—Our fishing tackle—Mike catches a cat-fish—Our lean-to—Mike loses his book—The visit of Bruin—A hearty meal—Death of Mike’s horse—I am taken sick—Mike’s careful watch—My horse is drowned—Our visit to the rice-Lake—We find Lily and Dora there, with Ashatea, in a canoe, gathering rice—Lily’s account of Manilick, the young chief, Ashatea’s lover—Kepenau’s address—Again taken ill—How I recover.

Mike and I were on the watch for an opportunity of mounting our horses and galloping off unperceived by the Indians; but, though they feasted for several successive days, that opportunity never came. Unfortunately, so far as our enterprise was concerned, they had no whisky in the camp, and were therefore able to watch our movements.

In a few days the hunters again set out, to obtain a further supply of buffalo robes; not that these were required for their own use, but they intended to exchange them with the traders for whisky and other articles—especially firearms and ammunition. The chief and two or three of the leading men had already procured weapons, although as yet they were by no means expert in their use.

“They’ll soon give us a chance, if they get howld of the whisky,” observed Mike; “so we must have patience till that happy time comes.”

As we had proved ourselves such expert hunters on the previous occasion, the Indians decided to take us with them, and allowed us to select two capital horses, as also some tough spears and a supply of arrows. We likewise stowed away, at Mike’s suggestion, as much dried buffalo meat as our pouches would hold. “There is no harm in having it,” he observed; “and it may just come in convanient if we get the chance of giving our rid-skinned frinds the slip.”

I was glad to find that the Indians were directing their course to the north-west of the camp, towards a plain on which, the scouts had brought word, buffalo had been seen feeding the previous evening, and it was supposed that they were not yet likely to have got far off. When we reached the ground, however, it was found that they had gone away further to the northward, so chase was immediately made after them. The herd must have gone on at a somewhat rapid rate, for we forded several streams, and entered on a part of the prairie across which, after riding a few miles, we could see nothing but the waving grass on every side.

The chief had of late been friendly, and kept Mike and me near him. He was evidently pleased with the good-humour we exhibited, and probably thought that we were contented with our lot.

At last we came in sight of the rear-guard of the herd, when the Indians at once gave chase.

We had been riding on for some time, the buffalo evidently moving at a greater speed than they do under ordinary circumstances, when the chief, who was on the right of the party, stopped, and looking round him, shouted to those who were within hearing. I could not understand what he said, and asked Mike if he could.

“Sure, it’s something not altogether plisant,” he answered. “Look there, Masther Roger. What does that mane?”

He pointed, as he spoke, to a long line of what looked like grey mist, forming wreaths, and rising above the horizon to the westward.

I saw several of the Indians standing up in their stirrups and gazing in the same direction. They knew perfectly well what it was, but they were trying to ascertain a point of vital importance to us all. The prairie was on fire! Of that there was no doubt; but, in order to give themselves the best chance of saving their lives, it was necessary to settle, before galloping forward, what course to take.

While the Indians were discussing this point, Mike, who had been looking about him, exclaimed to me,—“There is one way we want to go, and that is to the north-east. Never mind if we do get singed a little, for sure, as we came along, I remember that we passed several swamps. If we can get into one of them we shall be safe, as the fire won’t be afther crossing the wather.”

“But the Indians will probably take the same direction,” I observed.

“Sure, if they intinded doing that same, they would have been off at once,” he answered. “They have some raison for what they think of doing, and we have another for what we will do; so come along, Masther Roger. There’s only one thing I mourn for, and that is me fiddle; but no matther; maybe I will be afther getting that another time. Whallop-ahoo-aboo! Erin go bragh!” Then digging his heels into his horse’s flanks, he set off in the direction he proposed; and I, seeing that the Indians were too much occupied to notice us, galloped after him.

As I turned my head I saw them scampering along towards the north-west. The fire having approached with far greater rapidity than I could have supposed possible, I began to fear that they were right and we were wrong, when I saw the flames catching the dry grass and flaring up furiously, with dense masses of black smoke above them, and already scarcely a mile behind us; indeed, they looked very much nearer. Onward came the conflagration, faster than any horse could gallop. Happily we had the start of it, but we must, we knew, keep our steeds at the utmost stretch of their powers to maintain a safe distance.

As our course diverged more and more from that of the Indians, they soon discovered our object, and shouted to us to accompany them.

“Bawl away, me boys!” answered Mike. “It is not convanient just now to attind to you.”

When our intention became clearly evident, the chief despatched two of his people in pursuit of us; but we kept well ahead of our pursuers, and they, fearing that the fire would overtake them, turned and took the same direction as the main body. Soon after this we lost sight of our late companions.

“I would be well contint never to set eyes on you again, me jewels,” said Mike, shaking his spear as a sign of farewell.

Although my companion kept up his spirits, I could not avoid fearing that, after all, the fire would overtake us. Happily our horses were fleet and in good wind, as we had not exhausted them during the early part of the day; and all we could do at present was to gallop on. The wind, of which there had hitherto been very little, now got up, and blew almost in our faces, driving the fire in the direction the Indians had taken, and at the same time keeping it back from that in which we were going. Still on came the fire, the whole country in our rear apparently one mass of flame. Even now, did we stop, we should be overtaken. Happily for us, there were no buffalo in the direction from which the fire was coming, or we should have run the danger of being overwhelmed by them. Smaller animals, however, came rushing by us or close at our heels, but too much frightened even to notice us; and we were in too great a hurry to interfere with them.

I am almost afraid to say how many miles we covered in a couple of hours, but certainly not till that time had elapsed did we get to a safe distance from the fire; and even then, on looking back, we could see it raging along the whole verge of the horizon to the westward and southward. It was clear to me that Mike was mistaken about the swamps, and had not the wind, providentially for us, changed, we should probably have fallen victims.

We now slackened our speed a little, hoping to meet with some broad river which might prove a barrier to the flames, should another change of wind drive them towards us, as there was nothing, so far as we could see, to stop the fire from quickly overtaking us. Our horses, too, were already suffering from want of water, and so were we. We therefore eagerly looked out for a pool or stream at which we might slake our thirst. At length, greatly to our joy, as evening was approaching, we caught sight in the far distance of a silvery line of water glittering in the rays of the western sun. It was a river running from the north-west to the south-east, and as we approached we saw that it was of considerable width. Should it not prove fordable, we resolved to swim across.

With infinite satisfaction we reached the bank of the river, and descending quickly, allowed our horses to drink; while, stooping down by their sides, we lapped up the water eagerly with our hands. It seemed as if we could never drink enough. When we had somewhat slaked our thirst, we looked about for a place at which to cross. From the appearance of the current a little lower down, we hoped that we should there find the river fordable; we accordingly agreed to lead our horses to it.

On climbing up the bank we observed that the fire was still raging in the direction from whence we had come; and it was evidently very much nearer. We had wished to allow our animals to rest and recover their strength before attempting to cross; but on again looking back we saw that there was no time to be lost. We accordingly at once mounted, and urged our steeds into the water, keeping their heads up the stream.

As we advanced it grew deeper and deeper, and we expected every moment to have our horses taken off their legs; still it would not do to turn back. Our greatest chance of safety lay in pushing forward. The cool water restored strength to our beasts, and, sagaciously leaning over against the current, they soon got across the deep part. We had now no further difficulty, and in a few minutes landed safely on the opposite side. Fortunately there was plenty of fresh herbage, and we allowed the animals to crop it, while we sat down and discussed some of the pemmican with which, by Mike’s forethought, we had provided ourselves. Without it we should have starved; for we could find nothing eatable anywhere around. As night was approaching, and our horses were too much knocked up to go further, we resolved to remain on the bank of the river till the morning. We accordingly hobbled the animals, and then looked about for some place which might afford us shelter.

Our search was rewarded by the discovery of a hollow made by the stream in the bank during the spring floods. Here we hoped that we might rest secure from danger. Indians were not likely to be passing at that time of the evening, and no wolves would find their way, we believed, into our cave. Our horses were, of course, more exposed to risk than ourselves; but we were obliged to let them take their chance, for unless they were allowed to feed during the night they would be unable to carry us the next day.

After leaving our horses to pick up their supper, we were about to return to our cave, when, on looking to the eastward, we observed that the fire was making most rapid progress in our direction. We felt thankful indeed that we were on the right side of the river.

On came the conflagration, the heat sensibly increasing every minute, while dark wreaths of smoke filled the air, below which the burning grass and shrubs hissed and crackled. The darkness of night added to the fearful character of the scene. As far as the eye could reach there appeared a long unbroken line of fire: now, as it caught some thick bush or clump of trees, forked flames rose high in the air; in other places it came along maintaining the same height, but ever advancing, till it reached the bank of the river, when every shrub and tree was enveloped in a sheet of fire; and notwithstanding the width of the river, we expected every instant to see some of the sparks carried across, and the whole country on our side given over to destruction. We might save our own lives, but our horses would inevitably be lost.

We sat anxiously watching the conflagration as it raged along the entire bank: now the sparks, wafted by the wind, flew high into the air; now burning branches fell hissing into the water.

“It’s all very fine,” observed Mike, after watching it for some time; “but I would rather be afther going quietly to slape.”

I felt quite as tired as did Mike, but I sat up till my eyes began to close and my head to droop, and I could not for the life of me tell what I was looking at. I had just sense enough left to lie down alongside Mike, when I was almost directly asleep. I do not think I ever slept more soundly in my life than I did on that occasion. So thoroughly wearied out was I, that I forgot all about the fire raging within a few hundred yards of us; or prowling wolves, or Indians, or rattlesnakes, which might have made their holes in the bank.

When I awoke I found Mike sitting up, dawn having just broken. The fire had burned itself out, a few burning embers alone appearing on the opposite side, with here and there a blackened stem of some tree which had resisted the flames. One side of the river presented a scene of utter desolation, while the other was still green, and glittering with the dew of early morn.

We knelt down and returned thanks to God for our preservation, and offered up a petition that he would still take care of us. We then ate a little more pemmican, and took a draught of water from the river; though, to do so, we had to drive back the burned twigs and black scum which came floating down the stream. We then caught our horses, which, in consequence of being hobbled, had not strayed far; and after leading them down to drink we mounted and rode on to the north-east. Reaching some elevated ground whence we could obtain an extensive view, we looked round to ascertain if any Indians were in sight. Not a human being could we discover; and we therefore, with increased hopes that we might escape, continued our journey.

I asked Mike how many days he thought it would take us to reach home, that I might see if his computation agreed with mine. I calculated, recollecting the distance we had come with our captors, that it would occupy us a week at least, or perhaps ten days. He was of the same opinion.

“But will our pemmican last us as long?” I asked.

“Sure, that depinds upon how much we take of it each day,” he answered. “The berries are now ripe, and by good luck I have found a couple of fish-hooks in me pocket. Maybe, also, I can manage to manufacture some traps in which to catch birds or small animals; and though we have no arrows, if we are hard pressed we may make some; and we have got our spears. If we could only meet with a young bear, we should have flesh enough to last us for many a day. Sure, we’ll not be fearing harm till it comes upon us.”

I agreed with Mike that we were not so badly off after all, and we rode forward in good spirits. There was still, of course, the danger of being overtaken by the Indians; but on that score Mike thought that we need not trouble ourselves. They would probably suppose that we had been destroyed by the fire; or they themselves might have met with the fate from which we had so narrowly escaped.

The sun shone brightly from the unclouded sky; the atmosphere was clear, and we could see objects at a great distance. We looked out, as we rode along, for any of the natives who might be passing either on the war-path or engaged in hunting, as we resolved to endeavour to avoid them rather than risk an encounter. They might prove to be friends; but if enemies, we knew that we should have a poor chance of coming off victorious. Whenever the country was open, we galloped across it as fast as we could venture to push our horses without over-fatiguing them; but when we came to woody districts we kept as much as possible under shelter of the trees, so as to avoid being seen. We did not forget that, should enemies cross our trail, they would probably follow us. We therefore very frequently looked about us, to ascertain if we were pursued. We agreed that, in that case, we would run for it, trusting to the mettle of our horses for escape.

It may seem strange, but I enjoyed the excitement, and should not have been alarmed had we caught sight of a dozen Redskins, provided they were on foot, and we had a fair start. Mike did not quite enter into my feelings, however.

“Sure it would be betther, Masther Roger, if we could get along asily, and just stop and enjoy our dinner and supper without the feeling that at any moment our scalps might be taken off our heads,” he observed.

“We have kept them on through much greater dangers than we are now likely to meet with,” I answered; “and while we have fleet horses under us, we may laugh at the Indians. They won’t know that we are without firearms, and they are terribly afraid of bullets.”

For all this, I should have been glad had we possessed a good rifle and a brace of pistols apiece. Though our spears might serve us in a close encounter with a bear, or even with wolves, we were but ill able to protect ourselves against the arrows of a party of Redskins.

Whenever we reached a height we surveyed the country both before and behind us, to make sure, in the first place, that no Indians were following; and, in the second, that none were encamped ahead, or, as I have before said, moving about. During the day we met with several small streams at which we could water our horses and slake our own thirst; and the first night we encamped under shelter of a wood, where there was plenty of grass for our steeds. We contented ourselves with forming a lean-to, but did not light a fire lest it should betray our whereabouts. Having eaten a little more pemmican, we formed our beds of spruce-fir tops, and lay down to rest.

“Do you slape as sound as you like, Masther Roger; I’ll jist keep one eye open, in case any unwelcome visitor should take the throuble to poke his nose into our palace,” observed Mike. “When you think you have had rest enough, you can jist wake up and let me take a snooze till morning.”

I thanked my honest friend for his kind intentions, and in less than half a minute my eyes were closely shut. When I awoke it was already dawn, but Mike, instead of keeping watch, was as sound asleep as I had been.

“Hallo, Mike!” I exclaimed; “I thought that you intended to rest with one eye open all night.”

“Sure, Masther Roger, haven’t I done so, barring the last few minutes,” he answered. “I did my best, thinking that every moment you would be getting up; and small blame to me if at last I dramed that you did get up, and told me that you would take a turn at watching.”

“Never mind, since no harm has happened,” I said. “Now let us mount our horses and ride forward till we can get some cold water for breakfast.”

Our animals, who now knew us, came at our call; and throwing ourselves on their backs, we galloped forward as we had done the day before. Not a human being did we meet with during the whole day, and in the evening we encamped by the side of a broad stream overshadowed by trees. From the appearance of several deep holes close under the bank, we hoped that fish might be found in them. As soon, therefore, as we had secured our horses, we set to work to manufacture lines for the two hooks which Mike had found in his pocket.

Some people might have been puzzled how to get the lines, but we were not to be defeated in our object. We procured them by cutting off a small portion of the two hobbles, which consisted of long strips of deer-hide, and plucking some hairs out of our horses’ tails. The deer-hide we cut into thinner strips, which served for the upper part of the lines, while the lower were formed of the hair platted together. We thus in a short time had two good lines, to which we carefully secured the hooks. Having caught some grasshoppers, we determined to try them for bait; while our spears served us for fishing-rods. Hunger made us keen sportsmen, and never had I felt so anxious for success.

My line had not been long in the water when I felt a bite. I almost trembled with eagerness as I gave a gentle jerk, sufficient to hook the unwary fish. It tugged pretty hard, and I was sure that I had it fast; but still I was afraid that it might break my line. Carefully I drew it along till I got it sufficiently near the surface to ascertain its size. To my satisfaction, I saw that it was not more than two or three pounds’ weight. After playing it for some time I drew it towards the bank, when Mike, who had hitherto not got a bite, left his rod and rushed into the water to secure our prize, exclaiming—

“Faix, thin, we’ll have this darlint for our supper to-night; and, bedad! there is another at my line. Hurrah! good luck to us!”

Throwing the fish to me, which proved to be a gold-eye, he sprang off, just in time to catch his rod, the end of which was nearly off the bank.

“Och, murther,” he cried out, “but it’s a big one!” and he rushed along the shore, jumping over all impediments; shrieking out in his eagerness in a manner which would have made a sedate Indian fancy that he had gone out of his mind.

I could not help laughing as I watched him.

“Come along, Masther Roger, and lend me a hand, or the baste will be afther getting away.”

Securing our first prize, I followed Mike as he rushed along down the bank, afraid of breaking his line, which was by this time stretched to the utmost. Now he gently pulled it in, now he allowed it to go off again, as he felt the strain increase. By thus dexterously managing the fish for some minutes, he at length brought it close to the shore, and I caught sight of an ugly-looking dark monster.

“Sure, it’s a cat-fish, and mighty good ateing too, though it’s no beauty,” exclaimed Mike. “Get howld of him, Masther Roger; get howld of him, or he will be off.”

Following Mike’s example, I dashed into the water and grasped the huge creature, although, covered as it was with slime, it was no easy matter to do so. Giving it a sudden jerk, I threw it on shore, rushing after it to prevent its floundering back again into its native element. It proved to be a prize worth having, being at least seven or eight pounds in weight. It was a wonder how, with such slight tackle, Mike had contrived to hold it.

We agreed that, as we had now an ample supply of fish for one day at least, we would not run the risk of losing our hooks; and accordingly, carrying our two prizes, we made our way back to the part of the bank we had selected for our camp. It was under a widespreading tree, which extended over the water, and would materially serve to hide a fire, which we agreed to light on a piece of flat ground, almost level with the water. We soon collected a sufficient supply of sticks, and had our fire blazing and our fish cooking. The cat-fish, in spite of its ugly name and uglier looks, proved excellent, though somewhat rich—tasting very like an eel.

Having eaten a hearty meal, and cooked the remainder of our fish for the next day, we put out our fire, and then arranged our dwelling for the night. It consisted simply of branches stuck in the ground, and extending about six feet from the trunk of the tree. We closed the entrance, so that no wolves or bears could pay us a visit without some warning; and kept our spears by our sides, to poke at their noses should they make their appearance.

The night passed quietly away, and the next morning at daylight, having caught our horses, we swam them across the stream. The sun soon dried our clothes, and as we had no fear of starving for that day, we rode merrily onward.

Next day we were as successful in fishing at a stream we reached a short time before sundown; but we were not so prudent, for after each of us had caught a couple of fish we continued our sport, when Mike’s hook was carried off. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears, while he surveyed the end of his line with an utterly comical expression of countenance.

“No, bedad! it’s not there,” he exclaimed; “the baste of a fish has got it—ill luck to him! But we shall have the consolation of ateing his brothers; and maybe some day we will come back and hook him.”

We had now but one hook left, and this it was necessary to secure with the greatest care. What a value we set upon that little crooked bit of steel! Our lives might depend on it, for though Mike had set several traps of various descriptions, no animals would consent to be caught by them.

Two days more we travelled on, catching sight of what we believed to be Indian encampments in the distance, but, according to our resolution, carefully avoiding them. Our fish had come to an end, our last handful of pemmican was exhausted, and for a whole day we had no food except a few berries. Towards evening we reached a wood. As there was a stream not far from it, while Mike was engaged in forming our camp I endeavoured to hook a fish.

My efforts were vain; for some time none would bite. At last I felt a tug, and I was sure that I had hooked a fish. Eagerly I drew it towards the bank. It seemed to come willingly enough at first, but there was another tug, and my line almost flew out of the water. I cast a blank look at the end. The hook was gone!

Feeling very disconsolate, I returned to the camp. Mike endeavoured to comfort me for our loss, but he could not supply us with food. We therefore lay down to rest, keeping our spears as usual by our sides, and Mike offering to watch while I slept.

Whether or not he had done so I could not tell, but suddenly I was awakened by feeling the branches at my side roughly shaken; and looking up, what was my dismay to see, by the moonlight streaming through the wood, a big brown bear poking his nose through the bushes, and not live feet from us! Giving Mike a nudge with my elbow, I grasped my spear, and rising on my knee, without a moment’s consideration as to what might be the result, I thrust the spear with all my might into the bear’s chest. With a fierce growl and open jaws it rushed at me,—as it did so, driving the spear still further into its body; whilst I, expecting the movement, sprang to the inner end of our arbour.

Mike in a moment was on his knees,—he had not time to rise to his feet,—and seizing his weapon, drove it into the bear’s neck. Still the creature, though thus desperately wounded, broke through the branches we had put up; but the thick leaves prevented it from seeing us as clearly as it would otherwise have done. The life-blood was flowing from its wounds. Mike managed, as I had done, to get out of Bruin’s way; and before the creature could turn to pursue either of us, over it fell, on the very ground on which we had been sleeping. It struggled for a few seconds, gnashing its teeth, and I had to retreat through the branches to avoid it. Mike, who had managed to escape at the other end, now joined me, and getting hold of the handle of his spear, endeavoured to pull it out of the bear’s body. After a few tugs he succeeded in regaining possession of his weapon; and the first thing he did with it was to plunge it again into the animal’s breast.

“I did it just to make sure,” he remarked. “These bastes have as many lives as a cat; and maybe he would have come to again, and taken to ateing us instead of our ateing him, as I hope we will be afther doing before long.”

Whether or not the last thrust was necessary I do not know, but the bear ceased struggling; and Mike, springing on the body, exclaimed—

“He’s dead enough now, anyhow! And we’ll take the liberty of cutting him up, and getting our teeth into his flesh; for, sure, he has spoilt our rest for the night.”

The centre of the hut was by this time a pool of blood; we therefore dragged out the bear, and while Mike began scientifically to flay the carcass, I collected sticks for a fire. We soon had a good one blazing up, and some of the slices of the bear toasting before it. We were too hungry to wait until the morning.

“Sure, the bear was sent to us to be aten,” observed Mike; “and suppose we get nothing else till we reach home, it will serve to keep us alive till then.”

Having satisfied the cravings of hunger, we cooked some more slices of the best portions of the meat, to serve for our breakfast before starting; and the remainder we cut into thin strips to smoke over the fire, and afterwards to dry in the sun. As both we and our steeds were tired, we agreed not to start till a later hour than usual. There was a risk in remaining, but still it was better to run it, rather than knock up our horses or ourselves.

Mike faithfully kept watch, and the sun was already high in the sky when I awoke. We hung up the strips of bear’s flesh, to give them a drying before we packed them to carry with us. We also did up a portion of the fresh meat, which would, we calculated, last us for some time. Then, having taken a late breakfast, we mounted our horses and continued our journey.

It would take too much time, were I to describe the events of the next few days. After continuing on for the time we supposed it would occupy us in reaching home, we were still unable to recognise any of the features of the country. Mike, however, remarked that as forests and hills and rivers were all much alike, it was no wonder that we could not make out where we were. I proposed directing our course eastward, as we should thus certainly come to some of the settlements. Mike thought that we had not got sufficiently far to the north, and advised that we should continue on in that direction. I gave in to him.

Our horses had hitherto held out well, but suddenly Mike’s began to stagger, and, almost before he could throw himself from its back, down the poor animal fell. What had been the cause of the horse’s death we had not knowledge sufficient to ascertain; only one thing was certain,—that it was dead, and that we must take it by turns to ride, and thus get on at a much slower pace. There was no use stopping to mourn our loss, so, having taken off the saddle and bridle, we did them up in a package, and placed them on the back of my steed. We did this lest the dead horse should be recognised as having belonged to the Indians, and some of their friends might discover it and pursue us.

We had, shortly afterwards, a river to cross. True, we might have made a raft, but as we were both good swimmers we determined to trust to our own arms and legs for getting to the other side. After some persuasion we induced the horse to go in; and then, Mike taking the rein, we each of us put a hand on the saddle and swam over, I on one side and Mike on the other. Though swept down for some distance, we got safe on shore at last, but we had to trudge on in our wet clothes. Not only were we wet, but so was our imperfectly dried meat; the consequence was, that when we came to cook it in the evening it was scarcely eatable. Our clothes, too, were damp when we lay down at night.

I awoke shivering the next morning, though the fire was still blazing near me; and when I tried to get up I was unable to stand. Mike was in a state of great distress. The remainder of our provisions had become worse; but even had the food been of the most delicate description, I could not have touched it.

Mike, faithful fellow that he was, immediately set to work to build a hut, so that I might be sheltered from the heat of the sun as well as from the wind. As soon as it was completed he carried me into it, and closing the entrance, said he would set out in search of food. In a short time he returned with some delicious strawberries, which greatly refreshed me.

For several days he tended me with the greatest care, and was fortunate in trapping several young birds, which, though not very fat, served to restore my strength. I asked him how he had managed to eat the dried bear’s meat, being very sure that he had not touched any of the birds he had caught.

“Bedad, Masther Roger, it’s not the mate at all I’ve been ateing,” he answered. “I found no lack of big fellows with four legs hopping about in the marsh down there, and, for want of better food, I took the liberty of cooking them. They are not so bad, afther all; only the idea of the thing was not plisant at first.”

Mike had been living on frogs, I found out, during all my illness; and as for a whole day he was unable to catch any birds, I begged that he would let me taste the frogs. I confess that I had no reason to complain of the food, for he gave me the hinder legs alone, which I should have supposed to have been those of small birds, had he not told me what they were.

I was at last strong enough to move about, and I proposed that we should at once continue our journey. Mike agreed, therefore, that we should start the next morning.

When daylight arrived, he left the hut to look for the horse while I prepared breakfast. He was a long time absent, and I began to grow anxious, wondering what could have become of him. I waited and waited till I could bear the suspense no longer, so, going to a height at a little distance from the wood in which we had formed our encampment, I gazed around on every side. Should any accident have befallen him, how fearful would be my fate! I was also deeply grieved at the thought of losing him; but I confess that selfish feelings for the time predominated. There was a river, I should have said, in the distance, and on looking in that direction I at length saw a figure moving towards me. It might be Mike, or it might be an Indian, and perhaps an enemy. Still, I did not think of concealing myself.

Great was my joy when, as the person drew nearer, I recognised Mike. I rushed down to meet him; but I saw that there was something wrong, by the expression of his countenance.

“What is the matter, Mike?” I asked. “I was terribly afraid that you were lost.”

“Sure, a great deal is the matther,” he answered. “That baste of a horse has been afther drowning himself; and you will have to walk the rest of the journey on foot, except when I carry you on me shoulders—and that I will do, as long as I have the strength, with the greatest pleasure in the world.”

I assured Mike that I was so glad to see him, that I cared little in comparison for the loss of the horse, for I felt perfectly able to walk any distance.

“Well, that is one comfort; and seeing that we have nothing to carry except our spears, which will help us along, matthers might have been worse,” he answered.

Both of us were determined to make the best of what had happened; so, having eaten our breakfast, and packed up the remainder of our provisions, we recommenced our march forward. Mike insisted on our encamping early in the day, so that he might search for food; and before dark he had procured a supply of the same description as that on which we had been living for several days.

The next morning we went on as before, and I felt my strength considerably restored. Soon after noon, having reached the summit of a height, we saw before us a wide river, connected with a series of small lakes, their borders apparently deeply fringed with tall grass. This, Mike said, he believed must be rice, and it would afford us a change of diet if we could procure some; we accordingly made our way down towards the nearest. We thought, also, that we might catch some unwary ducks, if they were not accustomed to the sight of human beings.

On getting close to the borders, we fancied we heard some sounds from a brood of ducklings. We therefore crept cautiously along the shore, when, to our infinite satisfaction, we caught sight of a couple of ducks, and not one, but two broods. We had got almost near enough to catch hold of the hindermost, when the cries of the mother-ducks warned their young ones to make the best of their way from us. Eager to seize our prey, we dashed into the water after them; when, to escape us, they endeavoured to make their way through the high grass.

We had each of us caught a couple, when what was our astonishment, on pressing aside the grass, to see directly before us a canoe with three girls in it! Two of them were busily employed in beating out the rice into their canoe, while the one who sat in the bow, on hearing the noise we made, turned her head with an inquiring but somewhat alarmed glance towards us. Yes! I could not be mistaken; it was Lily! Just before her sat Dora, while Ashatea occupied the stern.

“Lily, Lily!” I exclaimed. “Don’t you know me?”

“Yes, yes! I do. O Dora, Dora! there is Roger and Mike Laffan. They were not drowned, or killed by the Indians! I always said so,” she cried.

In a moment their paddles were out, and, guided by Ashatea, they were making their way towards us.

“Come into the canoe!” they exclaimed in chorus. “There is room for you; and we will take you to our friends. They will be so glad to know that you are alive, though you both look sadly tired and thin.”

“No wonder, Misthress Lily,” observed Mike; and he gave an account of my illness.

They were all eager to hear how we had escaped; and as the canoe skimmed lightly over the smooth surface of the lake, urged by their paddles, I told them all that had happened to us, from the time we left the camp of our Indian friends. I then asked if Reuben and his companion had ever been heard of.

“Yes; it was they who told us that you had either been drowned or made prisoners by the Indians,” said Lily. “They escaped by running through the rapids at a place where no canoe had ever before ventured. And Reuben has undertaken to come up here and escort us back to the settlement. We have been paying our long-promised visit to Ashatea; and I can assure you she received us in the most hospitable manner. You will like to see the beautiful dome-shaped wigwam her people built for us, with a divan all round, and the floor covered thickly with matting. We felt quite like Indian princesses, when she escorted us into it. It is divided by a curtain into two portions. The inner serves as our bedroom, and the outer as our drawing-room. As there is space for a fireplace in the centre, we agreed that we should not object to spend the winter in it; while at the present season it is delightfully cool and pleasant.”

“Ah, but it is not equal to one of your comfortable houses,” observed Ashatea, who understood all that Lily said, and had, I found, improved greatly in her knowledge of English, having spent a considerable time at the settlement with Lily and Dora.

We had some distance to go, I found, before we could reach the spot where Kepenau and his people were now encamped. The chief had, Lily told me, spent several months there; and had, besides, made a tour with our missionary friend, Martin Godfrey, for the purpose of being instructed in gospel truth, which he was most anxious to impart to his countrymen. The chief had, some time before, learned to read, and had devoted all his attention to the study of the Scriptures, so that he was well able to carry the gospel to others.

My uncles and aunt had been greatly grieved at my supposed loss, and it had made them less contented with the settlement than they had before been; Uncle Mark especially missed the assistance of Mike, though honest Quambo had done his best to supply his place.

Various schemes were afloat for occupying fresh territory, far to the westward. Some speculators had visited our settlement, and my uncles had listened to their descriptions of the advantages to be gained with far more interest than they might otherwise have done.

“I had hoped that we should remain where we are,” said Lily. “I am attached to the place, and should be content to spend the remainder of my days here.”

“You have not got over many of them as yet, Lily,” I said, looking up in her face.

“They may be many, in comparison with those which are to come,” she answered gravely, and I thought mournfully.

“I hope to see you grow into a dear old woman, like Aunt Hannah. I like to think of the future, and I want my future to be happy. However, it will be a long, long time before you grow old, Lily.”

“I already feel old,” she said; “or I did, at least, when they told me that you were lost, Roger, though I did not believe it; but perhaps I shall now feel young again. I have been very sorry, too, about poor Ashatea,” she continued in a whisper; “she has her troubles, though she does not show what she feels by her countenance as much as we white people do. A young Indian, who is said to be superior to most of his people, has long wished to marry her; but as she is a Christian and he is still a heathen, though I believe she likes him very much, neither she nor her father will consent. This has produced a feud between them; and the conduct of Manilick—for that is his name, which, I believe, means a ‘pine-tree’—has caused them a great deal of anxiety. Kepenau fears that Manilick will try to carry off his daughter by force, and he is therefore obliged to keep scouts constantly watching the movements of the young chief. Indeed, when you appeared through the rice grass I fancied that you were Manilick, and that you might have come to carry us all off together; not that I believe he would venture to injure any white people, since he professes to be our friend.”

I was much interested in what Lily told me, for I fancied that Reuben had lost his heart to the Indian girl. Still, superior as she was in many respects to those of her race, she would scarcely have made a fitting wife for a well-educated young man; though the rough traders and hunters of the Far West frequently marry Indian wives, who make them as happy as they wish to be, but are seldom able to bring up their children properly, the chief objection to such alliances.

While Lily was talking to me, Mike was recounting to Dora and Ashatea, in his rich Irish brogue, our various adventures with the Indians. Thus the time was passed while the girls paddled across the lake and up the river till we reached Kepenau’s lodges.

As we neared the shore, we observed a large concourse of people assembled near the wigwams. Many by their costume appeared to be strangers, while others were Kepenau’s own people. I saw that Ashatea was regarding them with great interest. In front, on a rock, sat Kepenau; and I judged by his attitude and the tone of his voice that he was addressing them on a matter of importance, while they listened with rapt attention. His right hand pointed to the sky, while his left was directed towards the earth; and by the words which reached me I knew that he was preaching the gospel—setting before the people the way of eternal life.

We all stopped at some distance to listen, and so intent were he and his auditors that none perceived us. Ashatea, who stood next to Lily, was regarding the scene with even greater interest than we were. I saw her eye directed towards a young Indian, who by the ornaments on his dress I guessed was a chief. I pointed him out to Lily.

“Yes,” she said, “that is Manilick. I am very glad to see him here, as I hope he is receiving the truths which Kepenau is endeavouring to impart.”

Ashatea was, I had no doubt, hoping the same.

Kepenau had nearly brought his address to a conclusion when we arrived. Now, rising from his seat, he took Manilick’s hand, and spoke to him affectionately, as it seemed to me. The young chief hung down his head, and answered only in monosyllables.

Kepenau, after speaking in the same way to others, offered up a prayer, in which several of his own people joined. Not till then did he discover us. With a look of surprise he at once advanced to greet Mike and me, his countenance as well as his words exhibiting his satisfaction. He afterwards turned again to the young chief, and addressed him. He had, until now, I found, suspected that Manilick had instigated the attack on us, if he had not taken part in it, and he wished openly to exonerate him. Kepenau questioned me as to the dress and appearance of the Indians who had made us prisoners. From my description he was satisfied that they were really Sioux, and that Manilick had nothing to do with them.

We were anxious to return as soon as possible to the settlement, to relieve the minds of our relatives but that evening, in consequence of the fatigue and hardships I had endured, I was again taken ill. Kepenau had a wigwam carefully built for me, in which Lily and Dora assisted Mike in watching over me. Good food, however, was all I needed; and as our Indian friends had abundance of fish and game, I was soon well again.

Just as I had recovered, we one evening saw a large canoe approaching the camp. Who should step out of it but Uncle Mark, accompanied by Reuben, Quambo, and several men! They had brought a quantity of goods to supply their Indian friends.

As may be supposed, Uncle Mark was delighted to find that I was alive; and Quambo, in the exuberance of his joy, embraced Mike.

“But where de fiddle?” he exclaimed, after their salutations had ceased. “Just play one tune. It do my heart good, and we set all de camp jigging.”

“Och, botheration! but the Ridskins have got it—bad luck to the spalpeens! and sorra a one of thim can play a tune, or I would not mind it so much,” answered Mike.

“But you must try to get him back,” observed Quambo; “if dey not play on him, dey not want him.”

“I’m mighty afraid it’s burned, though,” said Mike, with a sorrowful countenance.

When Uncle Mark heard of Mike’s loss, he told Kepenau and Manilick. The latter had that day paid a visit to the chief. They were both of opinion that should the fiddle be in existence, it might, by proper diplomatic proceedings, be recovered; and, greatly to Mike’s joy, Manilick undertook to ascertain what had become of it, and, if possible, to restore it to its owner.

Chapter Eight.

Uncle Mark’s canoe—Our start for home—The rattlesnakes—Mike longs for his fiddle—Our night encampment—Jacques Lerocque’s fishing joke—Mike’s terror at the supposed Indian ambuscade—The phantom bear—Our arrival at home—Kakaik and the fiddle—Mike’s delight—Kepenau’s second visit—Reuben’s chagrin—Mr Simon Spark’s advent—His glowing description of the far north-west—The forest on fire—Our hut destroyed—Our escape.

The canoe in which Uncle Mark had come up had been built by some Indians on the lake, who intended to dispose of it to the fur-traders; but, in consequence of some dispute, they had refused to let them have it, and had thereafter sold it to my uncles at a reduced price.

It was of far superior construction to those we had hitherto seen used, though of the same materials.

Formed of large sheets of birch-bark, kept in shape by delicate ribs of lance-wood or willow, it was nearly forty feet in length, and sharp at both ends; and the seams where the bark was sewn together were covered by a thick resinous gum, which became hard in the water. Like the small canoes, it required careful handling; for, having no keel, it was easily turned over. It was impelled by six or eight paddles,—three or four on one side, and the same number on the other; one man steering with a paddle, as well as paddling.

Uncle Mark had come down one river, then across the lake, and up another river, instead of the shorter route along the course of several narrower streams with rapids, which necessitated the same number of portages. By this means he was able to bring a cargo of cottons, cutlery, and other heavy articles. He purposed returning by the same route, though it might have been possible to carry the canoe across the portages, as the bales of peltries occupied less space than the cargo he had brought. There was sufficient room, too, for the four additional people the canoe had now to carry.

The day before we were to start, Ashatea appeared to be very unhappy. It was, I concluded, at the thought of parting from Lily; but Lily afterwards told me that it was more on account of Manilick, who still refused to embrace Christianity.

“We must pray for him,” said Lily. “Kepenau has taken every opportunity of speaking to him, and putting the truth plainly before him; but though he would very gladly make Ashatea his wife, he still remains firm in his heathen belief.”

We could no longer delay our return home, as the autumn was advancing, and before long we might expect storms and frosts, which would make our proposed voyage in the canoe both trying and dangerous.

The whole tribe came down to the bank of the river at early dawn to see us off, as Uncle Mark wished to cross the lake before sunset. We should have to encamp for the night, and continue our voyage up the river next morning.

We made good progress down the stream, having the current with us, and entered the lake just as the sun rose above what appeared like a sea horizon, though we knew that the shore was not far off on the opposite side. The calm lake shone like a burnished mirror. The shore we were leaving was tinted with various colours, the higher ground here crowned by groups of spruce-firs, and in other places rocky and barren, but still picturesque in the extreme.

I took a paddle and sat by Lily. Reuben and Mike also made themselves of use; while Uncle Mark sat with Dora at the bottom of the canoe. It was the first voyage I had ever taken on the lake, and Lily and I agreed that it would be very pleasant to have a canoe or small vessel of our own, and to cruise round the shores, exploring every inlet and creek.

As the sun rose the heat became intense; not a breath of air stirred the surface of the lake, and Lily, who had taken off her hat, was very glad to put it on again. After paddling for some distance we landed to breakfast, or rather to dine; for we did not intend to stop again till we went on shore to encamp for the night.

Wild rocks fringed the shore, and we had to exercise great caution in approaching it, for the slightest touch would have knocked a hole in the bow of our canoe, and we should very soon have had the water rushing in. We had, therefore, to look out for some opening into which we could slowly paddle till we found a landing-place. After making two or three ineffectual attempts, we succeeded in finding a bank with an almost perpendicular side, on to which we could at once step from the canoe.

Immediately after landing, all hands set to work to collect wood for a fire. An abundance lay on the ground, driven there by the wind. Lily and Dora undertook to cook the breakfast, the materials for which consisted of eggs, fish, maize cakes, and dandelion coffee—the roots having been prepared by Aunt Hannah. We soon had a fire blazing up, when, as Uncle Mark declared, Lily and Dora performed their duties in a most efficient manner.

Just as we had finished, one of the men, who were seated at some little distance from us, started up, exclaiming, “Take care! take care! there are rattlesnakes near us.”

Scarcely had he spoken when I saw one of the venomous creatures, the sound of whose tail the man had heard, rearing its head not five feet off from Lily. In another moment it might spring on her. Fortunately a long thin stick lay close to me, which I seized, and with all my might struck the snake a blow on the head which brought it to the ground, while I cried out to Lily to run to a distance. Almost in an instant the snake recovered itself, and sounding its rattle as it moved forward, made an attempt to spring at me. Again I struck it; and Mike coming to my assistance, it was quickly despatched.

Where one rattlesnake is found, there are generally many more. Scarcely two minutes had passed ere another made its appearance, crawling out of a hole under a tree. While Mike and Reuben went to attack it, Uncle Mark advised that we should all get on board without delay. Our breakfast and cooking things were quickly packed up; and the second rattlesnake being destroyed, Mike and Reuben followed us into the canoe. Scarcely had we shoved off when three or four more rattlesnakes were seen, and we felt thankful that none of us had been bitten by them. We had literally encamped in the midst of a colony of the venomous reptiles.

We had to exercise the same caution in going out of the harbour as on entering it; after which we continued our course to the eastward at a moderate distance from the shore.

“The day was, Masther Roger, when you and I would have been very happy to have fallen in with as many of those same snakes as we could have caught,” observed Mike to me. “They’re mighty good ateing, barring the head and tail. At laste, the Ridskins hold to that notion.”

I was, I confess, very thankful that we had not been compelled to eat the creatures; though I did not know what hunger might have induced me to do.

As we paddled on, Uncle Mark asked Lily and Dora to sing. They were not girls to offer excuses, and declare that they were out of voice.

“What shall it be?” said Lily.

“Anything you like,” replied Dora; and immediately they commenced a melody which, although I had heard it before, sounded very sweet on the calm water.

Reuben and I joined in chorus; and the men, as well they might, applauded heartily. Then one of them commenced a canoe-song, in which they all joined. As soon as they ceased, Lily and Dora gave us a third; and so we went on, singing and paddling over the calm water.

“Och! but it’s a sad pity that them Ridskins have got me beautiful fiddle!” exclaimed Mike. “Would I not have been giving you all a tune! Sure, if I do not recover it I will be breaking me heart intirely.”

He said this in so melancholy and yet comical a tone, that Reuben and I burst out laughing. We reminded him that our Indian friend had promised to try and recover his beloved instrument, and by degrees he regained his spirits.

The weather continued fine, and the water smooth as before. As I gazed over the vast expanse spread out on our left, I could scarcely fancy myself navigating an inland lake, small though it was compared to many in that region. I thought, too, of how it would appear should a storm arise, and the now tranquil surface be turned into foaming billows by the furious wind. Our canoe, with sides not much thicker than a few sheets of brown paper, would have been a frail bark for navigating the lake under such circumstances.

Evening was approaching, and though we had paddled on all day we could not as yet see the mouth of the river, near which we intended to camp. We redoubled our efforts, therefore, to gain it during daylight.

The sun had almost reached the watery horizon to the west, when we espied a clump of tall trees which marked the spot towards which we were directing our course. Having rounded a point, we ran into a bay with a grass-covered shore; and here we were able to land without difficulty.

We unloaded the canoe, and carried our packages up to a grassy spot underneath the trees. The men immediately set to work to collect bark with which to form a wigwam for Lily and Dora; we contenting ourselves with a lean-to, which would afford us protection from the night wind. The usual fire was lighted, and as we were all very hungry, no time was lost in cooking supper. As soon as it was over Lily and Dora retired to their abode, as they had been up and ready to start some time before dawn.

We sat round the fire spinning yarns, as the sailors say, and singing songs. We were speaking of the necessity of trying to get some more fresh fish, as our stock was nearly exhausted, and Mike had told the party how successful we had been till our hooks were bitten off.

“But there is a place not far from here where we can catch fish without hooks,” was the answer.

“Sure, and I should like to see it!” exclaimed Mike. “But how is it to be done?”

“Why, with nets, to be sure,” said the canoeman. “And if you like to come with me, I will show you how I do it.”

Mike at once agreed to the proposal.

Hearing that some nets which would suit the purpose had been left en cache with other articles close at hand, Reuben and I and another man agreed to accompany them.

Jacques Lerocque, Mike’s friend, was an amusing fellow, and fond of practical joking. It struck me at the time that he was up to some trick; but he put on so grave a face, and spoke so earnestly, that my suspicions were banished.

On reaching the cache, which was close to the camp, I found that the nets were something in the form of hand-nets, only larger. We were also provided with a lantern containing a thick tallow candle.

“You see how to use these nets!” said Jacques. “We put them into the water, and then hold the candle at the further end. When the fish see the light, they swim towards it and are caught.”

The plan seemed very feasible, and Mike declared that he thought it was a mighty convenient way of obtaining a supper.

We were to fish in twos; one man to hold the net, and the other the light. Reuben agreed to accompany Mike, and I was to take the other man; while Jacques said he would superintend operations, promising us an abundance of sport if we would follow his directions.

Going on for half a mile over hard ground, we reached a marsh which was connected with the lake.

“It is very full of fish, which come in to feed on the insects clinging to the reeds,” observed Jacques, “But you must not mind wetting your feet.”

However, having so recently recovered from a severe illness, I thought it wiser, when it came to the point, not to do this; so Jacques took my intended companion with him.

“Here, Master Reuben, you take one bit of candle and I the other,” said Jacques, cutting the piece in the lantern in two.

Reuben and Mike at once plunged into the marsh, and made their way through the rushes. I heard their voices, although from where I stood I could not see them. Presently Mike exclaimed—

“Here comes a big one! Howld the light furder back, Masther Reuben, and, bedad, we’ll have him. Sure, though, he’s gone off; come a little furder. There he is now; this time he’ll be afther getting caught, sure enough.”

Then the sound of splashing and the crackling of the reeds reached my ears, when presently Mike cried out,—“Och! murther, but what are these bastes about? They’ll be biting off our noses, and bunging up our eyes! But we must have the fish, though. Och! murther, murther!”

Reuben’s voice joined in chorus, though with varied exclamations.

I ran to a point near the spot which my friends had reached, and there I saw Mike bending down, holding the net in one hand, while he endeavoured to beat off with his hat a swarm of mosquitoes which were buzzing thickly round him. Reuben stood near holding out the candle, and a second net in his other hand, which prevented him from defending his face from the venomous bites of his persevering assailants. Still, though his countenance exhibited the sufferings he was enduring, he manfully kept his post.

Just then the most fearful shrieks and cries rent the air, sounding like the war-whoop of a band of savage Indians.

“Och, but the Ridskins are upon us!” cried out Mike. “We must run for it, Masther Reuben dear. Niver mind the nets, or the fish, or the mosquito bastes. It’s too much for any mortal man to stand, with the savages into the bargain. Come along as fast as your legs can carry you; but we will find Masther Roger first. We must not lave him behind to be scalped; and as to Jacques and Tom Hodges, if they have not taken care of themselves, it’s more than we can do for them.”

Mike was rapidly uttering these expressions while, floundering along, he made his way up to where I was standing. Whether or not Reuben was aware of the true state of the case I could not tell, but he was certainly following much more leisurely than might have been expected. I had that moment caught sight of the grinning countenances of Jacques and Tom over the rushes, and guessed that the former was playing off one of his tricks.

When Mike saw me, he exclaimed, “Run, Masther Roger, run! sure, don’t you hear the shrieks of the Indians? They will have the scalps off our heads, if we don’t show them our heels, before many minutes are over.”

I burst out laughing, and pointed to our two companions, who, however, at that moment bobbed down and hid themselves among the rushes.

Mike now began to suspect that a trick had been played him; but nothing ever made him angry, so, laughing as I was doing, he exclaimed—

“Come out of that, ye spalpeens! It will be many a day before you get me to go fishing with you again.”

Jacques, having had his joke, recovered the nets, and being well experienced in the style of sport, in a short time caught half a dozen fine fish, with which we returned to the camp. I was glad to roll myself up in my blanket, and go to sleep under the shelter of our lean-to; but the rest of the party sat up cooking and eating one of our prizes.

I was awoke before long by the sound of loud growlings, which made Uncle Mark and several of the party start to their feet, with guns ready to receive the bear from whom they expected an attack. Recollecting Jacques’ propensity to practical joking, I lay quiet; and I heard my uncle come back soon afterwards, growling almost as much as the supposed bear, and observing that the brute had got off, though it must have been close to the camp. I said nothing, though I suspected who had performed the part of the bear. The next morning I looked about, but could discover no traces of such an animal. Jacques, if he had represented it, kept his own counsel; and after we had started I heard him complaining that his night’s rest should have been so disagreeably disturbed.

Lily and Dora had been awakened, but they, trusting to the vigilance of their protectors, had wisely gone to sleep again, being very sure that, did any savage animal approach the camp, we should soon give a good account of it.

We had a long paddle up the river, and had again to encamp, but no event worthy of mention occurred; and the next day, late in the evening, we reached the settlement. Lily and Dora and Reuben went to their respective homes; and after we had paid a visit to Uncle Stephen and Aunt Hannah, to convince them that we were still alive notwithstanding our perilous adventures, we returned to the hut, where we were welcomed by our three canine friends, which had been left to guard it under charge of one of Uncle Stephen’s men.

The autumn soon passed by, and once more the winter was upon us. We had plenty of work in felling trees, and either burning them or dragging them over the snow to places where we intended to cut them up. Occasionally we paid a visit to the settlement; indeed, I was always glad of an excuse for passing a few hours with Lily when I could spare the time. I looked in, also, on my friends the Claxtons. Both they and my uncles, as Lily had told me, were, I observed, becoming more and more discontented with the settlement, as were likewise a number of other people, and the attractions of the new regions of the far west were the constant subject of conversation. We at the hut troubled ourselves much less about such matters than did our friends. We had plenty of hard work, and were pretty well tired when the day’s labours were over. Mike declared that the only drawback to his happiness was the loss of his fiddle, which he never expected to see again.

“Dat am de cause ob my grief,” observed Quambo, putting his hand to his heart. “If you did get it, would not we hab a dance! We would kick up de heels all night long, to make up for lost time.”

It was some days after this that we one evening saw an Indian coming through the opening which had now been made down to the river, walking on snow-shoes, and with a package of some size on his back.

“Here comes Kakaik! I wonder what him bring!” exclaimed Quambo, running forward to meet our visitor.

Kakaik having made signs that he had got something valuable, Mike advanced with open mouth and outstretched hands. An idea had occurred to him.

“What is it, me friend?” he asked eagerly.

The Indian began a long speech.

“Och, man alive! just tell us what it’s all about,” cried Mike, who could no longer restrain his curiosity.

By this time Uncle Mark had come out of the hut. The Indian, however, would go on with his address, of which we did not understand a word. Mike kept all the time pointing to the package, and entreating him to undo it.

At length the Indian stopped and commenced untying the thongs which secured the mysterious parcel, and exposed to the delighted eyes of Mike—his fiddle and bow.

“Sure, I thought so!” exclaimed the Irishman, eagerly grasping his treasure. “Erin go bragh!—long life to yese, me jewil!” and clapping the instrument to his chin, he made an attempt to play on it; but it required, as may be supposed, no small amount of tuning. Mike at once set to work, however, turning the keys and drawing the bow over the strings, all the time uttering expressions of gratitude to the Indian, and to all concerned in the recovery of the fiddle. The moment he had tuned it to his satisfaction, he began playing one of the merriest of jigs, in unison with his own joyous spirits.

Quambo on hearing the sounds started up, snapping his fingers, kicking up his legs, and whirling round and round in time to the tune. The Indian, grave as was his exterior, forthwith joined him, out-vying him in his leaps, and adding the wildest shrieks and shouts. I could not long resist their example, and in a few minutes even Uncle Mark was dancing away as vigorously as any of us; Mike all the time kicking his heels, and bobbing his head with a rapidity which seemed to threaten the dislocation of his neck. It was the wildest scene imaginable, and any one observing us would have supposed that we had all gone mad.

At last we had to stop from sheer want of breath, and on entering the hut Kakaik informed us that it was through the exertions of Manilick that the fiddle had been recovered. He had paid half-a-dozen yards of cotton, the same number of strings of beads, a looking-glass, and a frying-pan, for the treasure. It had been regarded with reverential awe by the possessors. He sent it, however, as a gift to the rightful owner, and declined to receive anything in return.

“Faix, thin, I will be grateful to him till the end of me days,” answered Mike; “and I hope that you will receive, for your throuble in coming, Masther Kakaik, my ’baccy-box, and half-a-dozen red cotton handkerchiefs for your wife and childer, all of them bran-new, except one which I wore as a night-cap when I last had a cowld, and another which has been in use for a matther of a week or so.”

Kakaik accepted the proffered gifts with due gratitude, and further informed us that the Indians from whom Mike and I escaped had succeeded in regaining their encampment, though the fire had been close to their heels; and until Manilick’s ambassador visited them they had supposed that we were destroyed. By the manner in which we had got away from them, we were very much raised in their opinion; though they threatened, should they ever catch hold of us, to have our scalps off our heads.

“Much obliged to the gintlemen,” remarked Mike; “but we will not let them do that same if we can help it, and we’ll show them that the Palefaces have as much brains in their skulls as the Ridskins, cunning as they think themselves.”

Kakaik consented to stop with us for the night, and we had several more tunes from Mike’s fiddle, and another dance, almost as boisterous as the first. Kakaik, after remaining a day with us, took his departure, loaded with as many articles as he could well carry; some forced on him by Mike and Quambo, others being given by my uncle and myself as presents to our friends. I should have said that Kakaik also told us that Manilick was frequently at Kepenau’s camp, and appeared to be favourably received by Ashatea.

Mike’s fiddle was a constant source of amusement to us during the remainder of the winter.

Spring returned, whereupon Kepenau paid us another visit. He said that he and his people had determined to move further westward, into an unoccupied territory, and he feared that some time would pass before he could again see our faces, but that he hoped occasionally to come with the peltries he and his people might obtain.

I accompanied him to the settlement. Lily was much grieved to find that she and Ashatea were not likely to meet again for a long time.

“I thought that she would have become like one of us,” she said, “and live in a comfortable house, and adopt our habits.”

“A flower of the forest cannot bloom on the mountain top; nor can one born in the wilderness live happily in a city,” answered Kepenau. “Though she may not adopt the habits of the Palefaces, she loves them, and the true faith they have taught her, and will ever pray to the same God they worship to protect them from danger.”

Reuben scarcely attempted to conceal his disappointment, and even offered to accompany Kepenau back to his lodges; but the chief shook his head.

“If it is not well for my daughter to dwell among your people, still worse would it be for you to live with us, natives of the land,” he answered. “Stay with your parents, and support and protect them, and you will be blessed, and made far happier than were you to follow the desires of your heart.”

After spending some days with us, Kepenau took his departure.

We were, as usual, very busy getting in the crops on our newly cleared ground, and carrying on other agricultural pursuits. The summer was intensely hot,—far hotter than I ever recollected it. The crops had come up early, but the locusts appeared and destroyed every growing thing which had risen above the surface. This greatly disappointed those who had looked forward to an early harvest.

About this time a stranger arrived at the settlement. He quickly made himself known as Mr Simon Sparks; and said, moreover, that he was the chief land agent of a new territory far to the west, which wonderfully surpassed our settlement in richness of soil, and fertility, and abundance of game. His accounts were eagerly listened to, and my uncles were completely carried away, as were a large portion of the community. Still, some of the older people were of the opinion that well should be let alone; and that if we took as much pains in cultivating the ground as we should have to do were we to make a long journey, we should prove, notwithstanding the difficulties which might beset us, as successful in the end.

Mr Sparks, however, was not a man to be defeated in his object; he continued arguing the point till he had won over a good many adherents. Still, he had not gained a sufficient number to suit his purpose.

“Well, friends,” he said, mounting his horse one evening, as a large number of the inhabitants were assembled in the chief open place in the village, which was designated the Square, “do I look like a man who would mislead you, or fail to carry out my promises? I have slain many a bear, hunted the buffalo across the prairies, and, single-handed, fought and defeated scores of Redskins. With such fellows as you at my back, even if ten thousand were to attempt to stop us we would force our way onward, and send them to the right-about. What are you afraid of? If rivers are to be crossed, we can form rafts and swim our cattle over. There is grass on the plains, and game in the forests to supply all our wants; and a glorious country at the end of the journey, where happy homes can be established, and wealth obtained for ourselves and our children. I ask you again—Do you take me for a man who would bamboozle you; or do I look like one who will prove true as steel, and fulfil all his engagements, as an honest man should do? Those who believe that I speak the truth, hold up their hands; and those who don’t, keep them down, and we part friends notwithstanding.”

Few of us could help confessing that, as Mr Simon Sparks, with his tall sinewy figure, firm-set lips, and keen eyes, sat there on his strongly-built mustang, his rifle held across his saddle, he did look like a man very capable of doing what he said he had done, and what he said he would do. Nearly all hands were raised up.

“Thank you, friends,” he said; “I will stay another day with you, and we will talk the matter over again. If a fair number are determined to move, we will go together; if not, I shall soon find others who know their interests better than you seem to do.”

Saying this, he dismounted, and went to spend the evening with Mr Claxton, who was one of his chief adherents.

I returned home to report to Uncle Mark what Mr Sparks had said; but he was doubtful about moving till he had secured a purchaser for the land we had cleared with so much labour.

We were about to turn in for the night, when Quambo, who had been to look after the cattle and pigs, reported that he observed a peculiar glare through the opening towards the west, though no camp-fire was likely to be burning in that direction. We all hurried out to look at what the black had described, and saw the brilliancy of the glare rapidly increasing.

“It is such a fire as it will take many bucketfuls of water to put out!” exclaimed Uncle Mark. “As I live, boys, the forest is in flames! And they are likely to extend pretty rapidly, too, with the wood dry as it now is.”

“What had we better do?” I asked.

“Collect our cattle, pigs, and poultry, take our guns and ammunition, and a supply of food, and get out of the wood as fast as possible,” he answered, quite calmly. “In a few minutes, if I mistake not, we shall have the forest blazing away all round us; and nothing that I know of can save the hut from destruction. It will be fortunate if the village itself escapes, for the forest comes close up to it on two sides; and there will be no time to clear away the trees, and put an open belt between the houses and the fire.”

Influenced by Uncle Mark’s spirit, we immediately set to work to drive in the cattle, set the pigs free, and collect the poultry. We loaded the waggon with as many articles as it could carry; and harnessing the oxen, commenced our retreat.

We were not a moment too soon, for already the forest to the westward was in a blaze, extending from the river far away to the north. A narrow belt of trees alone remained between us and the conflagration, the dense smoke, curling in thick wreaths, being sent by the wind towards us, and making respiration difficult. While Uncle Mark took charge of the waggon, the rest of us drove on the other animals, directing our course to the settlement by the only open road. We knew, indeed, that in a short time we might have the fire on both sides of us.

The flames rose up high above the tops of the trees in the rear. The crackling of the burning branches, and the loud reports as the thick trunks were split in two by the heat, sounded alarmingly near—the whole landscape before us being lighted up by the glare shed from the burning forest. We might, we believed, escape with our lives, were we to leave the waggon and the cattle, but that was very far from Uncle Mark’s thoughts. By voice and whip we urged on the oxen, and shouting, shrieking, and using our thick sticks, we endeavoured to drive forward our refractory charges.

The inhabitants of the village must have seen the conflagration long before this, and would, we hoped, be preparing for their escape.

I remembered the fire on the prairie. Then only the grass was burning, but now we should soon have the tall trees in flames on both sides of us. In a few minutes the flaming masses might be tumbling down on our heads, and overwhelming us. The thought of this prevented us from relaxing our efforts. We ran here and there flourishing our sticks, shouting and bawling till we were hoarse; still, we kept ahead of the fire, although it was advancing rapidly in our track. The hut, outbuildings, and enclosures must already, we knew, be reduced to a mass of cinders; but there was no use thinking about that. We should be fortunate, did we preserve the more valuable part of our property.

At length the road became wider, and we got among clearings, which would somewhat stop the progress of the flames, did they not impede them altogether. We dared not halt, however, but pushed on, directing our course to the south side of the village, where the country was completely open, and no trees left standing. The river, too, ran in that direction, and some flat marshes on the banks would afford security to all fugitives.

I was thinking all the time of Lily, and my uncle and aunt; and had not my duty compelled me to remain with the cattle, I would certainly have hurried on to warn them, in case they should not have discovered their danger. However, I felt sure that Uncle Mark would not have forgotten them, and that he was satisfied they would take the necessary steps to escape. Uncle Stephen had also a waggon in which to convey his household goods out of the way of danger.

As we got near the village, we were satisfied that the inhabitants were aroused; for already several waggons were moving forward in the direction we were going, while we heard the shouts of the men driving others in the rear. Fortunate, indeed, were those who had waggons, as the rest of the people would have to carry on their shoulders everything they wished to save.

The wind, which had increased, hurried forward the fire with terrific rapidity, and drove the smoke in dense masses round us, so that, bright as were the flames, we could often see but a short distance ahead. The shouts and cries of the terrified settlers increased in loudness. All hope that the village would be preserved must by this time have been abandoned. The fire was coming up from the west and north-west, leaping at a bound, as it seemed, over the clearings; the burning branches, driven by the wind, quickly igniting all combustible matters amid which they fell.

We at last reached the ground I have spoken of; but not without the loss of some of our hogs, which had got away from us, in spite of our efforts to drive them forward. Having early taken the alarm, we were the first to arrive, but others from the village quickly followed; when we immediately set to work to cut down every bush and blade of grass which might catch fire.

In a short time I heard Uncle Stephen’s voice, and thankful indeed was I to see Lily and Aunt Hannah safe. They had found time to load their waggon with the most valuable part of their property and a store of provisions. The Claxtons directly afterwards arrived, and reported that there were still several persons remaining in the village, who believed that the conflagration would not reach it, and that they would be perfectly safe. We were, however, too busily engaged in clearing the ground to think of anything else.

It was fortunate that these precautions had been taken. In a short time, as we looked towards the village, we saw the flames rising up in all directions. The fire came working its way along; in some places in thin lines, in others like a wave rolling over the sandy beach, and consuming everything in its course.

Before the night was half over a semicircle of flame was blazing up round the spot we occupied; the river, which was here very broad, preventing the progress of the fire in that direction. Still, a burning brand, driven across a narrow part by the wind, might set some dry grass or bushes on fire; and it was impossible to say how far it might then extend. Frequently the stifling smoke almost prevented our breathing, and we had to throw ourselves on the ground to escape it.

All night long did the fire rage round us. The heat was intense, and the smoke and fine black dust blown over us was most oppressive. Happily, we had water near to quench our thirst, blackened though it was with ashes; and we had reason to be thankful that we had reached a place of safety—the only one near the settlement where we could have escaped destruction.

The women and children were placed in the waggons, where they endeavoured to obtain some rest. The ground was too wet for the men to lie down; and we therefore either leaned against the wheels of the waggons or walked about. Indeed, we had ample occupation in beating out the fire, which ran along the most dry portions of the ground we occupied, wherever there was herbage of any description.

Morning came: but the fire raged on; and there was but little chance of our being able to move for some days to come. We had, however, no lack of meat; for, besides the pigs and poultry, several deer and numerous small animals rushed for safety towards our camp—only to meet the fate they were attempting to avoid. Two or three bears, also endeavouring to escape from the flames, were shot. No wolves or foxes came near us: they had probably, exercising their cunning, made their escape from the burning forest against the wind.

Daylight showed us such a scene of desolation as I hope never again to look on. Not a vestige of the village remained; while blackened trunks—some with a few of their stouter limbs still branching from them, others reduced to mere black poles, and many burned down to stumps—appeared in every direction. The crops had disappeared; and not even a fence was standing.

Thus the settlers, with sorrowful countenances, beheld the labour of years destroyed.

Chapter Nine.

The settlers determine to accept Mr Sparks’ offers—Lily’s sorrow at leaving the old settlement—Mode of advance—Sabbath observance on the march—We are left behind, in consequence of our waggon breaking down—Our great want of water—A dangerous descent—The horrid spectacle of the wolves—Our oxen flagging, I proceed forward alone in the direction of a fire in the distance—My joy upon discovering our friends—Reuben offers to accompany me back—We get lost—Faithful Mike finds us—Strange horsemen—Mike, Reuben, and I taken prisoners by the Sioux.

The fire gave more support to the schemes of Mr Sparks than did all his arguments and glowing descriptions. Mr Claxton, my uncles, and most of the settlers who possessed the means of transport, resolved to accept his offers, and at once prepared for the journey. Those who had no waggons made up their minds to remain where they were, and to cultivate the ground, which the ashes would render more fertile than before. The grass, after the first rain, would spring up and afford a rich pasture for their cattle; and the charred trunks would enable them to rebuild their log-huts and put up fences. I had reason afterwards to believe that they chose the wisest course; though at the time I was well pleased at the thought of the long journey we were to take, and the adventures we might expect to meet with.

I was surprised to find that Lily did not enter into my feelings. “I would far rather have stayed where we were,” she said. “The trees would soon have become green again, and we could have cultivated the ground as before, and the river and hills would have remained the same; though, as Uncle Stephen and aunt, and you, Roger, wish it, I am ready to go.”

My uncles had saved a bag of dollars, and the Claxtons and others were provided with cash. Therefore, as soon as the country was sufficiently cool to enable the waggons to move, two were sent off to the eastward to bring back such stores as were required; while the main body began to move southward, along the bank of the river, to a spot where we intended to cross.

Our course for some distance was to be to the southward; after which we were to turn to the south-west till we reached the prairie. I cannot describe each day’s journey. In front marched a body of a dozen men, with their axes, to clear the road. The waggons, drawn by long teams of oxen, followed; and the loose cattle, driven by the younger men and boys, brought up the rear.

While no fears existed of an attack from the Indians, the axemen generally marched a day in advance of us, to cut a road through the woods. Another party, acting as hunters, ranged on one side or the other of the line of march in search of deer, bears, or any other animals, and birds; and they contrived, when possible, to reach the camping-ground an hour or two before the waggons, so that they might get the fires lighted, and have the game they had killed cooking on the spits, in readiness for the women and children. Reuben and I undertook to hunt, since we were as good shots as any of the emigrants. We always went together, and seldom failed to bring in game of some sort.

As evening approached we made our way towards the spot fixed on for the encampment. Before nightfall the main body usually arrived, and the waggons were arranged in a circle, so as to form a sort of fortification in case of attack from the Indians: though we had no great reason to apprehend such an event at that period of our journey. No time was lost in commencing supper; and as soon as it was over the women and children went to rest inside the waggons, while the men not on guard lay down either under them or in the neighbourhood of the fires. A spot was always chosen—either by the side of a stream or near some pool—where the cattle could find water and good grass. They were then turned out to graze, under charge of a few armed men. Of course, we all kept our rifles by our sides, so that we might be ready to defend ourselves at a moment’s notice.

We met with very few Indians, and those we fell in with seemed disposed to be friendly. They saw that we were merely passing through their hunting-grounds, and had apparently no objection to our killing the comparatively small amount of game we met with. Had we shown any intention of settling, the case might have been different.

We thus pushed on for many days together, halting only on the Sabbath, to obtain the rest which both we and our cattle required. This was a day we all enjoyed. One of the elders conducted a service, and the wilderness we were traversing resounded for the time with praise and prayer.

Thus we travelled on day after day; but we made but slow progress through the densely-wooded country, having sometimes to cut our way amid the trees, though we were generally able to find a passage without felling them. Occasionally, however, we were compelled to do even that, and to drag the huge trunks out of the road, before the waggons could proceed. We had also frequently to cross rivers. When no ford could be found, we built large rafts, on which the waggons were ferried over, while the oxen gained the opposite bank by swimming. They were accustomed to the undertaking; and, strange as it may seem, we never lost any by this means.

At length we gained an open but more desert region. The ground was stony and uneven, and we had rocky hills to ascend and dark gorges to pass through. Water was scarce, and we had often to carry sufficient to supply our wants for a couple of days; while our cattle suffered greatly from thirst. We could no longer hunt in small parties, for fear of encountering hostile Indians; but we were able to kill game without going to any great distance from the camp, as we found several species of deer inhabiting those wilds.

My uncle’s waggon was one day bringing up the rear of the train; and our water being nearly exhausted, we were pushing forward as fast as the oxen could move, in the hope of reaching a stream before dark, when one of the wheels came off, and the waggon, in falling over, suffered considerable damage. Under other circumstances, the train would have stopped till our waggon was put to rights; but as most of the oxen were suffering from thirst, and many of the party had no water remaining, it was important for them to push forward without delay. We were therefore compelled to remain by ourselves; but no Indians had as yet been seen in this part of the country, and we hoped that we should escape without being attacked.

My uncles were not men to be frightened by difficulties. They and Mike, with Quambo and I, immediately set to work to do what was necessary. We unloaded the waggon, and commenced repairing the damage it had received. This, however, took us some time, and it was quite dark before we got the wheel on again and the waggon reloaded. Having been more provident than the rest of the party, we were able to wet our beasts’ muzzles, and still have sufficient water to last ourselves for a few hours.

As we wished to overtake our companions as soon as possible, we immediately pushed forward, and soon got into a somewhat more level country than we had lately been passing through; but the ground was very hard, and in the darkness we could not perceive the tracks made by those in advance. Had an Indian guide been with us, he would undoubtedly have discovered them; but we had to trust to our own sagacity, and we had not gone far when we found that we had got out of the right road. We did our utmost to regain it, but in vain. Still, believing that we were going in the proper direction, we proceeded onwards. The stars came out brightly from the sky, and we shaped our course as directly as we could by them.

While Uncle Stephen drove, Uncle Mark and I, with Mike and Quambo, marched on either side, our faithful dogs following at our heels. We kept a look-out in every direction, lest we should chance to be observed by a band of Indians, who, seeing a small party, might pounce down upon us; still, we were all accustomed to look on the bright side of things, and though we were aware of the possible danger, we were not unnecessarily alarmed. Our chief anxiety arose from a fear of not finding water for our thirsty beasts. They might hold out during the cool hours of night; but should they not be supplied with the necessary fluid, they must in a short time succumb, and dreadful indeed would be the consequences to ourselves.

When I occasionally went up to the waggon, I found Aunt Hannah and Lily awake. They kept up their spirits very well, and naturally inquired whether we had as yet discovered the track of those who had gone before.

“Not yet,” I answered in as cheerful a voice as I could command; “but we soon shall, I dare say; and, at all events, we are going in the right direction. The stars are shining brightly, and by them Uncle Stephen can guide the waggon as well as if we had the train of our friends in view. But we shall soon be up with them, I hope, and find them all comfortably encamped.”

“I trust that we may,” said Aunt Hannah, “if not, we shall find water, I suppose, in a few hours, and we shall certainly overtake them to-morrow.”

This showed what was passing in her mind. She had begun to suspect—what really was the case—that we had widely deviated from our course. One thing was very certain,—that it would be destruction to stop; so, although our oxen were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and we felt our own legs aching, we continued to move forward.

At length, about a couple of hours before dawn, we arrived at the edge of a ravine, the sides of which, though not precipitous, appeared to be very steep, and down which it would have been madness to attempt taking the waggon in the dark. We must either stop, or try to find a passage across to the north or south. We had observed that the valleys already passed by us were shallower to the southward; we therefore turned our waggon in that direction, hoping shortly to discover a practicable path, though we suspected that it would lead us even further from the track of our friends.

We went on and on, fancying that we could discern the bottom of the valley more clearly than at first, and hoping soon to discover a sufficiently gentle slope which we might be able to descend. But we were deceived, and though Uncle Mark and I made our way down in several places, we saw that the waggon would certainly be upset should we attempt to get it down. We were almost in despair of success, for the ravine appeared to run on to the southward with equally rugged sides as at first. The panting oxen, too, could scarcely drag on the waggon, and we began to fear that they would fall unless water should be found. We urged them on, however, for stopping to rest would not avail them, and might prove our destruction.

Morning at length broke, when we saw a hill before us which seemed to be the termination of the ravine; and as the light increased, to our joy we caught sight of a silvery line of water making its way along the course of the valley. Our eagerness to reach the bottom was now greater than ever; and we could with difficulty restrain the oxen from rushing down the bank. We had to keep at their heads, indeed, to prevent them attempting so mad a performance.

On we went, till we saw before us what we had so long been looking for,—a gentle slope which it would be easy to descend, while on the opposite side the ground was equally favourable for again ascending to the same elevation as before. Putting the drag on the wheel, we commenced the undertaking; and though I more than once feared that the waggon would be upset, we reached the bottom in safety. Then, immediately unyoking the tired oxen, we hurried to the fountain-head to obtain water, while they rushed to a pool close below it, where they could more easily drink. Near at hand was an abundance of fresh grass, with which they quickly recruited their strength.

Aunt Hannah and Lily offered to watch while we lay down and took the sleep we so much required.

“I will keep a look-out all round, and if I see any suspicious Indians approaching I’ll scream loud enough to wake you all,” said Lily, half in joke, as if she were not at all anxious on the subject.

“One thing is very certain,—if they do come, we cannot run away from them,” observed Uncle Mark. “We must hope that they will prove friendly, for if not we shall have to beat them or be cut to pieces. However, we will trust to your watchfulness, and pick up a little strength to continue our journey.”

We accordingly lay down under the waggon, and in less than a minute were fast asleep.

We rested till about ten o’clock, when Aunt Hannah, as Uncle Stephen had desired, awoke us. Not a human being had approached the valley, though she said that she had seen some creatures moving along on the top of the heights; but what they were she could not make out, though they did not look, she thought, like deer.

Having taken a hurried meal, we again yoked the oxen; and going behind with crowbars to assist, we commenced the ascent of the hill. It was harder work than we expected, but, by making a zigzag course, in about half an hour we got to the top. Looking ahead, the country appeared to be pretty level, with rocky hills rising out of it in various directions, but we expected to have no difficulty in making our onward way. We had filled all our skin-bottles with water, and even should we meet with no more till the following day the cattle would not materially suffer.

My uncles were of opinion that we had crossed near the source of the stream at which the rest of the party must have stopped, and that by verging to the right we should fall upon their tracks, although we did not expect to meet with them till the close of the day, owing to the direction we were taking. They might possibly have sent back to help us; but as they had not many men to spare, it was more likely that they would push forward, expecting us ultimately to overtake them. We kept a look-out for water as we went along, that we might allow our animals to drink, and thus be able to continue our journey the next day although none should be found at the camping-ground. Still, though we went on and on, no signs could we discover of our friends. Already the sun was sinking towards the west.

I had gone on ahead, and made my way up a hill over which we should have to pass, that I might obtain before sunset a wide view around, when I saw some way before me a number of creatures moving about. They seemed to be very busy, but what they were doing I could not make out. Some objects lay near them on the ground. I hastened on, and when I got nearer I perceived that the objects were broken pieces of waggons,—several wheels, and portions of the woodwork,—while the animals, I had no doubt, were wolves, from the horrid sounds which reached me; a mixture of snarling, yelping, barking, and growling, for I cannot otherwise describe the noise made by the creatures.

Not wishing to approach closer by myself, I returned to tell my uncles what I had seen. Uncle Mark and Quambo accompanied me back, and as we got nearer the wolves looked up and snarled at us, and continued their occupation; but what was our horror, on advancing a little further, to discover that they were feeding on the dead bodies of a number of persons stretched on the ground! A dreadful fear seized us. Could they be those of our late companions? I shuddered, and burst into tears.

Yes! there could be no doubt about it, I thought. There lay those we had lately parted from in health and strength, cruelly murdered, and now the prey of the savage wolves. Our friends the Claxtons!—Dora! honest Reuben! and their parents!

Then the fearful thought that such might ere long be our fate came over me.

“Can none have escaped?” I exclaimed.

Uncle Mark advanced a few paces nearer the wolves, with his gun, ready to fire should they attack him. He was looking at a man whom the wolves had not yet torn to pieces. Apparently he was only just dead, and had probably defended himself to the last, keeping his assailants at bay.

“That man did not belong to our party,” I heard Uncle Mark cry out. “These people must have formed part of another emigrant-train.”

Quambo and I ran up to him. We then shouted together, and some of the wolves nearest to us, startled by our approach, left their prey, when we were convinced, by the dresses of the corpses, that Uncle Mark’s surmise was correct. This discovery somewhat relieved our minds. Our friends might have escaped; but at the same time it was too evident that hostile Indians were scouring that part of the country, and that we ourselves might ere long be attacked, and share the fate of the unhappy persons we saw before us.

We now slowly retreated, shouting as we did so to keep the wolves at bay, and turning every few paces to face them; for had they seen us fly, they might have been induced to follow. They were now, however, happily for us, too much engaged in their dreadful feast to take further notice of us.

Having told Uncle Stephen what we had seen, we turned the heads of the oxen away from the spot, directing our course to the right, where the ground appeared to be more even than any we had yet gone over. We agreed not to let Aunt Hannah and Lily know of the dreadful scene we had witnessed; but it was important to get as far as possible from the spot, and we determined, if the oxen could drag the waggon, to continue on all night.

“Do you think it likely that the wolves, when they have finished their horrible feast, will track us out?” I said to Uncle Mark.

“I hope not,” he answered. “Were they starving, they might do so; but only the younger animals, which would have been prevented by their elders from joining in the feast, may possibly follow us. If they do, we can keep them at a distance, for they are more easily frightened than the older brutes.”

The stars, as on the previous night, were very bright, and we were able, by them, to keep a direct course. Our chief desire now was to rejoin our friends, and next to that to find water. We, of course, as we moved along, kept a strict watch, as before; but the scene I had witnessed made me feel much more anxious than usual, and every moment I expected to see a band of Indians start up from behind the rocks which here and there rose above the plain, or to hear a flight of arrows whistling through the air past our ears—perhaps to feel one sticking in my body.

Uncle Stephen had advised Aunt Hannah and Lily to lie down in a space left vacant for them in the middle of the waggon, where they would be protected by the luggage piled up on both sides.

We had now gone on many hours without water, and our cattle began to show signs of being very thirsty. All we could do was to wet their muzzles with a little of the water we had brought with us; but our lives might depend upon our pushing on.

As we generally marched apart—two of us on either side of the waggon—we had no opportunities for conversation, and were left, consequently, to our own melancholy thoughts. Had I been by myself, or with male companions only, I should not have cared so much; but my mind was troubled by the idea of what might be dear Lily’s fate, and that of Aunt Hannah, should we be attacked, or should our cattle break down and we be unable to proceed.

The oxen went slower and slower, notwithstanding every effort of Uncle Stephen to make them move at their usual pace. At last they came to a stand-still. Mike and Quambo, who at the time were ahead, endeavoured in vain to induce them to move on. Uncle Mark and I ran forward to assist them. As I was about to do so I caught sight of a ruddy spot in the distance, away somewhat to the left. That must be a fire, I thought, and I pointed it out to Uncle Mark.

“It may be the camp-fire of our friends,” he observed; “but we must not be too sure, for it may be that of a band of Indians.”

He asked Uncle Stephen what he thought.

“The Indians generally take care to have their fires in places where they cannot be seen from a distance, so that is much more likely to be what you at first supposed,” he answered. “At all events, we will try and find out.”

“If the oxen cannot be got to move, I will go on and ascertain,” I said. “I can direct my course by the fire, and will approach cautiously. Should I discover that Indians are encamped there, I will hurry back and let you know. We must then try and make our way in some other direction.”

“I am afraid, Roger, that in such a case our hope of escape will be very small,” said my uncle in a grave tone. “Unless we can find water in some hollow in which it will be possible to conceal ourselves, at the return of day, the Indians are sure to see us. Should they cross our track, they are equally certain to come upon us before long. We must, however, hope for the best. Go forward as you propose, and may Heaven protect you, my boy.”

Without stopping to bid Lily and my aunt good-bye I hurried on, keeping my gaze on the fire, which, growing brighter as I advanced, enabled me without difficulty to direct my course for it. The ground was tolerably even, but sloped slightly downwards in the direction I was taking. The fire, indeed, when I first saw it, appeared to be in a hollow, or at all events at a lower elevation than that where we were standing. I looked back once or twice, and quickly lost sight of the waggon. So far I was satisfied that, should the people who had made the fire be Indians, they would not discover the waggon until daylight, by which time I hoped we should be able to conceal ourselves among the hills in the neighbourhood.

I hurried on as fast as I could venture to move, ignorant of what was before me. It would be useless, I knew, to attempt concealing my trail, but as I did not intend to go nearer the camp-fire than was necessary to make out who were there, I hoped some time would elapse after I had retreated before the Indians could discover that any one had been near them. Now and then, when crossing a hill, I lost sight of the fire, and had to direct my course by the stars overhead. Again I saw it before me, blazing brightly. I hoped that Uncle Stephen was right in his conjectures. The fire, however, was further off than I had supposed, and the greater part of an hour was consumed before I got close enough to see the figures moving about it.

I now crept on as noiselessly as I could, for I knew that the least sound would be conveyed to the quick ears of the Redskins. Fortunately there were a number of bushes in the neighbourhood, behind which I could conceal myself.

As I was going on I heard voices, and stopped breathlessly to listen. They did not sound like those of Indians, and presently I saw a couple of figures pass in front of the fire. I almost shouted for joy as I distinguished by their outlines against the bright blaze that their dress was that of white men. I felt sure that the people I saw before me were our friends; still, caution was necessary, for it was possible that they were prisoners of the Indians, saved from the caravan lately destroyed, only to meet with a more cruel death by torture. There might be a large party of Indians encamped.

Presently two other fires came into view, which had been hitherto concealed by the thick bushes surrounding the hollow in which the camp was formed. I crept on and on, crouching down like a panther about to spring on its prey. The voices became more and more distinct, and at last I found myself on the top of the bank, with only a few bushes intervening between me and those encamped below.

On pushing aside the branches my eyes were greeted by the pleasant sight of waggons, cattle, and a number of people; some cooking before the fires, others preparing their resting-places for the night. Not far off, at the lower part of the hollow, for it could scarcely be called a valley, was a pool reflecting the stars overhead.

Feeling sure that I saw my friends before me, I now rushed down the slope towards them. The first person I met was Reuben Claxton.

“Why, Roger! where have you come from?” he exclaimed. “We were very anxious about you, and my father had determined, should you not appear soon, to return with a party to your relief.”

I quickly told him what had occurred, several others gathering round to hear my account. They were greatly alarmed at the description I gave of the remains of the emigrant-train we had discovered. I pointed out that their own camp was formed with less care than usual; of which fact they were convinced, but excused themselves on the plea that they had arrived very tired just at dark, having had a rough country to traverse, and that their cattle had suffered from want of water since the last place they had stopped at. The way I had approached showed them how easily they might have been surprised by a party of hostile Indians.

I told them that I must be off again at once, as I was anxious to get back to our waggon, in order that we might join them without delay. Reuben offered to accompany me, and I was very glad to have him. We therefore set off immediately.

It was necessary to be careful, however, to keep a direct course; and this could only be done by watching a star which I had marked, overhanging the spot where I had left the waggon. By any deviation to the right hand or to the left we might easily pass it.

Reuben told me that many of the emigrants had become very anxious, and the account I had brought would make them still more so. Could they venture back alone, he thought they would be willing to return to the settlement.

“For my own part, I like the wild sort of life we are leading; but I should be happier if I knew that Lily and my aunt were in safety, whereas they are exposed to as much danger as we are,” I observed.

More than once I thought that we had gone wrong, as it was impossible to distinguish objects clearly in the gloom of night. I fancied that we must have performed the distance; still I could nowhere see the waggon. The dreadful thought occurred to me that some prowling Indians might have pounced upon it, and carried it off.

“I hope not,” said Reuben, when I told him my fears. “We may not have gone far enough yet; or we are perhaps too much on one side or the other.”

We went on a little further, trying to pierce the gloom. Then we stopped to listen, but could hear no sounds.

“We must have gone wrong,” I said; “for I am certain that we should otherwise have got up to the waggon by this time.”

Still Reuben thought that I might be mistaken.

“Let us shout, and perhaps they will hear us;” and before I could stop him, he cried out at the top of his voice—“Hallo! Mr Tregellis, whereabouts are you?”

Thinking it too probable that Indians were not far off, I dreaded lest the shout might be heard by them, and I advised Reuben not to cry out again.

I was still fearing that we had missed the waggon, when a voice reached our ears. It was that of Mike.

“Is that you, Masther Roger? If you are yourself, come on here; but if not, I’ll throuble you to stop where you are, or I’ll be afther shooting you through the head.”

“All right, Mike!” I exclaimed, as we made our way in the direction from whence the voice came.

He had grown anxious at my long delay, and had got leave from my uncles to try and find out what had become of me.

We soon got back to the waggon; and by giving the patient oxen the remainder of our water, they having in the meantime cropped some grass, we were able to move forward. The road, in the dark, was difficult; but we managed to reach the camp without any accident, and were heartily welcomed by our friends.

Those who wished to return had, we found, summoned a meeting, and it was settled that the matter should be decided by the majority of votes. My uncles turned the scale in favour of going on. They pointed out that it would be as dangerous to retreat as to advance.

Mr Sparks urged that it would be madness to give up the enterprise. Water, he assured us, would be found at the end of every day’s march, or even oftener; and though Indians might be met, with our rifles we could without difficulty keep them at bay, as none of them were likely to possess firearms—their only weapons being bows and arrows and spears. His remarks prevailed; and it was agreed that after a day’s rest, which the cattle greatly required, we should recommence our march.

Once more we were making our toilsome way across the desert. For two days we had moved on without interruption, keeping scouts out as usual on either side to give notice should any Indians approach. Reuben and I, and other young men, performed that necessary duty for several hours each day.

Early in the morning of the second day we caught sight in the distance of a couple of horsemen with long spears in their hands. They galloped towards us, apparently to ascertain who we were; then, wheeling round, they quickly disappeared, and though we were on the watch we saw no more of them. When we halted at noon, we of course reported the circumstance. As it showed that Redskins were in the neighbourhood, several more men were told off to act as scouts, with orders to retreat towards the train the moment they might see any Indians, whether few or many.

Reuben, Mike, and I were advancing as I have described, somewhat ahead of the train, when towards evening we entered a valley, the hills sloping away on either side of it. At the further end we expected to find a stream, at the side of which we could encamp. I was leading, Mike was next to me, and Reuben was nearest the train. The ground I was traversing was somewhat rough, and I was leaping from one rock to another, when I fell and sprained my ankle. Just as I got up—being then on higher ground than my companions, and having a more extensive view—I saw a large band of horsemen approaching at full gallop. I knew at once that they were Redskins.

“Indians! Indians!” I shrieked out to Mike. “Tell Reuben to run and let our friends know that the enemy are upon us.”

Mike shouted at the top of his voice, as I had desired him. I saw Reuben set off, and Mike following him. Presently Mike stopped and looked back to see what had become of me. I endeavoured to run, but found it impossible to move. Before I had made a second step, I sank to the ground.

“Sure, you are not coming, Masther Roger,” cried Mike, on seeing me fall.

The pain I endured prevented me speaking.

Mike rushed back towards me, crying out all the time, “Come along! come along!” But move I could not.

He was still at some distance from me, when, looking round, I saw that the Indians were rapidly approaching. I made signs to him to save himself, but he either did not, or would not, understand them.

“Go back! go back!” I at length cried out.

“Arrah! and sure, not till I’ve got you on me back,” he answered, still making his way towards me.

I felt very certain that, with me to carry, he could not possibly reach the train before the Indians would be up with us, and he could scarcely have failed to know this.

“Cling to me back, Masther Roger, and I’ll show the Ridskins how a bog-trotter can get over the ground;” and stooping down, he seized my arms and threw me on his back. “Now, here we go!” he cried out, and began leaping over the ground with as much agility as if he had had no burden to carry.

But his efforts, as I feared they would be, were in vain. A wild whoop sounded in my ears, and looking back I saw upwards of a dozen Indians in their war-paint—their feather-plumes and cloaks flying in the air, as they galloped forward on their mustangs over the rocky ground, sending the stones and dust flying away from their heels. I expected every instant to feel one of those ugly-looking spears plunged into my back. One of the painted warriors was just about to finish my career, when I heard a loud voice shouting in an authoritative tone; and instead of transfixing me, he let the point of his spear fall, then, seizing me by the collar, dragged me up on his steed, and laid me across his saddle in front of him. Another treated Mike in the same manner, in spite of his struggles to free himself. I made no resistance, knowing it was useless to do so.

The two Indians who had captured us wheeled their horses round and galloped away, and we met crowds of other warriors galloping at full speed in the track of the first. I got one glance round, which enabled me to see that the enemy were close up to the waggons, while the puffs of smoke and the report of rifles showed that my friends were determined to defend themselves. Several of the Indian saddles were emptied in a minute, but still a whole host of the savages appeared charging down on the train. Whether or not Reuben had succeeded in getting under shelter of the waggons, I could not tell. I saw no more, for my captor galloped off with me round the hill, and they were concealed from view, though I could still hear the sound of the shots and the shrieks and shouts of the combatants. I had no hope of escaping with life, and believed that I was reserved to suffer the fearful tortures to which the Redskins so frequently subject their prisoners.

After going some distance the Indian stopped, and lifting me up from the painful position in which I lay, placed me behind him; fastening me by a leather strap round his body, and so securing my arms that I could not move. He had previously deprived me of my rifle, which I had hitherto held firmly in my grasp, hoping against hope that I might have an opportunity of using it. I saw Mike not far off, he having been treated much in the same manner, though not without the assistance of another Indian, who had accompanied the one on whose horse he was placed.

Having secured us, the Indians again galloped forward. After going some distance, I saw that we were approaching a more wooded region than the one we had left, with a stream or river running through it; and I thought that I could distinguish cliffs, below which the river, in part of its course, made its way.

I could manage to turn my head, and as I did so I fancied that I discerned another horseman coming up behind us, with a prisoner, whom I naturally feared was Reuben. Further off were numerous Indians, but whether they formed the whole of the body which had attacked the train or not I could not make out. If they were, I had great hopes that the Redskins had been defeated, although they would probably wreak their vengeance on us, their unfortunate captives. Still, in either case I felt sure that we should be put to death—though I rejoiced in the belief that Lily and my other relatives and friends had escaped; for as none of the Indians I had seen had firearms, I had good reason for hoping that our party had gained the victory. Should Mr Sparks prove equal to his professions, by leading them well and taking the necessary precautions against surprise, they might still fight their way through the hostile territory.

My mind being relieved of anxiety about my friends, I was able to think more about myself and Reuben and Mike. Had we any chance of escaping? I was determined, at all events, to make the attempt; and I was very sure that they would do likewise. I resolved, could I get near enough to Mike, to tell him of my intention, and to advise him to keep up his spirits; and before long I had an opportunity.

“Bedad! it’s what I have been afther thinking about,” he answered. “I’ll let young Reuben know me thoughts, too. We’ve outwitted the Ridskins once before, and, sure, we’ll thry to play them another trick.”

He spoke in a tone of voice which showed that no coward fears had overcome him.

We galloped on until we reached the wood, where our captors dismounted, aided by the third Indian I have mentioned. I had scarcely thought about my foot during my ride, but when I was cast loose and attempted to move by myself, I found that I could not stand, and presently sank to the ground. Mike, on finding himself at liberty, hurried to my assistance, and, taking off my shoe, examined my ankle.

“It’s a bad sprain,” he observed; “but maybe these rid gintlemen will just let me get some cowld wather. I’ll bathe it and bind it up, and in the course of a few days, or in less time than that, it will be all to rights again.”

I could only smile, not believing that I should be allowed many days to get well.

He then carried me under the shade of a tree, against the trunk of which I reclined. The pain rapidly went off, and I was better able to consider our position, and the possibility of escape.

Chapter Ten.

My sprained ankle—Mike’s devotion—Reuben brought to the camp—The Indians bind us to trees—The debate on our fate—I am released by Sandy McColl—Old Samson again—The secret cavern—Samson is very kind and attentive to me—His close attention to my account of the burning of the settlement, and the rescue of Lily and me when children—I recover, and Samson and I leave the cavern to reconnoitre—The Indian massacre—Sandy, Reuben, and Mike are hotly pursued—Our fortress besieged—We hold out, and beat off our besiegers—Our start—The elk.

The Indians, instead of binding Mike, as I expected they would do, allowed him to come and sit by me under the tree; narrowly watching him, however, though they did not interfere with us.

“Faix, thin, Masther Roger, I don’t think these Ridskin gintlemen can be intending to do us much harm, or they would not be afther letting us sit so quietly by ourselves,” he observed.

“I am not so confident of that, Mike,” I answered. “We must wait till the rest come up, to judge how they will treat us; at all events, I would advise you, when you get the chance, to mount one of their best horses and gallop off. I am afraid that I shall be unable to make the attempt, or I would try it.”

“Why, thin, Masther Roger, would you be afther belaving that I would go and desart you? Even if they were to bring me a horse, and tell me to mount and be off, it would break me heart intirely to think that I had left you to their tinder mercies. Whativer they do to you, they may do to me; and I’ll stop and share iverything with you.”

“I deeply feel your generosity, Mike,” I said; “but you might have saved yourself and got back to the waggons, had you not attempted to carry me off, and I therefore wish you to try and escape if you have the opportunity.”

Mike laughed and shook his head; and when I still urged him to escape if he could, he put on that look of stolidity which an Irishman so well knows how to assume, and refused to reply to any of my remarks.

While we had been talking, the Indian I had seen following us approached, having slowly walked his horse, which had apparently been lamed. I now caught sight of the person behind him, and with much concern recognised my friend Reuben. One of our captors assisted him to dismount; and Reuben, with his hands bound, was dragged forward to a short distance from us, where he was compelled to sit down on the ground, the Indians intimating by signs that he must not move. He looked very melancholy, evidently imagining that he was soon to be put to death. I tried to cheer him up by telling him that we had not been ill-treated.

“That may be,” he answered; “but I know their treacherous nature. Depend upon it, when they all eat together, and talk over the number of their warriors who have been slain, they will wreak their vengeance upon us. Are you prepared to die, Roger? We must make up our minds for that, and we may consider ourselves fortunate if we are not scalped and flayed first. I have often read, with very little concern, of the dreadful tortures the Redskins inflict on their prisoners, little dreaming that I should ever have to suffer the same.”

“It is not wise to anticipate evil,” I said. “Let us hope for the best; and perhaps means may be offered us, that we do not now think of, to make our escape.”

“I don’t see where they can come from,” he replied. “These fellows keep too sharp a look-out on us to give us a chance. Look there! here come the whole tribe of savages, and they will soon settle our fate.”

He pointed as he spoke to a large number of horsemen galloping across the country from different directions, towards us. They halted outside the wood, and several of them appeared to be wounded; but they did not allow themselves to exhibit any sign of suffering. Having taken the saddles and bridles from their horses, the greater number led them down towards the water to drink; while six, who, from their more ornamental dresses, appeared to be chiefs, advanced towards us. Their principal man, or head chief, spoke to us; but as we could not understand what he said, we knew that it would be useless to reply. He then pointed to Mike and me, and addressed a few words to his companions. They nodded, and we were led to separate trees, to which we were bound, with our hands secured behind us in a very unpleasant fashion.

Matters now began to look more serious than at first. Darkness was coming on, and our captors lighted a large fire near to the spot where we were bound, and those among them who acted the part of cooks began dressing the evening meal. They then sat down to discuss it—an operation which was soon concluded. We in the meantime were left bound to the trees, watching what was going on. After supper, a similar fire having been lighted near where we were bound, the principal Indians took their seats round it and began to smoke their long pipes, while, as I suspected, they deliberated on our fate. They were some little distance off, but the flames from the fire cast a red glow on their figures, and enabled me to observe the expression of the countenances of those turned towards me, from which, with painful anxiety, I endeavoured to learn how they were disposed towards us. Though I could hear their voices, I could not understand a word that was said.

After talking for some time, one of them, whose back, however, was towards me, got up and addressed his companions. He spoke at some length, and I would have given much to know what he was saying. His spear he held with one hand; with the other he pointed, now to the sky, now to some unseen distant object, now he waved it in the air. The other Indians gazed up at his countenance, as if greatly moved by his address; but whether he was pleading for us or advocating our death, I could by no means discover. In vain I listened to catch any words I might understand.

At last he brought his address to a conclusion, and sat down; when another slowly rose and commenced a harangue which was equally unintelligible to me. Still, I felt very sure that the discussion was one on which our lives depended; and, judging from the countenances of the Indians, I was nearly certain that they intended to kill us.

The next speaker was even more long-winded than the first. I thought that he would never bring his address to a conclusion.

A fourth man got up. His face was also turned away from me. His action was more vehement than that of his predecessors, and the tones of his voice afforded me but very little hope of mercy from his hands.

While he was speaking, another Indian, whom I had not hitherto seen, stalked into the circle, and regarding the speaker with a fixed and, as I thought, somewhat contemptuous look, sat himself down among the others. His appearance evidently created a considerable amount of astonishment, little as the natives are accustomed to show their feelings. So soon as the last had ceased speaking, he rose and addressed the assembly. As he did so, it struck me that he bore a strong resemblance to Manilick, though he was much more gaudily dressed than I had ever seen that young chief.

All eyes were turned towards him as he spoke, and scarcely had he commenced when I heard a voice whisper in my ear, “Trust to me!” At the same moment I felt that the thongs which bound me were being cut, and the next instant I was at liberty; but, recollecting my sprained ankle, I feared that it would not avail me. To my surprise, however, when I tried to move I found that I could do so without much pain.

I slipped round the tree, when I felt my hand grasped by that of my deliverer, who, discovering that I could move but slowly, stooped down and lifted me on his back. The darkness prevented me from seeing who he was, but I felt convinced, from his dress and the tone of his voice, that he was a white man. He moved along cautiously under the trees towards the bank of the river.

“Can you swim?” he asked in a low voice, “Yes—like a fish,” I answered.

“Then we will take to the river at once. There are horses waiting on the opposite side, lower down. We can float with the current till we reach them,” he continued.

We were not more than three or four minutes in reaching the bank, and we at once glided in so as to create no splash.

“Strike out towards the middle of the river,” he whispered; “but do so as gently as possible.”

I followed his directions, and found that I could swim without any pain to my ankle.

“Now throw yourself on your back, and we will float down with the current,” he said.

We could all this time hear the voice of the Indian addressing the assembly of warriors. So intent were they in listening to what he was saying, that they had evidently not discovered my escape.

“Can nothing be done to save my companions?” I asked, thinking of the dreadful fate which might await Reuben and Mike.

“Others will look after them,” he answered. “Don’t speak, lest the water should convey your voice to the shore.”

After we had gone some distance he told me to turn round again and swim, so that we might make more progress.

“Now make for the shore,” he said.

In a short time we gained a spot where the trees grew close down to the bank. Climbing up there, he led me through the wood. On the further side I found a man holding three horses.

“Glad to get you out of the clutches of the Indians, my son Reuben,” he said.

“I am not Reuben,” I answered; “but I heartily wish that he had escaped. I am Roger Penrose.”

“Why, Sandy McColl, I told you to try and set Reuben at liberty; though I am glad to see you, Roger,” said the speaker, whom I now recognised as the old trapper, Samson Micklan.

“I should have been discovered if I had attempted to reach the two others, for they were much nearer the fire; and, in truth, I could not distinguish one from the other,” said Sandy.

“Well, we must see what can be done to rescue Reuben and the Irishman,” said old Samson. “Our friend Manilick promised to plead for you and Mike, and, should he fail, to come and let me know; and he will, I trust, exert his influence in favour of Reuben, when he finds that you have got off. At all events, the Indians will not put their prisoners to death till they get back to their lodges, and we must try and set them at liberty before then. Though they have vowed to have my hair, I fear them not, for I have outwitted them a hundred times—and intend to outwit them as many more, if I have the chance. But we must not delay here, for when they find that you have got away they will suspect that you took to the river, and will scour the banks in search of you.”

Anxious as I was to save my friends, I had no wish again to fall into the hands of the Indians, I therefore very readily mounted one of the horses.

“If you, Samson, will go on to the cave with this young man, I will return and try to help the others,” said Sandy. “Maybe, while the Indians are looking for me, they may leave them unguarded, and I may have a chance of carrying out my object.”

“That’s what we’ll do, then,” answered old Samson. “I needn’t tell you to be cautious, because I know that you will be so.”

As he spoke, Samson threw himself on one of the horses, and took the rein of the third. “We shall better deceive the Redskins if we take this one with us,” he observed. “They may possibly discover that it has no rider; but it will puzzle them, at all events, if they come upon our trail, and they will be less likely to suspect that you are watching them.”

“Don’t fear for me,” answered Sandy. “I’ll keep my wits about me; and if the other two can make good use of their legs, we will overtake you before long, should I manage to set them free. If I am caught, why, I shall only suffer the fate I have often thought would be my lot.”

Saying this, Sandy again plunged into the wood out of which we had come; while Samson and I galloped away across the country. It was too dark to discern objects at any distance, but my companion seemed to be thoroughly acquainted with the ground. At last I saw before me a hill, rising out of the plain. As I got nearer, I observed that the sides and summit in many places were covered with trees; in others, it was barren and rocky. We directed our course towards a gap in the hillside, up which we wound our way.

“Can you walk?” asked old Samson.

“I will try,” I answered, imitating his example and dismounting—when I soon found that I could get on better than I should have supposed possible.

He led two of the horses, while I followed with the third; but, passing amid the trees, the animals had to lower their heads to enable them to creep under the boughs.

On getting out of the wood, I found that we were proceeding up a steep zigzag path, along which two people could not make their way abreast. At last we reached a narrow terrace, with a few trees growing on it. We made our way between them till Samson entered a cavern, the mouth of which would admit only a horse, or, at the utmost, a couple of persons at a time. I followed; and having gone through this narrow archway, Samson told me to stop. He then, using his flint and steel, lighted a torch, and by the flame I discovered that we were in a large vaulted chamber. On one side there were some rude stalls, and litter for horses; on the other, a couple of rough bunks, and a table and some stools, showed that it was used as a human habitation.

“This is my home and fortress,” said Samson. “I come to it occasionally when tired of hunting; and I always keep here a store of provisions. At the further end is a spring of water, so that I might hold it for any length of time against a host of foes. I have never as yet been attacked, for the Indians know that they could not attempt to drive me out with impunity, and think it wiser to leave me and my companion unmolested.”

I asked him how he came to know that we had been captured by the Indians.

“Because I witnessed with my own eyes what happened,” he answered. “I was on the hillside overlooking the train, but had no time to warn you of the approach of the enemy, nor could I at first help you; but I saw you three carried off, and then made my way here to get the assistance of Sandy, who had remained at home, as well as the three horses.”

I asked him if he thought that our friends had escaped.

“I know that the Indians were beaten off,” he answered; “but whether any of the emigrants were killed or wounded, I cannot say. They continued their course, and must have encamped shortly afterwards by the side of the river. They will there have formed a strong camp, which the Indians will not venture to attack. Their road will lead them not far from this, when you can rejoin them, and I will pay them a visit.”

“But I could not show my face among them without Reuben and Mike. I should feel as if I had deserted my friends, without attempting to rescue them,” I said.

“A very right spirit, my lad,” answered old Samson; “but you could have done nothing, and would only have lost your life if you had made the attempt. Sandy has a long head on his shoulders, and a brave heart; and if any man can circumvent the Redskins, he can. He has a good drop of their blood in his veins, with the brains of a white man, and knows all their ways.”

These assurances somewhat relieved my mind. The exertions I had made, however, had brought on the pain in my foot; and after having eaten some food which Samson gave me, I was thankful, by his advice, to lie down in Sandy’s bunk. I slept, but not soundly, for I fancied that I heard the voices of the Indians consulting as to our fate; and then, in my dreams, I saw them approaching with their scalping-knives to take the hair off my head. Such being the character of my dreams, I was glad to awake and find myself in comparative safety.

Old Samson was listening at the entrance of the cave. He had, I found, the means of barricading it with stout timbers, so that no foes could force their way in without paying dearly for the attempt. I rose from the bunk, intending to join him, but he told me to lie quiet. I obeyed, and was soon asleep; and when I again awoke daylight was streaming through the entrance. I looked round, but Samson was not to be seen.

On attempting to get up, I found that my ankle was much swollen, and that I could not walk. With a groan I sank back again on the bunk, and waited anxiously for Samson, wondering what had become of him. The horses were still there, munching their fodder, so he was not likely to have gone far. At last I saw him at the entrance.

“Well, lad, you may get up now, and have some breakfast,” he said.

I told him that I could not walk, as I was suffering severely from my ankle.

“That’s a bad job,” he observed; “I intended to have moved away from this. There are more Redskins in the neighbourhood than I like, as no game can be got while they are here.”

I asked if Sandy had appeared, and brought any tidings of Reuben and Mike.

“No,” he answered; “for the reason I have given, they could not make their way across the country in daylight. But that is no reason why Sandy should not have succeeded. He may have set them at liberty, and concealed them and himself in some other place. There are several caves like this in different directions, which seem to be made by nature as refuges from the Indians. The only difficulty is to get to them without being tracked, as it is always a hard job to escape the keen eyes of the Redskins, although the horsemen of the plains are not so clever in tracking a foe as those who go on the war-path on foot. That makes me hope that we shall hear of our friends, though it may be some time hence.”

These remarks of old Samson again somewhat relieved my mind. I then asked him when he thought that the emigrant-train would pass by; and whether he could manage to let me join it on horseback, for I thought that I could ride although I could not walk.

“I much doubt whether it will pass this way at all,” he answered. “It will either turn back, or, if the leader is a man of judgment, he will conduct it by a different route, further to the south. Your uncles, Mr Claxton, and their companions are brave men, but they will not wish to encounter the savage hordes who have assembled to stop their progress on the road they intended taking.”

I was very glad to hear this opinion from one who was so well able to judge rightly, and I felt more reconciled than I otherwise should have been at remaining inactive; for, as to moving, unless I was placed on horseback, I knew that was impossible. As far as I could tell, it might be many days before I could recover, as a sprain, I was aware, is frequently as difficult to cure as a broken bone; still, I did not like to keep old Samson in the cave, should he wish to go out for the purpose of ascertaining what had become of Sandy. I told him that I should not be at all afraid of staying by myself, if he could manage to close the entrance behind him.

“I have no desire to show myself on the plain, or I should have a dozen Redskins galloping after me; and though I should not fear to meet twice as many, provided I could take shelter behind some big trees, I would rather not meet them where I should be exposed to their arrows,” he answered. “We must make up our minds to be prisoners for some days to come; and keep a constant watch, too, lest they should get upon our trail, and find their way up here.”

“But how can you manage to keep watch alone? You will require some sleep,” I observed.

“Two or three hours are quite sufficient for me; and they are not likely to attack us for the first hour or two before and after midnight,” he answered. “If they come at all during the night, it will be soon after dark, or just before dawn. I know their ways, and have thus been frequently enabled to get some necessary rest, even when I knew that they were on my trail.”

“But you would surely be better for more than two or three hours of sleep; and if you will drag my bunk to the door, I will keep watch while you rest.”

To this he would not agree. “You require all the sleep that you can get,” he said. “No enemy, either, is able to break in on us unawares. I have made arrangements in case of an attack, as you would have seen, had you examined the entrance. There is a thick door which can be slid across it; and in the door several loopholes, so that Sandy and I could hold it against any number of Indians who might manage to make their way up the hill.”

From what old Samson had said, I fully expected that the cave would be attacked; for I did not suppose that the Indians, scouring the country, would fail to observe our tracks.

The entrance was always kept closed, and we should have been in darkness had it not been for a rude lamp, fed by bear or deer fat, which stood on the table. The old hunter and his companion had stored up a large supply of dried grass for the horses, so that it was not necessary to turn them out to feed. He allowed me to sleep as much as I could, and when I was awake he generally seemed disposed to enter into conversation. He told me many of his adventures and escapes from Indians, and appeared to like to have me talk to him, and to hear all about my uncles, Aunt Hannah, and Lily.

One day I began repeating to him the history Uncle Mark had given me of his and Uncle Stephen’s arrival in America. As I went on, I saw that he was listening with more and more interest; and when I described how, on reaching the village where my parents had lived, they found it burnt to the ground, and discovered Lily and me, and our murdered mothers, he exclaimed—

“Did your uncles learn the name of the little girl’s mother?”

“No,” I answered; “she died before she had time to utter it, and could only commit her infant to their charge.”

“Strange!” exclaimed the old man. “I had a daughter, my only child, living in that village; and she, with her husband and babe, were, I had every reason to suppose, slaughtered by the savages who attacked the place. Yet it is possible that their infant may be the very one your uncles saved; but, alas! I can never be sure of that.”

“But I think that you may have very satisfactory proofs whether or not Lily is your daughter’s child,” I answered, “for Aunt Hannah has carefully preserved her clothing, and some ornaments which her mother wore, and which you may be able to recognise.”

“That I certainly should,” said old Samson, “for I had but a few days before parted from my daughter to proceed eastward. On hearing of the massacre, I returned; but finding the whole village a mass of blackened ashes, and being unable to gain any tidings of the beings I loved best on earth, I had no doubt left on my mind that they had all perished. Having thus no one to care for, I took to the life I have since led—which I had before only occasionally followed, after the death of my wife and the marriage of my daughter, for the sake of the sport it afforded me.”

From this time forward old Samson constantly spoke about Lily; and, persuaded by his own hopes that she was his grand-daughter, he seemed to be fully convinced that such was the case. His anxiety to see her, and to examine the clothes and ornaments which Aunt Hannah had preserved, increased every day; but how were we to find Lily and Aunt Hannah? Had our friends turned back; or had they pushed forward, fighting their way successfully towards the fertile region to which they were bound? Neither he nor I could bring ourselves to contemplate what might otherwise have happened—had they been overwhelmed by the hordes of savages, and met the fearful fate which had overtaken the smaller band whose remains we had discovered?

The old trapper went out every day to ascertain if the Indians had moved away from the plain below us—should he find the country open, he intended, he said, to go in search of Sandy, and those he might have rescued—but he as often returned with the information that the Indians still occupied the country. I, of course, greatly hampered him, for he would not leave me in the cavern for long together. Had he been by himself, he could easily have started at night and made his escape.

Gradually my ankle regained strength, and Samson now made me get up and walk about to try it. Unwilling longer to detain him, I at last declared that it was quite well, making light of the pain I still felt when I walked, and begged to accompany him the next time he went out. He consented. “But you must not go without a weapon; and you can use it well, I know,” he observed, as he drew a rifle from under his bunk. He produced also a powder-horn, which I slung over my shoulder, and a bag of bullets. The great drawback to our place of concealment was, that although well hidden from the sight of those in the plain, we had to go some distance before we could obtain a view of the surrounding country.

Leaving the horses in the stable, and the entrance open, we set out. Then going some distance down the hill, we made our way through the thick wood which covered its sides, and were just emerging into the open space, when, through the bushes, I caught sight of several horsemen galloping across the country. I made a sign to my companion to keep concealed, and crept forward on my hands and knees. As I looked out, I discovered the object of the Indians. A solitary waggon had just come into view, and they were about to attack it.

I drew cautiously back, for though the Indian warriors were probably intent on the business in hand, their keen eyes might have detected me. I asked Samson if we could assist the unfortunate people in the waggon.

“I fear not,” he answered. “We might kill a few of the Redskins; but unless the travellers possess a number of rifles, and make a bold stand, we cannot help them. We will, however, be ready to take a part if we have opportunity.”

As the horsemen approached, three rifles alone opened fire upon them from behind the waggon. One of their number fell, but several dashed forward; while others, circling round, prepared to attack the devoted emigrants from the opposite side. The affair, which was a short one, was dreadful to witness. We should, I saw well enough, lose our lives did we show ourselves. Indeed, before we could have got up to the waggon, all its defenders were killed by the savages surrounding it; and we knew too well that those inside must, according to their cruel custom, have been put to death, whether women or children. The Indians of the plains have no compassion either for age or sex. The dreadful thought occurred to me that those we had seen slaughtered might be our own friends. It was evident, however, from his calmness, that the idea of such a thing had not crossed old Samson’s mind.

After plundering the waggon of everything they considered of value, the savages set it on fire. While it was burning, and they were still gathered round it, a dreadful explosion took place, scattering destruction among them. Panic-stricken, and not knowing what might next happen, the survivors mounted their horses and galloped off. A keg of powder, which they must have overlooked, had probably exploded.

“They deserve their punishment,” said the old man, “and they will not come back again in a hurry; so we may now descend into the plain, and see if we can learn who the unfortunate people were.”

This was what I was wishing to do. We accordingly left the wood and made our way down the hill, towards the remains of the waggon. We had not got far, however, when we caught sight of three horsemen galloping across the plain towards us. My companion scrutinised them narrowly.

“If they are friends, they have reason for their hurry; and if enemies, the sooner we get under cover the better,” he observed. “We must not now attempt to reach the waggon. Ah! I understand all about it. See! out there come a dozen or more horsemen. They must be Indians in pursuit of the first—who, if I mistake not, are our friends. Come on, Roger! they will reach the hill as soon as we do.”

As he said this we retreated to the foot of the hill, and began to climb it as rapidly as we could.

“But, if these are our friends, will they find their way to the cave?” I asked.

“Yes, yes! Sandy knows it as well as I do,” he answered, without stopping.

We were just approaching the entrance of the cave, when the war-whoops of the Indians, and their loud cries, as they shouted to each other, reached our ears.

“They are making their way up the hill,” said Samson. “Get inside, lad, and prepare to close the entrance when I tell you.”

The loud rustling sound of persons making their way through the brushwood was heard, and presently Sandy, accompanied by Reuben and Mike, sprang out from among the trees, and rushed towards the mouth of the cavern.

“No time to be lost,” sang out Sandy. “The Redskins are at our heels!”

In a moment they were all three within the cave. Old Samson was still outside, and I saw him lift his rifle and fire. At the same moment two arrows flew past his head—one sticking in the woodwork, the other entering the cavern—and just then I caught sight of the fierce countenances of half-a-dozen red warriors who were making their way between the trees. Their leader, springing forward tomahawk in hand, nearly reached Samson; when, with the agility of a far younger man, he sprang through the opening, and I immediately closed the door—the sharp blade of the weapon burying itself deep in the wood.

“Now, we’ll give it them!” exclaimed Samson, as he and Sandy opened three of the concealed loopholes, through which we thrust the barrels of our rifles and fired on our assailants. Their leader fell dead, shot through the heart by Samson. Two others were severely wounded, but numbers were following them, and rushing forward with their hatchets, dealt desperate blows on the door.

“You may cut away pretty hard, my laddies, before you break that in,” observed Sandy, as he reloaded his rifle. Samson and I were doing the same, and again we fired; but most of the Indians, knowing the time we should take to do that, sprang aside, and only one of them was hit.

“You will find two more rifles in yonder chest,” said Samson to Reuben and Mike. “Quick! load them, and we’ll astonish the Redskins.”

While he was speaking, the blows on the door were redoubled, and in spite of its strength it appeared every instant as if it would give way. Samson was, in the meantime, ramming down his charge, and again his rifle sent forth its deadly contents. Instead of firing together, we now followed each other, allowing a few seconds to elapse between each shot, thus making our assailants afraid of approaching the door. We guessed that they were collected on either side, where our rifles could not reach them.

In a couple of minutes or so Reuben and Mike had found the rifles, and loaded them.

“Now!” said Samson, “you two and Roger fire together; and then Sandy and I will take your places, and try what we can do.”

We waited till the savages, losing patience, again attacked the door with their axes, in a way which threatened each instant to bring it down, when we all three ran out the muzzles of our rifles and fired. Another savage was, at all events, hit; but they had been on the watch, and had actively sprung, some on one side and some on the other, so that we could not be certain what execution had been done. The moment, however, that our rifles were withdrawn, as many as could attack the door leaped forward, and began hacking away with greater fury than before. Scarcely had the first strokes been given when Samson and Sandy fired into their midst, killing two of the most determined—the bullets passing through the bodies of the first and wounding others behind them. Five rifles, however, were more than they were prepared to encounter. They must have guessed that we had increased our number, for, with cries of rage and disappointment, they deserted the door and got under shelter.

“Hurrah! we have beaten them,” I cried out, and was turning to Reuben to shake hands, and to ask how he and Mike had escaped, when Samson observed—

“We must not be too sure that they will not make another attempt, for they are up to all sorts of tricks, and will not give in so easily.”

“What are they likely to do?” I asked.

“Try to burn us out,” answered Samson. “But we must be prepared, and show them that five well-handled rifles can cope with all the arrows and hatchets among them. We do not lack ammunition, and might stand the siege for a month or more.”

Samson’s surmises were correct. Though we could not see the Indians, we heard their voices, and the sound of chopping, and presently a bundle of fagots was thrown down in front of the door.

“Stand ready,” said Samson, “and fire, if we can catch sight of one of them through the loopholes.”

Another and another fagot followed, but as yet so carefully had they been thrown that we could not get a shot. It appeared to me that they were dropped from above. The pile was increasing, and soon rising higher than the loopholes, prevented us from seeing any one. Presently we heard the sound of crackling, and the flames rapidly caught the pile.

“Close the loopholes,” said Samson. “We’ll keep out the smoke as long as we can. The door is tough, too, and will stand the flames better than our enemies suppose.”

We all stood with our rifles in our hands, ready for any emergency.

“Should the door burn through and the cavern fill with flames, we must rush out, lads, rather than be stifled; and we may be pretty sure of knocking over four or five Redskins, if they stop to give us the chance,” said Samson, who had not for a moment lost his calm manner. “It may be the smoke won’t be more than we can bear. See! I am prepared for everything.” He pointed to a mass of woodwork, which leant against the wall of the cavern. It was longer than the width of the door, and of a height which would enable us to fire over it. “This will serve as a barricade,” he said. “When the Indians fancy that they are going to get in without difficulty, they will find themselves stopped in a way they little expect.”

The crackling sound of the flames increased, and thin wreaths of smoke found their way in through the crevices between the woodwork and the rock; still the stout door resisted the fire, which we began to hope might burn itself out without igniting our defences. We could hear the voices of the Indians outside. They were, we guessed, piling up more fagots, as the others had burned down.

Sandy put his hand to the door. “It’s getting very hot,” he said.

“Well, then,” exclaimed old Samson, “we must get our barricade ready, should the door give way, and then crouch down behind it. The nearer we are to the ground, the less we shall suffer from the smoke.”

We accordingly dragged the heavy piece of woodwork from the place where it had been standing, to the position it was to occupy, where we laid it flat on the ground. It was at the proper moment to be lifted up, and supported by stout pieces of timber, serving as props, on the inner side. It would thus shelter us, and prevent our enemies from entering.

The door took even longer than we had expected to burn through; but at last, here and there, the forked flames were seen making their way through it, and after this its complete destruction was rapid. Down the upper part came with a crash, followed by the shouts of the Indians, and a shower of arrows—which, however, flew over our heads. No further attempts were made to increase the pile of fagots; our foes supposing that their work was accomplished, and that, even were we not suffocated by the smoke, we should speedily become their victims. We knew that the Indians were not likely to rush through the flames; we therefore waited concealed on either side, behind the rock, till they had somewhat subsided.

Old Samson listened eagerly for any sounds which might indicate that the attack was about to be recommenced.

“Now, lads! up with the barricade!” he shouted out; and with one united effort we lifted it from the ground, directly across the doorway. Scarcely was it securely fixed before the Indians, who had not perceived what we were about, leaped over the burning embers and came rushing on. Our five rifles rang out together, and as many Redskins bit the dust. The rest found themselves stopped by the barricade; and with the crowbars which we had used to get it in position we struck furiously at their heads, beating them back into the hot embers, where several of them, stunned by our blows, were quickly suffocated, or burned to death. The remainder, believing success hopeless, fled from the spot, and made their way down the hill to where they had left their horses. On this we dashed out and followed them, picking off several more. We should have pursued them further, had not their numbers made it prudent for us to remain under shelter of the wood.

On reaching their steeds they mounted and galloped off. In their haste to attack us, they had not taken the trouble to destroy the horses which Sandy, Reuben, and Mike had ridden, and which were grazing at a little distance. Having caught them without much difficulty, we returned with them to the cave.

“This will no longer be a secure hiding-place for us,” observed Samson, “for the Indians are sure ere long to come back and attempt to revenge themselves. They will watch day after day for weeks together, till they see some of us go out in search of game; and they will then manage to get between us and the cave, so as to cut us off. I can pretty well guess the sort of tricks they will try to play us; and it is not always easy to circumvent them.”

Samson’s advice was not to be despised. The Indians, however, were not likely to come back that day, so that we might take some hours’ rest before preparing for our departure—our wish being to try and ascertain the course followed by the emigrant-train, which we would then endeavour to overtake. This, as we had horses, we might hope to do in the course of a week or ten days, even supposing that it had pushed forward without any stoppages.

With such ammunition and provisions as we could carry, we started on our journey just after the sun had gone down, as Samson thought it prudent to get some distance ahead during the hours of darkness, so that, should our enemies be on the look-out for us, we might escape unobserved.

Well-armed and well mounted as we were, we did not fear any ordinary band, possessed only of bows and arrows, we were likely to encounter while on the road. Our chief danger would lie in being attacked while encamped at night. To guard as much as possible against surprise, we chose a spot difficult of access, or one by the side of a broad stream, with a few trees which might afford us shelter, without concealing the approach of our foes; or else we threw up a breastwork of logs and branches, behind which we could be protected from the arrows of our assailants. The old trapper and Sandy were adepts at making arrangements of this kind, and were never at a loss. Of course, one of the party, or sometimes two, kept guard; our horses being hobbled near, as we always chose localities where there was an abundance of grass. We could thus, in case of alarm, immediately bring them in under such protection as we had formed for ourselves. They, of course, ran a greater risk of being shot than we did, but that could not be helped.

I had naturally been curious to know how Reuben and Mike had escaped from the Indians. Reuben told me that he had given himself up for lost when he heard the chiefs discussing, as he supposed, what they should do with us. Each in succession made a long speech, becoming more vehement as they proceeded. He fully expected to be flayed alive, or roasted over a slow fire, or shot to death with arrows aimed so as to avoid vital parts. He had not recognised Manilick, and was therefore not aware that we had a friend in the council. The warriors at last ceased speaking, when he saw one approaching with uplifted tomahawk, which he fully expected would be buried in his brain. What was his surprise to find, instead, the thongs which bound him severed, and to feel himself at liberty! He stood for a moment or two irresolute, not knowing what to do.

“Run! my friend, run!” said the Indian; “make for the river, and you will escape.”

He was not slow to obey the command, but before doing so he looked wistfully at Mike, whose bonds were also cut, as his had been, and by the same friendly Indian. Mike immediately started off with him, but they had not got far when they met Sandy, who had been on the watch for them; and all three slipping noiselessly into the stream, swam across it. On landing, Sandy led them on foot at a rapid pace to a rocky hill some five or six miles away from the river. Having proceeded along it, the nature of the ground being such that even an Indian could not discover their trail, Sandy led them to a cave very similar to the one we had occupied. Here, he assured them, they would run little risk of being discovered. Sandy supplied them with game, and finally succeeded in getting possession of three horses, which he managed to carry off from the Indians. He did not call it “stealing” them, observing that they had all doubtless been taken from white men. On these they had finally made their escape and joined us, though, as we had seen, hotly pursued.

I asked Reuben if he liked the sort of life we were leading.

“I shall be very thankful to find myself safe in some settlement where the war-whoops of the Indians are not likely to be heard,” he answered. “I used to like to hear about such adventures as we are going through, but I confess that I consider them very unpleasant realities.”

I was very much inclined to agree with Reuben. One thing, however, was certain—for the present we must make up our minds to go through whatever came in our way.

Day after day we travelled on, encamping as I have previously described at night, or sometimes pushing forward during the hours of darkness and halting in the day-time. By doing this we saved ourselves the labour of forming defences, as we could in a moment mount and be in readiness to encounter a foe. We had, however, greatly exhausted our stock of provisions, and it became necessary to look after game with which to replenish our store. This we had hitherto avoided doing, as when hunting we should of necessity be separated, and if discovered by enemies we might be cut off in detail. We agreed, at last, that hunt we must; for we had all been on a very slender allowance of food, and were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger. Our horses, too, from being constantly on the move, now showed signs of fatigue. We accordingly halted earlier than usual one day, on the side of a tree-covered knoll, from which we could obtain a good look-out over the surrounding country. Here we resolved to remain for a couple of days, for, having seen no signs of Indians, we hoped to be unmolested. After putting up the framework of a lean-to, to afford us shelter at night, we ate the remainder of our provisions; and while Sandy took the horses down to a stream which flowed below us, we lay down to rest, keeping our rifles by our sides.

I had been dreaming of venison, and buffalo humps, and other prairie luxuries, when I heard Reuben whisper—

“See! Roger, see! There’s a magnificent deer within easy shot.”

I instinctively rose to my knees, with my rifle in my hand, and levelled it at the animal. It was a fine elk, as I knew by the thick branchy horns. At the same moment old Samson sat up. Reuben, knowing that he was not so good a shot as I was, did not attempt to fire. I felt somewhat nervous lest I might miss, though old Samson was not likely to let the deer escape even if I did so. I pulled the trigger, however, and the deer, giving one bound from the earth, fell over, shot through the heart. The sound awoke Mike, and we all rushed down to take possession of our prize. We very quickly cut it up, and shouldering the better portions, carried them to our encampment. Here we soon had a fire blazing, and some rich steaks before it.

Though we had now obtained sufficient food to last us for some days, yet we remained for the time we had determined on, in order to dry the venison, so that we might cure it, and prevent its becoming unfit for use. We were fortunate in killing another deer almost in sight of our camp; so, with renewed strength after our long rest, we again set out, hoping before long to gain tidings of our friends, whom Samson still persisted in believing were ahead of us. I had my doubts on the subject, but felt that I ought to yield to his better judgment.

Chapter Eleven.

Samson’s advice about buffalo-hunting—I see buffalo in the distance—Overtaken by a terrific storm—Benighted on the plain—Hunger-stricken, I allow my horse to take his own way—I swoon away—The Spaniards find me—Pablo, the cook—The prairie on fire—Indians approaching, I dash through the flames—My poor horse is frightfully scorched—The wolves in pursuit—I take refuge in a tree—My horse is devoured by the wolves—The wolves depart in chase of buffalo—I descend, and eat the loathsome wolf-flesh in my hunger—Lighting a fire, I camp for the night—Shooting a beaver.

In vain we searched for the trail of our friends. We ought to have caught them up by this time, even Samson acknowledged, unless they had pushed on more rapidly than ox-trains generally travel.

Our provisions again ran short, and it was necessary to replenish our larder. Though we saw deer in the distance, they scented us, and we could not get up to them; but we were in the region where buffalo might be found, and we hoped to fall in with a herd. I had gained experience, when with the Indians, in hunting these creatures, and both Samson and Sandy were well acquainted with their habits, but Reuben had never even seen them. Hunger, however, compelled us to follow a course on which we should not otherwise have ventured.

Old Samson advised our inexperienced companion how to act.

“One thing remember, my boy—do not shoot any of us,” he observed; “and take care that the buffalo do not run their horns into you or your horse. The chances are that it is better acquainted with the habits of the buffalo than you are, so let it have its own way. It will generally manage to carry you out of danger, if you give it the rein. Don’t fire till you can aim at the animal’s shoulder or chest; and the moment you fire, load again. Pour in the powder, and drop the ball after it; you ought to be able to do so at full gallop. If you fancy you can manage this, you may try your hand, should you get near any buffalo; otherwise, just keep out of their way. If you manage to sight any, bring me word. A single fat cow is all we want, but they are harder to get up to than the bulls.”

I saw that Reuben was not very confident of his skill. He therefore undertook to act as a scout, keeping an eye on Samson’s movements. Sandy and I agreed to ride to some distance: he was to go to the north, I to the south; and we were afterwards to meet under a hill we saw in the distance. In case of the appearance of Indians, we were immediately to try and reunite.

These arrangements being made, I galloped off in the direction proposed. I had ridden for some time, when, on mounting a slight elevation, I saw afar off a number of black dots sprinkling the plain, and knew that they must be buffalo, though I was unable to determine in what direction they were heading. I therefore galloped on in order to ascertain this point, as it was necessary to do so before returning to inform Samson of my discovery. On descending to the lower ground they were lost to view; but I hoped, by moving forward, again to catch sight of them. On I galloped, without observing the sudden change which had taken place in the weather, so eager was I to get up with the buffalo.

Not till I had gone much further than I had supposed necessary, did I begin to suspect that, instead of feeding, as I had at first fancied, they were going at full rate, and that I must push my horse at his utmost speed to come up with them; still I did not like the idea of allowing them to escape me, without ascertaining whereabouts they were to be found. I forgot at the moment that all I had to do was to come upon their trail, and that we could then easily follow them up, however far they might go. On I went, however, looking out for some higher ground, from which I might again catch sight of them and mark their course. Eager in the pursuit of the animals, I did not notice how time went by, or how far I was going, and thought not of the danger to which I should be exposed if I encountered hostile Indians, nor of the difficulty I might experience in regaining my companions.

I believed that I was pushing due south, but it did not occur to me that I was running any risk of losing myself. Once again I caught sight of the buffalo; but though I had gained on them, they were still a long way off. I knew, therefore, that they must be moving rapidly; but yet I wished to get nearer to them, and if possible to kill one of the rear of the herd, and return with the meat, in case my friends should have been less successful. Being also desperately hungry, I contemplated eating a slice, even though I might not have time to cook it first. I had, of course, flint and steel, and should not have been long in lighting a fire.

I was first made aware of the storm which had for some time been brewing, by a bright flash of lightning which almost blinded me, followed quickly by a rattling peal of thunder; making my horse give a start, which, had I not had a firm hold of the saddle with my knees, would have unseated me. Another and still brighter flash was quickly followed by a yet louder peal. My horse stood still, trembling violently, and afraid to move. In a wonderfully short time the whole sky was overcast with a dense mass of black clouds; and then, after a succession of almost blinding flashes of lightning and terrific peals of thunder, down came the rain in torrents, completely concealing from view all objects at a distance.

Had I remained perfectly still, I might have ascertained the direction in which I was going, but when I attempted to make my horse move on he wheeled round and round, and the rain quickly obliterated the track I had previously made. I was thus utterly unable to determine what course to pursue. There was no wind, even, to guide me, and the rain came down perpendicularly, so that I was in a few minutes wet to the skin. I thought that perhaps my horse’s instinct would lead him back to his equine associates; or, if he was an old buffalo-hunter, that he might follow the trail of the herd we had been pursuing.

I was anxious to obtain both food and shelter. If I could overtake the buffalo, I might satisfy the cravings of hunger; but how to find shelter, was a more difficult point to settle. I therefore gave my steed the rein, and for some time he went in what I supposed was a straight course. Again, however, the lightning burst forth, with even more fearful flashes than before, while the thunder rattled like peals of artillery fired close to my ears. My steed again stood stock-still; and when I attempted to urge him on, he, as before, wheeled round and round. Every moment I expected to be struck by the lightning, which, coming down from the clouds in forked flashes, ran hissing over the ground like fiery serpents.

I was aware, from the time I had been out, that evening must be approaching, but, more suddenly than I had calculated on, darkness came down upon me, and I found myself benighted on the open plain, without the slightest means of guiding my course. Still, I might perish if I remained where I was, so I thought that the best thing I could do was to move on, if I could get my horse to carry me. The thunderstorm, however, continued to rage with unabated fury, and while it lasted I could not induce my steed to move. I got off and tried to lead him, but he plunged so much that I was afraid he would break away, so I therefore mounted again. He went on at first slowly, but suddenly, for what reason I could not tell, he broke into a gallop, and with all my efforts I was unable to check him. The darkness, too, prevented me from seeing the features of the country, and I was thus utterly unable to ascertain in what direction I was going.

All night long he continued; sometimes stopping to regain breath, and then going on again, in spite of the thunder and lightning. The rain had ceased, and the water gradually drained out of my clothes, but I felt very damp and uncomfortable.

At last dawn broke, and the storm gradually died away, but not a gleam of ruddy light indicated in what direction the sun was to be found. Although not thirsty, I was suffering greatly from the pangs of hunger, and felt myself growing weaker and weaker. The appearance of the country was strange, and I could not discern any object which could enable me to determine what course my horse had taken.

Although I could not obtain food for myself, I got off, and loosening the bridle, allowed my steed to crop the grass, in order that he might recruit his strength; for my life would depend, I knew, on his being able to carry me back to my companions, or to go in chase of game. After he had fed for a couple of hours I again mounted and let him go on, when he at once took the course he had before been pursuing.

I looked about on every side, in the hope of seeing some bird or animal that I might shoot. The smallest would have been welcome, but neither large nor small appeared. I was now becoming very faint; while my head felt giddy and my eyes dim. I endeavoured to rouse myself, but in vain. Trying to stand up in my stirrups to look round, I fancied I saw before me a wood. Could I but reach it, I might shoot a bird or squirrel, or some other of its inhabitants.

Another evening was approaching, as I calculated, when I neared the wood. I have a faint recollection of reaching it; then, utterly exhausted, I felt myself slip from the saddle. I disengaged my foot, and was aware that I had reached the ground, on which I stretched myself, trying to hold the rein in my hand. The next instant I must have swooned. There I lay, utterly unable to help myself—my faithful horse standing over me.

How long I had thus lain, I cannot say. Certain it is that, providentially, no wild beasts came near me, or I should have become an easy prey. When I returned to semi-consciousness, I found several people standing round me, one of whom had poured some brandy down my throat, while others were rubbing my feet and hands. I again closed my eyes, unable to make out who the strangers were. They gave me, I believe, more brandy, diluted with water, and then some broth, the effect of which was that I speedily regained a little strength.

In half an hour I was able to sit up. I then discovered that the Samaritans who had relieved me were Spaniards, who, having encamped under shelter of the wood, had, while in search of game for breakfast, discovered me at early dawn. When I was sufficiently recovered, they moved me to their camp where they intended remaining for a day to dry their clothes and packages, which had been saturated by the rain. They formed a large party, bound across the continent with goods for traffic; for only a strong body of well-armed men could venture to travel, with the certainty of meeting bands of hostile Indians, who would be restrained from attacking so formidable a force through dread of their rifles.

The day’s rest, and the careful treatment I received from the Spaniards, quickly restored my strength. They had all been in the States, and consequently many of them could speak English; but I had no wish to live long amongst them, for, though kind to me, many of them were fierce, desperate characters, long accustomed to savage warfare with the Indians, and held life at a remarkably cheap rate. The one who was especially attentive to me was old Pablo,—who acted as cook,—and he was constantly bringing me the most delicate messes he could concoct.

By the time they were ready to start I was well able to sit my horse. The question now was, In what direction should I proceed? They assured me that, were I to attempt to make my way back to my friends, I should certainly be cut off by the Indians, who were tracking their footsteps, looking out for stragglers, and ready to pounce down upon them should they be found unprepared. They advised me to accompany them, and afterwards to try and make my way northward with any party of white trappers or hunters who might be going in that direction.

Pablo strongly urged me to take this course. He had his reasons, he said, for wishing to go to the northward, and would accompany me. Though his appearance was not attractive,—for he looked more like an old Jew pedlar than a son of the prairies, as he called himself,—I had confidence in him. I should have said that my new friends were accompanied by a small party of Indians, who acted as guides. To these people Pablo had an especial aversion, the cause of which he did not divulge to me; but I believe that his reason for wishing to quit the party was to get away from the Indians.

The Spaniards remained a day longer than they intended; but we started at dawn, and made considerable progress during the cooler hours of the morning. The sun then came out with withering heat, and the air appeared to me to be unusually oppressive; while, notwithstanding the rain, the grass rapidly became as dry as before. A brown hue pervaded the landscape.

We halted at night by the side of a stream, which, though very small, afforded water for our horses. By this time I felt quite myself again, and capable for any exertion.

The next day, about noon, I observed the Indian chief, who acted as our principal guide, standing up in his stirrups and looking anxiously towards the south-west. He exchanged some words with our white leader; but still they advanced.

I now noticed a long thin line of what appeared like mist rising above the horizon, but rapidly increasing in height and extending on either hand. The rest of the party also began to look anxious. I remembered the appearance of the prairie fire from which I had before so narrowly escaped, and I now became convinced that we were about to encounter a similar danger.

The clouds of smoke rose higher and higher, and extended further both east and west. Here and there, however, there were gaps, and our leaders seemed to consider it possible that we might make our way through them. At all events, we continued to advance.

The Spaniards began to talk vehemently to each other, evidently not liking the appearance of things. The gaps, towards the broadest of which we had been directing our course, now began to close up, and presently a number of deer came scampering by, only turning slightly aside to avoid us. Whole herds followed—their instinct telling them it was time to make their escape from that region. Our leaders thought likewise; so, turning our horses, we galloped back in the direction from whence we had come.

The whole party had been riding in somewhat less compact order than usual, and they now became widely scattered. I was on the extreme right, and ahead of most of them. Pablo was near me. I urged on my steed to its utmost speed, for I knew how rapidly the fire would spread over the tall, dry grass through which we had passed. Before us was what, in the winter season, would have been a marsh. It was now mostly solid, and here the grass grew even more luxuriantly than in other places. By keeping to the right, I avoided it.

In our rear I heard a thundering sound, intermixed with loud bellowing, and glancing round for a moment I caught sight of a herd of buffalo, which, mad with fright, were dashing on to escape the flames, the crackling and hissing sound of which, I fancied, could now be heard. Another glance showed me the horse of the chief plunging in the marsh, and the frantic herd bearing down directly upon him and several of the Spaniards, who, it seemed to me, must inevitably be overwhelmed; but I had to take care of myself, though I would gladly have gone to their assistance had I been able to do so. Recollecting how Mike and I had before escaped, I kept verging more and more to the right, where the country was higher, and the grass would, I knew, though equally dry, be much shorter. The fire too, in that direction, seemed to be advancing much more slowly than it was behind us. I therefore shouted to Pablo to follow me, but was uncertain whether he heard my voice.

I at length lost sight of my companions, but as I without difficulty kept well ahead of the flames, I was satisfied that I had followed the wisest course.

On looking round I saw a number of animals following me: straggling buffalo, deer of several descriptions, wolves, and many smaller quadrupeds. It would not do, however, to stop for a moment; so I pushed on as fast as my horse could go, and after galloping several miles I was satisfied that I had gained considerably on the fire.

Looking to the right, it appeared to me that I might double on it, as it seemed not to be extending in that direction. I was therefore about to change my course with that object, when I saw scampering along the plain a band of Indians, who, I guessed, from the tall plumes on their heads, their long spears, and general appearance, were on the war-path, and would not hesitate to take the scalp of a white man for the sake of adding to their trophies. Were I to continue as I had been going, I should ride almost into their midst. Of one thing, however, I felt sure—they would not willingly advance nearer the approaching fire.

They soon espied me, and several detached themselves from the main body and galloped forward. Should they come near me, my fate, I felt sure, would be sealed. I had not a moment to deliberate. I would rather rush through the flames than trust myself to their tender mercies; so, turning my horse’s head, I galloped back towards the advancing fire. Directly in front of me was a spot where the flames reached to a much less height than in other places, and the belt of fire seemed also much narrower. Unstrapping the blanket I carried on my saddle, with desperate energy I tore off a broad strip and fastened it over my horse’s eyes. The larger portion I threw over my own head, fastening the ends round my body.

Before I had finished this operation I heard the wild whoops of the Indians directly behind me. Tightening the rein, I dug my heels into my horse’s flanks and urged him forward, steering him between the numberless animals escaping from the fire. My poor horse knew not where he was going. I waited till the smoke began to curl round my head, then drawing the blanket over my face and chest, in total darkness I dashed forward into the midst of the flames. The heat was intense, and I felt that my boots were scorching, but the blanket kept the smoke from my mouth and nostrils, and I was able, though with difficulty, to breathe. I could feel the flames round me, and hear their crackling sound, so my only hope of safety depended on my horse keeping his legs. Should he fall, I must be destroyed.

He kept up wonderfully, and at length I knew that the worst was past. I threw the blanket from my head, for I had begun to fear that I should be suffocated. I was able to draw a free breath, though the air was full of smoke. I had passed safely through the fire, but my clothes were scorched, and my poor steed was fearfully burnt. The ground, too, over which I was passing was still strewed with smouldering embers, which my horse’s hoofs threw up behind him at every step.

The fire went rolling on. As I looked down my poor steed’s neck and shoulders, I saw that the hair had been completely singed off. A plunge in cold water, therefore, could alone restore him. A dreadful thirst, besides, had seized me. I knew by the course the fire had taken, that away to the eastward I should find a broad stream or marsh. I therefore rode towards it, and the instinct of my steed showed him that I was proceeding to where he could obtain relief from his sufferings.

After galloping along for some distance, having to hold him up with all the strength I could muster, I saw before me the bright water shining between the scorched trees. As I neared it, nothing could restrain the suffering animal. Springing down the bank, he plunged in, carrying me with him. I had not time to stop him; but after a minute I got him into shallow water, and was able to leap off his back on to the shore.

Scarcely had I dismounted, when a chorus of howls saluted my ears; and looking up, I saw a score or more of wolves, which had observed me as they were following in the rear of the fire, according to their custom, to feed on the carcasses of the animals which had fallen victims to the flames. Some had sprung into the water, and were swimming towards me; others came along the bank. I fired at the nearest and knocked him over—the others I attacked with my gun barrel, keeping the cowardly creatures at bay; but their sentinels, who remained on the upper part of the bank, were all the time uttering the fearful howls they make to summon their companions to attack a living animal, or to feed on the carcass they have discovered. I knew that in a few minutes I should be surrounded by a whole army of the savage creatures, and though I might keep a few at bay, I should be unable to resist the numbers which would ere long surround me.

My horse seemed aware of his danger. Driving back the wolves, I reloaded my rifle, and then shouting and firing at the most daring, while the howling pack retreated I mounted and dashed forward. The wolves sprang up round my horse’s legs, trying to seize his neck, but I beat them off; and, maddened with terror, he galloped on, sending those his heels reached right and left. Scorched and suffering from the flames though he was, he strained every muscle to keep ahead of the yelping pack, and soon completely distanced them; still, their horrid yelps told me that they were continuing the pursuit. As I looked over my shoulder I could see a long line of fresh animals joining from all sides.

On and on we went, till we left behind the region blackened by the fire, and I saw before me a wood which the flames had not reached. I made for it, hoping that the wolves would not follow; or, if they did, then I might climb a tree, and defend my horse with my rifle as I sat amid the branches.

I reached the wood, and discovered on the very borders just such a tree as I desired. The poor animal was trembling all over, and looked in a wretched plight. My first aim was to make a fire, through which I knew that the wolves would not venture to pass. While engaged in collecting fuel, their yelps again sounded in my ears, and before I could produce a flame I saw them coming on. My only chance now was to mount the tree. Springing on to my horse, I climbed from his back into the fork of the tree, where I was out of the reach of my foes. This was the last service my faithful horse rendered me.

On looking towards the wolves, I perceived, to my dismay, that there were several large white ones among them, the most savage of their tribe. I now knew that I must abandon all hope of saving my horse. I fired at the nearest white wolf and knocked the creature over, but this did not avail my poor steed, for in an instant he was surrounded and pulled to the ground, where the dreadful brutes quickly destroyed him. I loaded and fired, in revenge, as fast as I could; and though at each shot I killed a wolf, it appeared in no way to diminish their numbers, while the living lost no time in devouring their dead companions. Directly I killed a white wolf, the yelling brutes set upon him and tore him to pieces.

Strange as it may seem, I felt an extraordinary pleasure in thus destroying the most savage animals of those wilds; but fortunately I remembered in time that if I continued my sport I might exhaust my ammunition. I therefore only fired when I was certain of bringing down one of the larger animals.

Darkness was coming on, but still the wolves showed no inclination to take their departure. As far as I could tell, they might starve me to death. Not a particle of my horse was by this time left, for they had torn even the saddle and bridle to threads, and, excepting the wood and ironwork, had devoured the whole.

Matters were becoming serious, for I was already desperately hungry. Could I have discovered even a small bird or any creature in the tree, I might have satisfied the gnawings of my stomach, and held out longer.

At length, when I was beginning to despair of relief, my ear caught the same yelping, yelling sound which had warned me of the approach of the wolves when I was in the river. On looking out, I saw a couple of buffalo bulls galloping across the prairie, with a pack of wolves on their trail. The animals still surrounding the tree also heard the sounds. They looked up wistfully at me, making a few desperate efforts to reach the branch on which I was seated; but finding that all their attempts were vain, first one started off in the direction the other pack had taken, then another and another went away. In a few minutes only three hungry animals remained, gnawing at the bones of the white wolves and some of their own nearer relatives whom I had shot. These I did not fear to encounter. Killing one from where I sat, and then reloading, I jumped down from my perch. The brutes snarled, and one of them made a spring at me; but I shot him, and knocked the other over with the butt of my rifle, thereby saving a charge of powder and lead.

Hunger induced me to cut a slice out of one of the wolves, although it was with no pleasant feelings that I did so. For some minutes I gnawed away at the unsavoury morsel, till nausea compelled me to stop. I then set to work to collect sticks and branches, the waning daylight scarcely affording me sufficient time to pick up as many as I required. With those I could obtain I lighted a fire, spreading it in a circle; then, satisfied that it would burn brightly for a couple of hours, and that no wolves would venture to break through it, I lay down to obtain the rest I so much needed.

When I awoke, a circle of hot embers alone remained. As I had a small supply of wood yet unconsumed, I began to throw on stick after stick, to keep up the fire as long as possible, when I again heard that horrid yelping close to me, and through the darkness I could see the glaring eyeballs of numberless wolves gathering round. They dared not, however, pass the fiery boundary, and I knew that I was safe as long as I could keep up even a slight blaze; still, my stock of wood was growing less and less, and should a black gap appear in the circle, some of the most savage might break through.

Having exhausted the last twig, I saw that I must do something to rid myself of my foes. Seizing a burning branch, the end of which remained unconsumed, I waved it round and round in the faces of the wolves, shouting at the same time at the top of my voice. It had the effect I wished; for, a panic seizing them, away they all scampered, leaving me once more alone. I lost no time in springing over the fire and collecting a sufficient quantity of wood to enable me to keep it blazing till the morning.

The wolves did not return; and at dawn, having cut some more slices from one of the wolves which I had drawn inside the circle, I set off, with my face to the northward, hoping almost against hope that I might fall in with some of my late companions, or that I might find the means of supporting existence till I could strike the trail of old Samson and my other friends,—or the emigrant-train, should they have got so far south. Happily I saw no more of the wolves, and by keeping along the bank of the river, which here ran north and south, I avoided the district ravaged by the fire. Through not falling in with any of the Spaniards, I began to fear that they must have perished.

The first day I fortunately shot a beaver; and having cooked it, I made a hearty meal—stowing away the rest in my wallet. That night I slept up among the branches of a tree, which were so placed that I had no fear of falling down; and next morning, greatly refreshed, I pushed forward on my solitary journey.

Chapter Twelve.

I find poor Pablo, and assist him—Roasted squirrel—Pablo’s reason for desiring to join the English—We stalk a buffalo—Pablo’s terror at the approach of Indians—My surprise at being welcomed by Manilick—Mike’s joy at seeing me alive—We again start in the direction of the waggon-train—Old Samson, Reuben, and Sandy nearly roasted alive by the Apaches—Quambo’s care of “de fiddle”—Lily’s relationship to Old Samson—Kepenau and Manilick—Conclusion.

I had been trudging on for some hours, directing my course by the sun, which shone brightly from an unclouded sky, when, feeling weary, I sat down to rest under the shade of a tree not far from the river’s brink. Scarcely had I stretched out my legs, when I heard a voice, in a tone of suffering, calling to me; and going in the direction from whence it proceeded, what was my surprise to see, among the branches of a tree, my late companion Pablo!

“Misericordia, Señor Roger!” he cried out. “I am starving, and too weak to get down of myself.”

I climbed up and gave him some of the beaver-flesh, which soon revived him. He told me how he had been frightened up the tree by the wolves, and that, having lost his gun and his flint, he had no means of defending himself, or of lighting a fire, and should certainly have perished had I not come to his aid. Having assisted him down, I led him towards the river, where he quenched his thirst.

We made but little progress that day, for Pablo was ill able to walk; so, having reached a spot where we could obtain sufficient bark and wood to build a hut and keep up a blazing fire all night, we encamped. Leaving Pablo to finish the hut, I set off in search of game. I brought down two black squirrels; and I afterwards came upon several bushes of berries, which would add a variety to our meal.

On my return to the camp, I found that Pablo had finished all the arrangements, and we soon had one of the squirrels roasting before the fire.

Pablo opened his heart to me. I had been the means, he said, of saving his life, and he should ever be grateful. The reason, he told me, of his being so anxious to join the English, was, that he had met with a missionary—who proved to be no other than our friend Martin Godfrey—and that his object, therefore, was to live with those who held the same opinions, for he was sure that they were the right ones. He cared nothing for all the fatigue and danger he might have to go through, provided that he gained his wishes at last.

We travelled on for several days, sometimes having to encamp in the open prairie, where we were more especially exposed to the risk of being attacked by wolves, or run over by a stampede of buffalo—though we did not trouble our heads much on that score. Our chief risk lay in encountering any bands of hostile Indians who might be traversing the open prairie, as it would be scarcely possible to conceal ourselves from them. I could only hope that, in the event of our being seen, they would not attack two wayworn travellers who could not injure them. Pablo, however, observed that there were some tribes who would murder us for the sake of our scalps, so as to be able to boast that they had killed two enemies in battle. He had no affection for the Indians, and was inclined to doubt whether they possessed any good qualities.

How we should have got across the wide extent of prairie we traversed I know not, had we not been able to stalk a buffalo, by getting well to leeward of it, whereupon I brought it down with my rifle. Its stomach was full of water, with which we quenched our thirst; and the flesh afforded us food for many days—partly eaten fresh, and partly dried in the sun, and turned into a coarse description of pemmican. We were hoping soon to strike another river, where we could obtain water. This kept up our spirits; and we certainly needed something to do that, for we were growing weary of our long tramp across the open country. As may be supposed, too, we kept our eyes about us as we walked along; for should we espy any suspicious horsemen, our best chance of escaping, we agreed, would be to fall flat on the ground, where we might be hidden by the grass.

The sun was already verging towards the west, when Pablo, who happened at the moment to be looking eastward, exclaimed, “Here come Indians! here come Indians! Down—down!”

We both dropped to the ground, hoping that we had not been seen, and that they would pass by on one side or the other. I could catch sight, as I lay, of their feather, metal, and shell ornaments glittering in the sun, and of their spear-heads with long tufts waving in the wind. They were pushing rapidly across the prairie; but at the distance they still were from us I could not distinguish the tribe or nation to which they belonged. They might be Apaches or Comanches, deadly foes; or a tribe keeping up a friendly intercourse with the white men.

At first I was doubtful in what direction they were going, but I was soon convinced that they were riding directly towards the spot where we lay, and that our chance of escape from their eagle-eyes was small indeed. I observed their leader at length stand up in his stirrups and gaze around. From this I felt nearly sure that we had been seen, and that he was looking for us.

“We are sure to be discovered,” I whispered to Pablo. “Our wisest mode of proceeding will be to stand up and face them boldly. It will be better to die on our feet, than to be speared like skulking foxes.”

“Do as you think best,” answered Pablo.

I immediately rose, and, with outstretched hand, advanced towards the Indians. Their leader galloped forward, then, greatly to my surprise, threw himself from his horse as he got up to me, and putting out his own hand, took mine.

“I have been searching for you! Don’t you know me?” he exclaimed.

As he spoke I recognised Manilick, the young chief, Ashatea’s lover.

“I happily met the friend of my tribe, Samson Micklan, who, with his companions, are anxious about you,” he continued. “Confident of your courage and hardihood, they would not believe that you were lost; and they urged me to make a circuit to the south, in the possibility of coming on your trail. Glad I am to have fallen in with you, for I had almost given you up as lost. Right heartily will our aged friend rejoice that you have been found.”

I thanked Manilick warmly for the interest he had taken in me, and inquired whether the waggons had turned back or continued their course westward, and whether they had been overtaken. He replied that Samson had discovered their trail, but, in his search for me, he had lost so much time, that he had not yet been able to come up with them.

As the party had several spare horses, Pablo and I were at once provided with steeds. We then pushed on at a quick rate, Manilick observing that he wished to reach the camp of a friend the following day.

I inquired who the friend was.

“Kepenau,” he answered. “He has, with his whole tribe, moved westward, under my protection. He has buried the hatchet with all mankind, and has induced me to follow his example, provided we are not attacked; for should we be, even he allows that it is both lawful and right to defend ourselves. The good preacher, Martin Godfrey, has accompanied him, for the purpose of instructing his people and mine; and he afterwards intends to visit the Palefaces settled in other parts of the country.”

“And has his daughter accompanied him?” I asked, looking at the young chief.

“Yes,” he answered, with a smile; “and she is shortly to become my wife, as she is satisfied that I am now a believer in the same faith she has long held. I bless the day, too, when she won me over, though I had not before supposed it possible that I could abandon the religion of my forefathers.”

I told Manilick how glad I was to hear this, and wished him every happiness.

We encamped that night in a wood near a stream, which we reached just before dark. The same precautions were taken against surprise which our small band had considered necessary; for, Manilick told me, should the Apaches discover his trail, they would be certain to attack him.

“However,” he observed, “we have hitherto been preserved by the Great Spirit, and we have no fear of the result of a fight.”

“Then you cannot be said altogether to have buried the hatchet,” I observed.

“We have resolved to attack no one, and the sin will lie with those who attack us,” he answered; “while it is possible, we will avoid a quarrel, and proceed peaceably on our way.”

As Manilick’s party was numerous and well-armed, they were calculated to inspire respect; and if any foes did approach the camp, they probably thought it prudent to retire to a distance.

The next morning we continued our march, and towards evening came in sight of a thick wood. I saw that Manilick’s eagerness increased as we rode on. We were still at some little distance from the wood, when I observed a man with a gun in his hand issuing from under the shelter of the trees. He looked towards us, apparently suspicious as to who we were. I had no doubt, from his appearance, that he was a Paleface; and as we got still nearer to him, to my infinite satisfaction I recognised Mike Laffan. He knew me almost at the same moment, and throwing up his cap, and giving vent to an Irish shout of joy, he ran forward.

“Sure! is it you, Masther Roger dear, alive and well?” he exclaimed. “It brings back joy to me heart, for it was mighty throubled at the thoughts that you were lost intirely.”

I jumped from my horse to receive the greetings of the honest fellow. He had, I found, overcome with the poignancy of his feelings at the thought of my death, been knocked up, and had remained with Kepenau, whose camp he told me was concealed within the wood. He led the way round to a narrow opening, where Manilick dismounted. Proceeding through it, we soon reached an open spot on which Kepenau had pitched his tents. He himself was the first person who advanced to greet us. Behind him stood Ashatea, a lovely specimen of an Indian girl, her countenance beaming with that intelligence which education could alone have given her. Though she met Manilick with a bashful reserve, I had little doubt that she had at length bestowed on him the heart he sought. Still I recollected honest Reuben’s admiration. Yet I was very glad that it was so; for, charming as he might deem her, she was still a child of the desert,—and one of our fair countrywomen would, I was very sure, make him a far more useful and companionable wife than Ashatea would prove.

Kepenau told me that he intended to pitch his tents in the neighbourhood of the proposed settlement—remarking that he should now have no fear of his people being seduced by the terrible “fire water”—and that he hoped to change his skin-tents into substantial dwellings like those of the Palefaces, and to cultivate the ground instead of depending on the chase for subsistence. In the meantime, however, he and his people must hunt the buffalo and deer to obtain support for themselves and their families; and he was only awaiting the arrival of Manilick and his tribe to set out with that object, as provisions were already running short in the camp. Though I had borne the journey, I felt too much exhausted and weak to accompany him; and as both Mike and Pablo were much in the same condition, they insisted on taking care of me and themselves without troubling the Indians, who had plenty to do in guarding the camp and looking after the horses.

Mike and Pablo soon became great friends; and though I had no real authority over either of them, they took a pleasure in serving me.

“Sit still and be aisy for once in your life, Masther Roger,” said Mike, as he brought a bundle of sticks and piled them up on the fire he had lit. “Sure, Pablo and I can do all the work, without you throubling yourself. There’s Misthress Ashatea and the young chief billing and cooing at her tent-door like two turtle-doves; and if they were to see you moving about, maybe they’d think it necessary, out of courtesy, to come and help you—and it would be a pity to disturb them.”

Mike’s arguments prevailed, and for once in my life, as he advised, I did sit quiet,—and very glad I was to do so,—while I watched the Indians through the trees making preparations for their departure.

The young chief, after a short rest, started off with some of his best hunters in search of a herd of buffalo which had been seen in the neighbourhood; and before the end of the next day they returned with an ample supply of meat. After remaining a couple of days to dry what was not required for immediate consumption, the camp was broken up, and we proceeded in the direction it was said the waggon-train had taken. We were, however, not able to travel very much faster than the steady-going oxen, and we therefore had little hope of overtaking it before it had reached its destination.

As trails were discovered which were pronounced to be those of Apaches, I felt some anxiety lest old Samson and his companions might have been attacked and overpowered.

“He is too well acquainted with their ways to be caught,” observed Kepenau.

I remembered, however, the eagerness the old man had shown to overtake the train, in order that he might ascertain whether Lily was, as he had hoped, his grand-daughter; and he might thus push forward, when his usual prudence would have induced him to remain concealed, or to have retreated from his foes.

We advanced like an army in an enemy’s country—with scouts ranging on either side, so that there was no probability of our being taken by surprise; while our main body was too numerous to have invited an attack.

We had made good progress for several days, when the sound of rifle-shots reached our ears through the still air of a warm summer noon. Directly afterwards the scouts came in with the intelligence that a large number of Indians were collected in the neighbourhood of what looked like a log-hut, on the bank of a stream in the plain below us. We were, at the time, approaching the edge of a plateau over which we had been travelling. In the far distance rose some blue hills, spurs of a still more lofty range of mountains. It was at the foot of these hills that the new settlement was, I understood, to be formed.

While our main body advanced slowly for the sake of the women and children, Manilick, with a chosen band of warriors, rode rapidly forward. He at once expressed his opinion that a small party of white men had taken refuge in the hut, to defend themselves against the Apaches, and that it was our duty to hasten to their relief. We waited among the trees on the upper portion of the slope, to give time to our main body to appear just before we should reach the enemy—who, finding themselves menaced by superior numbers, would in all probability take to flight. At the proper moment Manilick shouted “Forward!” and we rapidly descended the hill.

We did not arrive a moment too soon, for the fire of the little garrison had begun to slacken, and the besiegers were preparing to scale the walls. On seeing us approach, and observing the large number of armed men who at that moment reached the edge of the height, they took to flight, and endeavoured to make their escape to the southward. We gained a bloodless victory, for Manilick would not allow them to be pursued.

No sooner had the enemy retreated than the door of the hut was thrown open, and old Samson, followed by Reuben and Sandy, rushed out, while the hut burst into flames—the savages having just before set fire to it in several places.

“You have come just in time to save us from roasting!” exclaimed the old trapper, recognising Manilick, but not seeing me. “We caught sight of the Apaches bearing down upon us, and had just time to take shelter in the hut and barricade the doors and windows, before they readied it. They carried off our good steeds, but we have secured our packs and arms.”

At length catching sight of me as I rode out from among the men, he expressed his satisfaction with a vehemence I had never before seen him exhibit—almost bursting into tears as he shook my hand.

“I should have grieved if you had been lost, Roger, and I had had to announce the sad tidings to my young grand-daughter; for that your Lily is my grand-daughter, I feel as sure as I do of my own existence. I have dreamed about her every night since you told me her history, and something tells me I must be her grandfather. Nothing must now stop us. Our friend Manilick will supply us with horses, and we shall reach the settlement before nightfall. They are all safe there long ago, for I came upon their trail; and they were strong enough to beat off any of the Redskins who may have attempted to interfere with them.”

Notwithstanding Samson’s eagerness, we had to wait till the main body came up, when, horses having been supplied to my three friends, they, with Mike and I, and six of Manilick’s tribe, set forward at a rapid rate in the direction of the new settlement.

The sun had not yet set when we saw before us, on the banks of a clear stream backed by a wood, some white tents, and the canvas covers of a number of waggons. My heart began to beat with the anticipation of once more meeting Lily, my uncles and aunt, and other friends. As we approached the bank we were observed by the inhabitants, who at once assembled, rushing from all quarters with arms in their hands. On our drawing still nearer, however, they recognised us, and coming down to the water, pushed off on a large raft, which they propelled with long poles to the side on which we stood.

The first to spring on shore was Uncle Mark. He received Reuben, Mike, and me as people risen from the dead. Quambo followed closely, and, taking me in his arms, gave me a hug, in his joy, which almost squeezed the breath out of my body. Mike came in for the same sort of greeting.

“Och, sure! do you take me for a baby?” exclaimed Mike—“though you would have squeezed the life out of me if I had been one. But I am moighty plased to see you; and, bedad, we’ll be footing it away to the sound of me fiddle, I am hoping, before many hours are over. You have got it all safe?”

“Yes. I keep de fiddle all right, and let no one play on it—not even myself,” observed Quambo.

“True for you, Quambo,” said Mike, laughing; “for the best of raisons—there’s no one else but meself could make the music come out of it.”

Our Indian escort having set off to return to the camp, according to orders, we crossed the river to the opposite bank, where our relatives had collected to receive us.

Lily looked somewhat pale. Though she had not abandoned all hope, she had been fearfully anxious about me; and she made me promise not to go wandering again over the wilds, if I could help it. Mr and Mrs Claxton and Dora had been equally anxious about Reuben, and were proportionably thankful to get him back safe.

Old Samson stood gazing at Lily while I was talking to her. He then hastened up to Aunt Hannah.

“You have been a mother to that sweet child, and I will bless you for it as long as there is breath in my old body,” he said. “But I want to take her from you. She is mine by right, for I am, I believe, her only living relative. You have got the proofs; and if you do not wish to try the feelings of an old man, which he thought were long ago dead and gone, show me the things you have taken care of since she was committed to your charge.”

Aunt Hannah looked very much surprised at first; but the truth quickly dawned on her.

“You shall see them, Mr Micklan, for they are safe in my box in the waggon; and if you recognise them, as you expect to do, Lily shall call you ‘Grandfather;’ but as to giving her up—No, no! you will not expect that of us. For sixteen years she has been our child, and we have loved her, and love her still, as if she were our own. You would not be so hard-hearted, even if you have the right, as to deprive us of her!”

“Well, well—I cannot gainsay you; but only let me know that I have got some one to love, and I will give up my wandering life and come and settle down among you.”

Lily and I accompanied Uncle Stephen and Aunt Hannah, with the old hunter, to the waggon, where the baby-dress and the ornaments she had worn were soon produced.

Samson gazed at them, without speaking, for some seconds. Then he exclaimed, “Yes, yes! there is no doubt about it.—Come, Lily, do not be afraid of your old grandfather. I will not run away with you; but just let me love you, and watch over you, and take care of you, and I shall be content, and end my days more happily than I had ever hoped to do.”

Lily came forward and put her hand into that of the old man, who, stooping down, kissed her fair brow, and pressed her to his heart.

After this a change seemed to come over Samson Micklan. He was no longer the rough old trapper he had hitherto appeared—though he worked as hard as any one in the camp, and took especial delight in assisting to build the house Lily was to occupy.

Every one, as may be supposed, was busy from sunrise to sunset, and a village soon sprang up in that hitherto desert spot. Our Indian friends rendered us important assistance, by supplying us with the meat they obtained in their hunting expeditions, as also by acting as our guardians; for they were constantly on the watch, and no foes would venture to attack us while supported by such formidable allies. The settlement flourished and rapidly increased, for we were soon joined by other parties from the eastward; and even my uncles acknowledged that they had no desire to make another move—greatly to Aunt Hannah’s satisfaction.

Lily, in course of time, became my wife; and Mr Micklan, loved and respected by the whole of the community, lived to hear the prattle of his great-grandchildren.

Our friends Reuben and Dora both married happily, and we, who were once hardy backwoodsmen, became quiet and contented citizens. I own that though the life we had led possessed its attractions, our present condition was on many accounts preferable.

Mike and Quambo purchased a lot between them at a short distance from the settlement, and became prosperous farmers; but they remained bachelors to the end of their days—Mike declaring that the sound of his fiddle was more satisfactory to his ears than the scolding of a wife or the squalling of children. Albeit, he never failed to bring it on his frequent visits, to the infinite delight of my youngsters, who invariably began to dance and snap their fingers when they caught sight of him and his sturdy nag approaching our door.

Kepenau and Manilick, having become civilised themselves, laboured incessantly in the civilisation of their people—aided by our revered friend, Martin Godfrey, who eventually settled down among them.

We were not altogether without some trials and troubles, but we had also much to make us happy; and I can honestly say that we had good reason to be thankful—though we could never be sufficiently so—to that Merciful Being who had preserved us amid the many dangers we had passed through during the period I have described.

W H G Kingston

"The African Trader"

Chapter One.

My father, after meeting with a severe reverse of fortune, dies, and my sisters and I are left destitute.—Our faithful old black nurse Mammy, takes care of my sisters, while I, invited by a former acquaintance, Captain Willis of the “Chieftain,” sail with him on a trading voyage to the coast of Africa.

Our school was breaking up for the midsummer holidays—north, south, east, and west we sped to our different destinations, thinking with glee of the pleasures we believed to be in store for us.

I was bound for Liverpool, where my father, a West India merchant, now resided. He had for most of his life lived in Jamaica, where I was born, and from whence I had a few years before accompanied him to England to go to school.

“I am sorry we shall not see you back, Bayford,” said the good doctor, as he shook me warmly by the hand. “May our heavenly Father protect you, my boy, wherever you go.”

“I hope to go as a midshipman on board a man-of-war, sir,” I answered. “My father expects to get me appointed to a ship this summer, and I suppose that is the reason I am leaving.”

The doctor looked kindly and somewhat sadly at me. “You must not, Harry, raise your hopes on that point too high,” he answered, in a grave tone. “When I last heard from your father, saying he desired to remove you, he was very unwell. I grieve to have to say this, but it is better that you should be prepared for evil tidings. God bless you Harry Bayford. The coach will soon be up; I must not detain you longer.”

The doctor again warmly wrung my hand.

I hastened after Peter the porter, who was wheeling my trunk down to the village inn where the coach stopped, and I had just time to mount on the top when the guard cried out, “All right;” the coachman laid his whip along the backs of the horses, which trotted gaily forward along the dusty road.

My spirits would naturally have risen at finding myself whirled along at the rate of ten miles an hour on my way homeward, but the last words spoken by the doctor continually recurred to me, and contributed greatly to damp them. I managed, however, at length, to persuade myself that my anticipations of evil were mere fancies. On reaching Liverpool, having called a porter to carry my things, I hurried homewards, expecting to receive the usual happy greetings from my father and sisters. My spirits sank when looking up at the windows, I saw that all the blinds were drawn down. I knocked at the door with trembling hand. A strange and rough-looking man opened it. “Is my father at home?” I asked, in a low voice. The man hesitated, looking hard at me, and then said, “Yes; but you can’t see him. There are some ladies upstairs—your sisters, I suppose—you had better go to them.”

There was an ominous silence in the house; no one was moving about. What had become of all the servants? I stole gently up to Jane and Mary’s boudoir. They, and little Emily our younger sister, were seated together, all dressed in black. Sobs burst from them, as they threw their arms round my neck, without uttering a word. I then knew to a certainty what had happened—our kind father was dead; but I little conceived the sad misfortunes which had previously overtaken him and broken his heart, leaving his children utterly destitute.

Jane, on recovering herself, in a gentle sad voice told me all about it. “Mary and I intend going out as governesses, but we scarcely know what to do for dear Emily and you Harry, though we will devote our salaries to keep you and her at school.”

“Oh, I surely can get a place as a nursemaid,” said Emily, a fair delicate girl, looking but ill-adapted for the situation she proposed for herself. “And I, Jane, will certainly not deprive you and Mary of your hard-earned salaries, even were you to obtain what would be required,” I answered, firmly. “I ought rather to support you, and I hope to be able to do so by some means or other.”

My sisters even then were not aware of the sad position in which we were placed. Our father had been a man of peculiarly reserved and retiring manners; he had formed no friendships in England, and the few people he knew were simply business acquaintances. An execution had been put into the house even before his death, so that we had no power over a single article it contained.

The servants, with the exception of my sisters’ black nurse, had gone away, and we had not a friend whose hospitality we could claim. She, good creature (Mammy, as we called her), finding out, on seeing my trunk in the hall, that I had arrived, came breathless, from hurrying up stairs, into the room, and embracing me, kissed my forehead and cheeks as if I had still been a little child; and I felt the big drops fall from her eyes as she held me in her shrivelled arms. “Sad all this, Massa Harry, but we got good Fader up dere, and He take care of us though He call massa away,” and she cast her eyes to heaven, trusting with a simple firm faith to receive from thence that protection she might have justly feared she was not likely to obtain on earth.

“We all have our sorrows, dear children,” she continued, “massa had many sorrows when he lose your mother and his fortune, and I have my sorrows when I was carried away by slaver people, and leave my husband and piccaniny in Africa, and now your sorrows come. But we can pray to the good God, and he lift us out of dem all.”

Mammy had often told us of the cruel way in which she had been kidnapped, and how her husband had escaped with her little boy; and after she became a Christian (and a very sincere one she was), her great grief arose from supposing that her child would be brought up as a savage heathen in ignorance of the blessed truths of the gospel. My sisters and I, as children, had often wept while she recounted her sad history, but at the time I speak of, I myself was little able to appreciate the deeper cause of her sorrow. I thought, of course, that it was very natural she should grieve for the loss of her son, but I did not understand that it arose on account of her anxiety for his soul’s salvation.

“I pray day and night,” I heard her once tell Jane, “dat my piccaniny learn to know Christ, and I sure God hear my prayers. How He bring it about I cannot tell.”

We and Mammy followed our father to the grave, and were then compelled to quit the house, leaving everything behind us, with the exception of my sisters’ wardrobes and a few ornaments, which they claimed as their property. Mammy did her best to cheer us. She had taken, unknown to my sisters, some humble, though clean, lodgings in the outskirts of the town, and to these she had carried whatever we were allowed to remove.

“See, Massa Harry,” she said, showing me an old leathern purse full of gold. “We no want food for long time to come, and before then God find us friends and show us what to do.”

My sisters possessed various talents, and they at once determined to employ them to the best advantage. Jane and Mary drew beautifully, and were adepts in all sorts of fancy needle-work. Emily, though young, had written one or two pretty tales, and we were sure that she was destined to be an authoress. Mammy, therefore, entreated them not to separate, assuring them that her only pleasure on earth would be to labour and assist in protecting them. Had they had no other motive, for her sake alone, they would have been anxious to follow her advice.

I was the only one of the family who felt unable to do anything for myself. I wrote too bad a hand to allow me any hopes of obtaining a situation in a counting-house; and though I would have gone out as an errand boy or page rather than be a burden to my sisters, I was sure they would not permit this, and, besides, I felt that by my taking an inferior position they would be lowered in the cold eyes of the world. I had ardently wished to go to sea, and I thought that the captain who had promised to take me as a midshipman would still receive me could I reach Portsmouth. I did not calculate the expense of an outfit, nor did I think of the allowance young gentlemen are expected to receive on board a man-of-war.

I had wandered one day down to the docks to indulge myself in the sight of the shipping, contemplating the possibility of obtaining a berth on board one of the fine vessels I saw fitting out, and had been standing for some time on the quay, when I observed a tall good-looking man, in the dress of a merchantman’s captain, step out of a boat which had apparently come from a black rakish looking brigantine lying a short distance out in the stream. I looked at him hard, for suddenly it occurred to me that I remembered his features. Yes, I was certain. He had been junior mate of the “Fair Rosomond,” in which vessel we had come home from Jamaica, and a great chum of mine. “Mr Willis,” I said, “do you remember me? I am Harry Bayford.”

“Not by looks, but by your voice and eyes I do, my boy,” he answered, grasping my hand and shaking it heartily. “But what has happened? I see you are in mourning.”

I told him of my father’s misfortunes and death; and as we walked along frankly opened out on my views and plans. “You will have no chance in the navy without means or friends, Harry,” he answered. “There’s no use thinking about the matter; but if your mind is set on going to sea I’ll take you, and do my best to make a sailor of you. I have command of the ‘Chieftain,’ an African trader, the brigantine you see off in the stream there. Though we do not profess to take midshipmen, I’ll give you a berth in my cabin, and I don’t see that in the long run you will run more risk than you would have to go through on board vessels trading to other parts of the world.”

“Thank you, Captain Willis, very much,” I exclaimed, “I little expected so soon to go to sea.”

“Don’t talk of thanks, Harry,” he answered, “your poor father was very kind to me, and I am glad to serve you. I had intended calling on him before sailing; and if your sisters will allow me, I’ll pay them a visit, and answer any objections they may make to your going.”

After dining with the captain at an inn, I hurried home with, what I considered, this good news. My sisters, however, were very unwilling to sanction my going. They had heard so much of the deadly climate of the African coast, and of dangers from slavers and pirates, that they dreaded the risk I should run. Captain Willis, according to his promise, called the next day, and not without difficulty quieted their apprehensions.

Mammy, though unwilling to part with me, still could not help feeling a deep interest in my undertaking, as she thought that I was going to visit her own still-loved country; and while assisting my sisters to prepare my outfit she entertained me with an account of its beauties and wonders, while I promised to bring her back from it all sorts of things which I expected to collect. “And suppose, Mammy, I was to fall in with your little piccaniny, shall I bring him back to you?” I asked, with the thoughtlessness of a boy—certainly not intending to hurt her feelings. She dropped her work, gazing at me with a tearful eye.

“He fine little black boy, big as you when four year old,” she said, and stopped as if in thought, and then added, “Ah, Massa Harry, he no little boy now though, him great big man like him fader, you no know him, I no know him.”

“But what is his name, Mammy? That would be of use,” I said.

“Him called Cheebo,” she answered, heaving a deep sigh. “But Africa great big country—tousands and tousands of people; you no find Cheebo among dem; God only find him. His eye everywhere. He hears Mammy’s prayers, dat great comfort.”

“That it is, indeed,” said Jane, fearing that my careless remarks had needlessly grieved poor Mammy, by raising long dormant feelings in her heart. “And oh, my dear Harry, if you are brought into danger, and inclined to despair—and I fear you will have many dangers to go through—recollect that those who love you at home are earnestly praying for you; and at the same time never forget to pray for yourself, and to feel assured that God will hear our united prayers, and preserve you in the way He thinks best.”

“I will try to remember,” I said, “but do not fancy, Jane, that I am going to run my head into all sorts of dangers. I daresay we shall have a very pleasant voyage out, and be back again in a few months with a full cargo of palm oil, ivory, gold-dust, and all sorts of precious things, such as I understand Captain Willis is going to trade for.”

“You will not forget Cheebo though, Massa Harry,” said Mammy, in a low voice. The idea that I might meet her son was evidently taking strong possession of her mind.

“That I will not,” I answered. “I’ll ask his name of every black fellow I meet, and if I find him I’ll tell him that I know his mother Mammy, and ask him to come with me to see you.”

“Oh, but he not know dat name,” exclaimed Mammy. “Me called Ambah in Africa; him fader called Quamino. You no forget dat.”

“I hope not; but I’ll put them in my pocketbook,” I said, writing down the names, though I confess that I did so without any serious thoughts about the matter, but merely for the sake of pleasing old Mammy. When I told Captain Willis afterwards, he was highly amused with the notion, and said that I might just as well try to find a needle in a bundle of hay as to look for the old woman’s son on the coast of Africa.

The day of parting from my poor sisters and our noble-hearted nurse arrived. I did not expect to feel it so much as I did, and I could then understand how much grief it caused them.

“Cheer up, Harry,” said Captain Willis, as the “Chieftain,” under all sail, was standing down the Mersey. “You must not let thoughts of home get the better of you. We shall soon be in blue water, and you must turn to and learn to be a sailor. By the time you have made another voyage or so I expect to have you as one of my mates, and, perhaps, before you are many years older, you will become the commander of a fine craft like this.”

I followed the captain’s advice, and by the time we had crossed the line I could take my trick at the helm, and was as active aloft as many of the elder seamen on board.

Chapter Two.

The “Chieftain” arrives off the coast of Africa, and we carry on a brisk trade with the natives, who come off to us through the surf.—At length Captain Willis proposes to run up the river Bonny to complete our cargo. Not forgetful of my promise to Mammy, I make inquiries for her son Cheebo.

It was my morning watch. I was indulging in the pleasure particularly enjoyable after sweltering in the close hot atmosphere of the cabin, of paddling about with bare feet on the wet deck, over which I and some of the men were heaving buckets of water, while others were lustily using holy-stones and scrubbing brushes, under the superintendence of Mr Wesbey, the first mate. The black cook was lighting his fire in the caboose, from whence a wreath of smoke ascended almost perpendicularly in the clear atmosphere. The sea was smooth as glass, but every now and then a slowly heaving swell lifted the vessel, and caused her sails, which hung down against the masts, to give a loud flap, while here and there the surface was broken by the fin or snout of some monster of the deep swimming round us. Our monkey, Quako, who had been turned out of his usual resting-place, was exhibiting more than his ordinary agility—springing about the rigging, and chattering loudly, now making his way aloft, whence he looked eastwards, and now returning to the caboose, as if to communicate his ideas to his sable friend.

“What makes Quako so frisky this morning?” I asked of Dick Radforth, the boatswain, a sturdy broad shouldered man of iron frame, who, with trousers tucked up, and bare arms brawny as those of Hercules, was standing, bucket in hand, near me, deluging the deck with water.

“He smells his native land, Harry,” he answered, “and thinks he is going to pay a visit to his kith and kindred. We shall have to keep him moored pretty fast, or he will be off into the woods to find them. I have a notion you will get a sight of it before long, when the sea breeze sets in and sends the old barky through the water.”

“What! the coast of Africa!” I exclaimed, and thoughts of that wonderful region, with its unexplored rivers, its gloomy forests, and its black skinned inhabitants, with their barbarous customs and superstitious rites, rose in my mind.

“Aye, sure and it will be a pleasant day when we take our departure from the land, and see the last of it,” observed Dick. “If those niggers would trade like other people we might make quick work of it, and be away home again in a few weeks, but we may thank our stars if we get a full cargo by this time next year, without leaving some of our number behind.”

“What? I should not fancy that any of our fellows were likely to desert,” I observed.

“No; but they are likely to get pressed by a chap who won’t let go his gripe of them again,” answered Dick.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Yellow-fingered Jack we call him sometimes, the coast fever,” said Dick. “If they would but take better care of themselves and not drink those poisonous spirits and sleep on shore at night, they might keep out of his clutches. I give this as a hint to you, Harry. I have been there a score of times, and am pretty well seasoned, but I have felt his gripe, though I do not fear him now.” I thanked the boatswain for his advice. It was given, I suspected, for others’ benefit as well as mine.

As the bright hot red sun rose in the sky, casting his beams down on our heads, and making the pitch bubble up from the seams in the deck—as it had done not unfrequently during the voyage—a few cats’ paws were seen playing over the mirror-like deep. The sails bulged out occasionally, again to hang down as before; then once more they swelled out with the gentle breeze, and the brigantine glided through the water, gradually increasing her speed. I was eagerly looking out for the coast; at length it came in sight—its distant outline rendered indistinct by the misty pall which hung over it. As we drew nearer, its forest covered heights had a particularly gloomy and sombre appearance, which made me think of the cruelties I had heard were practised on those shores, of the barbarous slave trade, of the fearful idolatries of its dark-skinned children, of its wild beasts, and of its deadly fevers. There was nothing exhilarating, nothing to give promise of pleasure or amusement. As our gallant brigantine glided gaily on, sending the sparkling foam from her bows through the tiny wavelets of the ocean, which glittered in the radiance of a blue and cloudless sky, and her sails filled with the fresh sea breeze, these feelings rapidly wore off. Now, on either side, appeared a fleet of fishing canoes, the wild songs of their naked crews coming across the water, as with rugged sails of matting lolling at their ease, they steered towards the shore. We overtook some of them, and such a loud jabber as they set up, talking to each other, or hailing us, I had never heard.

Being near enough to the dangerous coast, we hove-to, and watched them as they fearlessly made their way to shore on the summits of a succession of rollers which burst in fearful breakers on the beach. With our glasses we could see hundreds of dingy figures like black ants, hurrying down to meet them, and to assist in hauling up their canoes. As I cast my eye along the coast I could see many a bay and headland bordered with a rim of glittering white sand, fringed by an unbroken line of sparkling surf. Now we could make out the mud walls and thatched roofs of the native villages, scattered here and there along the shore, mostly nestling amid groves of graceful cocoa-nut trees, while further inland appeared, at distant intervals, that giant monarch of the tropical forest, the silk cotton tree, stretching its mighty limbs upwards towards the sky, and far and wide around. Such was my first view of the African coast.

“Well, what do you think of it?” asked Captain Willis.

“It looks better than I expected,” I said. “But I don’t see how we are ever to reach it, much less carry on any trade with the people. How can we possibly send any goods on shore?”

“You will see presently,” he answered. “We have hoisted our trading signal, and before long we shall have plenty of dealers along side unless some other vessel has been before us; if so, we may have to wait some days till the black merchants can bring more goods down from the interior. The people about here are imbued with the very spirit of commerce. They understand too how to make a sharp bargain. We have to be wide awake, or, naked savages as they are, they will contrive to outwit us.”

Our various assortments of cotton and other goods had been got up from the hold ready for the expected trade. The captain had also taken out from his strong box a supply of sovereigns and Spanish dollars, should coin be demanded, though he relied chiefly on the more advantageous proceeding of barter.

After standing off and on the coast for some hours, we perceived several large canoes about to be launched. On either side of each canoe stood a dozen or fifteen men, holding to the gunwale with one hand, and carrying a paddle in the other. At a signal from their head man the canoe was hurried into the foaming surf; but, instead of getting in, they swam by her side, guiding her course, until the first heavy swell was past, then they threw themselves simultaneously into her, and began to paddle with might and main till they got beyond the outer swell, and on they came, shouting with satisfaction at the success of their enterprise. Two got off without accident; but three others, when in the very midst of the breakers, were swamped, and I thought that their crews, and, at all events, their cargoes, would be lost. But no such thing. As I watched them through the glass I saw that they were all holding on to the gunwale, shoving her from side to side, until the water was thrown out, when in they got again, and began to gather up numerous articles floating around them. This accomplished, off they came as if nothing had happened. As they got alongside I discovered the reason why their effects did not sink—some were casks of palm oil, which naturally floated, while the elephants’ tusks and other pieces of ivory, were fastened to large floats of cork-wood, and several of the men had small light wooden boxes, which contained gold-dust, secured to their waists. Though these were of a weight sufficient greatly to incumber, if not to sink, an ordinary swimmer, so expert were, they in the water that they appeared in no way to be inconvenienced. Several of them recognised Captain Willis, who had frequently before been off the coast, and having been fairly dealt with by him, and aware that he knew the price they would be ready to take, gave him very little trouble. Some, however, tried to outwit him, but he was very firm with them, and let them understand that he was indifferent to trading except on equitable terms. Altogether he was well satisfied with the result of his first day’s business.

We stood off the coast before the sea breeze died away, and returned again on the following morning. This sort of work we continued for several days. It was, however, a very tedious mode of proceeding. At length we found that the amount of produce, brought off from day to day, rapidly diminishing, while the natives began to demand higher prices than at first. We accordingly stood down the coast towards another native town, with the inhabitants of which we began to trade in the same way as before.

From the time we first came into these latitudes we kept a bright look-out night and day. I asked old Radforth what was the use of doing this when we were engaged in a lawful commerce, which must of necessity prove an advantage to the negroes. “Why, you see, Harry, there are other gentry visit this coast with a very different object in view,” he answered. “For the Spaniards and Portuguese, especially, come here to carry off the unfortunate inhabitants as slaves, and sometimes the villainous crews of their craft, if in want of provisions and water, will help themselves, without ceremony, from any merchantman they may fall in with. And should she have a rich cargo on board, they have been known, I have heard say, to make her people walk the plank, and sink or burn her, so that no one may know anything about the matter. Now our skipper has no fancy to be caught in that fashion, and if we were to sight a suspicious looking sail, as the ‘Chieftain’ has got a fast pair of heels of her own, we should do our best to keep out of her way. You see when once fellows take to slaving they go from bad to worse. I have known something of the trade in my time, and it made my heart turn sick to see the way in which they crowd hundreds of their fellow-creatures down on the slave decks of their vessels, packed as close together as herrings in a cask, for their run across the Atlantic to the Brazils or Cuba. It may be, before we leave this coast, you will have the opportunity of seeing for yourself, so I need not tell you more about it now.”

After this I was as vigilant as anyone on board in looking out for suspicious craft,—for I had no fancy to be caught by a piratical slaver, and be made to walk the plank, and have our gallant little “Chieftain” sent to the bottom.

We continued cruising along the coast for some weeks, slowly exchanging our cargo for African products.

At length Captain Willis got tired of this style of doing business. “I am going to run up the river Bonny, Harry, where we are certain in time to get a full cargo of palm oil, though I would rather have filled up without going into harbour at all, for the climate, I own, is not the healthiest possible, and we may chance to have a touch of sickness on board.”

He spoke, however, in so unconcerned a way that I had no serious apprehensions on that score.

I had not forgotten my promise to Mammy, and had asked all the blacks I could manage to speak to if they could tell me anything of Cheebo. I need scarcely say that my question was received with a broad grin by most of them. “Plenty Cheebos,” was the general reply. “Dat black fellow Cheebo; and dat, and dat, and dat Quamino,” was added, when I said that such was the name of the father of the Cheebo of whom I was in search, but none of them answered the description of poor Mammy’s son. At length I felt very much inclined to give up my inquiries as hopeless.

Chapter Three.

We enter a river.—Its scenery described.—Receive a visit from the King, and trade with the natives.—The products of Africa, for which we trade, mentioned, and the curious mode in which trade is conducted.—Fever breaks out on board, and several of the crew die.—Sad end of poor Bob.—The boatswain and mates attacked with fever.—More deaths.—The Captain’s unwillingness, notwithstanding this, to leave the river till his cargo is completed.

Standing in towards the coast with the sea breeze we saw before us an opening between two low mangrove covered points, which formed the mouth of the river we were about to ascend. The scarcely ever ceasing rollers, coming across the wide Atlantic, broke on the bar which ran across its entrance with somewhat less violence than on the coast itself. Still there was an ugly looking line of white foam which had to be crossed before we could gain the smooth water within. We hove-to, making the signal for a pilot. A canoe in a short time came off, having on board a burly negro, dressed in a broad brimmed hat, nankeen trousers, and white jacket, with a sash round his waist. He produced several documents to show that he was capable of taking a vessel over the bar.

“Wait bit captain,” he said, “high water soon, and den ship go in smooth—batten down hatches though, case sea break aboard.”

Captain Willis followed this advice; it was well that he did so. “Up helm now captain—bar berry good—plenty breeze.” We stood on with all canvas set; the hands at their stations ready to shorten sail when necessary. Soon we found ourselves mounting to the top of a high roller, then on we glided, till in another instant down we came amid the hissing roaring breakers, their foam-topped summits dancing up on either side, and deluging our decks. I saw our black pilot holding on pretty tightly by the main shrouds—I followed his example, for I expected every moment to feel the vessel’s keel touching the bar, when I knew that if she were to hang there even for the shortest possible time, the following sea might break over her stem, and make a clean sweep of her deck. On she sped though, lifted by another huge roller; downwards we then glided amid the eddying creamy waters on to the calm surface of the river, up which the next minute we were gliding rapidly.

The appearance of the banks on either side was not attractive. As far as the eye could reach was one dense jungle of mangrove bushes, and though we ran on for several miles it in no way improved. The wind died away as we advanced, and the atmosphere became hot and oppressive. I had expected to see pleasant openings, with neat cottages, plantations of maize, rice, and other grain, pepper, palms and palmetos; but instead, a uniform line of the sombre tinted mangrove alone presented itself, the trees just too high to prevent our having a view over them of any more attractive scenery which might have existed beyond.

I asked our black pilot when we should come to the town. “By by den you see,” he answered with a look which denoted that we should in time witness something worth beholding.

The water was as smooth as glass. Here and there coveys of birds might be seen skimming along the surface, while overhead a flight of scarlet winged flamingos swept in wide circles, their plumage flashing in the sun as they prepared to descend on one of the many sandbanks in the stream, to carry on their fishing operations. As we advanced, now and then a canoe would shoot out from among the jungle; the black skinned paddlers coming quickly alongside, to ascertain our character and the objects for which we wished to trade. Sometimes too we could see troops of monkeys making their way among the branches, their small grinning faces peering out at us as we glided by through some channel near the shore. Hour after hour thus passed by, but at length, towards evening, the belt of mangrove bushes diminished in thickness, and other trees of more attractive appearance began to take their place, and openings appeared with a few huts scattered about on the slopes of gently rising ground.

As evening was closing in we caught sight, in the far distance, of a congregation of huts, and the pilot gave the captain the welcome information, that he might shorten sail, and prepare to come to an anchor. By the time we had made everything snug darkness closed down upon us. We could just see a few lights twinkling ahead, while on either side, across the stream, appeared the dark outline of the tall trees which clothed the river’s banks. Silence reigned around us, with the exception of the ripple of the water against the vessel’s bows; but from afar off came a confused mixture of sounds, which appeared like the croaking of frogs, the chirruping of crickets, and other creeping and flying things, the screeching and chattering of monkeys, mingled with the voices of human beings making merry round their huts. The air was damp and heavy and hot; at the same time I felt that I should like to be seated by a roaring drying fire.

We kept a watch on deck as if we were at sea, with arms ready for use, for though our pilot had assured us “that all good people here,” Captain Willis was too well acquainted, both with the character of the natives, and the sort of gentry who might possibly be in the river waiting for a cargo of slaves, to put himself in their power.

I tumbled and tossed about during the night in my berth, unable to sleep, both on account of the heat, and, strange to say, of the perfect quiet which prevailed. Next morning a large canoe was seen coming off from the shore, in which was seated a white headed old negro in a glazed cocked hat, a red hunting coat on his shoulders, a flannel petticoat round his waist, and a pair of worsted slippers on his feet. The pilot, who had remained on board, notified to the captain, with great formality, that he was King Dingo, coming to receive his dash or payment for allowing us to trade with his people. His majesty was received with due ceremony, and conducted into the cabin, when, as soon as he was seated, notwithstanding the early hour of the day, he signified that it was his royal pleasure to be presented with a bottle of rum. Having taken two or three glasses, which seemed to have no other effect on him than sharpening his wits, he handed it to one of his attendants, and then applied himself to the breakfast, which had just been placed on the table, and I dare not say how many cups of coffee, sweetened to the brim with sugar, he swallowed in rapid succession. Having received half a dozen muskets, as many kegs of powder, brass pans, wash basins, plates, gunflints, and various cotton articles, as his accustomed dash, and requested a dozen bottles of rum in addition, he took his departure, promising to come again and do a little trade on his own account.

The subjects of the sable potentate were now allowed to come on board, and several canoes were seen approaching us from different parts of the shore. One brought a tusk of ivory, others jars of palm oil, several had baskets of India-rubber, or gum-elastic, as it is called. Besides these articles, they had ebony, bees’-wax, tortoise-shell, gold-dust, copper-ore, ground nuts, and others to dispose of.

We soon found that the business of trading with these black merchants was not carried on at the rate we should have desired.

The trader, having hoisted his goods out of his canoe, would place them on deck, and seat himself before them, looking as unconcerned as if he had not the slightest wish to part with them. Some would wait till the captain came forward and made an offer; others would ask a price ten times the known value of the article, extolling its excellence, hinting that very little more was likely to be brought down the river for a long time to come, and that several other traders were soon expected. The captain would then walk away, advising the owner to keep it till he could obtain the price he asked. The trader would sit still till the captain again came near him, then ask a somewhat lower price. On this being refused he would perhaps make a movement as if about to return to his canoe, without having the slightest intention of so doing; and so the game would go on till the captain would offer the former price for the article, when, perhaps, the trader would sit on, time being of no consequence to him, in the hopes that he might still receive a larger amount of goods. On other occasions the captain had to commence bargaining, when he invariably offered considerably below the true mark, when the trader as invariably asked something greatly above it. The captain would then walk aft, and, perhaps, come back and talk about the other ports he intended to visit, where the natives were more reasonable in their demands. Captain Willis was too cool a hand to show any impatience, and he thus generally made very fair bargains, always being ready to give a just value for the articles he wished to purchase. As each jar of oil, each tooth or box of gold-dust, or basket of India-rubber, could alone be procured by this process, some idea may be formed of the time occupied every day in trading.

Palm oil was, however, the chief article we were in search of; but two weeks passed by, and still a considerable number of our casks remained unfilled. Fever too had broken out on board. Three of our men were down with it, and day after day others were added to the number. The two first seized died, and we took them on shore to be buried. This had a depressing effect on the rest.

When we returned on board we found that a third was nearly at his last gasp. Poor fellow, the look of despair and horror on his countenance I can never forget. “Harry,” he exclaimed, seizing my hand as I went to him with a cup of cooling drink, “I am not fit to die, can no one do any thing for me? I dare not die, can’t some of those black fellows on shore try to bring me through—they ought to know how to man handle this fever.”

“I am afraid that they are but bad doctors, Bob,” I answered, “however, take this cooling stuff it may perhaps do you good.”

“A river of it won’t cool the burning within me,” he gasped out. “Oh Harry, and if I die now, that burning will last for ever and ever. I would give all my wages, and ten times as much, for a few days of life. Harry, I once was taught to say my prayers, but I have not said them for long years, and curses, oaths, and foul language have come out of my lips instead. I want to have time to pray, and to recollect what I was taught as a boy.” I tried to cheer him up, as I called it, but alas, I too had forgotten to say my prayers, and had been living without God in the world, and though I did not curse and swear, my heart was capable of doing that and many other things that were bad, and so I could offer the poor fellow no real consolation. I persuaded him to drink the contents of the cup; but I saw as I put it to his lips that he could with difficulty get the liquid down his throat.

“You have had a hard life of it, Bob, and perhaps God will take that into consideration,” I said, making use of one of the false notions Satan suggests to the mind of seamen as well as to others. Bob knew it to be false.

“That won’t undo all the bad things I have been guilty of; it won’t unsay all the blasphemies and obscene words which have flowed from my lips,” he gasped out.

“Then try to pray as you used to do,” I said, “I will try and pray with you, but I am a bad hand at that I am afraid.”

“Oh, I can’t pray now, it’s too late! too late!” he exclaimed in a low despairing voice, as he sank back on his pillow, turning his fast glazing eye away from me. He had been delirious for some time before then, but his senses had lately been restored. He seemed instinctively to feel that I could offer him none of the consolation he needed.

While I was still standing by the side of his bunk, one of the mates came forward to see how the sick were getting on. He spoke a few words to try and comfort the dying man. They had no more effect than mine, he only groaned out, “It’s too late! too late! too late!” His voice rapidly grew weaker—there was a slight convulsive struggle; the mate lifted his hand, it fell down by his side.

“Poor Bob has gone,” he said, “there will be more following before long, I fear. If I was the captain I would get out of this river without waiting for a full cargo, or we shall not have hands enough left to take the vessel home.”

This scene made a deep impression on me; too late! too late! continued sounding in my ears. What if I were to be brought to utter the same expression? Where was poor Bob now? I tried not to think of the matter, but still those fearful words “too late” would come back to me; then I tried to persuade myself that I was young and strong, and as I had led a very different sort of life to most of the men, I was more likely than any one to escape the gripe of the fever.

We had another trip on shore to bury poor Bob. The captain seemed sorry for him. “He was a man of better education than his messmates, though, to be sure, he had been a wild chap,” he observed to me. Bob’s conscience had been awakened; that of the others remained hardened or fast asleep, and they died as they had lived, foul, unwashed, unfit to enter a pure and holy heaven.

I am drawing a sad and painful picture, but it is a true one. I did not then understand how full of horror it was, though I thought it very sad to lose so many of our crew.

We continued to carry on trade as before, and the captain sent messengers urging the natives to hasten in bringing palm oil on board, but they showed no inclination to hurry themselves; and as to quitting the river till he had a full cargo on board, he had no intention of doing that.

Hitherto the officers had escaped; but one morning the second mate reported that the first mate was unable to leave his berth, though he believed that it was nothing particular; but Dick Radforth, who was considered to be the strongest man on board, when he had tried to get up that morning, had been unable to rise. The captain sent me forward to see him.

Some hours must have passed since he was attacked. He was fearfully changed, but still conscious.

“Black Jack has got hold of me at last, Harry, but I’ll grapple with him pretty tightly before I let him get the victory, do you see,” he observed, when I told him that the captain had sent me to see him. “I’m obliged to him, but if he wishes to give me a longer spell of life, and to save the others on board, he will put to sea without loss of time, while the land breeze lasts. A few mouthfuls of sea air would set me up in a trice. If we don’t get that there will be more of us down with fever before night.”

The boatswain had scarcely said this when he began to rave and tumble and toss about in his berth, and I had to call two of the men to assist me in keeping him quiet. When I got back to the cabin, I told the captain what Radforth had said. “Oh, that’s only the poor fellow’s raving. It will never do to leave the river without our cargo, for if we do some other trader will sure to be in directly afterwards and take advantage of what has been collected for us. However, I have had notice that lots of oil will be brought on board in a few days, and when we get that, we will put to sea even though we are not quite full.”

The captain shortly afterwards paid Radforth a visit; but the boatswain was raving at the time, and never again spoke while in his senses. The following day we carried him to his grave on shore. The death of one who was looked upon as the most seasoned and strongest man, had, as may be supposed, a most depressing effect among the crew. It was soon also evident that the first mate was ill with the fever, and indeed more than half our number were now down with it.

Still the captain could not bring himself to quit the river. “In a few days very possibly we shall have a full cargo Harry,” he said to me. “In the meantime, I daresay, the rest will hold out. Radforth overworked himself, or he would not have caught the fever. Take care Harry you don’t expose yourself to the sun, and you will keep all to rights my boy,—I am very careful about that—though I am so well seasoned that nothing is likely to hurt me.”

“I wish we were out of the river, Captain Willis,” I could not help replying. “The mates and the men are always talking about it, and they say the season is unusually sickly or this would not have happened.”

“They must mind their own business, and stay by the ship, wherever I choose to take her,” he exclaimed, in an angry tone, and I saw that I should have acted more wisely in not making the observation I had just let fall. Still, to do him justice, Captain Willis was as kind and attentive as he possibly could be to the sick men; he constantly visited the first mate, and treated him as if he had been a brother.

All this time not a word about religion was spoken on board; I had, it is true, a Bible in my chest, put there by my sisters, but I had forgotten all about it, and there was not another in the ship.

Except in the instance I have mentioned, and in one or two others, not even the sick men seemed concerned about their souls. The only consolation which those in health could offer to them, was the hope that they might recover. “Cheer up Dick,” or, “cheer up Tom, you’ll struggle through it, never say die—you will be right again before long old boy,” and such like expressions were uttered over and over again, often to those at their last gasp, and so the poor fellows went out of the world believing that they were going to recover and enjoy once more the base pursuits and unholy pleasures in which their souls’ delighted. Alas, I have often though what a fearful waking up there must have been of those I had thus seen taking their departure from this world, yet the rest of us remained as hardened, and in most cases as fearless, of consequences as before.

The death of the first mate, which very soon occurred, made the second mate, I perceived, somewhat more anxious than before about himself. The first mate had been a strong healthy man, and had often before been out on the coast, while the second mate was always rather sickly, and this was his first visit to the shores of Africa. Whether or not his fears had an effect upon him, I cannot say, but he began to look very ill, and became every day more anxious about himself. The captain tried to arouse him, telling him that we should be at sea enjoying the fresh breeze in a few days, and that he must hold out till then. “Still it is of no use, Harry,” he said to me, as I was walking the deck with him one evening, trying to get a few mouthfuls of air. “I know I shall never leave this horrible place alive unless the captain would give the order at once to trip the anchor, then perhaps the thought of being free of it would set me up again.”

I told the captain when I went into the cabin what the poor mate had said, for I really thought our going away might be the means of saving his life, as well as that of others aboard. He took what I said in very good part, but was as obstinately bent in remaining as before. “Those are all fancies, Harry,” he answered. “He has taken it into his head that he is to die, and that is as likely to kill him as the fever itself.”

“But then he fancies that he would get well if we were at sea,” I replied. “Perhaps that really would set him up again.”

“Well, well, just tell him that you heard me ay I hoped to get away in two or three days, perhaps that will put him to rights,” answered the captain, laughing. “Now, Harry, don’t let me hear any more of this sort of thing; I have bother enough with these black traders without having to listen to the fancies of my own people.”

I told the mate what the captain had said. “If the vessel does get away at the time he mentioned, I hope that I may be able to help in taking her to sea, if not, mark my words Harry, there will be a good many more of us down with the fever.” He spoke too truly. The traders continued to arrive but slowly, as before, with their oil. The captain waited and waited like an angler anxious to catch more fish. Before the week was over the second mate was dead, and we had only two men fit for duty on board.

Chapter Four.

More victims to the fever.—The captain himself attacked.—We ship some Krumen and other blacks, among whom is a Christian, Paul Balingo.—Paul instructs the captain and me in the truth.—Captain Willis gets somewhat better, and we prepare for sea.

The ship was almost full, and we had a few more empty casks, and were expecting some traders on board during the day with oil which would fill them up. When I turned out of my berth, just as morning broke, I found the captain seated in his cabin, with his head resting on his hands. He felt a little ill, he acknowledged, but said he was sure it was nothing. “We will get under weigh at daylight to-morrow morning, when the tide makes down, and I shall soon be all to rights,” he observed. Still, I could not help remarking that he looked pale, and moved with difficulty. “I have agreed to ship half-a-dozen Krumen, and two or three other black seamen, who are knocking about here,” he added. “This fever has made us terribly short-handed; but I hope the fellows who are sick will come round when we are in blue water again. Harry, go forward and see how they are getting on, and send Tom Raven to me.” Raven was one of the two men who had hitherto escaped the lever, and being a good seaman, had been promoted to the rank of mate.

I went on deck, but saw neither him nor Grinham, the other man. I made my way forward to where the crew were berthed, under the topgallant forecastle, expecting to find them there. Grinham was in his berth; he and two other poor fellows were groaning and tossing with fever, but the rest were perfectly quiet. I thought they were asleep. What was my horror, on looking into their berths, to find that their sleep was that of death!

“Water, water,” murmured Grinham. I ran and fetched some, and as I gave it to him I asked where Raven was. “I don’t know,” he answered, somewhat revived by the cool draught. “It’s his watch on deck. He said he felt a little ill when he relieved me.”

Having done what I could for the other man, I went to look for Raven. I found him in the second mate’s berth. He too was ill with fever, and seemed to have forgotten that he ought to have been on deck, and that the vessel had been left without anyone to look-out. I told him that the captain had resolved to put to sea the next day. “Had he gone a week ago the lives of some of us might have been saved, but it is too late now,” he answered with a groan.

Sick at heart, after attending to him, I returned to the cabin, to make my report to the captain.

“What, all! everyone of them sick!” he exclaimed, sighing deeply. “Then God have mercy upon us. You must not fall ill, Harry.”

“Not if I can help it, sir,” I replied.

“I must keep up,” he said, and if I can get these Krumen on board we will still put to sea. They are trustworthy fellows, and, Harry, you must be my mate. You are somewhat young; but you have got a head on your shoulders. You must keep your wits alive.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” I answered, feeling not a little proud of the rank to which I thus was raised. I had, indeed, for some time past been performing the duties of mate, supercargo, steward, and not unfrequently helping the black cook, Sambo, and, indeed, lending a hand to everything which required to be done. Now Sambo and I were literally the only two people capable of working on board. The captain himself I feared greatly had got the fever, notwithstanding his assertions to the contrary. It was surprising that I, the youngest in the ship, and least inured to the climate, should have escaped. I had always been very healthy; had never done anything to hurt my constitution, and had followed the captain’s advice in keeping out of the sun, and was inclined to feel somewhat self-satisfied on that account—not considering that it was owing to God’s mercy and loving-kindness that I had been preserved.

The captain said he would go and see Raven; but having got up, after moving a few paces, he sat down again with a groan, and a deadly pallor came over his countenance. He felt that he, too, had got the fever. I advised him to lie down again and rest, but to that he would not consent. He was determined to carry on the trade as usual during the day, and to get ready for sea as soon as the black seamen, whom he expected every hour on board, arrived. He sent me up frequently to see whether they were coming off, and now, when too late, he seemed as anxious as anyone had been to get the vessel out of the river.

I was thankful when at length I found two canoes alongside with the expected blacks. The Krumen were fine athletic fellows, neatly dressed in shirts and trousers, and having all served on board men-of-war or in merchant vessels, spoke a little English. They had been hired by the captain’s agent on shore; and as their wages had been settled, and they knew the duties they were required to perform, they went to work at once under their head man, who had been appointed to act as boatswain, and seemed inclined to be orderly and obedient. Besides the Krumen there were, as I have before said, several other black seamen engaged, who had been mostly recaptured slaves, and had afterwards entered on board men-of-war or merchant vessels touching at Sierra Leone. I was struck with the manner of one of them, a fine active man, as I, now the only representative of the “Chieftain’s” officers and crew, stood near the gangway to receive them. Touching his hat in a respectful manner, he asked after Captain Willis. “He know me, Paul Balingo. I sail once with him some time ago. He kind man, so I come again.” I told him that the captain was rather unwell. He had charged me not to let the blacks fancy that he had the fever. I added, that I was sure he would be glad to see him in the cabin.

“I go when you tell I come on board,” answered Paul. “Sorry to hear him ill.”

“Oh, he says its nothing,” I observed, “and as soon as the tide serves we are to go down the river, and put to sea.”

I made this remark in obedience to the captain’s instructions. I now gave directions to the black boatswain to get the cargo stowed without delay.

The captain was much pleased to hear that Paul Balingo had joined the vessel, and said he would see him at once. “I remember him well,” he observed, “a good steady fellow.”

I told Paul to come down, and he received a friendly welcome. I then reminded the captain that there was another duty to be performed. It was to bury the men who had died during the night. This was beyond the strength of those who still survived.

“I see to it, sir,” said Paul.

“The sooner the better then,” observed the captain. “And when you return we will trip the anchor, if there is wind enough to help us along.”

Four bodies were lowered into the canoe, and Paul and some of his companions took them on shore. He had fastened them up in canvas, for there was no time to make coffins; indeed, the carpenter was among them. I should like to have accompanied him to pay the last mark of respect I could to the poor fellows, but there were too many duties to be performed on board to allow of this. I watched them, however, through the glass as they stood on the beach, which formed our burial place. To my surprise, after the graves were dug, I observed Paul Balingo take off his hat—his companions imitating his example—when he seemed to be lifting up his hands in prayer. Then he addressed a number of natives who were standing round, and the bodies were carefully lowered into the graves, and covered up.

When he returned on board I told him that the captain was very much obliged to him for what he had done. “And I saw too,” I observed, “that you were praying for the poor fellows.”

“No, massa; I no pray for dem,” he answered. “If when dey died dey loved Jesus Christ, den dey no want my prayers; if dey no love Him, den He no love dem. No, massa, me pray for dose that stand round, and for dose still alive. I pray dat God’s Holy Spirit would come into dere hearts, and told dem to love Jesus, and dat He died for sinners. I prayed dat dey would hear His Word, and love Him and serve Him. Den I tell dem that Jesus Christ came down on earth, and become man, and be obedient to God, and do all dat good child should do who lub him parents, and dat He pure and holy like lamb widout spot or blemish, and dat He died on de cross, and be punished instead of wicked man, and dat God den say dat one who not deserve punishment being punished He will forgive all dose His dear Son present to Him, who lub Him and serve Him. Den I tell dem dat Jesus Christ died for dem, and dat if dey trust to Him He put away all dere sins, and God not look at dere sins any more. Den I turn de matter about, and I say dat you and all men are poor and naked and covered with dirt and sores, and not fit to go into de presence of pure and holy God; but if you love Christ and trust dat He died and was punished instead of you, den He put on you a white robe, cover you wid His righteousness, and den when you go to God He longer see that you are poor and naked, but He only see the white robe, and He say, ‘Now you may come into dis pure and bright heaven, and live wid Me.’ Then once more I say again, look here, God put you into this world, and you owe God everything. You ought to obey Him and serve Him, and give Him all your strength and health, and to try and please Him in all things every moment of your life. Next I remind dem dat none of us do it, so we owe God a debt, and the longer we live the greater is the debt. It is not den all the things that we do dat God reckon, but the many things that we ought to do and which we leave undone. We receive all the good things from God, and we give Him nothing in return. Then we have no means to pay this debt, so Jesus Christ, because He love us, say He pay it, and God say He accept His payment and set us free. Den I say to the people, Do you believe dis? If you do, and try to love God, and serve God, and do what Jesus Christ did when He was on earth, den you have living faith, and you are free, and God no say longer that you owe Him debt, but He call you His dear children, and when you leave this world He receive you in heaven.”

“Why, Paul,” I exclaimed, after listening with astonishment to what he had said, “I little expected to hear such things come out of a—” (I was going to say negro’s mouth, but changed it to) “African sailor’s mouth. You ought to be a missionary.”

“Every Christian man ought to be a missionary,” he answered. “If he love the Lord Jesus, and know that the Lord Jesus love him, then he ought to tell that love to others, and if he knows the value of his own soul then he values the souls of others, and try to win those souls for Christ. The truth is, massa, I do want to be missionary, and I seek to go to England to learn more. I there learn to preach the gospel, and when I come back I carry the glad tidings of salvation to my ignorant countrymen.”

I was very much struck with Paul’s earnestness and zeal, though at that time I could scarcely comprehend all he said—I myself knew nothing experimentally of the great love of Jesus of which he spoke. The poor black Christian was far more enlightened than I was. Still I felt a satisfaction at having him on board. He at once showed that he was not a mere theoretical Christian, for as soon as his duty on board the ship was over, he devoted himself to attending on the sick men. All the hours he could snatch from sleep he spent by the side of their bunks, urging them to trust to Jesus, and to repent of their sins while yet there was time.

The poor second mate grew worse and worse. Paul visited him, and he heard from the lips of the black seaman, perhaps for the first time, the full and free message of salvation; and, I believe, from what Paul told me, and from the remarks the mate made to me before he died, that he had fully accepted God’s gracious offer of reconciliation.

I am going ahead though too fast in my narrative. Before the morning came that we were to have left our anchorage Captain Willis himself was laid prostrate with the fever, and having now no one on board to navigate the vessel, we could not venture to sea. I would have done my best to find our way to Sierra Leone, but the black boatswain refused to leave the harbour without an officer capable of taking charge of the brigantine. We were compelled, therefore, to wait till Captain Willis should recover sufficiently, or till the arrival of another English vessel which could spare one of her mates to take charge of the “Chieftain.”

Before many days were over Captain Willis, and Sambo, the black cook, and I, were the only persons of those who had come into the river, still alive on board. Had the Krumen been badly disposed, they might, without difficulty, have taken possession of the vessel, and made off with her rich cargo; but they appeared, as far I could judge, to intend to act faithfully, and perform their various duties as well as if the captain’s eye had been constantly upon them. About Paul I had no doubt. Little as I knew of vital religion myself, I was sure that he was a true man, and that he acted according to his professions. Nothing could exceed his attention to the captain; he or I were constantly at his bedside; and Paul showed considerable skill in treating the disease. I believe that it was mainly owing to him, through God’s mercy, that the captain did not succumb to it, as the rest of the crew had done.

“Paul,” said the captain one morning, when he felt himself getting a little better, “I owe you my life, I will try not to forget you.”

“Oh, no, no captain, poor fellow like me not able to do you good; give God de praise,” he answered solemnly, looking upwards. “Oh, if you did but know how God loves you, how He takes care of you, and gives you all the good things of life, and saves you from danger, and wishes you to come and live with Him, and be happy for ever and ever, you would try to love Him and serve Him, and obey Him in all things.”

“I don’t think that God can care for one who has cared so little for Him,” answered the captain. “I don’t mean to say that I call myself a bad man, or that I have many great sins on my conscience, and so, I suppose, if I died He would hot shut me out of heaven altogether.”

“Captain,” said Paul, fixing his eyes steadily on him, “the debil told you dat; he a liar from the beginning. God says, ‘There is none that doeth good, no not one,’ ‘The soul that sinneth shall surely die.’ What does dat mean? Not, surely, that if you sinner He let you get into heaven. I ask you, captain, whether you are a sinner, or whether you pure and holy, and trust to Christ, and love Christ, and fit to go and live for ever and ever in the pure and holy heaven with Him? Understand, I do not ask whether you are a great sinner in your own sight, but whether you have ever committed any sins; and remember, God says, ‘the soul that sinneth,’ not only the soul that is a great sinner.”

The captain looked much annoyed. “Yes, of course, I have committed some sins; but I don’t see why God has any right to charge them against me.”

“God made this world, and all things that are therein. God rules this world, and God made His laws, and He says they are just and right, and God says, ‘The soul that sinneth shall surely die,’” answered Paul, solemnly. “Captain understand, it is not I who say that. God says it. But though God is a God of justice He is full of love and mercy, and He has therefore formed a plan for the benefit of sinning men, by which man’s sins can be washed away, by which His justice will be satisfied, His love and mercy shown. He has allowed another to be punished instead of the sinner,” Paul continued, explaining to the captain God’s plan of salvation much in the same terms as he had already explained it to me.

“I never understood that matter before,” said the captain. “But still I do not see how God can expect us to be as good as you say.”

“Massa Captain, I do not say dat God expect us to be good; but still He has a right to demand that we should be good. He made man pure and holy and upright, and He gave him free will to act as he chose; but man disobeyed God and went away from Him, and forgot Him, and so God has the right to punish man. But den God is full of love and mercy, and He does not want to punish him, but wants him to come back to Him, and so He has sent His message to man to tell him how he may do that. Now as man cannot be good and pure and holy and do nothing but good, but, on the contrary, does much harm, he must either accept God’s plan of salvation, or be punished. You have heard, captain, about the thief on the cross, even when he was dying he put faith in Jesus, and Jesus told him that he should be that night with Him in paradise. So you see, captain, there is hope for the sinner, even at the last, and this shows that God does not expect us to do anything good in order to be saved, but only just to put faith in the sacrifice of His dear Son—that is to say, to believe that He was punished instead of us. But then remember, captain, that only one thief was saved; and that shows to us that we must not put off turning to Jesus to the last, and, therefore, I pray you, captain, go to Him at once; trust to Him now, and you will not feel unhappy; and if this fever takes you away, as it has taken away so many people on board this ship, you will hab no fear of death, for you will go to live with Jesus, and be happy with Him for ever and ever.”

Captain Willis groaned. “I’ll pray wid you, captain,” said Paul, and he knelt down by the side of the bed, and lifted up his voice in prayer, and earnestly besought God to send His Holy Spirit to soften the captain’s heart, and to enlighten his mind.

I had listened attentively to all that Paul had said, and I prayed that the blessing which he asked for the captain might descend on me also; for I had begun to discover that my heart was very hard, and prone to evil, and that I had no love for Jesus, no desire to obey His law. Thus the truths of the gospel, as they fell from the lips of the black sailor, first came home to my heart.

Several days passed by—the “Chieftain” was got ready for sea, and the captain considered himself well enough to take the command.

Chapter Five.

We at length get out of the river into the open sea, but a calm comes on, and the Captain again becomes very ill.—No one on board understanding navigation, I doubt whether I shall find my way to Sierra Leone.—The Captain does not believe that he is in danger.—Paul pleads with him about the safety of his soul.—A fire breaks out in the hold.—We in vain endeavour to extinguish it.—The rest of the crew desert us.—Paul and I endeavour to save the Captain, but driven from the cabin by the flames leap overboard and reach a small boat, which we right and get into.—See a schooner approaching us.

At day-break the pilot came on board, the sails were loosed, the anchor hove-up, and the “Chieftain,” with a hot land breeze, which still blew strong, glided down the river. Captain Willis, who had been brought from his cabin by Paul and Sambo, sat propped up with pillows on the deck. It was melancholy to see him, his once strong frame reduced to a mere skeleton, his countenance pale and haggard, and his strong voice now sounding weak and hollow, and scarcely to be heard by those to whom he issued his orders. I stood by him to repeat them. I saw him cast an eye towards the spot which contained the graves of our shipmates, and I could divine his thoughts. Perhaps he might have reflected that had he not been so greedy of gain, many of them might be still alive, while he himself might be enjoying health and strength.

The mangrove covered shores looked even more sombre and monotonous than before, in the grey light of morning, as we glided down between them. The air was hot and oppressive, and full of pestilence, and it seemed a wonder to me that I should have lived so many weeks while breathing such an atmosphere. I dreaded lest the breeze should fail us, and we should be compelled to spend another night under its influence; but the wind held, the tide was in our favour, and we had nearly reached the mouth of the river before the wind dropped, and we had to bring up. A few minutes afterwards the fresh sea breeze came rushing in, pure and sweet, and comparatively cool. With what delight did I gulp it down. I quickly felt like another creature. The captain also seemed to revive rapidly under its influence, and I began to hope that he would ultimately recover.

I eagerly watched the sparkling lines of white foam as the ocean waves, meeting the ebbing current of the river, broke across the bar. How I longed for the evening, when the land breeze would again fill our sails, and carry us out into the open bounding ocean. It seemed to me that then all difficulty would be passed, and we should only have to shape our course for England, and steer on till we should reach it.

The captain, unwilling again to go below, sat all day on deck under an awning, ready for the moment when we might venture to weigh anchor. It came at last. Just before sunset the hot wind began to blow. Although the bar still wore a threatening aspect, the pilot declared that, without fear, we might venture over it.

Not a moment was lost, on we stood towards it. In a short time foaming breakers were hissing and bubbling around us. Once more I felt the vessel rising to the heaving wave, and welcomed the showers of spray which flew over her deck. On she sped, but very slowly; now she sank downwards, and it seemed as if the next roller would send her back on the bar. It glided under her, however, and then she appeared floating, as it were, almost at rest on its summit, and then downwards she slid, slowly making her onward way.

In a few minutes more we were in the free open ocean, and the dark sombre river, with its gloomy associations, was far astern. Every inch of canvas the vessel could carry was set, that we might get a good offing before nightfall, when a calm was to be expected.

“I never wish to see that place again,” I could not help exclaiming.

“Don’t say that, Harry,” answered the captain. “We may hope to have better luck the next time. If you ever want to grow rich you must run some risk. We have had an unusually sickly season, which may not again occur; and if the owners ask me to go back, I am not the man to refuse to do so, and I should look to you to go along with me.”

Can it be possible, I thought, that a man, after running so fearful a risk, would willingly again expose himself to the same danger, merely for the sake of rapidly gaining wealth? I forgot at the moment that people not only hazard their health but their souls, for that object. Had I remembered the fact, I should not have been surprised at what the captain had said.

We had got out of sight of land, but the wind was very light, and we made little progress. In a short time it fell calm altogether, and the vessel lay like a log on the water. The heat, too, was very great, and the captain appeared to suffer from it. It was evident, indeed, that he was falling rapidly back, and he had now no strength to come on deck. I was much alarmed on his account, for I thought it too likely that, after apparently being so near recovery, he would die. I was anxious also on our own account, for knowing so little as I did about navigation, I could not tell how I should take the vessel into port. I got out a chart and studied it, and marked the spot where I believed we then were. I then drew a line from it to Sierra Leone, the place for which I intended to steer. It lay about north-west of us, and I hoped that if I could sight the land to the southward I might coast along till I came to it. There were, however, I knew, strong currents running, which might take us out of our course, and we might have contrary winds, which would further increase the difficulty. I thought that very likely some of the blacks knew more about the matter than I did, but I did not like to confess my apprehensions to them lest they might be tempted to play some trick, and perhaps run away with the vessel altogether.

The only person in whom I could confide was Paul. I knew that I could trust him thoroughly, but then I suspected that he was not a better navigator than I was, as he had only served on board a man-of-war and merchantmen, when he would not have been able to learn anything about the matter.

The captain caught sight of me through the open door of his berth, as I was poring over the chart spread out on the table of the main cabin. “What are you about, Harry?” he asked.

I told him that I was looking at the chart to see what course we ought to steer.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that, lad,” he answered; “I shall be well as soon as the breeze comes. It’s this hot calm keeps me down. If the wind had continued, I should have been myself again by this time, though I have had a narrow squeak for it I’ll allow.”

His face looked so pale and haggard, his eyes so sunken, his voice so weak and trembling, that I could not help fearing that he was mistaken. I was unwilling to alarm him, but it was so important that I should know how to act in case of his death, that I could not help saying,—“But suppose anything was to happen to you, sir, what should you advise me to do?”

“I do not intend that anything shall happen to me, Harry,” he answered, evidently annoyed at my remark. “After having got this valuable cargo on board we must not think of such a thing. Why Harry, in all my voyages I have never collected half so rich a freight.”

“I earnestly hope that you may recover your health, sir,” I said. “I mentioned the subject simply in case of accidents, and I did not suppose that you would be offended.”

“Of course I am not, Harry,” he replied. “You don’t suppose that I am a coward and afraid to die; and if it was not for the sake of the vessel and her freight, I should not care, I fancy, so much about the matter; but it would never do now to knock under—so don’t, Harry, put those gloomy thoughts again into my head.”

On going on deck I told Paul my fears about the captain. “Yes, he very bad,” he said; “but I more sorry about him soul. He think more of the cargo, which may go to the bottom in one moment, than of his soul, which live for ever and ever. O Massa Harry, we must speak again to him about dat. We will plead with him with tears in our eyes, that he think about his soul, and we will tell him not to trouble about the vessel.”

Without loss of time we went to the captain. At first he listened somewhat coldly to what Paul said, but he did not grow angry. “I thank you for interesting yourself about me,” he said at last. “You may be right, and if you will pray with me I will try to join you.”

Paul and I thereon knelt down, as we had done before, and Paul, in very plain language, earnestly besought God to send His Holy Spirit to soften the captain’s heart, to show him that he was a lost sinner, and had need of a Saviour—to enlighten his mind, and to enable him to take hold of Christ as the only way whereby he could be saved.

The captain remained for a long time afterwards silent. At length he put out his hand and grasped Paul’s. “I see it now,” he said, sighing deeply. “I have been, and still am, a great sinner. Oh, that I knew better how I could be saved.”

“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved,” said Paul, in a firm voice. “That is God’s loving message. He sends no other; and, captain, if all the ministers of your country were to come to you, they could bring you no other. If you do believe on Jesus, and are to die this very day, He says to you just what He said when hanging on the cross on Calvary to the dying thief, ‘This night thou shalt be with me in paradise.’”

The captain was greatly moved, and I heard him, between his sobs, exclaiming, “Lord, I believe, help Thou my unbelief.”

Oh how necessary is that prayer! and I am sure it is one which is always answered, when the sinner is truly desirous of turning from his sins, and is seeking, by every means in his power, to strengthen his belief.

I had got out my Bible several days before, and I now read it constantly to the captain, as well as to myself. Whenever I came to a passage which seemed to meet his case, he desired me to read it over and over again. Notwithstanding this, the desire was strong within him to recover, for the sake of carrying home the vessel and her rich freight in safety. That was but natural, and I earnestly hoped that he might be restored to health. Instead, however, of gaining strength, he appeared to grow weaker and weaker.

The calm had now continued for several days. Often as I looked over the side I saw dark triangular fins just rising above the surface, and moving here and there round the ship, and frequently the whole form of the monster could be discerned as it glided by; and when I saw its keen cruel eyes glancing up towards me, I felt a shudder pass through my frame, such as, according to the vulgar notion, a person feels when it is said that some one is walking over his grave. Occasionally, when anything was thrown overboard, a white flash was seen rising out of the deep, and a large pair of jaws, armed with sharp teeth, opening, gulped it down, and directly afterwards the creature went swimming on, watching for any other dainty morsel which might come in its way. “How dreadful it would be to fall overboard,” I thought. “Calm as the sea is, a person, with those creatures around, would have very little chance of escaping with life.”

Dark clouds had been gathering around, and the wavelets began to play over the hitherto calm ocean. Although as yet there was not much wind, the sails were trimmed, and, by the captain’s orders, the vessel was put on a north-west course. I concluded, consequently, that he at all events intended touching at Sierra Leone, to obtain a mate and some white hands. The wind, however, rapidly increased, sail was taken in, and before long it was blowing a perfect hurricane. This made the poor captain more anxious than ever to get on deck, but when he attempted to move he found that he had not strength even to sit up. The wind howled and whistled, the vessel tumbled fearfully about, and the seas, which rose up in foaming masses, frequently broke on board, deluging her deck.

I had gone down to the captain, who had directed me to visit him every quarter of an hour to let him know how things were going on, when, as I entered the cabin, I discovered a strong smell of burning, and directly afterwards I saw thin wreaths of black smoke making their way through the forward bulk-head. The dreadful conviction came upon me that the vessel was on fire. I sprang on deck, and calling the boatswain and Paul, I told them my fears. That they were too well founded we had soon fearful evidence, for the smoke, now in thick volumes, rose above the deck, both fore and aft. Still there might be time to extinguish the fire. To do this it was necessary to take off the main-hatchway, and, in spite of the risk of a sea beating over us, it was done. The instant it was off dense masses of black smoke rose up from below, preventing all attempts which the boatswain and some of his men made to discover the seat of the fire.

“We must take to the boats,” he exclaimed, “the ship soon all in flames, then the boats burn and we no get away.”

Paul and I as well as Sambo tried to persuade him and his Krumen to make more efforts to put out the fire before they lowered the boats. With the sea then running, indeed there was every probability that they would be swamped. We set them the example, by rigging the pumps, and filling buckets from alongside to heave down the hold. Thus encouraged, they laboured for a short time, but finding their efforts of no effect, they abandoned the work and began to lower the boats.

The wind had happily by this time somewhat moderated; while most of the people were engaged in launching the long boat, Paul and I with two other men set to work to lower one of the smaller boats. We had not forgotten the poor captain, and as the smoke had not yet made its way into his cabin, I did not intend to let him know what had occurred till the last, when I hoped, with the assistance of Paul and others, to get him lowered safely into one of the boats.

All hands were working away with frantic haste, for we could not tell at what moment the flames might burst forth, and render the deck untenable. At length the long boat was launched, and the boatswain and the Krumen leaped into her. They called to Sambo and the rest to follow. I thought Sambo would have remained faithful to the captain, and have come to assist him, but at that moment a forked flame burst up from the hold, so alarming him, that he followed the rest. Paul and I entreated the other men to remain by the smaller boat, while we went into the cabin to bring up my poor friend the captain. As I was descending the companion hatch, I heard the boatswain shouting to the other men, and caught sight of them running to the side. Still I hoped that should they desert us, Paul and I might be able, after placing the captain in the boat, to lower her in safety.

“The ship on fire,” exclaimed Captain Willis, when I told him what had occurred, “Heave water down the hold. Do all you can to save our rich freight, that must not be lost on any account.”

I told him that we had done what we could, and that the rest of the crew had already deserted the vessel.

The captain sank back on his pillow, “I Have no strength to move,” he murmured, “and you and Paul cannot lift me.”

“We will try, Massa Captain,” said Paul.

I proposed that we should lift him in his cot through the skylight. The captain at length agreed to this. I sprang on deck, intending to secure a tackle to the main boom, by which we might carry out my proposal with greater ease. What was my horror on reaching the deck, to find that the blacks, on quitting the falls, had neglected to secure them, and that the boat having fallen into the water had been washed away and capsized. The flames, too, which were now ascending through the main-hatchway had caught the other boat, and already her bows were burned through.

With this appalling intelligence I returned below. Escape seemed impossible. I proposed building a raft, it was a desperate resource, and there might not be time even to lash a few spars together. I could not bear the thought of allowing the poor captain to perish miserably without an attempt to save him. He divined my thoughts. “Its of no use, Harry, I am prepared for death, and resign myself to the arms of that merciful God whom I have so lately learned to know,” he said, with perfect calmness.

Paul, while the captain had been speaking, seized a bright axe which hung against the bulk-head as an ornament, intending to cut away whatever might assist in forming a raft, and had sprang on deck with it. He now came down through the skylight hatch, “It is too late,” he exclaimed, “the flames come aft.”

He spoke too truly. At that instant dense masses of smoke rushed into the cabin, and the flames burst through the after bulk head. I was scorched, by the heat and almost suffocated. So dense was the smoke which filled the captain’s berth, that I could no longer see him.

I felt Paul grasping my hand, “Come Harry, come, too late to save poor captain,” he said, dragging me after him. I was almost stifled, and gasped for breath. In another moment I should have fallen, indeed I was so overcome with the smoke that I did not know what was happening.

Happily however I kept firm hold of Paul, and suddenly I found myself plunged headlong into the water. He had hauled me through the cabin window.

“Now strike out Massa Harry, I see boat not far off, we get to her,” he exclaimed. I did as he directed me, but the thought of the horrid sharks I had seen swimming about the vessel, almost paralysed my senses, and every moment I expected to find myself seized by the cruel jaws of one of them.

“Cheer up Harry, cheer up,” shouted Paul; “there is the boat, we got Friend in heaven who look after us; never fear, we reach her soon, cheer up.”

With such like cries he continued to animate me. He shouted thus not only for that object, but to keep any sharks which might be inclined to seize us at a distance. The boat, as we got near her, was, I saw, keel upwards.

“Never fear Massa Harry,” said Paul, “we soon right her.”

We at length reached the boat, and Paul showing me the way, after some exertion, he going ahead and I keeping astern, we managed to turn her over. We then shook her from side to side till we had hove out a considerable amount of water in her. He told me to get in over the stern, and to begin bailing with my hat. I did as he advised, thankful to find myself out of the grasp of the sharks. He kept splashing about with his heels, and constantly turning round to see that none of the monsters were near. Looking up I caught sight of the long boat standing away from us under sail towards the shore. She had already got too far off to allow of our cries reaching her, or even indeed for those on board to see us. We were thus cruelly deserted by our shipmates. We could only hope for their credit that they supposed we had already lost our lives, and that there would be no use looking for us.

At length I having partially cleared the boat, Paul also got in, and we both began bailing away as hard as we could with our hats. While thus employed I saw a huge shark approaching, and I fancied looking disappointed at our having escaped his hungry maw. Happily the sea by this time had gone considerably down, or our task would have been rendered hopeless. As it was it took us a considerable time to lessen the water in the boat, for deep as she was, the water which leaped in often again nearly refilled her. Still we persevered, for we were, we knew, labouring for our lives. Meantime the shark, as if longing to make us its prey, kept swimming round and round the boat. At a short distance the brigantine was burning furiously, and already the flames, ascending the masts, had caught the rigging and sails.

While as I could not help doing, I turned my gaze at her I saw far away in the horizon the white sail of a vessel. “A sail! a sail!” I shouted; “we are saved Paul, we are saved.”

Paul looked up for a minute. “Yes,” he said, “she standing this way. The burning ship bring her down to us. She big schooner. May be good, may be bad! though.”

Chapter Six.

A calm comes on, and we remain during the night suffering from hunger and thirst.—Paul tells me his history, and I find that he is Cheebo, of whom I am in search.—His joy at hearing of his mother makes him regardless of the suffering we are enduring—The schooner picks us up.—Paul suspects her character.—Before long we discover that she is a slaver, and she runs up a river to receive her cargo on board.

Scarcely had we caught sight of the stranger than the wind entirely fell and she lay totally becalmed. The smooth sea enabled us to free the boat completely, and now we had nothing to do but to sit down and watch the burning brigantine.

First one of the tall masts, completely encircled by the flames, fell hissing into the water. The other, after standing awhile in solitary grandeur, formed a fiery pinnacle to the flaming hull below.

At length it followed its companion, and then the fire ran riot fore and aft. Sometimes wearied by the sight, I put my hands before my eyes to shut it out, but then I could not help thinking of the sad fate of the poor captain, whose body lay on its funeral pile on board.

“Ah, he happy now,” whispered Paul. He had also been thinking of him. “He say he love Jesus; he trust to Jesus, no fear for him.”

Paul’s words brought consolation to my heart. Our own condition might well have made me depressed, yet I felt supported by the strong faith of my companion in a way I formerly should not have thought possible.

We had no food, and not a drop of fresh water to quench our burning thirst.

Some way off we could see pieces of burnt spars floating about. I thought of trying to paddle the boat up to them with our hands, hoping to find some which might serve as oars, and enable us to reach the schooner in the distance. I quickly, however, gave up the attempt, for scarcely had I put my hand into the water than I saw a huge pair of jaws darting towards it, and I had just time to pull it out before they made a snap close to me, which would, in a moment, have bitten it off.

Night soon came down upon us as we thus sat utterly helpless in our boat, while the sea around was lighted up with the flames of the burning vessel. Loaded as she was almost entirely with combustible materials, they burned with unusual fierceness. Her whole interior, as the sides were burned away, appeared one glowing mass, surrounded by a rim of flames which fed upon her stout timbers and planking. Suddenly there came a loud hissing noise across the water, then a dense vapour ascended from her midst, and in an instant after all was darkness. The remains of the “Chieftain” had sunk into the depths of ocean.

“I am afraid our chance of being picked up by the schooner is gone,” I observed to Paul. “She very probably, when the breeze comes, will stand away from us.”

“There is no such thing as chance, Massa Harry,” he answered. “If it is God’s will she come, if not, He find some other way to save us. Let us pray that He do what He judge best.”

Thereon Paul, without waiting for my reply, knelt down in the bottom of the boat and lifted up his voice in prayer to our merciful Father in heaven, for that protection which we more than ever felt we so much needed. I imitating his example, heartily joined him.

As we sat in the boat side by side talking together, for neither of us were inclined to sleep, I asked him how it was that he, a common sailor, had become so well instructed a Christian?

“Ah, Massa Harry, I knew about Jesus when I quite a little boy; but only a few years ago I learned to love Him and trust to Him as I now do,” he answered. “I’ll tell you how dis was. When I piccaniny I hab kind fader and moder, and we live in Yourba country, in our own village, far away. One night the enemy come and attack the village, and carry off many men and women and children. My fader take me up and run away into de wood, my moder follow, but she fall, and the slaver people catch her and take her with the rest. My poor fader, like to break him heart, but for my sake he live and hide away till the slaver people gone. He tried to find my moder, but from dat day to dis he neber hear of her more. After some time it was told him dat a great many people go to a place called Abeokuta, and dat dere day built town, and let no slave-takers come near them, so my fader go there, and we live there, and work and grow rich, and many more people come, and we not fear any of our enemies. All the people were heathens, and prayed to the fetish.

“After some time many people come from Sierra Leone, who had been carried off in slavers, and taken by the English cruisers, and landed there. They find relations and friends in Abeokuta, and so they stop to live with us. Some of them had learned in Sierra Leone about God and His Son Jesus Christ, and they tell us, and many of the people of Abeokuta say they will no longer pray to the fetish, but will only pray to God, and love Him and serve Him. My fader was among these, and now the only thing he cared for in life was to listen to the missionaries and hear about Jesus Christ. Only one thing made him unhappy, that was that my poor moder should not learn the truth of the gospel. He knew that she was carried away by bad people, and he afraid that she become bad like them; but he pray day and night that God in His mercy would make known to her His great love, as He had made it known to him.

“Oh, if I could but hear that she had become a Christian how happy I should be!” he used to say to me over and over again. “Paul,” that was the name I had got when I was christened, “you must pray for your moder wid me, and I am sure that God will hear our prayers.”

“At last my fader grew sick, and he made me promise, if he died, that I would go to Sierra Leone and try to find if my moder was dere. My fader grew worse and worse, but still him very happy, and taking my hand, he say, ‘Paul, you must meet me in heaven, and you must bring your moder there, and then we all live together for ever and ever, where there are no more slave-dealers, and no more war, and no more cruelty,’ and den him die.

“After dat I set off to go to Sierra Leone, but slave-dealer catch me on the way and take me on board slaver, with nearly four hundred other black fellows, and we were all put down in ship’s hold, and carried away to the coast of Brazil. But English man-of-war catch the slaver. The English captain find out that I was a Christian, and so he ask me if I like to serve on board de man-of-war, and I say yes. The captain, good Christian man himself, so I learn to speak English, and he taught me to read Bible, and I learn still more about Jesus than I did in Abeokuta. At last we got back to Sierra Leone, and then I remember my promise to my father, and while I on shore trying to learn about my moder, the ship sail away, and no more come back. I no hear about my moder, and have no money, so I ship on board merchant vessel, and after sailing in her along the coast for some time I go on board another, and then I again go on board man-of-war. At last I get back to Sierra Leone, and fall very sick, and sent to hospital, then a good missionary come to me and I tell him what my fader had said, and he ask me if I think I going to heaven, and then he tell me more about the right way, and pray with me. And now I find Jesus as my own Saviour and Friend, and love Him, and wish to serve Him, and obey Him. Then the wish came into my heart to preach the gospel to my countrymen, but I, still poor and very ignorant, and I thought if I could make two or three voyages and save money, I would go to England and study there, and be better able to declare the glad tidings of salvation, and that the people would more willingly listen to me.

“It was on the second trip I made that the vessel I was in was wrecked not far from the mouth of the Bonny, and I was making my way with some of those who had escaped with me to Sierra Leone when Captain Willis engaged me to serve on board the ‘Chieftain.’”

While Paul was giving me this sketch of his history an idea had forcibly taken possession of my mind. “Tell me,” I exclaimed suddenly, “what was your name before you were christened?”

“Cheebo,” he answered.

“And your father’s name,” I inquired eagerly.

“My father, him called Quamino,” he said, in a surprised tone.

“Oh Paul!” I cried out, seizing his hand, “I have indeed then good news for you. Your father’s and your prayers have been answered, for I can assure you that your mother is a true and faithful Christian. I have known her all my life, her name she has told me was Ambah, and that she was torn away from her husband and child as your mother was from you.”

“Yes, yes, Ambah was my mother’s name, and did she tell you that her husband’s name was Quamino, and their piccaniny was called Cheebo?” he asked, almost gasping for breath.

“Those were the very names she gave me, and I wrote them in my pocket book so that I might not forget them.” I answered.

“Oh, Massa Harry, that is indeed joyful news,” he cried out. “Then I and my mother and father will all meet in heaven, Praise God! I now not fear what man can do unto me.”

It would be difficult to do justice to the feeling displayed by Paul, even were I to repeat all he said, his piety, his gratitude, and his joy. He could talk of nothing else during the night. He seemed to be insensible to hunger and thirst, and to forget altogether the dangerous position in which we were placed. Now he kneeled down in prayer, now he gave vent to his feelings in a hymn of praise. I could not help sympathising with him, and rejoicing that I had been the means of giving him the information which made him so happy. Still I must confess that I myself suffered not a little from the pangs of hunger, and would have given much for a glass of cold water.

When morning dawned the schooner was still in sight. I looked anxiously round for the sign of a breeze, hoping that if it did come the stranger would stand towards us. At all events it seemed probable that having seen the burning vessel those on board, in common humanity, would sail over the spot where she had been, on the chance of picking up any of her crew who might have escaped. Paul, however, did not seem to wish this as much as I did. I saw him narrowly watching the vessel, then he shook his head as if he did not like her looks.

The sun rose high in the sky, and beat down on our heads. My thirst became intolerable, and whatever might be the character of the stranger, I could not help longing that she would pick us up. The breeze came at last, her sails filled. How eagerly I watched her.

“She is standing towards us,” I cried out, “we must soon be seen.” I stood up on a thwart and waved a handkerchief.

“Better not Massa Harry,” said Paul, but I did not heed him.

The schooner came on rapidly. Again I waved my handkerchief, and held it between my two hands, so that it might flutter in the breeze. The stranger approached. She was a fine large square topsail schooner, with a black hull and taunt raking masts. She rounded to close to us, so that she could drop down to where our boat lay.

A rope was hove to us, and I clambered up her side, Paul following me. We were both so weak when we reached her deck that we could scarcely stand. I pointed to my mouth, just able to murmur, “water! water!”

“Si, si, aqua aqua,” said a man, who appeared to be an officer; when one of the men dipped a mug into a cask on deck, and brought it to us. I took part of the contents then handed it to Paul; but the seaman signed to me to drain it myself, casting, I thought, a contemptuous glance at my negro companion. However, he brought another cup full, and even though I emptied it to the bottom, still my thirst was scarcely quenched.

An officer now appeared from below, and addressing me in English, asked me how I came to be in the boat. I told him exactly what had occurred.

“It is fortunate for you that we picked you up, for another vessel might not pass this way for days to come,” he observed. “But what a pity so rich a cargo should have been lost.”

The unhappy fate of the poor captain did not seem to concern him much.

I could not make out the character of the vessel.

She was Spanish, I guessed, and her officers and crew appeared smart active fellows; and though she looked in some respects like a man-of-war, she certainly was not one. Her hatches were off, and as far as I could judge there was nothing to show that she was a slaver.

The officer who had spoken to me finding that I was a young gentleman, politely invited me down into the cabin, telling Paul that he might go forward among the men. Paul thanked him, and took advantage of the permission granted him. The officers were going to breakfast, and I was very thankful when they invited me to join them. Altogether they treated me very civilly.

I found an opportunity of speaking to Paul during the day.

“Bad vessel this,” he whispered. “Dey put you on shore soon Massa Harry, and so no harm come to you, but I fear they make me slave, and I no get back to see my moder. Still I pray God that He find a way for escape.”

I had too much reason soon afterwards to know that Paul was right in his conjectures.

The next day we came in sight of a large vessel. Signals were exchanged, and we hove-to near each other. The boats were then actively engaged in bringing numerous articles on board the schooner—arms and ammunition, and cutlery, and Manchester goods, and farinha (the meal on which slaves on board ship are fed), and cases which I found contained slave shackles. There was no secret indeed made about the matter.

The schooner having taken her cargo on board, the other vessel sailed away while we stood towards the coast. The carpenters were busily employed in fitting an additional deck in the hold, and Paul told me that it was called the slave deck, and that the slaves we were to take on board would be seated along it, packed close together side by side, and that they would thus be kept during the whole run to the Brazils, or wherever the schooner was bound with her hapless freight.

“You see what this vessel is,” said the officer who had spoken to me in English. “We have saved your life, and must exact a promise from you not to appear as a witness against any one on board should you at any future period be called on to do so. Let me advise you indeed not to take notice of anything that occurs on board and it will be the better for you. We do not wish to harm you, but there are those among us who hold human life very cheap, and they are not likely to stand on ceremony should you interfere with their proceedings.”

I replied that I was very grateful to him and the other officers for treating me kindly, and that I only desired to be put on board an English trader, in which I could work a passage home, “and I hope,” I added, “that my black companion will be allowed to accompany me.”

“As to that I can make no promise,” he answered. “The captain will decide the matter; but, I have no doubt, that if we fall in with an English trader you will be allowed to go on board her.”

A bright look-out was kept from the mast-head, and twice the schooner altered her course to avoid a sail seen in the distance. At length we came off the mouth of a river. A signal was made from the shore. With a fair breeze we ran in, and proceeding up some distance, dropped anchor in a creek, where the schooner lay concealed by the tall trees which grew on its banks.

Chapter Seven.

I witness the embarkation of slaves collected at the barracoons, and the cruel way in which they are treated and packed in the hold of the slaver.—Unwilling to desert Paul, I remain on board, and the slaver puts to sea.—Paul is threatened for attempting to comfort the slaves with the gospel news.—The schooner receives more slaves on board along the coast.—Some are drowned coming off—The slaver gets on shore just as a man-of-war is seen in the offing.—A fog comes on, and the schooner’s crew making desperate efforts to get her off, she escapes, to my bitter disappointment, from the man-of-war’s boats, along the coast.

I found myself once more exposed to the pestilential air of an African river. I in vain tried to sleep. All night long I heard the sound of the carpenters at work fitting the slave decks, and fixing the bars across them, to which the captive negroes were to be secured. The crew were employed most of their time in hoisting water casks, and a further supply of farinha, on board.

At length when morning broke I went on deck to breathe the air, which I hoped would be somewhat cooler than that of the calm. Through an opening in the trees I saw several long low sheds with cottages and huts scattered round them, while a number of people were moving about. The door in the end of one of the sheds was thrown open, and there issued forth a long line of black figures, walking two and two, and secured together by iron shackles round their wrists.

They staggered along with unwilling steps, looking round on the trees and distant blue hills, which they were destined never again to see, and even now it seemed to me that could they have wrenched their hands from those iron bonds they would have attempted to strike a blow for freedom, and make their escape into the forest. On either side of them, however, walked ruffianly looking fellows, with pistols in their belts and heavy whips in their hands, with which, if their captives attempted to lag behind, they urged them on. One or two were whites, but most of them were negroes, and seemed to have no scruple in leading their countrymen into captivity.

So long a line came forth that it seemed impossible the building could have held so many human beings. Some were strong men, who cast scowling glances at their guards; others were youths, many mere lads and young boys, and there were a considerable number of women, mostly young, many, indeed, being mere girls. Several of the elder women had infants in their arms, and children of various ages trotted by the sides of others, or clung to their hands. The sad procession came towards the vessel. A bridge had been formed from her deck to the shore. The leading slaves hesitated as they reached it, and refused to move forward till urged on by the lash of their guards.

Their condition had been bad before, but they knew now that they were to be shut down and crowded together in the dark noisome hold of the slave ship. As they arrived on board they were compelled to go below and take their seats on the bare deck, side by side, with their legs secured to the iron bars, and so closely packed that their knees were drawn up almost to their chins. Still, although nearly a hundred had come on board, a considerable portion of the deck remained unoccupied.

I took an opportunity of going on shore, no one interfering with me. As I went through the village I passed a house of some size, in front of which the captain was seated in the verandah with another white man, with whom he appeared to be eagerly bargaining. The latter was, I found, the principle slave-dealer, to whom the sheds or barracoons, in which the slaves were confined, belonged. Going on I looked into one of the barracoons. The heat and odour which proceeded from it made me unwilling to enter. It was full of blacks, seated on narrow benches, with their arms and legs secured to long bars which ran in front of them. Here they had been placed as they were brought down from the interior, and kept in readiness for the arrival of the slaver. This, I suspect, was the gang for whom the captain had been bargaining with their owner, as they were immediately afterwards summoned out and marched down, as the others had been, to the vessel.

While I was still on shore I saw coming through the woods another long line of captives. They had come, apparently, a long distance, for they were mostly foot-sore, and several could scarcely move along; not a few were wounded, and many of the men, and even of the women, bore traces on their backs of the cruel lash which had been inflicted to make them hasten their steps when they had showed any unwillingness to proceed. They were allowed but a short time to rest in the barracoons, and having been fed with farinha, mixed into porridge, were marched down to the ship. They gazed at her with looks of dismay, for they knew that she was to convey them away over the wide ocean they had heard of, but never seen, to an unknown land, where they were to toil, unrequited, for hard task-masters.

I thought of remaining on shore rather than proceed in the slave vessel; but was unwilling to desert Paul, and he had not been allowed to land. I therefore returned, hoping to obtain his release.

“You must remain with us a little longer,” said my friend the officer, who spoke English, “and we will land you on another part of the coast, where you are more likely than here to meet with a trader.”

I was compelled to comply, indeed I knew by his tone and manner, that I should not be allowed to remain behind.

All the slaves which had been collected in the depôt having been received on board, the schooner cast off from the bank, and proceeded down the river. As we crossed the bar the vessel pitched heavily, and shipped several seas. The poor wretches below, as the water rushed down upon them, fancying that they were about to be drowned, gave vent to piercing shrieks and cries. The Spanish crew heard them with perfect indifference, and no one, with the exception of Paul, took the slightest trouble to calm their fears—he managing to slip down into the hold assured them that there was no danger; but he could offer them very little comfort besides as to their prospects in this world. Still he could speak to them of another and a better land, “where the weary are at rest, and the wicked cease from troubling,” and where the shackles of slavery are cast aside, and to which the God of mercy invites all His creatures to come and dwell with Him, and be at rest. He was endeavouring to explain to the miserable beings the simple troths of the gospel, when he was overheard by one of the officers, and ordered on deck, with a threat that should he again be found speaking to the slaves he would be shackled along with them.

We ran down the coast and came to an anchorage in-shore. There were numerous huts and several large canoes drawn up on the beach, on which a heavy surf was breaking. In a short time people appeared collecting from all quarters and a canoe came off with a burly negro on board, who, as he climbed up the side was treated with great ceremony. He was, I found, the king of that part of the country, his chief revenue being derived from slave dealing. His business with the captain was quickly concluded. A signal was made from the vessel, and soon afterwards I saw a long line of slaves coming forth from behind a wood which concealed the barracoons where they had been confined. They were marched down to the canoes, and thrust in one after the other in spite of their struggles.

The canoes were now launched, and began to make their way through the surf. Three succeeded in getting alongside, but the fourth was overturned by a heavy roller, and the unfortunate passengers thrown out amid the foaming waters. Some, as if thus glad to escape from their persecutors, sank without making a struggle for life; others clung to the canoe, and a few were either washed back on the beach or picked up by the surrounding canoes, to which the crew had already made their way. Eight or ten human beings thus lost their lives, but the event seemed to cause no concern to the captain or his officers. He had only agreed to pay for those brought off to him in safety. The embarkation continued as before, and we were soon surrounded by canoes full of slaves, who were forthwith hoisted on board and stowed below. Their price, chiefly in goods, was then lowered into the canoes, which returned to the shore with much more caution than they had come out.

Two days afterwards we obtained an other addition to our cargo still further down the coast. On this occasion we brought up in a sheltered bay. Here the slaves were conveyed on large rafts. Every expedition was used in getting them on board, for news had been received that an English cruiser was in the neighbourhood. The moment they were stowed away the anchor was hove-up and sail was made.

As we were going out, and appeared to be clear of the harbour, I heard a grating sound, and felt the vessel’s keel touch the ground. At the same moment the look-out from the mast-head gave notice that a sail was in sight in the offing.

Every effort was made to get the schooner off, but she stuck fast. One of the officers had gone aloft with a spy-glass. On his return I observed a look of consternation in the countenance of the captain and his mates. After talking eagerly together one of them went aloft. He remained for sometime with his spy-glass turned towards the stranger, which, in a short time, could be seen clearly from the deck, and from the expressions I heard them utter, I found that she was supposed to be a British man-of-war. I endeavoured to conceal my satisfaction, for I hoped that the unfortunate slaves would be rescued, and that Paul and I might be taken on board her.

It shortly, however, fell perfectly calm, and the spirits of the slaver’s crew revived. The tide was rising, anchors were carried out, and desperate efforts were made to heave the vessel off. A report now came from aloft that several boats were approaching from the direction of the cruiser. The Spaniards, on hearing this, began to stamp about the deck, grinding their teeth and shaking their fists towards where the boats were supposed to be, working themselves into a perfect fury. Arms were got up on deck, and the two guns the vessel carried were loaded and run out. The savage cries and oaths, and fierce gestures of the crew, made them look more like demons than men.

I looked anxiously for Paul, fearing that in their fury they might injure him, but he had wisely taken shelter in the berth forward so as to be out of their sight. I had thought of hiding in the cabin where I slept, but felt too anxious to watch the issue of events to do so. Of one thing I felt very sure, that though the Spaniards might fight, the British seamen would soon be in possession of the slaver.

The day was drawing to a close, however, and I began to fear that the boats might not reach the schooner before darkness set in. In a short time too, I observed a thick mist gathering over the land, which rose higher and higher, and came moving towards us. We were soon completely enveloped in it. This seemed to give the slaver’s crew great satisfaction, and they again began to talk and laugh in their usual tone, while all the time they continued their exertions to get the vessel off. Lazy as the Spaniards are they can work as hard as any one when they have a sufficient motive to arouse them.

I observed the captain frequently wetting his finger and holding it up, and soon I felt a light breeze blowing from the land. The sails were let fall, and the crew making another desperate effort, the schooner glided away up to her anchors. No time was lost in weighing them. I thought the crew would have shouted to show their satisfaction, but not a sound was uttered. Onward she glided, keeping close in-shore.

My heart sank within me, and my hopes of escaping from the vile slave ship vanished. The lead was kept going. I felt sure that no stranger would venture to stand in so close to the coast as we were doing. On we stood till the Spanish seamen seemed satisfied that they had made good their escape from the boats of the cruiser. As the schooner had by this time nearly a full cargo of slaves, I feared that she would not again touch on the coast, and that I was destined to make a voyage on board the hateful craft across the Atlantic.

Chapter Eight.

The Spaniards believing the man-of-war to be far away, steer to the westward.—We sight her, and she chases us.—Cruel device of the slaver’s crew to assist their escape.—Paul, among others, being thrown overboard that the man-of-war might have to pick them up; I fear that he has been lost.—My life preserved by one of the officers, when threatened by the slaver’s crew.—The schooner escapes, but dismasted in a gale, and again overtaken.—Paul and my cousin Jack come on board, and I join the corvette as a midshipman.—Returning to England I restore Cheebo to his mother.—My adventures show that “all works together for good to them who love God.”—Jack becomes a commander, marries my sister Mary, and I find ample means for supporting the rest of my dear sisters.

The schooner ran on during the night, keeping the coast close aboard to enjoy the advantage of the land breeze. I managed to get a word with Paul to ask him whether he thought there was a probability of her making her escape. “I pray God for the poor slaves,” he answered, “and hope English cruiser still catch her.”

As may be supposed a very bright look-out was kept for the cruiser. As the day advanced she was no where to be seen, and the captain, anxious to make as quick a run as possible across the Atlantic, the vessel’s head was turned to the westward, the wind still blowing off shore. Still, however, a haze hung over the ocean, sufficiently thick to prevent objects being seen in the far distance. This seemed still further to favour the escape of the slaver.

We had got some distance off the land when the haze lifted, and away to the southward a sail was seen, which the Spaniards at once seemed to know was the British man-of-war. She saw us at the same moment, and crowded all sail in chase. The schooner was put before the wind, which now came from the southward, and every stitch of canvas she could carry was set, men also going aloft with buckets of water to wet the sails.

Again the same scene of impotent rage I had before witnessed was enacted, and the fury of the Spaniards increased as they saw the man-of-war gaining on us, she apparently having more wind than we had.

I, as I had previously done, kept as much as I could out of their way, and tried to prevent any gleam of satisfaction appearing in my countenance.

The man-of-war was a corvette—evidently a powerful and very fast craft, against which the slaver would not have had the shadow of a chance, had even her crew possessed the courage to fight, which I felt very sure, in spite of their bravado, they would not.

The corvette had been bringing the breeze up with her, and now the schooner felt it herself, and began to move more rapidly through the water. She, too, was a fast vessel, and her crew might justly have entertained hopes of escaping. I little thought of the cruel device they were contemplating to aid them in so doing.

At length the man-of-war had got almost near enough to reach the slaver with her bow-chasers. She tried the range of one of them, but the shot fell short. On this the captain turned, with a savage determination in his eye, and spoke to one of the officers. Directly afterwards I saw him descend to the slave deck with two or three of the men, and they quickly returned with one of the unfortunate captives. Instantly the unhappy slave was secured to a plank, and, in spite of his cries and entreaties, hove overboard. As the poor wretch floated astern I could not help recollecting that the sea swarmed with sharks, and that he would probably be seized before many minutes were over by one of the ravenous monsters. I guessed the object of the Spaniards; it was confiding in the humanity of my countrymen that they would heave-to in order to pick up the poor black, should he escape the sharks, and thus allow the schooner to gain ground.

The device answered the expectations of its cruel perpetrators. The corvette hove-to, a boat was lowered, and the slave taken up. The Spaniards seemed delighted with the result of their experiment, and prepared to try it again. Another slave was brought up on deck, and, like the former, hove overboard. Scarcely had he reached the water when a fearful shriek was heard, and the poor wretch and the plank together disappeared below the surface. This, however, did not prevent the Spaniards from again attempting the plan to impede the progress of their pursuer, and three more slaves were brought up.

Just then I heard several of the crew shouting out “El heretico!” and what was my horror to see them dragging Paul aft. He spoke to them in such Spanish as he could command, but uttered no cry, and when he understood their object, walked calmly among them to the gangway.

I could not restrain myself, but ran up to him and implored my English-speaking friend to plead on his behalf.

“Take care my lad, or you may be treated in the same way,” was the answer.

“Oh, but he has just heard of his mother, who longs to see him, and I have promised to take him to her,” I cried out. “Oh, ask them if any of them have mothers from whom they have been long parted, would they not desire to see them again? Will they not have compassion on my poor friend?”

“Don’t grieve for me, Massa Harry,” said Paul, while the sailors were lashing him to the plank. “God take care of me. Give my lub to my moder, and tell her I meet her in heaven, and she know me den.”

In vain I pleaded. My friend seizing me by the arm, dragged me away, while the savages hove Paul overboard.

“Go into my cabin,” he exclaimed, “its your only chance of safety.”

I saw, as he dragged me aft, that the Spaniards were preparing to throw several other slaves into the sea; and, as I turned my head, three in rapid succession were thrust through the gangway, secured, as the others had been, to floats.

My friend had not cautioned me without reason, for I heard the crew clamouring for the “Englez.” My friend went out to them, and on his return told me that they wished to throw me into the sea, but that he had advised them not to do so lest after all the schooner should be captured, when the captain of the man-of-war would certainly deal more hardly with them for having thus treated a countryman.

I thanked him for interfering as far as I was concerned, but, at the same time, could not help observing that the English captain would consider the crime of throwing any one overboard equally great, whatever the colour of the sufferer.

“Ah, we think little about the life of a black,” he answered carelessly.

“So it seems,” I said, for I felt utterly horrified at what I had witnessed. A feeling of desperate indifference to my own fate had crept over me. “Poor Paul! that the wretches should have treated you thus,” I said to myself. Then I remembered how Paul would have acted, and I prayed that he might be protected, though I confess I had little expectation of his escaping the ravenous jaws of a shark.

So eager was I to ascertain what had happened, that had not my friend locked the door on me, in spite of his warnings, I should have gone out again to watch the progress of the chase. Some time elapsed; I longed again to hear the sound of the corvette’s guns, but in vain. The wind had increased, as I could judge by the movement of the vessel; and I at length began to fear that she would after all escape.

Some hours passed away, my friend at length came back. “You are hungry, I dare say,” he said, “and you may come into the cabin and have some supper, but it is not safe for you to go on deck, the crew are angry at your having interfered about the black seaman; although our plan has answered, for your good natured-countrymen, by stopping to pick up the negroes, have enabled us to escape them. A few of the wretches were, to be sure, picked off by the sharks.”

“Did my friend, the black sailor, escape?” I asked eagerly.

“As to that I cannot say,” he answered, “undoubtedly some escaped, or the corvette would not have hove-to so often. But come, the supper is on the table.”

I declared that I had no appetite; but he insisted upon my going into the cabin, and said that he should be offended if I did not. “It would be better for you also to put an indifferent face on the matter,” he added.

Those of the officers who came to supper were laughing and talking in good spirits, and, as far as I could judge, seemed to be amusing themselves at my expense. I, however, had the wisdom to follow my friend’s advice, and showed no signs of annoyance. I confess, too, that the sight of the food quickly restored my appetite.

When supper was over my friend advised me to go back to my cabin. “We shall be far away from the corvette by to-morrow morning, and then you can come on deck if you like,” he observed.

As I lay in my berth the dreadful scenes I had witnessed came constantly before my sight, and I kept alternately hoping that Paul might have been saved, and fearing that he was lost. For a long time too it seemed I could not go to sleep. The vessel also was pitching heavily, the sea dashed against her sides, and I could hear the roaring and whistling of the wind in her rigging; it was evidently blowing very hard. At last I dropped off to sleep. I was awakened by a loud crash, and the fearful shrieks and cries which arose from the hold.

No longer heeding my friend’s caution, slipping on my clothes, I rushed on deck. The schooner’s masts had gone by the board, and she lay helpless on the foaming ocean. The crew were shouting and swearing as they endeavoured to cut away the masts, which were battering against her sides, while ever and anon a heavy sea striking her, swept over her deck, and from the shrieks which came up out of the waters a short distance away to leeward, I had little doubt that several of the people had been washed overboard. Fearing that such might be my fate were I to remain on deck, I hurried back again into the cabin. I knew that nothing could be done till daylight, and that it would be impossible to rig jury-masts until the sea was somewhat smoother. Perhaps before then the slaver and her living freight might be carried down into the depths of ocean. I would not venture to lie down, but sat in the cabin, ready to rush out and make an attempt for my life should such a catastrophe appear imminent.

The night seemed very long. At length I saw daylight through the bull’s-eye overhead, and the movement of the vessel was less violent than before. I could no longer restrain my curiosity, and made my way on deck. The crew, much diminished, were sheltering themselves under the bulwarks, while the officers were collected in the after part of the vessel. I saw that their eyes were directed to windward, I looked in the same direction, and there to my infinite satisfaction I caught sight of the corvette standing towards us. I was glad to see my English friend among the officers, but the captain and first mate were gone. They had been carried overboard. I felt that they deserved their fate, terrible as it was.

The corvette soon came up, and hove-to to windward; a boat was lowered and pulled towards us. I watched her eagerly. A lieutenant was steering, and among her crew I observed a black man. I tried to make out his features, but at that distance it was impossible. The hope rose in my breast that he might be Paul.

As the schooner still rolled heavily it was no easy matter for the boat to get alongside without the risk of being swamped. She at length came up under our quarter. I looked anxiously over the bulwarks, and to my joy saw that the black was indeed Paul. He caught sight of me.

“All right Massa Harry,” he shouted, “we soon aboard, praise God that you safe.”

“Silence!” said the officer, for Paul had forgotten the discipline of a man-of-war in speaking. At that moment I thought I recognised the lieutenant’s countenance; yes, I was nearly certain it was my cousin Jack Haultaught, whose yarns, when he was a midshipman, first made me wish to go to sea. He and his crew soon sprang on to the low deck of the schooner, while the boat, with a couple of hands in her, was veered astern.

I first greeted Paul warmly. His joy at seeing me was excessive, for he had been afraid that the slavers would have thrown me overboard as they had him, and as I had not been picked up thought my life had been sacrificed. As my cousin Jack did not know me I had time to talk to Paul.

“Oh Massa Harry we must praise God for all His mercy and goodness to us, what we think going to be very bad for us He make turn out for the best. The captain of the corvette, my old friend, he good Christian man, he say he take me to England with him, and then I see my dear moder, and learn more of the Bible, and then come back and preach the gospel to my poor countrymen.”

The hatches, which had hitherto been kept battened down, were now taken off. The five hundred human beings crowded below were evidence of the character of the vessel, and enabled the lieutenant at once to claim her as a prize to Her Majesty’s ship “Triton.”

I do not wish to dwell on the fearful sight which met our eyes as we looked down below on the mass of humanity jammed, pressed, and huddled together. And oh, the horrible odour which arose from that foul hold! It seemed impossible that human beings could have existed a minute in it, much less the many hours during which those unhappy people had been shut up during the gale. How fearful would have been their sufferings had they been compelled thus to make the passage across the Atlantic. How enormous a proportion of them would have died. As it was, many of them had their limbs broken, and many were sadly crushed and bruised.

At length I went up to the lieutenant and put out my hand. “You don’t know me, cousin Jack,” I said.

“What, Harry!” he exclaimed, looking at me hard. “I am delighted to see you my boy. The negro sailor told me that there was a young Englishman on board, but I did not expect to find you. You will be welcome on board the ‘Triton,’ and if you have a fancy for continuing at sea, I think the captain will be able to enter you as a supernumerary, and get you regularly appointed when we return to England.”

I told him that above all things it was what I should like.

I now accompanied him to the “Triton,” carrying with us the surviving officers of the slaver. They were treated with scant ceremony, but without any undue harshness, on board, and berthed together in a cabin run up on the lower deck. I was, however, able to speak a good word for the officer who had treated me kindly, and been the means of saving my life, and I was pleased to hear the captain thank him, and afterwards the officers, to show their sense of his conduct, invited him to mess with them. He declined doing so, however. He afterwards told my cousin Jack that in consequence of the scenes he had witnessed he had resolved to have nothing more to do with the slave trade.

“It was a great temptation,” he said. “I expected to make my fortune in a short time, and that induced me to engage in the accursed traffic.”

The corvette now took the schooner in tow. As soon as the sea was calm enough hands were sent on board her to rig jury-masts, and a course was steered for Sierra Leone. The slaver, as may be supposed, was condemned, the slaves liberated, and the whole of them settled in the colony. Paul entered on board the “Triton,” and I was placed as a midshipman on her quarter-deck.

We cruised for a short time longer on the coast, and captured another slaver, and then, as the corvette had been her due time on the station, she was ordered home.

Jack, from having been at sea, had not heard of the misfortunes of my family.

As soon as the ship was paid off he insisted on accompanying me and Paul back to Liverpool. We reached the house where I had left my sisters under Mammy’s care. Flowers bloomed before the windows, and there was an air of neatness and comfort about the little abode which looked very pleasing.

I begged Jack and Paul to remain outside while I went in to prepare the inmates for their arrival. Mammy opened the door. She seized me in her arms the moment she saw me, and I did not at all mind the kisses she bestowed on my cheeks, though her lips were thick and her black face shrivelled.

“Your sisters up stairs, Massa Harry. They so glad you come back,” she exclaimed, and dragged me along. She opened the door where they were seated at work.

“I have brought some strangers to see you,” I said, after our greetings were over. “You remember our cousin Jack Haultaught; he insisted on coming, he is a first-rate capital fellow, and a true friend of mine.”

“We shall be very glad to see him and to thank him,” said Mary and Jane together.

“And I shall be delighted,” cried Emily. “I recalled his giving me all sorts of curious things when he came back from his first voyage. I’ll run down and ask him in.”

“Mammy,” I said, feeling very doubtful how I could best prepare her for meeting her son. “You remember the commission you gave me, I did my best to execute it. I asked all the people I met if they knew Cheebo.”

“Ah, you no hear of him,” said Mammy, with a sigh.

“I did not say that,” I answered. “Mammy, you believe that God hears your prayers.”

“Yes, Massa Harry, I am sure He does,” she said, and then it seemed to flash across her that I had something of interest to communicate about her son.

“You hear of Cheebo, he become Christian, oh say dat, Massa Harry, say dat.”

“Yes, Mammy,” I answered, taking her hand, “I not only heard of him, but I have seen him; and, Mammy, do you think the joy would not be too much for you if I were to tell you that I hope you will see him too?”

“Oh, he is come! he is come!” exclaimed Mammy.

I made a sign to my sisters to remain with our old nurse, whispering to Mary that I was going to bring up her long lost son. I hurried down stairs, and found that Emily had already invited Jack and his companion into the house. I led Paul to the door, and my sisters slipping out; we left the old woman and her son together.

And now it is time that I should bring my yarn to a conclusion. Jack seemed to find Liverpool a very delightful place; and perhaps it may account for his so doing, when I say that before he went away he asked my sister Mary to marry him. She did not refuse. Soon afterwards he got his promotion, which he well deserved for his activity and zeal during his long service on the African coast.

Through the interest of the captain of the “Triton” I got appointed to a man-of-war brig on that station, where, being pretty well up to the tricks of the slavers, I was instrumental in capturing a number of vessels, and assisting to put down the abominable slave trade. As a good deal of prize money came into my pocket, I had the gratification of sending home considerable sums to my sisters. Mammy’s joy, when she found that not only had her son become a Christian, but that her husband had accepted the truth, was full. She willingly parted with Paul when she heard of his wish to become a missionary of the gospel. He returned to Sierra Leone, and after remaining a short time there, went on to Abeokuta, to labour with others in spreading the glad tidings of salvation among the dark-skinned sons of Africa.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Alone on an Island"

Chapter One.

The Wolf, a letter-of-marque of twenty guns, commanded by Captain Deason, sailing from Liverpool, lay becalmed on the glass-like surface of the Pacific. The sun struck down with intense heat on the dock, compelling the crew to seek such shade as the bulwarks or sails afforded. Some were engaged in mending sails, twisting yarns, knotting, splicing, or in similar occupations; others sat in groups between the guns, talking together in low voices, or lay fast asleep out of sight in the shade. The officers listlessly paced the deck, or stood leaning over the bulwarks, casting their eyes round the horizon in the hopes of seeing signs of a coming breeze. Their countenances betrayed ill-humour and dissatisfaction; and if they spoke to each other, it was in gruff, surly tones. They had had a long course of ill luck, as they called it, having taken no prizes of value. The crew, too, had for some time exhibited a discontented and mutinous spirit, which Captain Deason, from his bad temper, was ill fitted to quell. While he vexed and insulted the officers, they bullied and tyrannised over the men. The crew, though often quarrelling among themselves, were united in the common hatred to their superiors, till that little floating world became a perfect pandemonium.

Among those who paced her deck, anxiously looking out for a breeze, was Humphry Gurton, a fine lad of fifteen, who had joined the Wolf as a midshipman. This was his first trip to sea. He had intended to enter the Navy, but just as he was about to do so his father, a merchant at Liverpool, failed, and, broken-hearted at his losses, soon afterwards died, leaving his wife and only son but scantily provided for.

Tenderly had that wife, though suffering herself from a fatal disease, watched over him in his sickness, and Humphry had often sat by his father’s bedside while his mother was reading from God’s Word, and listened as with tender earnestness she explained the simple plan of salvation to his father. She had shown him from the Bible that all men are by nature sinful, and incapable, by anything they can do, of making themselves fit to enter a pure and holy heaven, however respectable or excellent they may be in the sight of their fellow-men, and that the only way the best of human beings can come to God is by imitating the publican in the parable, and acknowledging themselves worthless, outcast sinners, and seeking to be reconciled to Him according to the one way He has appointed—through a living faith in the all-atoning sacrifice of His dear Son. Humphry had heard his father exclaim, “I believe that Jesus died for me; O Lord, help my unbelief! I have no merits of my own; I trust to Him, and Him alone.” He had witnessed the joy which had lighted up his mother’s countenance as she pressed his father’s hand, and bending down, whispered, “We shall be parted but for a short time; and, oh! may our loving Father grant that this our son may too be brought to love the Saviour, and join us when he is summoned to leave this world of pain and sorrow.”

Humphry had felt very sad; and though he had wept when his father’s eyes were closed in death, and his mother had pressed him—now the only being on earth for whom she desired to live—to her heart, yet the impression he had received had soon worn off.

In a few months after his father died, she too was taken from him, and Humphry was left an orphan.

The kind and pious minister, Mr Faithful, who frequently visited Mrs Gurton during the last weeks of her illness, had promised her to watch over her boy, but he had no legal power. Humphry’s guardian was a worldly man, and finding that there was but a very small sum for his support, was annoyed at the task imposed on him.

Humphry had expressed his wish to go to sea. A lad whose acquaintance he had lately made, Tom Matcham, was just about to join the Wolf, and, persuading him that they should meet with all sorts of adventures, offered to assist him in getting a berth on board her. Humphry’s guardian, to save himself trouble, was perfectly willing to agree to the proposed plan, and, without difficulty, arranged for his being received on board as a midshipman.

“We shall have a jovial life of it, depend upon that!” exclaimed Matcham when the matter was settled. “I intend to enjoy myself. The officers are rather wild blades, but that will suit me all the better.” Harry went to bid farewell to Mr Faithful.

“I pray that God will prosper and protect you, my lad,” he said. “I trust that your young companion is a right principled youth, who will assist you as you will be ready to help him, and that the captain and officers are Christian men.”

“I have not been long enough acquainted with Tom Matcham to know much about him,” answered Humphry. “I very much doubt that the captain and officers are the sort of people you describe. However, I daresay I shall get on very well with them.”

“My dear Humphry,” exclaimed Mr Faithful, “I am deeply grieved to hear that you can give no better account of your future associates. Those who willingly mix with worldly or evil-disposed persons are very sure to suffer. Our constant prayer is that we may be kept out of temptation, and we are mocking God if we willingly throw ourselves into it. I would urge you, if you are not satisfied with the character of those who are to be your companions for so many years, to give up the appointment while there is time. I would accompany you, and endeavour to get your agreement cancelled. It will be better to do so at any cost, rather than run the risk of becoming like them.”

“Oh, I daresay that they are not bad fellows after all!” exclaimed Humphry. “You know I need not do wrong, even though they do.”

The minister sighed. In vain he urged Humphry to consider the matter seriously.

“All I can do, then, my young friend, is to pray for you,” said Mr Faithful, as he wrung Harry’s hand, “and I beg you, as a parting gift, to accept these small books. One is a book above all price, of a size which you may keep in your pocket, and I trust that you will read it as you can make opportunities, even though others may attempt to interrupt you, or to persuade you to leave it neglected in your chest.”

It was a small Testament, and Harry, to please the minister, promised to carry it in his pocket, and to read from it as often as he could.

Humphry having parted from his friend, went down at once to join the ship.

Next day she sailed. Humphry at first felt shocked at hearing the oaths and foul language used, both by the crew and officers. The captain, who on shore appeared a grave, quiet sort of man, swore louder and oftener than any one. Scarcely an order was issued without an accompaniment of oaths; indeed blasphemy resounded throughout the ship.

Matcham only laughed at Humphry when he expressed his annoyance.

“You will soon get accustomed to it,” he observed. “I confess that I myself was rather astonished when I first heard the sort of thing, but I don’t mind it now a bit.”

So Humphry thought, for Matcham interlarded his own conversation with the expressions used by the rest on board; indeed, swearing had become so habitual to him, that he seemed scarcely aware of the fearful language which escaped his lips.

By degrees, as Matcham had foretold, Humphry did get accustomed to the language used by all around, which had at first so greatly shocked him. Though he kept his promise to the minister, and carried the little Testament in his pocket, he seldom found time to read it.

He wished to become a sailor, and he applied himself diligently to learn his profession; and as he was always in a good temper and ready to oblige, the captain and officers treated him with more respect than they did Matcham, who was careless and indifferent, and ready to shirk duty whenever he could do so. Matcham, finding himself constantly abused, chose to consider that it was owing to Humphry, and, growing jealous, took every opportunity of annoying him. Humphry, however, gained the good-will of the men by never swearing at them, or using the rope’s-end: this the officers were accustomed to do on all occasions, and Matcham imitated them by constantly thrashing the boys, often without the slightest excuse.

As the ship sailed on her voyage, the state of affairs on board became worse and worse. On one occasion the crew came aft, complaining that their provisions were bad, and then that the water was undrinkable, when the captain, appearing with pistols in his hands, ordered them to go forward, refusing to listen to what they had to say. Another time they complained that they were stinted in their allowance of spirits, when he treated them in the same way. They retired, casting looks of defiance at him and the officers. On several occasions, when some of the men did not obey orders with sufficient promptitude, Humphry saw them struck to the deck by the first and second mates without any notice being taken by the captain. The officers, too, quarrelled among themselves; the first officer and the second refused to speak to each other; and the surgeon, who considered that he had been insulted, declined intercourse with either of them. The younger officers followed their bad example, and often and often Humphry wished that he had listened to the advice of his friend Mr Faithful, and had inquired the character of his intended companions before he joined the ship.

At the first port in South America at which the Wolf touched, the surgeon, carrying his chest with him, went on shore, and refused to return till the mates had apologised. As this they would not do, she sailed without him; and although the men might be wounded, or sickness break out, there was now no one on board capable of attending to them. Such was the condition of the Wolf at the time she was thus floating becalmed and alone on the wide ocean.

Chapter Two.

Harry Gurton stood gazing on the glassy sea till his eyes ached with the bright glare, his thoughts wandering back to the days of his happy childhood, when he was the pride and delight of his beloved father and mother. He had come on deck only to breathe a purer air than was to be found below.

Soon after leaving the coast of South America a fever had broken out on board, and several of the crew lay sick in their berths. Their heartless shipmates, afraid of catching the complaint, took little care of them. Humphry could not bear to see them suffer without help, and from the first had done his best to attend on them. He constantly went round, taking them water and such food as he could induce the cook to prepare.

Tom Matcham was the only officer who had as yet been struck down by the fever. He lay in his berth tossing and groaning, complaining of his hard lot. The officers, who were annoyed by his cries, often abused him, telling him roughly not to disturb them.

“The cruel brutes! I will be revenged on them if I ever get well,” exclaimed Matcham.

In vain Humphry tried to pacify him.

“Don’t mind what they say, Tom,” he observed. “I hope you may get well; but if you were to die, it would be dreadful to go out of the world with such feelings in your heart. I remember enough about religion to know that we should forgive those who injure us. If you will let me, I will try to say some of the prayers which my mother taught me when I was a child, and I will pray with you. I have got a Testament, and I should like to read to you out of it.”

“I can’t pray, and I don’t want to hear anything from the Testament,” answered Tom gloomily.

“It would be very dreadful if you were to go out of the world feeling as you now do,” urged Humphry.

“What! you don’t mean to say you think I am going to die!” exclaimed Tom in an agitated voice.

“I tell you honestly, Tom, that you seem as bad as the two poor fellows who died last week,” said Humphry.

“Oh, you are croaking,” groaned Tom, though his voice faltered as he spoke.

After talking for some time longer without being able to move him, Humphry was compelled to go forward to attend to some of the other men.

In the first hammock he came to lay Ned Hadow, one of the oldest, and apparently one of the most ruffianly of the crew. He seemed, however, to be grateful to Humphry for his kindness; and he acknowledged that if it had not been for him, he should have been fathoms down in the deep before then.

“I hope, however, that you are getting better now,” said Humphry.

“Thanks to you, sir, I think I am,” answered Ned. “I don’t want to die, though I cannot say I have much to live for, nor has any one else aboard this ship, except to be abused and knocked about without any chance of gaining any good by the cruise.”

“Perhaps we may do better by and by,” observed Humphry.

“I have no hopes of that while such men as the captain and his mates have charge of the ship. Take my advice, Mr Gurton, if you have a chance, get out of her as fast as you can. You will thank me for warning you—it is the only way I have to show that I am grateful to you for your kindness.”

Hadow’s remarks made no deep impression upon Humphry, but he could not help occasionally recollecting them.

After visiting the other sick men, he went on deck to keep his proper watch; then, weary with his exertions, he turned into his berth to obtain the rest he so much needed.

He was awakened by hearing the cry of “All hands shorten sail!” He quickly sprang on deck.

A gale had suddenly sprung up. The ship was heeling over, and ploughing her way through the seething waters. The crew flew aloft. The loftier sails were taken in, and the top-sails were being closely reefed, when another blast, more furious than the former, struck the ship, and two poor fellows were hurled from the lee-yard-arm into the foaming waters. There was a cry from the crew, and several rushed to lower a boat—Humphry among them.

“Hold fast!” cried the captain; “let the fellows drown; you will only lose your lives if you attempt to save them.”

Still the men persisted, showing more humanity than they had exhibited in attending to their sick shipmates, when the captain swore that he would shoot any one who disobeyed him. Though spare spars and everything that could float had been hove overboard, the poor fellows in the water could no longer be seen.

The crew, with gloomy looks, assembled forward, muttering threats which did not reach the officers’ ears.

The change of weather had the effect of restoring some of the sick men to health, though several died. Among the first to appear on deck was Ned Hadow. He still looked weak and ill—the shadow of his former self. He was changed in other respects, and Humphry observed that he was quiet in his behaviour, and no longer swore in the way he had been accustomed to do.

Matcham remained in his berth. He seemed a little better, though he still refused to listen to Humphry when he offered to read the Bible to him, and when asked the reason, replied, “Because I am not going to let those fellows suppose that I am afraid to die. They would be sneering at me, and calling me a Methodist; and I don’t intend to die either, so I don’t see why I should bother myself by having religion thrust down my throat.”

“If you are not going to die, I suppose the case is different,” answered Humphry. “Still, I know that if you were, the Bible is the best book to read. I wish that I had read it oftener myself.”

“If I can get hold of it, I will take care that neither you nor I am troubled with it in future,” answered Matcham. “You have teased me too much about it already. I wish you would just try what the captain or mates would say to you if you were to bother them.”

Humphry put his little Testament into his pocket, determining that his messmate should not get hold of it. Still, much as he valued the book as a gift from his old friend, he looked upon it, as many other people do, as a book to be reverenced, and to be read in times of sickness or trouble; but he had little notion of the value of an open Bible, to be studied with prayer every day in the week, to serve as a light to his feet and a lamp to his path, and to guide him in the everyday affairs of life.

Humphry, wishing Matcham good evening, went on deck.

As he looked ahead, he saw in the distance a small island rising like a rock out of the blue ocean. The ship was standing towards it. The sun, however, was just then setting, and in a short time it was concealed from sight by the mists of night. As he was to keep the first watch with the third mate, he went down and took some supper. When he returned on deck, he found that the sky was overcast with clouds, and that the night was excessively dark. He could scarcely distinguish the man at the helm or the officer of the watch.

“Is that you, Gurton?” asked the third mate. “The orders are to heave to in an hour, so as not to run past the island we saw at sunset, as the captain wishes to examine it to-morrow morning. Go forward, and see that the look-outs are keeping their eyes open; the reefs may run further off the land than we think for.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” answered Humphry, making his way along the deck.

Having spoken to the men as directed, he stood for some minutes trying to pierce the thick gloom, and as he was sure no danger could be seen till the ship was close upon it, he resolved to return aft, and advise the mate to heave her to sooner than he had been ordered.

When just abreast of the fore-rigging, he suddenly felt his arms pinioned behind him, and a gag thrust into his mouth. At the same time a voice whispered in his ear, which he recognised as Ned Hadow’s, “Do not cry out—no harm is intended you; what we do is for your good.” The next instant he felt himself lifted off his feet and placed in the fore-rigging, up which a man on either side forced him to ascend. He soon reached the top.

“He will be safer in the cross-trees,” said one of the men, and he was compelled to ascend till he got there. “We must make you fast where you are,” whispered Hadow, compelling Humphry to sit down on the cross-trees, and lashing him to the rigging. “If you will promise not to cry out, we will remove the gag from your mouth; if not, you must be content to bear it for some time longer. Here, press my hand if you promise to do as I tell you—I can trust to your word.”

Humphry was very anxious to get rid of the gag, which hurt him, and pressed the hand placed in his. The gag was immediately taken out of his mouth.

“Whatever sounds you hear, or whatever you see, don’t cry out, as you value your life,” whispered Hadow.

The next moment Humphry was left alone. He sat wondering why he had been thus treated. Hadow could certainly not have intended to injure him; at the same time, he could not help fearing that the crew contemplated some dreadful act of mutiny, and that Hadow had contrived to get him up there to keep him out of harm’s way. Nothing could he see but the tall mast above his head tapering towards the dark sky, and the yard and ropes immediately below him. All on deck seemed quiet, no voices reached his ear.

The moments passed slowly by. Suddenly a loud shriek rent the air, followed by a heavy groan; then came the flash and report of a pistol—another, and another followed. Now rose fierce shouts and cries from many voices, loud thundering blows, and the clash of cutlasses. A desperate fight was going on. He no longer had any doubt that the officers had been attacked, and were struggling for their lives.

Suddenly, as they began, all sounds of strife ceased, though he could now distinguish the voices of the crew shouting to each other.

The helm during the contest had been deserted, and the ship had come up to the wind. It seemed a relief to him to hear the boatswain’s voice ordering the crew to brace up the yards. The ship was then hove to.

No one, however, came to release him. If his friend Hadow had fallen in the strife, what would be his fate when the rest of the crew discovered him? The dreadful certainty forced itself upon his mind, that the officers had been overcome. He heard the men moving about the deck, and talking in loud voices to each other; but though he listened eagerly, he could not ascertain what was said.

Hour after hour passed by. No one came aloft to release him.

Notwithstanding the fearful anxiety he felt, he at length dropped off into forgetfulness; but his dream were troubled, and full of the horrors which had just occurred.

Chapter Three.

“It was well I thought of lashing you securely, or you would have fallen and been killed,” said a voice in Humphry’s ear.

Consciousness returned. He recognised Ned Hadow.

“It will be wise in you not to ask any questions, Mr Gurton,” he whispered. “Just be sure that you are wide awake, and I will cast off the lashings. I have done the best I could for you. The men did not ask you to join them because they believed you would not, nor do I either. I am too grateful to you for what you have done for me to wish you to be among them. They have now possession of the ship, and intend to keep it. As we shall be at daybreak close in with the island we saw last night, they give you your choice of being put on shore there, or taking the oath of fidelity to them, and joining their cause. As I said before, I don’t suppose you will hesitate about the matter.”

“Indeed I will not,” answered Humphry; “whether or not the island is inhabited or means of subsistence can be found on it, I would rather be put on shore than remain an hour longer than I can help on board the ship, after what I fear has taken place.”

“As I said, Mr Gurton, you must ask no questions,” repeated Hadow. “I wish I could go with you, but I am sworn to stay by the rest. I would give anything to be out of the ship, but it is too late now to draw back; though, as I have heard it said, that hell with sinners often begins on earth, so it has begun with me. Yes, Mr Gurton, I almost wish that I had been carried off by the fever instead of living on, to become what I now am. I was bad enough before, but I am a thousand times worse now. There is no one on board I can say this to, and I cannot help saying it to you.”

“Surely you could manage to come on shore with me,” said Humphry. “Your messmates will probably release you from any oath you have taken if you wish it.”

“They will not do that, sir, they will not do that,” answered Hadow in a despairing tone. “I am bound hand and foot to them; their fate, whatever that is, must be mine. You must not stay up here longer. I will cast off the lashings now, but you must take care, as your arms will be stiff after being bound so long, that you don’t fall. I will hold you till you get the use of them.”

Saying this, Ned cast off the rope, and grasping Humphry round the body, assisted him to get on his legs; then, after he had stood for a minute or two, helped him to descend the rigging.

On reaching the foretop, Hadow told him to wait there till he should come for him.

“I don’t want you to go among the crew,” he said in a low voice. “I have got four men whom you looked after in their sickness, who have agreed to pull you on shore, which we hope to reach as soon as there is light enough to land. The boat is already in the water, and we are stowing her with things which we think will be useful to you. As you saw nothing of what happened, even should you be taken off the island some time or other, you cannot swear against any one. All you know is that you were lashed in the rigging, and were put on shore the same night before daybreak. If any one asks you questions on deck, that is what you must say to them—you understand me?”

Humphry replied that he did understand, and, suspecting that his safety depended on his answer, said that he would do as Ned advised.

“Well, then, stay here till I come for you,” and Ned disappeared down the rigging.

Harry had not long to wait when he again heard his voice.

“All is ready,” he whispered. “We took the bearings of the island before dark, and can steer a straight course for it. Don’t speak to any one. Follow me into the boat; she is waiting under the forechains; you will find a rope by which you can lower yourself into her.”

Humphry followed Ned without ever stepping on deck, and took his seat near him in the stern of the boat, which noiselessly shoved off from the ship’s side. The crew bent to their oars, while Ned steered by a boat compass lighted by a lantern at his feet.

Humphry breathed more freely when he felt himself out of the ship. Yet what a fate was to be his. To be left alone on an island where he might have to spend long, long years, cut off from all intercourse with his fellow-creatures. Yet anything was better than having to associate with the wretched men on board the Wolf.

They soon lost sight of the ship, and the boat made her way across the dark water, the island not being yet visible ahead.

“Are they all dead, have none been spared?” asked Humphry at length, yet half fearing to speak on the subject which occupied his thoughts.

“I told you, Mr Gurton, to ask no questions,” answered Ned in a hollow voice. “The sooner you put all thoughts of what happened last night out of your head the better. Just think of what you have got to do. You will have to keep your wits awake where you are going, depend on that. I wish we could stop to help you, but we have promised to be back as soon as we have landed your things. All I can tell you is, that there is said to be water, and you will probably find cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, and other roots and fruits; and as we have put up lines and hooks, and a gun and ammunition, and a couple of harpoons, and lines for catching seals, it will be your fault if you do not manage to find as much food as you want.”

“But how shall I be able to live all alone by myself on the island?” said Humphry with a sigh.

“Better to be all alone than food for the sharks, I have a notion,” observed one of the men who overheard him.

Humphry made no further remark. He now felt more than ever certain that a fearful tragedy had been enacted, and that he ought to be thankful to get out of the company of the perpetrators. Yet he was sorry to leave Hadow among them, for he had observed, he thought, the signs of something better in him than in his companions, rough and ignorant as he was.

As day dawned the island appeared ahead, rising out of the blue water with black rocks piled one upon another, and some hills of considerable elevation. Humphry observed also a deep sandy bay between the rocks, but an encircling coral reef intervened, over which, even on that calm morning, the sea broke in masses of foam.

They pulled along till the bay opened out more clearly, and just in front was a cascade, which came tumbling down the rocks. A narrow piece of dark water was seen between the masses of foam which danced up on either side of it.

“There is a passage,” exclaimed Ned. “Give way, my lads, and we shall get through it without difficulty.”

The men bent to their oars, and the boat, dashing between the two walls of foam, was in a short time floating on the calm surface of a lagoon. Pulling up the bay, they reached a small sandy beach, though the dark rocks which everywhere rose up around it gave the place a gloomy aspect.

The boat was hauled up, and the men quickly landed the various articles which Ned had secured for Humphry’s benefit.

He and Humphry searching about soon found a level spot on one side of the bay where the ground looked capable of cultivation.

“This will do for you, my lad,” said Ned. “And as I found some papers of seed in the captain’s cabin, I put them into one of the casks; though I don’t know what they are, maybe if you sow them they will come up, and supply you with vegetables.”

The men now brought up all the things from the boat. They all wished him good luck and a happy life on the island, and then hurried back to the boat.

“I only wish I could stop with you, that I do!” exclaimed Ned with some feeling, as he wrung Humphry’s hand. “I dare not say ‘God bless you!’ but I hope He will, that I do with all my heart,” and Ned ran down to join his companions, who were already shoving off the boat. He would not have been sorry if they had gone without him.

Humphry watched them going down the bay. They passed through the reef, and pulled out to sea till the boat was lost to sight, though he could distinguish the ship hove to in the offing waiting for her return.

Chapter Four.

Humphry sat down on his chest, feeling very forlorn. Here he was on a desert island, a mere speck in the ocean, hundreds of miles away perhaps from any place inhabited by civilised man. He might perhaps never be able to make his escape, or again hold intercourse with his fellow-creatures. All alone, without speaking, without exchanging an idea with another human being, he might have to drag out a weary existence; and then, should sickness overtake him, have to lie down and breathe out his life, leaving his bones to whiten in the sun.

He had read Robinson Crusoe, but then his case was very different to that of the far-famed voyager. Robinson Crusoe had the companionship of Friday, and his island was fertile and smiling, and he had goats and fowls and other animals to cheer him or to serve him as food. He would have to go in search of fish and birds for his daily food, and as yet was uncertain whether any were to be found, though at present he did not fear starvation, as he had the salted beef and pork and biscuits with which Ned had supplied him. But then when they were gone, how should he live?

“It won’t do to indulge in these thoughts,” he exclaimed to himself, suddenly starting up. “I must think about building a house in the first place; and then as soon as I can prepare the ground I will put in the seed, and, as I hope, some may produce good edible vegetables, I shall have a variety in diet and keep myself in health.”

As he began to examine the articles which had been brought on shore, he found a large roll of canvas. It was part of an old sail.

“This Ned must have intended to serve as a tent till I can put up a more substantial building. I am much obliged to him, and I need not be in any great hurry about building my house.”

He spoke his thoughts aloud on nearly all occasions. It gave him some relief to hear his own voice.

“I must get some poles for the tent, though; and no spars, I see, have been brought on shore.”

He looked out an axe, and sticking it in his belt, set out to search for what he wanted.

“I shall not lose my way in this new kingdom of mine, that’s one advantage in having it of moderate size; and if I climb to the top of the hill, I shall be able to sing with Robinson Crusoe, ‘I am lord of all I survey,’—ah, ah, ah!” and he laughed for the first time for many a day.

There was nothing to excite his risibility on board. He felt his spirits rising.

“Stay!” he exclaimed suddenly. “What an ungrateful wretch I am! Here have I been saved from a great danger, and placed in safety, at all events for the present, and yet I have not uttered one word of thanks to Him who has preserved me.”

He knelt down, and lifted up his heart as well as he could to God.

“Careless, worthless fellow that I have been! yet God promises to hear all those that come to Him, not trusting to themselves or to their own good deeds, but to the perfect and complete atonement Jesus Christ made for their sins on the cross, so I know that He will hear me; and I am sure, though I am unworthy of His care, that He put it into the hearts of those men to bring me on shore instead of throwing me overboard, or what would have been worse, keeping me among them.”

He felt his heart much lighter when he rose from his knees.

He then, carefully observing the appearance of the rocks, that he might find his way back without difficulty, proceeded on his expedition. Clambering over them, he came to more level ground covered with various bushes, and soon reached a hill-side on which grew a number of trees, palms and others, with the names of which he was unacquainted. He looked in vain for cocoa-nuts, not being aware that the trees are only generally found on the level shore to which the nuts have been borne by the wind and tides of the ocean from other islands. He cut two stout poles for uprights, and a longer one for a ridge-pole, and shouldering them, returned to his camp.

“I shall want a fire, though,” he thought, as he got back, and throwing them down he again set out to get fuel.

This he had no difficulty in finding among the brushwood, and with the aid of his axe he quickly made up a number of faggots.

“I shall not be obliged to have a fire burning all night to keep off wild beasts, that is another comfort,” he observed. “But it will be cheerful to sit by when it grows dark. I shall not find the time hang heavily on my hands for some days to come, that’s another comfort.”

His first thought was to do the most necessary work. Having brought the faggots to his camp, he next put up his tent.

This accomplished, as soon as he sat down to rest he began to feel hungry. He rummaged in a small cask, which contained a number of miscellaneous articles, and discovered a tinder-box. He had soon a fire blazing in front of his tent. He had prudently made it up at a sufficient distance to prevent the risk of the flames reaching the canvas. While he stayed his hunger with some biscuit, he prepared a piece of beef, which he spitted and placed before the fire on two small sticks, such as he had read of people doing under similar circumstances. He turned the meat on the spit, which grew blacker and blacker.

“I think it must be done now,” he said at length, taking it off.

When he cut it with his knife, he found it almost as hard as wood. He attempted to eat a few mouthfuls, but he could scarcely get them down.

“This won’t do,” he said. “I must get some water, to enable me to swallow this dry food.”

On searching for something to hold the water, he found a saucepan, and on his way with it to the cascade it occurred to him that he might have cooked his beef much better by boiling. “I must try that way for dinner,” he thought.

A draught of pure water greatly refreshed him. He returned to the camp with his saucepan filled. He put it on at once with a small piece of meat in it, recollecting that salted beef requires a long time to boil, and he hoped to have better success in his second attempt at cooking.

He now made a survey of the articles his shipmates had left with him. There was enough beef and pork to serve him for many months, but he regretted to find that the bread would not last him nearly so long.

“I must try and find some substitute for it,” he said, “and economise it in the meantime. I would rather have had much more bread and less meat, as I hope to catch some fish and kill some birds. However, I need not go hunting till I have put my home to rights.”

Then he thought of his seeds. He had no spade, however, to dig the ground; so going to the wood he shaped one, which he hoped would answer the purpose, out of the stem of a small tree. It did better than nothing, but he would have been very glad of an iron spade. He at once began to dig up the ground. It was covered thickly with grass with long roots, but the soil was rather sand than earth. “I must dig all this up,” he said, “or they will soon sprout up again, and destroy the seed.” So he marked out a small plot, carefully throwing the roots and grass into a heap. It then struck him that if they were scattered about on the ground in the sun they would more quickly dry, and he might then burn them, and the ashes would contribute to fertilise the ground.

He worked away till he felt quite weary. He then went back to his fire to see how the beef was boiling. As it was not yet done, after resting a short time he returned to his digging. It was a very long operation, but after labouring for four or five hours he found that he had dug up almost ten square yards of ground. “It is thoroughly done, though there is not much of it, and that’s a satisfaction,” he said. He thought, however, even when the ashes of the grass were mixed with it, it would scarcely be sufficiently fertile for the seeds. “I will go into the woods and collect rotten leaves, and with the ashes of my fire I hope in time to make the soil good.” This was a wise thought, but the sun was already getting low, and he determined to wait till the next day to do so. “It will be better to have a small piece of good ground than to dig up the whole plot, and I will only put in a few seeds at first, to see how they answer; so that if some fail, I may try a different way of cultivating them. I shall, at all events, have work enough. How sad it would have been if I had had nothing to do but to sit still and bemoan my hard fate. I may not, after all, find my life so miserable alone as I had expected, that’s another comfort.”

With these reflections he went back to his fire, and now, to his satisfaction, he found that his beef was thoroughly boiled. Ned had forgotten to put in any salt or mustard, but as the beef was salt in itself, that did not signify. It reminded him, however, that if he shot any birds or caught fish, he should require some. That made him resolve to try and look for it amongst the rocks, or to try and manufacture it from salt water, as he had read of being done. He had been accustomed to read a good many books of travels before he came to sea, and he now found the advantage of having done so, by being reminded of the various ways people, when placed in situations similar to his, had been enabled to support existence. This contributed to keep up his spirits, as it made him have no doubts of obtaining food. His only dread was that he might meet with an accident, or might fall ill, when there would be no one to help him.

“Well, well, I ought not to trouble myself about that either,” he said. “I must pray to God to preserve me, and do my best not to run any unnecessary risk.”

He then recollected the dreadful complaint, the scurvy, which had already attacked some of the crew of the Wolf.

“That is brought on by people living too exclusively on salt provisions. I must try to find some roots or herbs till the seeds come up: and then, if they produce vegetables, as I hope they will, I need not be anxious about that.”

Such were his cogitations during his meal. Having finished, he hung up the remainder of his beef in his tent, to serve as breakfast for the next morning, and then went back to the fountain to enjoy a draught of pure water.

He felt but little inclined to do any more work, and the sun had not set when he recollected that he had not yet read from his Testament. He took it from the pocket of his jacket, which hung up in his tent, and sat down to read. He read on for some time, feeling his spirits greatly refreshed, till, by the increasing darkness, he found that the sun had gone down, and that it was time to prepare for rest. Ned had thrown a bed into the boat and a blanket.

“Few people left on a desert island as I am have enjoyed so luxurious a couch as this is,” thought Humphry, as he laid himself down after offering up his prayers, as he had been accustomed to do before he came to sea. Since then, shame, and the indifference which arises from it, had prevented him ever kneeling in prayer. He now, left all alone as he was, felt that prayer was his greatest comfort; though he had no fellow-creature to talk to, he had the privilege of speaking to his Maker. He had not been reading his Testament without gaining enlightenment. He had learned that he must come to God in His appointed way—through Jesus Christ; that he had no right to approach Him in any other way.

He had scarcely placed his head on the bundle of clothes which he had rolled up to make a pillow, and drawn his blanket round him, than he fell fast asleep.

Chapter Five.

It seemed but a moment afterwards that Humphry heard some birds chirruping, and opening his eyes, he found that it was already daylight. He instantly sprang up, recollecting that though the days were long, he had plenty of work to do. He first knelt down and earnestly offered up a prayer for protection and guidance.

The water in the bay looked bright and clear. Throwing off his clothes and plunging in, he enjoyed a refreshing swim. The warm air soon dried him, for Ned, as may be supposed, had not thought of providing him with towels. As he sat on a rock for a few moments to rest, he saw a dark object floating by in the water, then a triangular fin rose above it, and he observed a pair of fierce-looking eyes gazing up at him. He shuddered, for he recognised the sailor’s enemy, the shark. How mercifully he had been preserved! Had he remained in a few minutes longer the monster might have seized him. He must be cautious in future how he bathed. He might find, however, some quiet pool into which no shark could enter.

After recovering himself he returned to the camp, and lighted a fire to cook his breakfast, which consisted of salt beef and biscuit. He thought he should like some tea. He searched in his cask of stores, and to his satisfaction he discovered a large bagful, and another of cocoa. This showed him more than ever how thoughtful his friend had been. He knew, however, that he must husband it carefully. Having brought water from the fountain, he made a little, which he found very refreshing. After draining off the liquid he put the leaves carefully by, to serve for another time. With this, and some of the cold beef and biscuit, he made a hearty meal. Then taking his spade in his hand he set to work to dig up more ground. He enriched it also with rotten leaves which he collected, and with the ashes of the grass and roots which he dug up and burned.

He had already spent nearly two days on the island. “I shall forget how time passes if I don’t take some note of it,” he thought. “I must follow Robinson Crusoe’s plan, and notch a stick.” He at once went and cut a long one. He made a notch to show the day he had landed, and another for that which was then passing. He then smoothed off the end, and carved the date—“20th November 1812.” “I will cut a notch every morning, directly I am up, and then I shall not run the risk of missing a day by forgetting to mark it.”

He was surprised to find how soon Sunday came round. On board the Wolf that sacred day had only been observed by the men being allowed to mend their clothes; or if they were not so employed, they used to sit idly gambling or singing ribald songs. Humphry had been considering all the previous day how he should spend it. “We are told by God in the Bible to do no work, and to make it a day of rest. I am sure that I ought to obey Him, though it may seem important to me to get my house up or to dig more ground. I will therefore obey His commands, and leave the rest to Him.”

He rose at the usual hour, and went to wash at the waterfall, where he found that he could take a shower-bath, which was cooler and more refreshing than even a dip in the sea. He came back to breakfast, and then taking out his Testament, read for a long time with deep interest. While so employed, it occurred to him that he would learn portions by heart. This amply occupied his mind, and afforded him so much satisfaction, that he determined every morning to commit a verse to memory that he might think of it while he was at work. He began at the “Sermon on the Mount” on Monday morning, so that by the end of another week he had learned six verses.

While waiting for the result of his gardening operations, he began putting up his house. As he had the greater portion of the summer of the Southern hemisphere before him, he was in no hurry about this; so during a portion of each day he went out with his gun to shoot birds, or sat on a rock with a line catching fish. He never failed to kill as many birds as he wanted for food, or to catch as many fish as he could eat. He fitted one of his harpoons, and kept it ready for use in case any seals appeared, though he suspected that if they visited the island at all, they would not come till the winter season.

He had gone on increasing his garden, and putting in more seeds. Greatly to his delight those he first sowed now appeared above ground, he watered them regularly, and the plants rapidly increased in size. Some were evidently cabbages, while others put forth roots with tubers; others, again, greatly resembled spinach.

He had now got up his house, and had dug a garden sufficiently large for his wants. The soil, by being watered every day, became even more fertile than he had expected.

Chapter Six.

Several weeks thus passed away before he thought of exploring his island.

His stores had during this time visibly diminished. He therefore saw the necessity of laying in a store of food which might serve him when he could not obtain it either by his gun or fishing-lines.

During bad weather, when the sea breaking over the reef washed into the bay, he was frequently unable to catch fish. He thought over various ways of preserving them. “I might dry some in the sun, and salt others; but I suspect they would keep better and be more palatable if I could smoke them.”

He found salt in the hollows of the rocks as he had expected, but it required much time and labour to collect. One of his small casks was now empty. A fine day, when the fish bit freely, enabled him to catch a large number, and he made his first experiment. He had already got a large pile of salt, though it was somewhat sandy, but he thought that would not signify. He cut off the heads and tails of the fish, then rubbed the salt thoroughly into them, and packed them away in layers, with salt between each. It took him three or four days’ fishing to fill his cask, when all the salt was expended. He then stowed it away in a dry part of his hut, hoping that he had now secured food to last him for several weeks.

He next tried drying some in the sun, but did not succeed to his satisfaction. He afterwards, however, built a smoking-house, and cured a considerable number in it, though they were less palatable than those preserved with salt.

These tasks finished, one day, being prevented from fishing by a gale of wind, he set out on his proposed expedition, taking his gun, with some provisions in a wallet he had manufactured for the purpose.

He made his way towards the nearest hill, and then struck down a valley which led to the sea. Between it and the bay a high ridge of rocks extended, so he continued his course along the shore in an opposite direction. He had not gone far before he came to another ridge which he had to surmount, the coast becoming wilder and wilder as he advanced, instead of improving, as he had hoped it might do. At last he reached what he took to be the southern end of the island. Looking back he saw the slope of the single high hill which composed its chief feature. He had now great difficulty in proceeding. The cliffs which faced the sea were almost perpendicular, and the rocks over which he climbed were extremely rough. He proceeded cautiously, knowing the fearful position in which he would be placed should he meet with an accident. He saw, however, at a little distance off, a number of wild-fowl circling round the cliffs. He was certain that they had come there for the purpose of laying their eggs. Could he reach the spot, he might obtain a pleasant addition to his larder.

After great labour he reached the spot, when he found himself among hundreds of birds, many of them already sitting. They screeched and quacked and scolded, pecking at his legs as he got among them. Without ceremony he quickly filled his wallet with eggs.

“This will serve me as a poultry-yard for a long time to come,” he thought. “I will not kill any of the old birds, but will wait till the young ones are hatched, as they are likely to be more palatable than their parents. In the meantime, I will supply myself with eggs.”

It was now time for him to commence his return home. He felt very tired when he reached his hut, for he had not taken so long a walk since landing on the island. To preserve his eggs, he covered them over with the grease which remained in the pot after he had boiled his pork, and then packed them away in cool, dry sand.

Every day he had reason to be thankful that he had read so much, for recollecting the various methods by which others had supported themselves, he was able to supply himself with food.

His garden yielded him a daily meal of either sweet potatoes, yams, cabbages, or other vegetables. He now caught more fish than at first, and also from his poultry-yard obtained a good supply of young fowls.

His shoes were wearing out, and he was desirous of catching some seals, from the skins of which he might manufacture others to supply their place. At last he saw several sporting in the bay. He at once got his harpoon ready, and took post on a rock, expecting that one would before long approach him. He was not disappointed. Darting his weapon, he struck the animal, which swam off, dragging out the line at a rapid rate. He found that he had made a mistake, and was nearly losing his line and harpoon as well as the seal. Fortunately, just as it neared the end, he got a turn round a projecting piece of rock. The poor seal plunged and tumbled, and swam back to the rock to ascertain, it seemed, what had hurt it. He drew in the slack, and was thus able to secure it more completely. After a time its struggles ceased, and he dragged it to the beach. He here took off the skin, with which he hoped to make several pairs of shoes, while the flesh supplied him with a dinner of fresh meat for a couple of days; the other portions he salted, in store for future use. Stretching the hide on the ground, he dressed it with a ley formed by mixing the ashes of his fire with water. This he found would not answer completely, and after searching in the forest he discovered some bark which formed a strong tan.

The seals now came on shore in large numbers. Recollecting that their skins would be of value should a ship come to the island, he determined to capture as many as he could. Arming himself with a thick club, he attacked them when asleep on the beach, and every day succeeded in knocking over a considerable number. This gave him abundant occupation; and continuing his experiments he succeeded in perfectly preserving the skins. When at length the creatures took their departure, his hut was nearly filled with the result of his industry.

Day after day went rapidly by, and had he not been careful in notching his stick, he would soon have lost all count of time.

Chapter Seven.

Three years had passed away since Humphry landed on the island. He was startled one calm day, when fishing from a rock in the bay as he caught sight of his own countenance in the water, to observe how changed he had become. Instead of the laughing, careless, broadly-built boy with the ruddy face, which he once was, he had grown into a tall, thin young man, with a sunburnt countenance, its expression grave and thoughtful. He was not melancholy, however, nor did he ever feel out of spirits; but he had of course been thrown back on himself, while his mind was constantly occupied. He had but one book to read, but that book, above all price, had given him ample subjects for reflection. “What should I have done without this?” he often said to himself, as he opened the book with a prayer that what he was about to read might enlighten his mind.

“I have heard people talk of reading their Bibles, but though I have read nothing but my Testament for three years, I every day find something fresh and interesting in it.”

He had often made excursions to the top of the hill, whence he could obtain a view over the surrounding ocean.

It had been raining heavily during the previous day. No seals were to be caught on shore, nor fish in the water. Taking his gun, he set off, intending to go over the hill to get a shot at some wild-fowl. The wind had greatly increased; and wishing to obtain a view of the ocean with its huge foam-covered billows rolling around, he climbed to the top of the hill. As he reached it, his eye fell on a ship driving before the gale towards the rocky shore. Two of her masts were gone; the third fell while he was looking at her. Nothing could now save her from destruction, for even should her anchors be let go, they were not likely to hold for a moment. He considered whether he could render any assistance to the unhappy people on board. Too truly he feared that he could be of no use. Still he would do his best. Hurrying home, he procured the only rope he possessed, and a spar, and with these on his shoulder he hastened towards the spot at which, considering the direction the ship was driving, he thought she would strike the shore. He had scarcely reached it when he saw the ship driving on towards him on a mountain sea. The next instant down she came, crashing on a reef of rocks far away from where he stood, the foaming sea dashing over her. Several poor wretches were carried off the deck, now driven towards him, but directly afterwards carried back by the retiring surf. He could distinguish but one alone still clinging to a portion of the wreck, all the others had in a few minutes disappeared. As long as that man remained, he could not tear himself from the spot.

Several hours passed by; still the man clung on, having secured himself apparently by a lashing. The storm seemed to be abating. Humphry took off his shirt, and fastening it to the end of a spar, waved it, to show the shipwrecked seaman that help was at hand if he could reach the shore. It was observed at length. The man, casting off the lashings, lowered himself into the water, and struck out for land. Humphry prepared his rope. Fixing the spar deep in the sand, and securing one end of the rope to it, he stood ready to plunge in, with the other end round his waist, to drag the man on shore should he get within his reach. How anxiously he watched! Nearer and nearer the man came. Now he was seen floating on his back, now he struck out again. A sea rolling in bore him on, but as it receded it threatened to carry him off once more. Now was the moment. Humphry dashed into the surf. The man’s strength had almost failed when Humphry grasped him, and hauling himself up by the rope dragged the man out of the surf, sinking down exhausted by his side the instant he was out of its reach.

Humphry was the first to recover.

“If you are strong enough to accompany me to the other side of the island, friend, where I have my home, we will set off at once; but if not, I will go back and get some food for you,” he said.

“I shall soon be better,” answered the man. “I think I could walk. Have you a companion with you?”

“No,” answered Humphry, surprised at the question; “I am all alone.”

“That’s strange! What, isn’t there a young lad somewhere about the island?”

“No,” said Humphry. “I have been here three years and have seen no human being.”

The man gazed into his countenance with a look of astonishment.

“What is your name, then?” he asked.

Humphry mentioned it.

“You Mr Gurton!” he cried, pressing his hand. “I suppose it must be; and don’t you know me?”

Humphry looked into the man’s face. It was covered with a thick beard, and his tangled hair hung over his shoulders.

“You must be Ned Hadow; yet I should not have known you more than you know me. I am indeed thankful that you have been saved. But where have you been all the time?”

“Greater part of it living on shore,” answered Ned. “After we landed you, we took three or four prizes; but not being able to navigate the ship, we put into a convenient harbour in an island inhabited by savages. There we remained, living among them much as they did. Several of our men were killed; and at last, finding that the savages intended to cut us all off, we put to sea again. We had been knocking about for some time, and used up all our provisions, when we fell in with the gale which drove the ship on yonder rocks.”

Ned insisted that he could walk across the island, and with Humphry’s help he was able to accomplish the journey, though nearly exhausted at the end of it. Humphry then made him lie down in his bed, while he prepared some soup and other food. Next day Ned somewhat recovered; and in the course of a week, owing to Humphry’s constant attention, he looked more like his former self.

“It’s very dreadful to think that all the others have perished, but I am truly thankful that you have been sent to be my companion,” said Humphry. “You little thought when you acted so kindly towards me by saving my life, and getting me put on shore here, that I should ever in any way be able to repay you.”

“I did not, Mr Gurton; but I feel that I am such a worthless fellow that my life was not worth preserving.”

“We are all worthless, Ned: that’s what the book I read every day tells me, and I am convinced of it when I look into my own heart, and know how people in the world are generally acting.”

“What! have you got that book still, Mr Gurton?” asked Ned.

“Yes, indeed I have, and I shall be glad to read it to you, Ned,” said Humphry.

“I shall like to hear it, sir, for I have not heard anything like a good word since you used to read it to me when I was sick. I had almost forgotten there is a God in heaven. I remembered that, however, when I was clinging to the wreck, and expecting every moment to be in His presence.”

“It’s the best thing to read God’s Word, and to be guided by it, when we expect to live. I hope you may be spared many years, even though we never get away from this island, and that book will serve us better than any other companion who could join us.”

Humphry, instead now of reading his Testament to himself, read it daily to Ned, and even while they were at work he used to repeat portions he had learned by heart.

Though Ned could not read, he gained in time a good knowledge of the book, and his dark soul by degrees becoming enlightened, he understood clearly at length God’s plan of salvation, and cheerfully accepted it.

“You see, Ned, all things are ordered for the best,” said Humphry one day, “and you must be convinced that God loves us, however little we may have loved Him. If I had remained on board the privateer, I should have become, as I was fast doing, like the rest of the unhappy crew. Though I thought it very dreadful to be left all alone on the island, I now feel that it has been the greatest blessing to me. God in His mercy also saved you, though you would have preferred remaining among the savages. Now you are happy in knowing the glorious truth that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin; and though we may both of us wish to be once more among our fellow-men, we can live contentedly here till He thinks fit to call us out of this life.”

“I hope He may take me before any ship comes to the island, for if I once fell among the sort of men I have lived with all my life, I should soon again be as bad as they are,” said Ned with a sigh.

“Not if you sought help and protection from God’s Holy Spirit,” answered Humphry, “and prayed that He would keep you out of temptation.”

Ned was surprised to find how much Humphry had done during the time he had been alone on the island. He assisted him in all his undertakings, and they together caught enough seals to fill another large storehouse.

At last, after two years had thus passed away, Ned, who had been fishing down the harbour, came hurrying back. His countenance was grave, and he looked much agitated.

“I have been watching a vessel standing in for the island. She has hove to, and is sending a boat on shore. The time has come, Mr Gurton, when we must part. I dare not go back into the world, and have made up my mind to remain here. You are young, and have many years before you, and I would advise you to go, and all I ask is that you will think of me and pray for me.”

This announcement made Humphry even more agitated than Ned. He hurried to the spot where the boat could be seen.

She made her way up the harbour. Humphry and his companion went down to meet her. An officer-like looking man stepped on shore, accompanied by another in dark clothes. They seemed much surprised at seeing Humphry and Ned.

“What! are you Englishmen?” asked one of the strangers. “We only discovered the island this morning, and had no expectation of finding it inhabited.”

Humphry explained that they were the only inhabitants; that he had been left there some years before, and, pointing to Ned, said, “This man was afterwards wrecked on the coast, and he alone was saved from his ship.”

“I am Captain Summers of the Hope, now lying in the offing. This gentleman is the Reverend Mr Evans, a missionary, whom I am conveying to an island where he is about to settle. What is your name?” asked the officer.

Humphry told him.

“And my name is Tom Martin,” said Ned coming forward, greatly to Humphry’s surprise.

“Well, my friends, it seems but a barren island. I wonder how you have managed to live here so long.”

Humphry briefly explained the various means by which he had procured food, and leading the way to the garden, showed them the perfect cultivation into which it had been brought. He then invited Captain Summers and Mr Evans into his hut. His Testament lay open on the table. The latter took it up, observing—

“I am glad to see, my young friend, that you have not been deprived of God’s Word during your long stay here.”

“It has indeed been my great solace and delight,” answered Humphry. “Without it I should have been miserable.”

“Well, my friends, I shall be most happy to receive you both on board my ship; and as I hope to sail for England in the course of a few months, you will then be able to return home.”

Humphry thanked the captain for his offer, which he gladly accepted. Ned looked very grave.

“I am much obliged to you, sir,” he said, “and though I shall be sorry to part from Mr Gurton, I am very sure that I had better stay where I am till God thinks fit to call me from this world. I have lived too long among savages, and worse than savages, to go back again and live with civilised people. If Mr Gurton will leave me his Testament, which he has taught me to read, and his gun and harpoons, it’s all I ask.”

“No, my friend,” observed Mr Evans, “man is not made to live alone. If, as I hope from what you say, you have learned to love Jesus Christ, you should try to serve Him, and endeavour to do good among your fellow-creatures. Now, as I am going to settle in an island inhabited by savages, I shall be very glad of your assistance, and if you already understand their language, which I have to learn, you may speak to them, and tell them of Him who died for them, that they may be reconciled to Him. You will thus be showing your love for Him far more than by living a life of solitude, even although you spend your days in reading His Word. Remember it is not only those who hear the Word of God, but those who hear and do it, who are His disciples.”

“You are right, sir,” exclaimed Ned, brightening up. “My only fear if I left this was to find myself among those who would lead me back into bad ways, but I will gladly go with you—that I will, sir.”

As the captain was anxious to see the island, Humphry undertook to guide him and Mr Evans to the top of the hill, whence they could obtain a view over the whole of it. Before setting out, Humphry showed them the store of seal-skins.

“I shall be sorry to leave these behind,” he observed, “and if you can receive them on board, they will assist to pay my passage.”

“As to that, my friend,” answered the captain, “I will very gladly send my boats to take them off, and you shall pay freight for them; but you, I am very sure, will be able to work your passage, and I hope you will find they will sell for some hundred pounds in England.”

“Part of them belong to my companion,” observed Humphry.

“No, no, Mr Gurton,” said Ned. “They are all yours. Not a shilling of their value will I touch, except enough to give me a new rig-out, as I am not fit to accompany Mr Evans in these tattered old clothes of mine.”

“Set your mind at rest about that,” said the captain. “You shall be welcome to a thorough fit out, suitable for the task you are about to undertake, and your friend Mr Gurton will require the money more than you will.”

Captain Summers, according to his promise, loaded his own boat with seal-skins, and sent her off to the ship with orders for the long-boat to come ashore and carry off the remainder. Meantime he and Mr Evans paid their intended visit to the hill-top.

On their return Humphry took the first opportunity of drawing Ned aside, and asking why he had not given his right name.

“I did give my right name, Mr Gurton,” he answered. “Ned Hadow was merely a purser’s name which I took when I entered on board the Wolf, because you see, sir, I had run from a man-of-war. Now I know better, I would only tell the truth; and so, please, call me Tom Martin in future, and I am ready to stand the consequences.”

Humphry and his companion were kindly received on board the Hope, when the good captain supplied them with new suits of clothes, which they indeed much required.

The Hope continued her voyage.

How different was the life led on board her to that on board the Wolf! Captain Summers and his officers were Christian men. The crew were kindly treated; not an oath escaped the lips of any of the men, while all did their duty with cheerfulness and alacrity.

The voyage was prosperous. At the end of three weeks the Hope dropped her anchor in the harbour of a fine island where Mr Evans was to remain.

A native missionary, who had been sent there a year before, came off to receive him, and brought him the satisfactory intelligence that a large number of the natives were anxiously looking out for his arrival.

Some days were spent in landing his property, and assisting him in putting up his house, while an abundance of fresh provisions was brought off by the natives to the ship.

Humphry parted from his old friend with the less regret from feeling sure that he would be well occupied, and free from the temptations he dreaded.

“We shall meet again, I trust, as Captain Summers has offered me a berth as third mate of the Hope on her next voyage, which he expects to make to these seas,” said Humphry, as he bade him farewell.

“If we don’t meet here, we shall in another world, sir. And bless you, Mr Gurton, for pointing out to me the way to it,” said Tom, as he wrung Humphry’s hand, and tears burst from his eyes.

The Hope had a prosperous voyage home, during which Humphry did his utmost to fit himself for the duty he was to undertake. He had no ties in England, so he gladly again sailed in the Hope. Captain Summers having sold the seal-skins for a good price, judiciously invested the proceeds for him.

Humphry had the satisfaction of meeting his old friend Ned, or rather Mr Martin, as he was now called, and of finding that he had been of the greatest service to Mr Evans. He never returned to England, but died at his post, labouring to the last in spreading the gospel among the natives.

Humphry won the regard of Captain Summers by his steadiness and good conduct, and at the end of his third voyage he married his daughter, and soon afterwards obtained the command of a ship. When at length he was able to quit the sea and live on shore, he often used to relate to his children, among his many adventures, how he spent five years of his life alone on an island.

The End.

W.H.G. Kingston

"Among the Red-skins"

Chapter One.

Missing.

An Unexpected Return—Hugh is Absent—No Knowledge of his Whereabouts—Uncle Donald’s Apprehensions—A Hurried Supper, and Preparations for a Search.

“Hugh, my lad! Hugh, run and tell Madge we have come back,” cried Uncle Donald, as he and I entered the house on our return, one summer’s evening, from a hunting excursion in search of deer or any other game we could come across, accompanied by three of our dogs, Whiskey, Pilot, and Muskymote.

As he spoke, he unstrapped from his shoulders a heavy load of caribou meat. I, having a similar load, did the same—mine was lighter than his—and, Hugh not appearing, I went to the door and again called. No answer came.

“Rose, my bonnie Rose! Madge, I say! Madge! Where are you all?” shouted Uncle Donald, while he hung his rifle, with his powder-horn and shot-pouch, in their accustomed places on the wall.

On glancing round the room he seemed somewhat vexed to perceive that no preparations had been made for supper, which we expected to have found ready for us. It was seldom, however, that he allowed himself to be put out. I think I can see him now—his countenance, though weather-beaten and furrowed by age, wearing its usual placid and benignant expression; while his long silvery beard and the white locks which escaped from beneath his Highland bonnet gave him an especially venerable appearance. His dress was a plaid shooting-coat, and high leggings of well-tanned leather, ornamented with fringe after the fashion of the Indians. Upright as an arrow, with broad shoulders and wiry frame, he stood upwards of six feet in his mocassins, nor did he appear to have lost anything of the strength and energy of youth.

As no one appeared, I ran round to the back of the house, thinking that Rose and Madge, accompanied by Hugh, had gone to bring in the milk, which it was the duty of Sandy McTavish to draw from our cows, and that he, for some cause or other, being later than usual, they had been delayed. I was not mistaken. I presently met them, Madge carrying the pails, and Rose, a fair-haired, blue-eyed little maiden, tripping lightly beside her. She certainly presented a great contrast in appearance to the gaunt, dark-skinned Indian woman, whose features, through sorrow and hardship, had become prematurely old. I inquired for Hugh.

“Is he not with you?” asked Rose, in a tone of some little alarm. “He went off two hours ago, saying that he should be sure to fall in with you, and would assist in bringing home the game you might have killed.”

“Yes, Hugh would go. What he will he do,” said the Indian woman, in the peculiar way of speaking used by most of her people.

“He felt so much better in the afternoon that he was eager to go out and help you,” said Rose. “He thought that Uncle Donald would not be angry with him, though he had told him to remain at home.”

We soon got back to the house. When Uncle Donald heard where Hugh had gone, though he expressed no anger, he looked somewhat troubled. He waited until Rose had gone out of the room, then he said to me—

“I noticed, about four miles from home, as we went out in the morning, the marks of a ‘grizzly,’ which had been busy grubbing up a rotten log, but as his trail appeared to lead away up the mountains to the eastward I did not think it worth my while to chase him; and you having just before separated from me, I forgot to mention the fact when you came back. But vexed would I be if Hugh should have fallen in with the brute. He’s too venturesome at times; and if he fired and only wounded it, I doubt it would be a bad job for him. Don’t you let Rose hear a word about the ‘grizzly,’ Archie,” he hastily added, as she re-entered the room.

Both Madge and Rose were, however, very anxious when they found that Hugh had not returned with us. There was still an hour or so of daylight, and we did not therefore abandon the hope that he would return before dark. Uncle Donald and I were both very hungry, for we had been in active exercise the whole of the day, and had eaten nothing.

Madge knowing this set about preparing supper with all haste. She could not, however, help running to the door every now and then to ascertain if Hugh were coming. At length Sandy McTavish came in. He was something like Uncle Donald in figure, but though not so old, even more wiry and gaunt, looking as if he were made of bone and sinews covered with parchment.

He at once volunteered to set out and look for Hugh.

“Wait till we get our supper, and Archie and I will go too. What’s the use of man or boy with an empty stomach?” said Uncle Donald.

“’Deed an’ that’s true,” observed Sandy, helping himself from the trencher which stood in the centre of the table. “It’s a peety young Red Squirrel isna’ here; he would ha’ been a grand help if Maister Hugh’s missin’. But I’m thinkin’ he’s no far off, sir. He’ll have shot some beast likely, and be trying to trail it hame; it wud be a shame to him to hae lost his way! I canna believe that o’ Maister Hugh.”

Sandy said this while we were finishing our supper, when, taking down our rifles, with fresh ammunition, and bidding Rose and Madge “cheer up,” we three set out in search of Hugh.

Fortunately the days were long, and we might still hope to discover his track before darkness closed upon the world.

Chapter Two.

An Indian Raid.

Scene of the Story—History of Archie and Hugh—A Journey Across the Prairie—A Village Burnt by the Indians—Uncle Donald pursues the Blackfeet—Arrival at the Indian Camp.

But where did the scene just described occur? And who were the actors?

Take a map of the world, run your eye over the broad Atlantic, up the mighty St. Lawrence, across the great lakes of Canada, then along well-nigh a thousand miles of prairie, until the Rocky Mountains are reached, beyond which lies British Columbia, a region of lakes, rivers, and streams, of lofty, rugged, and precipitous heights, the further shores washed by the Pacific Ocean.

On the bank of one of the many affluents of its chief river—the Fraser—Uncle Donald had established a location, called Clearwater, far removed from the haunts of civilised man. In front of the house flowed the ever-bright current (hence the name of the farm), on the opposite side of which rose rugged pine-crowned heights; to the left were others of similar altitude, a sparkling torrent running amid them into the main stream. Directly behind, extending some way back, was a level prairie, interspersed with trees and bordered by a forest extending up the sides of the variously shaped hills; while eastward, when lighted by the rays of the declining sun, numberless snow-capped peaks, tinged with a roseate hue, could be seen in the far distance. Horses and cattle fed on the rich grass of the well-watered meadows, and a few acres brought under cultivation produced wheat, Indian corn, barley, and oats sufficient for the wants of the establishment.

Such was the spot which Uncle Donald, who had won the friendship of the Sushwap tribe inhabiting the district, had some years ago fixed on as his abode. He had formerly been an officer in the Hudson’s Bay Company, but had, for some reason or other, left their service. Loving the country in which he had spent the best years of his life, and where he had met with the most strange and romantic adventures, he had determined to make it his home. He had not, however, lost all affection for the land of his birth, or for his relatives and friends, and two years before the time I speak of he had unexpectedly appeared at the Highland village from which, when a young man, more than a quarter of a century before, he had set out to seek his fortune. Many of his relatives and the friends of his youth were dead, and he seemed, in consequence, to set greater value on those who remained, who gave him an affectionate reception. Among them was my mother, his niece, who had been a little blooming girl when he went away, but was now a staid matron, with a large family.

My father, Mr Morton, was a minister, but having placed himself under the directions of a Missionary Society, he was now waiting in London until it was decided in what part of the world he should commence his labours among the heathen. My two elder brothers were already out in the world—one as a surgeon, the other in business—and I had a fancy for going to sea.

“Let Archie come with me,” said Uncle Donald. “I will put him in the way of doing far better than he ever can knocking about on salt water; and as for adventures, he’ll meet with ten times as many as he would if he becomes a sailor.” He used some other arguments, probably relating to my future advantage, which I did not hear. They, at all events, decided my mother; and my father, hearing of the offer, without hesitation gave his consent to my going. It was arranged, therefore, that I should accompany Uncle Donald back to his far-off home, of which he had left his faithful follower, Sandy McTavish, in charge during his absence.

“I want to have you with me for your own benefit, Archie; but there is another reason. I have under my care a boy of about your own age, Hugh McLellan, the son of an old comrade, who died and left him to my charge, begging me to act the part of a father to him. I have done so hitherto, and hope to do so as long as I live; you two must be friends. Hugh is a fine, frank laddie, and you are sure to like one another. As Sandy was not likely to prove a good tutor to him, I left him at Fort Edmonton when I came away, and we will call for him as we return.”

I must pass over the parting with the dear ones at home, the voyage across the Atlantic, and the journey through the United States, which Uncle Donald took from its being in those days the quickest route to the part of the country for which we were bound.

After descending the Ohio, we ascended the Mississippi to its very source, several hundred miles, by steamboat; leaving which, we struck westward, passing the head waters of the Bed River of the north, on which Fort Garry, the principal post of the Hudson’s Bay Company, is situated, but which Uncle Donald did not wish to visit.

We had purchased good saddle-horses and baggage animals to carry our goods, and had engaged two men—a French Canadian, Pierre Le Clerc, and an Irishman, Cornelius Crolly, or “Corney,” as he was generally called. Both men were known to Uncle Donald, and were considered trustworthy fellows, who would stick by us at a pinch. The route Uncle Donald proposed taking was looked upon as a dangerous one, but he was so well acquainted with all the Indian tribes of the north that he believed, even should we encounter a party of Blackfeet, they would not molest us.

We had been riding over the prairie for some hours, with here and there, widely scattered, farms seen in the distance, and were approaching the last frontier settlement, a village or hamlet on the very outskirts of civilisation, when we caught sight of a column of smoke ascending some way on directly ahead of us.

“Can it be the prairie on fire?” I asked, with a feeling of alarm; for I had heard of the fearful way in which prairie fires sometimes extend for miles and miles, destroying everything in their course.

Uncle Donald stood up in his stirrups that he might obtain a better view before us.

“No; that’s not the smoke of burning grass. It looks more like that from a building, or may be from more than one. I fear the village itself is on fire,” he answered.

Scarcely had he spoken when several horsemen appeared galloping towards us, their countenances as they came near exhibiting the utmost terror. They were passing on, when Uncle Donald shouted out, “Hi! where are you going? What has happened?” On hearing the question, one of the men replied, “The Indians have surprised us. They have killed most of our people, set fire to our houses, and carried off the women and children.”

“And you running away without so much as trying to recover them? Shame upon ye!” exclaimed Uncle Donald. “Come on with me, and let’s see what can be done!”

The men, however, who had scarcely pulled rein, were galloping forward. Uncle Donald shouted to them to come back, but, terror-stricken, they continued their course, perhaps mistaking his shouts for the cries of the Indians.

“We must try and save some of the poor creatures,” said Uncle Donald, turning to our men. “Come on, lads! You are not afraid of a gang of howling red-skins!” and we rode on, making our baggage horses move much faster than they were wont to do under ordinary circumstances.

Before reaching the village we came to a clump of trees. Here Uncle Donald, thinking it prudent not to expose his property to the greedy eyes of the Indians, should we overtake them, ordered Corney and Pierre to halt and remain concealed, while he and I rode forward. By the time we had got up to the hamlet every farm and log-house was burning, and the greater part reduced to ashes.

No Indians were to be seen. According to their custom, after they had performed their work they had retreated.

I will pass over the dreadful sights we witnessed. Finding no one alive to whom we could render assistance, we pushed on, Uncle Donald being anxious to come up with the enemy before they had put their captives to death. Though darkness was approaching, we still rode forward.

“It’s likely they will move on all night, but, you see, they are loaded, and we can travel faster than they will. They are sure to camp before morning, and then we’ll get up with them,” observed Uncle Donald.

“But what will become of our baggage?” I asked.

“Oh, that will be safe enough. Pierre and Corney will remain where we left them until we get back,” he answered.

I was certain that Uncle Donald knew what he was about, or I should have been far from easy, I confess.

We went on and on, the Indians keeping ahead of us. From this circumstance, Uncle Donald was of opinion that they had not taken many prisoners. At length we came to a stream running northward, bordered by willows poplars, and other trees. Instead of crossing directly in front of us, where it was somewhat deep, we kept up along its banks. We had not got far when we saw the light of a fire, kindled, apparently, at the bottom of the hollow through which the stream passed.

“If I’m not far wrong, that fire is in the camp of their rear guard. Their main body cannot be far off,” observed Uncle Donald. “Dismount here, Archie, and you hold the horses behind these trees, while I walk boldly up to them. They won’t disturb themselves much for a single man.”

I dismounted as he desired, and he proceeded toward the fire. I felt very anxious, for I feared that the Blackfeet might fire and kill him without stopping to learn who he was.

Chapter Three.

With the Red-skins.

Uncle Donald and the Blackfeet—The Chief’s Speech—A Fortunate Recognition—Ponoko gives up a Little Girl to Uncle Donald—Impossible to do any more—Ponoko urges Departure—Rose is Adopted by Uncle Donald—Hugh McLellan—Madge—Story of a Brave Indian Mother—Red Squirrel—The Household at Clearwater.

I waited with intense anxiety for Uncle Donald who appeared to have been a long time absent. I dared not disobey his orders by moving from the spot, yet I felt eager to creep up and try and ascertain what had happened. I thought that by seeming the horses to the trees, I might manage to get near the Indian camp without being perceived, but I overcame the temptation. At length I heard footsteps approaching, when, greatly to my relief, I saw Uncle Donald coming towards me, carrying some object wrapped up in a buffalo-robe in his arms.

I will now mention what occurred to him. He advanced, as he told me afterwards, without uttering a word, until he was close up to the fire round which the braves were collected, then seating himself opposite the chief, whom he recognised by his dress and ornaments, said, “I have come as a friend to visit my red brothers; they must listen to what I have to say.” The chief nodded and passed the pipe he was smoking round to him, to show that he was welcome as a friend. Uncle Donald then told them that he was aware of their attack upon the village, which was not only unjustifiable, but very unwise, as they would be certain to bring down on their heads the vengeance of the “Long-knives”—so the Indians call the people of the United States. That wide as was the country, the arm of the Long-knives could stretch over it; that they had fleet horses, and guns which could kill when their figures appeared no larger than musk rats; and he urged them, now that the harm was done, to avert the punishment which would overtake them by restoring the white people they had captured.

When he had finished, the chief rose and made a long speech, excusing himself and his tribe on the plea that the Long-knives had been the aggressors; that they had killed their people, driven them from their hunting-grounds, and destroyed the buffalo on which they lived. No sooner did the chief begin to speak than Uncle Donald recognised him as a Sioux whose life he had saved some years before. He therefore addressed him by his name of Ponoko, or the Red Deer, reminding him of the circumstance. On this the chief, advancing, embraced him; and though unwilling to acknowledge that he had acted wrongly, he expressed his readiness to follow the advice of his white friend. He confessed, however, that his hand had only one captive, a little girl, whom he was carrying off as a present to his wife, to replace a child she had lost. “She would be as a daughter to me; but if my white father desires it, I will forego the pleasure I expected, and give her up to him. As for what the rest of my people may determine I cannot be answerable; but I fear that they will not give up their captives, should they have taken any alive,” he added.

“It would have been a terrible thing to have left the little innocent to be brought up among the savages and taught all their heathen ways, though they, no doubt, would have made much of her, and treated her like a little queen,” said Uncle Donald to me; “so I at once closed with the chief’s offer. Forthwith, a little girl, some five years of age, was brought out from a small hut built of boughs, close to where the party was sitting. She appeared almost paralysed with terror; but when, looking up, she saw that Uncle Donald was a white man, and that he was gazing compassionately at her, clinging to his hand, she entreated him by her looks to save her from the savages. She had been so overcome by the terrible scenes she had witnessed that she was unable to speak.”

Uncle Donald, lifting her up in his arms, endeavoured to calm her fears, promising that he would take care of her until he had restored her to her friends. He now expressed his intention of proceeding to the larger camp, but Ponoko urged him on no account to make the attempt, declaring that his life would not be safe, as several of their fiercest warriors were in command, who had vowed the destruction of all the Long-knives or others they should encounter.

“But the prisoners! What will they do with them?” asked Uncle Donald. “Am I to allow them to perish without attempting their rescue?”

“My white father must be satisfied with what I’ve done for him. I saw no other prisoners taken. All the pale-faces in the villages were killed,” answered Ponoko. “For his own sake I cannot allow him to go forward; let him return to his own country, and he will there be safe. I know his wishes, and will, when the sun rises, go to my brother chiefs and tell them what my white father desires.”

Ponoko spoke so earnestly that Uncle Donald, seeing that it would be useless to make the attempt, and fearing that even the little girl might be taken from him, judged that it would be wise to get out of the power of the savages; and carrying the child, who clung round his neck, he bade the other braves farewell, and commenced his return to where he had left me. He had not got far when Ponoko overtook him, and again urged him to get to a distance as soon as possible.

“Even my own braves cannot be trusted,” he said. “I much fear that several who would not smoke the pipe may steal out from the camp, and try to kill my white father if he remains longer in the neighbourhood.”

Brave as Uncle Donald was, he had me to look after as well as the little girl. Parting with the chief, therefore, he hurried on, and told me instantly to mount.

I was very much astonished to see the little girl, but there was no time to ask questions; so putting spurs to our horses, we galloped back to where we had left our men and the baggage.

As both we and our horses required rest, we camped on the spot, Pierre and Corney being directed to keep a vigilant watch.

The little girl lay in Uncle Donald’s arms, but she had not yet recovered sufficiently to tell us her name, and it was with difficulty that we could induce her to take any food.

Late in the day we met a party going out to attack the Indians; but, as Uncle Donald observed, “they might just as well have tried to catch the east wind. We waited to see the result of the expedition. They at length returned, not having come near the enemy. The few men who had escaped the massacre were unable to give any information about the little girl or her friends, nor could we learn to whom she belonged. All we could ascertain from her was that her name was Rose, for her mind had sustained so fearful a shock that, even after several days had passed, she was unable to speak intelligibly.

“Her fate among the Indians would have been terrible, but it would be almost as bad were we to leave her among the rough characters hereabouts,” observed Uncle Donald. “As none of her friends can be found, I will be her guardian, and, if God spares my life, will bring her up as a Christian child.”

It was many a long day, however, before Rose recovered her spirits. Her mind, indeed, seemed to be a blank as to the past, and Uncle Donald, afraid of reviving the recollection of the fearful scenes she must have witnessed, forbore to say anything which might recall them. However, by the time we reached Fort Edmonton, where Hugh McLellan had been left, she was able to prattle away right merrily. The officers at the fort offered to take charge of her, but Uncle Donald would not consent to part with his little “Prairie Rose,” as he called her; and after a short stay we set out again, with Hugh added to our party, across the Rocky Mountains, and at length arrived safely at Clearwater.

Corney and Pierre remained with us, and took the places of two other men who had left.

Hugh McLellan was a fine, bold little fellow, not quite two years my junior; and he and I—as Uncle Donald had hoped we should—soon became fast friends.

He had not much book learning, though he had been instructed in the rudiments of reading and writing by one of the clerks in the fort, but he rode fearlessly, and could manage many a horse which grown men would fear to mount.

“I want you, Archie, to help Hugh with his books,” said Uncle Donald. “I believe, if you set wisely about it, that he will be ready to learn from you. I would not like for him to grow up as ignorant as most of the people about us. It is the knowledge we of the old country possess which gives us the influence over these untutored savages; without it we should be their inferiors.”

I promised to do my best in fulfilling his wishes, though I took good care not to assert any superiority over my companion, who, indeed, though I was better acquainted with literature than he was, knew far more about the country than I did.

But there was another person in the household whose history is worthy of narration—the poor Indian woman—“Madge,” as we called her for shortness, though her real name was Okenmadgelika. She also owed her life to Uncle Donald.

Several years before this, she, with her two children, had accompanied her husband and some other men on an expedition to trap beavers, at the end of autumn, towards the head waters of the Columbia. While she was seated in her hut late in the evening, one of the men staggered in desperately wounded, and had just time to tell her that her husband and the rest were murdered, when he fell dead at her feet. She, instantly taking up her children—one a boy of six years of age, the other a little girl, an infant in arms—fled from the spot, with a horse and such articles as she could throw on its back, narrowly escaping from the savages searching for her.

She passed the winter with her two young ones, no human aid at hand. On the return of spring she set off, intending to rejoin her husband’s people far away to the westward. After enduring incredible hardships, she had been compelled to kill her horse for food. She had made good some days’ journey, when, almost sinking from hunger, and fearing to see her children perish, she caught sight of her relentless foes, the Blackfeet. In vain she endeavoured to conceal herself. They saw her and were approaching, when, close to the spot where she was standing, a tall white man and several Indians suddenly emerged from behind some rocks. The Blackfeet came on, fancying that against so few they could gain an easy victory; but the rifles of the white man and his party drove them back, and Uncle Donald—for he was the white man—conveyed the apparently dying woman and her little ones to his camp.

The house at Clearwater had not yet been built. By being well cared for the Indian woman and her children recovered; but though the boy flourished, the little girl seemed like a withered flower, and never regained her strength.

Grateful for her preservation, the poor woman, when she found that Uncle Donald was about to settle at Clearwater, entreated that she might remain with her children and labour for him, and a faithful servant she had ever since proved.

Her little girl at length died. She was for a time inconsolable, until the arrival of Rose, to whom she transferred all her maternal feelings, and who warmly returned her affection.

But her son, whose Indian name translated was Red Squirrel, by which appellation he was always known, had grown up into a fine lad, versed in all Indian ways, and possessing a considerable amount of knowledge gained from his white companions, without the vices of civilisation. He was a great favourite with Uncle Donald, who placed much confidence in his intelligence, courage, and faithfulness.

Nearly two years had passed since Rose, Hugh, and I had been brought to Clearwater, and by this time we were all much attached to each other. We had also learned to love the place which had become our home; but we loved Uncle Donald far more.

Chapter Four.

Three Grizzlies.

The Start after Hugh—A Foot-print—Following the Trail—Archer meets a Grizzly—A Miss-fire—Discretion the Better Part of Valour—Far more Bears—Help, and a Joint Attack—Hugh up in a Tree—The Result of Disobedience.

I must now continue my narrative from the evening Hugh was missing.

The moment we had finished our hurried meal we set out. Sandy, in case we should be benighted, had procured a number of pine torches, which he strapped on his back; and Uncle Donald directed Corney and Pierre who came in as we were starting, to follow, keeping to the right by the side of the torrent, in case Hugh should have taken that direction.

Whiskey, Pilot, Muskymote followed closely at our heels—faithful animals, ready to drag our sleighs in winter, or, as now, to assist us in our search. We walked on at a rapid rate, and were soon in a wild region of forests, rugged hills, and foaming streams. As we went along we shouted out Hugh’s name, and searched about for any signs of his having passed that way. At length we discovered in some soft ground a foot-print, which there could be no doubt was his, the toe pointing in the direction we were going.

“Now we have found the laddie’s trail we must take care not to lose it,” observed Uncle Donald. “It leads towards the very spot where I saw the grizzly this morning.”

On and on we went. Soon another foot-print, and then a mark on some fallen leaves, and here and there a twig bent or broken off, showed that we were on Hugh’s trail.

But the sun had now sunk beneath the western range of mountains, and the gloom of evening coming on would prevent us from tracing our young companion much further. Still, as we should have met him had he turned back, we followed the only track he was likely to have taken.

We were approaching the spot where Uncle Donald had seen the bear, near a clump of trees with a thick undergrowth, a rugged hill riding beyond. We were somewhat scattered, hunting about for any traces the waning light would enable us to discover. I half feared that I should come upon his mangled remains, or some part of his dress which might show his fate. I had my rifle, but was encumbered with no other weight, and in my eagerness, I ran on faster than my companions. I was making my way among some fallen timber blown down by a storm, when suddenly I saw rise up, just before me, a huge form. I stopped, having, fortunately, the presence of mind not to run away, for I at once recognised the animal as a huge grizzly, which had been engaged in tearing open a rotten trunk in search of insects. I remembered that Uncle Donald had told me, should I ever find myself face to face with a grizzly, to throw up my arms and stand stock still.

The savage brute, desisting from its employment, came towards me, growling terribly, and displaying its huge teeth and enormous mouth.

I was afraid to shout, lest it might excite the animal’s rage; but I acted as Uncle Donald had advised me. As I lifted up my rifle and flourished it over my head, the creature stopped for a moment and got up on its hind legs.

Now or never was my time to fire, for I could not expect to have a better opportunity, and bringing my rifle, into which I had put a bullet, to my shoulder, I took a steady aim and pulled the trigger. To my dismay, the cap snapped. It had never before played me such a trick. Still the bear kept looking at me, apparently wondering what I was about. Mastering all my nerve, and still keeping my eye fixed on the shaggy monster in front of me, I lowered my rifle, took out another cap, and placed it on the nipple. I well knew that should I only wound the bear my fate would be sealed, for it would be upon me in an instant. I felt doubly anxious to hill it, under the belief that it had destroyed my friend Hugh; but still it was sufficiently far off to make it possible for me to miss, should my nerves for a moment fail me. As long as it remained motionless I was unwilling to fire, in the hope that before I did so Uncle Donald and Sandy might come to my assistance.

Having re-capped my rifle, I again lifted it to my shoulder. At that moment Bruin, who had grown tired of watching me, went down on all fours. The favourable opportunity was lost; for although I might still lodge a bullet in its head, I might not kill it at once, and I should probably be torn to pieces. I stood steady as before, though sorely tempted to run. Instead, however, of coming towards me, to my surprise, the bear returned to the log, and recommenced its occupation of scratching for insects.

Had it been broad daylight I might have had a fair chance of shooting it; but in the obscurity, as it scratched away among the fallen timber, from which several gnarled and twisted limbs projected upwards, I was uncertain as to the exact position of its head. Under the circumstances, I considered that discretion was the better part of valour; and feeling sure that Uncle Donald and Sandy would soon come up and settle the bear more effectually than I should, I began slowly to retreat, hoping to get away unperceived. I stepped back very cautiously, scarcely more than a foot at a time, then stopped. As I did so I observed a movement a little distance off beyond the big bear, and presently, as I again retreated, two other bears came up, growling, to the big one, and, to my horror, all three moved towards me.

Though smaller than their mother, each bear was large enough to kill me with a pat of its paw; and should I even shoot her they would probably be upon me. Again, however, they stopped, unwilling apparently to leave their dainty feast.

How earnestly I prayed for the arrival of Uncle Donald and Sandy! I had time, too, to think of poor Hugh, and felt more convinced than ever that he had fallen a victim to the ferocious grizzlies. I still dared not cry out, but seeing them again turn to the logs, I began, as before, to step back, hoping at length to get to such a distance that I might take to my heels without the risk of being pursued. In doing as I proposed I very nearly tumbled over a log, but recovering myself, I got round it. When I stopped to see what the bears were about they were still feeding, having apparently forgotten me. I accordingly turned round and ran as fast as I could venture to go among the trees and fallen trunks, till at length I made out the indistinct figures of Uncle Donald and Sandy, with the dogs, coming towards me.

“I have just seen three bears,” I shouted. “Come on quickly, and we may be in time to kill them!”

“It’s a mercy they did not catch you, laddie,” said Uncle Donald, when he got up to me. “With the help of the dogs we’ll try to kill them, however. Can you find the spot where you saw them?”

“I have no doubt about that,” I answered.

“Well, then, before we go further we’ll just look to our rifles, and make sure that there’s no chance of their missing fire.”

Doing as he suggested, we moved on, he in the centre and somewhat in advance, Sandy and I on either side of him, the dogs following and waiting for the word of command to rush forward.

The bears did not discover us until we were within twenty yards of them, when Uncle Donald shouted to make them show themselves.

I fancied that directly afterwards I heard a cry, but it might only have been the echo of Uncle Donald’s voice. Presently a loud growl from the rotten log showed us that the bears were still there, and we soon saw all three sitting up and looking about them.

“Sandy, do you take the small bear on the right; I will aim at the big fellow, and leave the other to you, Archie; but do not fire until you are sure of your aim,” said Uncle Donald. “Now, are you ready?”

We all fired at the same moment. Sandy’s bear dropped immediately, but the big one, with a savage growl, sprang over the logs and came towards us, followed by the one at which I had fired.

Uncle Donald now ordered the dogs, which had been barking loudly, to advance to the fight; but before they reached the larger bear she fell over on her side, and giving some convulsive struggles, lay apparently dead. The dogs, on this, attacked the other bear, which, made furious by its wound, was coming towards us, growling loudly. On seeing the dogs, however, the brute stopped, and sat up on its hind legs, ready with its huge paws to defend itself from their attacks. We all three, meantime, were rapidly reloading, and just as the bear had knocked over Whiskey and seized Muskymote in its paws, Uncle Donald and Sandy again fired and brought it to the ground, enabling Muskymote, sorely mauled, to escape from its deadly embrace.

I instinctively gave a shout, and was running on, when Uncle Donald stopped me.

“Stay!” he said; “those brutes play ‘possum’ sometimes, and are not to be trusted. If they are not shamming, they may suddenly revive and try to avenge themselves.”

“We’ll soon settle that,” said Sandy, and quickly reloading, he fired his rifle into the head of the fallen bear.

“Have you killed them all?” I heard a voice exclaim, which seemed to come from the branches of a tree some little distance off.

I recognised it as Hugh’s. “Hurrah!” I shouted; “are you all right?”

“Yes, yes,” answered Hugh, “only very hungry and stiff.”

We quickly made our way to the tree, where I found Hugh safe and sound, and assisted him to descend. He told us that he had fallen in with the bears on his way out, and had just time to escape from them by climbing up the tree, where they had kept him a prisoner all day.

“I am thankful to get ye back, Hugh. You disobeyed orders, and have been punished pretty severely. I hope it will be a lesson to you,” was the only remark Uncle Donald made as he grasped Hugh’s hand. I judged, by the tone of his voice, that he was not inclined to be very angry.

Having flayed the bears by the light of Sandy’s torches, we packed up as much of the meat as we could carry, and hung up the remainder with the skins, intending to send for it in the morning. We then, having met the other two men, hastened homewards with Hugh; and I need not say how rejoiced Rose and Madge were to see him back safe.

Chapter Five.

An Expedition.

Waiting for the Messengers—Two Tired Indians—Bad News of Archie’s Father—Uncle Donald Determines to Cross the Rocky Mountains—Preparations—News of the Blackfeet—Indian Canoes—The Expedition Starts.

Summer was advancing, and we had for some time been expecting the return of Red Squirrel and Kondiarak, another Indian, who had been sent in the spring to Fort Edmonton with letters, and directions to bring any which might have come for us. At length we became somewhat anxious at their non-appearance, fearing that some serious accident might have happened to them, or that they might have fallen into the hands of the savage Blackfeet, the chief predatory tribe in the country through which they had to pass.

Hugh and I were one evening returning from trapping beaver, several of which we carried on our backs. Though the skins are the most valued, the meat of the animal serves as food. We were skirting the edge of the prairie, when we caught sight of two figures descending the hills to the east by the pass which led from Clearwater towards the Rocky Mountains.

“They are Indians,” cried Hugh, “What if they should be enemies?”

“It is more likely that they are friends,” I answered. “If they were enemies they would take care not to show themselves. Let us go to meet them.”

The two men made their way slowly down the mountains and had got almost up to us before we recognised Red Squirrel, and his companion Kondiarak (“the rat”), so travel-stained, wan, and haggard did they look.

They had lost their horses, they said, after our first greetings were over. One had strayed, the other had been stolen by the Blackfeet, so that they had been compelled to perform the greater part of the journey on foot; and having exhausted their ammunition, they had been almost starved. They had succeeded, however, in preserving the letters confided to them, and they had brought a packet, for Uncle Donald, from a white stranger at whose hut they had stopped on the way.

On seeing the beavers we carried they entreated that we would give them some meat without delay, saying that they had had no food for a couple of days.

Their countenances and the difficulty with which they dragged their feet along corroborated their assertions. We, therefore, at once collecting some fuel, lighted a fire, and having skinned and opened one of the beavers, extended it, spread-eagle fashion, on some sticks to cook. They watched our proceedings with eager eyes; but before there was time to warm the animal through their hunger made them seize it, when tearing off the still uncooked flesh, they began to gobble it up with the greatest avidity.

I was afraid they would suffer from over eating, but nothing Hugh or I could say would induce them to stop until they had consumed the greater part of the beaver. They would then, had we allowed them, have thrown themselves on the ground and gone to sleep; but anxious to know the contents of the packets they had brought, relieving them of their guns, we urged them to lean upon us, and come at once to the farm. It was almost dark before we reached home.

Madge embraced her son affectionately, and almost, wept when she observed the melancholy condition to which he was reduced. He would not, however, go to sleep, as she wanted him to do, until he had delivered the packets to Uncle Donald, who was still out about the farm.

He in the meantime squatted down near the fire, where he remained with true Indian patience till Uncle Donald came in, when, rising to his feet, he gave a brief account of his adventures, and produced the packets, carefully wrapped up in a piece of leather.

To those which came by way of Edmonton I need not further refer, as they were chiefly about business. One, however, was of great interest; it was in answer to inquiries which Uncle Donald had instituted to discover any relatives or friends of little Rose. To his secret satisfaction he was informed that none could be found, and that he need have no fear of being deprived of her. As he read the last packet his countenance exhibited astonishment and much concern.

“This letter is from your mother, Archie,” he said, at length, when he had twice read it through. “Your father has brought her and the rest of the family to a mission station which has been established for the benefit of the Sercies, on the other side of the Rocky Mountains. Scarcely had they been settled for a few months, and your father had begun to win the confidence of the tribe among whom he had come to labour, than the small-pox broke out in their village, brought by the Blackfeet from the south; and their medicine-men, who had from the first regarded him with jealous eyes, persuaded the people that the scourge had been sent in consequence of their having given a friendly reception to the Christian missionary. Some few, whose good will he had gained, warned him that his life was in danger, and urged him to make his escape from the district. Though unwilling himself to leave his post, he had proposed sending your mother and the children away, when he was attacked by a severe illness. She thus, even had she wished it, could not have left him, and they have remained on at the station, notwithstanding that she fears they may at any time be destroyed by the savages, while the medicine-men have been using all their arts to win over the few Indians who continue faithful. These have promised to protect them to the best of their power, but how long they will be able to do so is doubtful. Their cattle and horses have been stolen, and they have for some time been short of provisions; thus, even should your father regain his health, they will be unable to travel. He, like a true missionary of the Gospel, puts his confidence in God, and endeavours, your mother says, ever to wear a cheerful countenance. She does not actually implore me to come to her assistance, for she knows the length and difficulties of the journey; and she expresses her thankfulness that you are safe on this side of the mountains, but I see clearly that she would be very grateful if I could pay her a visit; and I fear, indeed, unless help reaches your family, that the consequences may be serious. I have, therefore, made up my mind to set off at once. We may manage to get across the mountains before the winter sets in, though there is no time to be lost. I will take Pierre and Corney, with Red Squirrel and a party of our own Indians, and leave Sandy, with Hugh and you, in charge of Clearwater.”

“May I not go, also?” I asked, in a tone of disappointment. “Surely I may be able to help my father and mother, and Hugh would be very sorry to be left behind.”

“It is but natural that you should wish to go; and Hugh, too, maybe of assistance, for I can always trust to your discretion and judgment should any difficulty occur,” he observed.

“Then you will take us, won’t you?” we both cried at once.

“Yes,” he answered. “I would not take one without the other, so Hugh may go if he wishes it.”

“Thank you, thank you!” I exclaimed, gratified at Uncle Donald’s remark; “we will try to deserve your confidence. What shall we do first?”

“We must have the canoes got ready, and lay in a stock of provisions so that we may not be delayed by having to hunt; indeed, except some big-horns, and perhaps a grizzly, we shall not find much game on the mountains,” he remarked.

That evening all our plans were completed, and Sandy and the other men received their directions. Saddle and pack horses were at once to be started off by a circuitous route, carrying only light loads however, and were to meet us at the head of the river navigation, however, while we were to go as far up the stream as we could in canoes, with as large a supply of provisions as they could convey.

The very next morning at daybreak while we were engaged in preparing the birch bark canoes by covering the seams with gum, and sewing on some fresh pieces of bark with wattap, which is formed of the flexible roots of the young spruce tree, an Indian was seen on the opposite side of the river making a signal to us that he desired to cross. One of the canoes which was ready for launching was sent for him and brought him over.

“He had come,” he said, “to bring us information that a large body of Blackfeet were on the war-path, having crossed the Rocky Mountains at one of the southern passes, and that having attacked the Sinapools, their old enemies on the Columbia, they were now bending their steps northward in search of plunder and scalps. He came to tell his white friends to be prepared should they come so far north.”

On hearing this I was afraid that Uncle Donald would give up the expedition and remain to defend Clearwater, but on cross-questioning the Indian, he came to the conclusion that the Blackfeet were not at all likely to come so far, and Sandy declared that if they did he would give a very good account of them.

Still, as it was possible that they might make their appearance, Uncle Donald considered that it was safer to take Rose with us notwithstanding the hardships to which she might be exposed.

“Then Madge will go too,” exclaimed Rose; “poor Madge would be very unhappy at being left alone without me.”

“Madge shall go with us,” said Uncle Donald; and Rose, highly delighted, ran off to tell her to get ready.

The horses had been sent off at dawn, but we were not able to start until the following morning as it took us the whole day to prepare the packages of dried fish, pemmican, and smoked venison and pork, which were to serve us as provisions.

On a bright clear morning, just before the sun rose over the hills to the east, we pushed off from the bank in four canoes. In each were five people, one to steer and the others to paddle. Uncle Donald took Rose in his as a passenger.

Hugh and I went together with Red Squirrel to steer for us, and Corney and Pierre had each charge of another canoe.

I will describe our canoes, which were light, elegant, and wonderfully strong, considering the materials of which they were formed. They were constructed of the bark of the white birch-tree. This had been peeled from the tree in large sheets, which were bent over a slender frame of cedar ribs, confined by gunwales, and kept apart by thin bars of the same wood. The ends were alike, forming wedge-like points, and turned over from the extremities towards the centre so as to look somewhat like the handle of a violin. The sheets of bark were then fastened round the gunwales by wattap, and sewn together with the same materials at the joinings. These were afterwards covered by a coat of pine pitch, called gum. The seats for the paddlers were made by suspending a strip of board with cords from the gunwales in such a manner that they did not press against the sides of the canoe. At the second cross-bar from the bow a hole was cut for a mast, so that a sail could be hoisted when the wind proved favourable. Each canoe carried a quantity of spare bark, wattap, gum, a pan for heating the gum, and some smaller articles necessary for repairs. The canoes were about eighteen feet long, yet so light that two men could carry one with ease a considerable distance when we had to make a “portage.” A “portage,” I should say, is the term used when a canoe has to be carried over the land, in consequence of any obstruction in the river, such as rapids, falls, or shallows.

As soon as we were fairly off Pierre struck up a cheerful song, in which we, Corney, and the Indians joined, and lustily plying our paddles we urged our little fleet up the river.

Chapter Six.

Paddling up Stream.

The First Camp—Rapids—A Portage—Indians Attack the Canoes—A Race for Life—He’s Won just in Time—More Rapids in an Awkward Place—The Canoes Poled up Stream—An Upset—The Indians Again, and Hugh in Danger—Other Canoes to the Rescue.

For the first day we made good progress, stopping only a short time to land and cook our provisions. We then paddled on until nearly dark, when we went on shore, unloaded our canoes, hauled them up, lighted a fire for cooking, and pitched a small tent for Rose, in front of which Madge, as she always afterwards did, took up her post to be ready to guard her in case of danger.

As soon as supper was over, two men were placed on watch, and the rest of the party lay down round the fire with our buffalo-robes spread on fresh spruce or pine boughs as beds. Before dawn we were aroused by Uncle Donald.

The morning was calm, the stars were slightly paling, a cold yellow light began to show itself. Above the river floated a light mist through which objects on the opposite bank were dimly seen, while on the land side a wall of forest rose up impenetrable to the eye. From the dying embers of the camp fire a thin column of smoke rose high above the trees, while round it were the silent forms of the Indians, lying motionless at full length on their backs, enveloped in their blankets. To stretch my legs I walked a few paces from the camp, when I was startled by a sudden rush through the underbrush. For a moment I thought of the Blackfeet, but the movement proved to be made by a minx or marten, which had been attracted to the spot by the remains of last night’s meal.

On hearing Uncle Donald’s voice the Indians started to their feet, and after a hurried breakfast, the canoes being launched and the baggage stowed on board, we proceeded on our voyage. The mist by degrees cleared away, the sun mounting over the hills, lighted up the scenery, and our crews burst into one of the songs with which they were wont to beguile the time while plying their paddles. Having stopped as before to dine we were paddling on, when we heard a low ceaseless roar coming down between the high banks. In a short time we saw the waters rushing and foaming ahead of us, as they fell over a broad ledge of rocks.

“Can we get over there?” asked Hugh.

“No,” I answered; “see, Uncle Donald is steering in for the shore.”

We soon landed, the canoes were unloaded, and being hauled up the bank, each was placed on the shoulders of two men, who trotted off with them by a path parallel to the river; the rest loaded themselves with the bales. Hugh and I imitated their example, Madge carried as heavy a package as any of the men, and Rose begged that she might take charge of a small bundle, with which she trotted merrily off, but did not refuse to let Madge have it before she had gone half-way. After proceeding for nearly a mile among rocks and trees, the canoes were placed on the banks where the river flowed calmly by, and the men returned for the remainder of the baggage. Three trips had to be made to convey the whole of the cargoes above the falls. This is what is called “making a portage.”

Re-embarking, on we went until nightfall. During the next few days we had several such portages to make. We were at times able to hoist our sails, but when the stream became more rapid and shallow, we took to poling, a less pleasant way of progressing, though under these circumstances the only one available. Occasionally the river opened out, and we were able to resume our paddles.

We had just taken them in hand and were passing along the east bank when Hugh exclaimed, “I see some one moving on shore among the trees! Yes, I thought so; he’s an Indian,” and he immediately added, “there are several more.”

I shouted to Uncle Donald to tell him, and then turned to warn Pierre and Corney.

Scarcely had I spoken than well-nigh fifty savages appeared on the banks, and, yelling loudly, let fly a cloud of arrows towards us, while one of them shouted to us to come to shore.

“Very likely we’ll be after doin’ that, Mister Red-skins,” cried Corney.

And we all, following Uncle Donald’s example, turning the heads of our canoes, paddled towards the opposite bank.

We were safe for the present, and might, had we chosen, have picked off several of the savages with our rifles; Corney and Pierre had lifted theirs for the purpose, but Uncle Donald ordered them not to fire.

“Should we kill any of them we should only find it more difficult to make peace afterwards,” he observed.

The river was here wide enough to enable us to keep beyond range of their arrows, and we continued our course paddling along close to the western bank. After going a short distance we saw ahead of us a lake, which we should have to cross. The Indians had disappeared, and I hoped we had seen the last of them, when Corney shouted out that he had caught sight of them running alone; the shore of the lake to double round it. Their object in so doing was evident, for on the opposite side of the upper river entered the lake, rounding a point by a narrow passage, and this point they hoped to gain before we could get through, so that they might stop our progress.

“Paddle, lads—paddle for your lives!” cried Uncle Donald. “We must keep ahead of the red-skins if we wish to save our scalps.”

We did paddle with might and main, making the calm water bubble round the bows of our canoes.

Looking to our right, we every now and then caught a glimpse of the Blackfeet, for such we knew they were by their dress. They were bounding along in single file among the trees, led apparently by one of their most nimble warriors. It seemed very doubtful whether we could pass the point before they could reach it. We persevered, for otherwise we should be compelled either to turn back, or to run the risk of being attacked at one of the portages, or to land at the western side of the lake, and to throw up a fort in which we could defend ourselves should the Blackfeet make their way across the river. It was not likely, however, that they would do this. They had already ventured much farther to the north than it was their custom to make a raid; and should they be discovered, they would run the risk of being set upon by the Shoushwaps, the chief tribe inhabiting that part of the country, and their retreat cut off. Still it was of the greatest importance to lose no time, and we redoubled our efforts to get by the point. The Indians had a greater distance to go; but then they ran much faster than we could paddle our canoes. As we neared the point, I kept looking to the right to see how far our enemies had got. Again I caught a glimpse of their figures moving among the trees, but whether or not they were those of the leaders I could not distinguish.

Uncle Donald reached the point, and his canoe disappeared behind it. Hugh and I next came up, closely followed by the other two. We could hear the savage shouts and cries of the red-skins; but there was now a good chance of getting beyond their reach.

“There goes the captain’s canoe,” I heard Corney sing out; “paddle, boys, paddle, and we’ll give them the go-by!”

We had entered the upper branch of the river; the current ran smoothly. Still we were obliged to exert ourselves to force our canoes up against it. Looking back for a moment over my shoulder, I could see the leading Indians as they reached the point we had just rounded. Enraged at being too late to stop us, they expended another flight of arrows, several of which struck the water close to us, and two went through the after end of Pierre’s canoe, but fortunately above water.

Though we had escaped for the present, they might continue along the eastern bank of the river, and meet us at the next portage we should have to make. The day was wearing on, and ere long we should have to look out for a spot on which to camp, on the west bank, opposite to that where we had seen the Indians.

We had got four or five miles up the river when the roaring sound of rushing waters struck our ears, and we knew that we should have to make another portage. The only practicable one was on the east bank, and as it would occupy us the greater part of an hour, we could scarcely hope to escape the Indians, even should they not already have arrived at the spot. On the left rose a line of precipitous rocks, over which we should be unable to force our way. At length we got up to the foot of the rapids. Uncle Donald took a survey of them. I observed on the west side a sheet of water flowing down smoother and freer from rocks than the rest.

“We must pole up the rapids, but it will need caution; follow me,” said Uncle Donald.

We got out our long poles, and Uncle Donald leading the way, we commenced the ascent.

While resting on our paddles Corney and Pierre had overtaken us, and now followed astern of Uncle Donald, so that our canoe was the last. We had got nearly half-way up, the navigation becoming more difficult as we proceeded. The rocks extended farther and farther across the channel, the water leaping and hissing and foaming as it rushed by them. One of our Indians sat in the bows with a rope ready to jump out on the rocks and tow the canoe should the current prove too strong for us. Red Squirrel stood aft with pole in hand guiding the canoe, while Hugh and I worked our poles on either side. Corney and Pierre were at some little distance before us, while Uncle Donald, having a stronger crew, got well ahead.

“We shall soon be through this, I hope,” cried Hugh; “pretty tough work though.”

As he spoke he thrust down his pole, which must have been jammed in a hole, and his weight being thrown upon it, before he could recover it broke, and over he went; I in my eagerness, leaning on one side, attempted to grasp at him, the consequence was that the canoe, swinging round, was driven by the current against the rock. I heard a crash, the foaming water washed over us, and I found myself struggling in its midst. My first impulse was to strike out, for I had been a swimmer from childhood.

Notwithstanding, I found myself carried down. I looked out for Hugh, but the bubbling water blinded my eyes, and I could nowhere see him nor my Indian companions; still I instinctively struggled for life. Suddenly I found myself close to a rugged rock, whose sides afforded the means of holding on to it. By a violent effort I drew myself out of the water and climbed to the top. I looked round to see what had become of the rest of the crew; my eye first fell on the canoe, to which Hugh was clinging. It was being whirled hurriedly down the rapids; and some distance from it, indeed, almost close to where I now was, I saw the head of an Indian. His hands and feet were moving; but instead of trying to save himself by swimming towards the rock on which I was seated, he was evidently endeavouring to overtake the canoe. I could nowhere see our other companion; he had, I feared, sunk, sucked under by the current. A momentary glance showed me what I have described.

Directly I had recovered breath I shouted to Pierre and Corney, but the roar of the waters prevented them from hearing my voice; and they and their companions were so completely occupied in poling on their canoes that they did not observe what had occurred. Again and again I shouted; then I turned round, anxiously looking to see how it fared with Hugh and the Indian.

The canoe had almost reached the foot of the rapids, but it went much faster than the Indian, who was still bravely following it. He had caught hold of one of the paddles, which assisted to support him. I was now sure that his object was to assist Hugh, for he might, as I have said, by swimming to the rock and clutching it, have secured his own life until he could be taken off by Corney or Pierre. Hugh still held tight hold of the canoe, which, however, the moment it reached the foot of the rapids, began to drift over to the eastern shore.

Just then what was my dismay to see a number of red-skins rush out from the forest towards the bank. They were those, I had no doubt, from whom we were endeavouring to escape. They must have seen the canoe, and were rejoicing in the thoughts of the capture they were about to make. Hugh’s youth would not save him from the cruel sufferings to which they were wont to put their prisoners, should they get hold of him, and that they would do this seemed too probable. I almost wished, rather than he should have had to endure so cruel a fate, that he had sunk to the bottom. Even now the Indian might come up with the canoe, but would it be possible for him to tow it to the west bank, or support Hugh while swimming in the same direction. Though the rock was slippery I at length managed to stand up on it, and as I did so I gave as shrill a shout as I could utter. One of the Indians in Corney’s canoe glanced at me for a moment. He at once saw what had happened, and I guessed from his gestures was telling Pierre as well as Corney of the accident. In an instant the poles were thrown in, and the Indians seizing their paddles, the canoes, their heads turned round, were gliding like air bubbles down the torrent.

Chapter Seven.

A Narrow Escape.

Hugh’s Canoe Arrested by Red Squirrel just in Time—The Canoe Saved—All got up the Rapids at Last—Camp at the Top—The Blackfeet reach the Camp to find the Party gone—The Indians Pursue, and Uncle Donald lies by for Two Days on an Island—End of the Water Passage—The Horses do not Appear.

As Corney and Pierre approached I waved to them to go on, pointing to the canoe to which Hugh was clinging. They saw the necessity of at once going to his rescue, and so left me on the rock, where I was perfectly safe for the present. There was need, in truth, for them to make haste, for already Hugh was drifting within range of the Indians’ arrows, and they might shoot him in revenge for the long run we had given them.

The overturned canoe seemed to be gliding more and more rapidly towards them, when I saw its progress arrested.

The brave Indian had seized it, and was attempting to tow it away from the spot where the savages were collected. But all his efforts could scarcely do more than stop its way, and he apparently made but little progress towards the west shore. Corney and Pierre were, however, quickly getting up to it. I shouted with joy when I saw Hugh lifted into Corney’s canoe, and the Indian with some assistance clambering into that of Pierre. Not satisfied with this success they got hold of the canoe itself, determined to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. This done, they quickly paddled over to the west shore, where a level spot enabled them to land. They had not forgotten me; and presently I saw Corney’s canoe, with three people in her, poling up towards the rock on which I stood, while Pierre’s was engaged in picking up such of the articles of baggage as had floated. It was not without some difficulty that I got on board. My first inquiry was to ascertain which of the Indians had assisted to save Hugh, and I was thankful to hear, as I had expected, that it was Bed Squirrel who had behaved so gallantly.

We then had to decide what to do—whether to continue our course upwards, to let Uncle Donald know what had happened, or to rejoin Pierre. Though I had managed to cling on to the rock I found my strength so much exhausted that I could afford but little help in poling up the canoe. While we were discussing the matter, what was my dismay to see an Indian on the top of the western cliff.

“Our enemies must have crossed, and we shall be attacked,” I exclaimed.

“Sure no, it’s one of Mr Donald’s men who has been sent to see what has become of us,” answered Corney.

Such I saw was the case. We could not hear his voice, but getting closer to us he made signs which his own people understood, that he would go back to Uncle Donald and learn what we were to do. In reply our two Indians pointed down to where Pierre’s party were now on shore, letting him understand exactly what had happened.

He quickly disappeared, and we had to wait some time, hanging on to a rock by a rope, until he returned with two other men. They then pointed up the stream as a sign to us that we were to proceed. We accordingly did so, poling up as before. By the time we got to the head of the rapids we saw that Pierre was coming after us, apparently towing the shattered canoe.

Above the rapids we discovered a small bay, towards which Uncle Donald’s voice summoned us. As we landed he grasped my hand, showing his joy at my escape. It was some time before Pierre arrived. Hugh came in his canoe, while the rest of the men had arrived over land with the luggage which had been saved, as also with our rifles, which, having been slung under the thwarts, had fortunately not slipped out.

We immediately began our preparations for camping, but had, besides doing what was usual, to collect materials for a stockade, which might enable us to resist a sudden onslaught of the Blackfeet should they cross the river. One of the men was also placed on watch all the time to prevent surprise.

While most of the party were thus engaged, Red Squirrel and Jock, who were the best canoe builders, were employed in repairing the shattered canoe, and making some fresh paddles and poles; indeed there was so much work to be done, that none of us got more than a few hours’ rest. We had also to keep a vigilant watch, and two of the men were constantly scouting outside the camp, to guard in more effectually from being taken by surprise.

All was ready for a start some time before daylight, when Uncle Donald, awakening the sleepers, ordered every one to get on board as noiselessly as possible. He, as usual, led the way, the other canoes following close astern. The last man was told to make up the fire, which was left burning to deceive the enemy, who would suppose that we were still encamped.

We had got some distance, the wind being up stream, when just at dawn I fancied that I heard a faint though prolonged yell. We stopped paddling for a moment, I asked Red Squirrel if he thought that the Blackfeet had got across to our camp. He nodded, and uttered a low laugh, significant of his satisfaction that we had deceived them. Daylight increasing, we put up our masts and hoisted the light cotton sails, which sent our canoes skimming over the water at a far greater speed than we had hitherto been able to move.

Another lake appeared before us. By crossing it we should be far ahead of the Blackfeet. We had brought some cooked provisions, so that we were able to breakfast in the canoes. It was long past noon before, the river having again narrowed, we ventured on shore for a brief time only to dine.

The next portage we came to was on the east bank. It was fortunately a short one, and Uncle Donald kept some of the men under arms, a portion only being engaged in carrying the canoes and their cargoes. No Indians, however, appeared.

“I hope that we have given them the go-by,” said Hugh, “and shall not again see their ugly faces.”

“We must not be too certain; I’ll ask Red Squirrel what he thinks,” I replied.

“Never trust a Blackfoot,” was the answer. “They are as cunning as serpents, and, like serpents, they strike their enemies from among the grass.”

We expected in the course of two or three days more to come to an end of the river navigation at a spot where Uncle Donald had directed that the horses should meet us. We were not without fear, however, that some, if not the whole of the animals, might have been stolen by the Blackfeet should they by any means have discovered them.

Occasionally sailing, sometimes paddling and poling, and now and then towing the canoes along the banks, we continued our progress. As we went along we kept a look-out for the Blackfeet, as it was more than possible that they might pursue us. We accordingly, in preference to landing on either bank, selected an island in the centre of the stream for our camping-ground.

We had just drawn up the canoes among the bushes and formed our camp in an open spot near the middle of the island, when one of the men who was on the lookout brought word that he saw a large number of savages passing on the east bank. We were, however, perfectly concealed from their keen eyes. Watching them attentively, we guessed by their gestures that they were looking for us, and not seeing our canoes, fancied that we had passed on. Night was now approaching. We were afraid of lighting a fire, lest its glare might betray our position to our pursuers. They would, however, on not discovering us, turn back, so that we should thus meet them, and Uncle Donald resolved, therefore, to remain where we were, until they had retreated to the southward. Even should they discover us we might defend the island more easily than any other spot we could select. We had plenty of provisions, so that we could remain there without inconvenience for several days, except that we should thus delay our passage over the mountains. Hugh and I were, much to our satisfaction, appointed by Uncle Donald to keep watch, Hugh on one side of the island and I on the other, for fear lest, should the red-skins find out where we were, they might attempt, by swimming across, to take us by surprise.

None appeared, however, and two more days went by. At last Uncle Donald began to hope that they, supposing we had taken another route, were on their way back. We accordingly, seeing no one the next morning, embarked, and the river here expanding into a lake, we were able to paddle on without impediment across it, and a short distance up another stream, when we came to a fall of several feet, beyond which our canoes could not proceed. This was the spot where we had expected to find the horses, but they had not arrived. We were greatly disappointed, for, having been much longer than we had calculated on coming up, we naturally expected that they would have been ready for us. Winter was rapidly approaching, and in the autumn before the streams are thoroughly frozen the dangers of crossing the mountains are greater than at any other period.

As the canoes could go no higher we took them up the stream and placed them “en cache,” where there was little chance of their being discovered. They were to remain there until the return of our men, who would accompany us to the foot of the mountains and go back again that autumn.

On not finding the horses Uncle Donald went to the highest hill in the neighbourhood, overlooking the country through which they had to pass, in the hopes of seeing them approach. He came back saying that he could perceive no signs of them, and he ordered us forthwith to camp in such a position that we might defend ourselves against any sudden attack of hostile Indians.

Chapter Eight.

Among the Mountains.

The Horse Party arrives at last, but with half the Horses Stolen—The Start Across the Mountains—More Blackfeet in the way oblige the Party to take a Strange Pass—It becomes Colder—Snow comes on—A Pack of Wolves—Sleighs and Snow-Shoes—In the Heart of the “Rockies”—Corney has a Narrow Escape and a Cold Bath—Snow in the Canoes—Difficulties of the Way—The Pass at Last—A fearful Avalanche.

Several days passed by. We were not molested by the Indians, but the horses did not arrive. Uncle Donald never fretted or fumed, though it was enough to try his temper. I asked him to allow me to set off with Corney and Pierre to ascertain if they had gone by mistake to any other place. We were on the point of starting when we saw a party of horses and men approaching. They proved to be those we were expecting, but there were only eight horses, less than half the number we had sent off. The men in charge had a sad account to give. The rest had been stolen by Indians, and one of their party had been killed, while they had to make a long round to escape from the thieves, who would otherwise very likely have carried off the remainder. The men also had brought a dozen dogs—our three especial favourites being among them—to be used in dragging our sleighs in case the horses should be unable to get through. We had carried the materials for forming sleighs with us in the canoes, while the harness had been transported thus far with the other packages by the horses. The poor beasts, though very thin, were better than no horses at all. There were a sufficient number to convey our stores and provisions, one for Uncle Donald, who carried Rose on his saddle, and two others for Hugh and me. The rest of the party had to proceed on foot. I offered mine to Madge, but she declared that she could walk better than I could.

We made a short day’s journey, but the poor animals were so weak that we were compelled to camp again at a spot where there was plenty of grass. It was here absolutely necessary to remain three days to enable them to regain their strength.

While we were in camp Uncle Donald sent out Pierre and one of our Indians to try and ascertain if any of the Blackfeet were still hovering in the direction we proposed taking across the mountains. We did not wait for the return of our scouts, but started at the time proposed, expecting to meet them on the road we should travel.

We were engaged in forming our camp, collecting wood for the fires, and putting up rough huts, or rather arbours of boughs, as a protection from the wind—which here coming off the snowy mountains was exceedingly cold at night—while the gloom of evening was coming on, when one of the men on watch shouted—

“The enemy! the enemy are upon us!”

While some of our people ran out intending to bring in the horses, the rest of us flew to our arms.

Uncle Donald, taking his rifle, at once went out in the direction in which the sentry declared he had seen the band of savages coming over the hill.

Our alarm was put an end to when, shortly afterwards, he came back accompanied by Pierre and his companion, who brought the unsatisfactory intelligence that a large body of Blackfeet were encamped near the pass by which we had intended to descend into the plains of the Saskatchewan.

Ever prompt in action, Uncle Donald decided at once to take a more northerly pass.

The country through which we were travelling was wild and rugged in the extreme; frequently we had to cross the same stream over and over again to find a practicable road. Now we had to proceed along the bottom of a deep valley among lofty trees, then to climb up a steep height by a zigzag course, and once more to descend into another valley. Heavily laden as were both horses and men, our progress was of necessity slow. Sometimes after travelling a whole day we found that we had not made good in a straight line more than eight or ten miles.

The weather hitherto had been remarkably fine, and Hugh and Rose and I agreed that we enjoyed our journey amazingly. Our hunters went out every day after we had camped, and sometimes before we started in the morning, or while we were moving along, and never failed to bring in several deer, so that we were well supplied with food. The cold at night was very considerable; but with good fires blazing, and wrapped up in buffalo-robes, we did not feel it; and when the sun shone brightly the air was so pure and fresh that we were scarcely aware how rapidly winter was approaching.

It should be understood that there are several passes through the lofty range it was our object to cross. These passes had been formed by the mountains being rent asunder by some mighty convulsion of nature. All of them are many miles in length, and in some places several in width; now the pass presents a narrow gorge, now expands into a wide valley. The highest point is called the watershed, where there is either a single small lake, or a succession of lakelets, from which the water flows either eastward through the Saskatchewan or Athabasca rivers, to find its way ultimately into the Arctic Ocean, or westward, by numberless tributaries, into the Fraser or Columbia rivers, which fall, after making numerous bends, into the Pacific.

We had voyaged in our canoes up one of the larger tributaries of the Fraser, and had now to follow to its source at the watershed one of the smaller streams which flowed, twisting and turning, through the dense forests and wild and rugged hills rising on every side.

The country had become more and more difficult as we advanced, and frequently we had to wind our way in single file round the mountains by a narrow path scarcely affording foothold to our horses. Sometimes on one side, sometimes on the other were steep precipices, over which, by a false step, either we or our animals might be whirled into the roaring torrent below. Now we had to force a road through the tangled forest to cut off an angle of the stream, and then to pass along narrow gorges, beetling cliffs frowning above our heads, and almost shutting out the light of day.

At length we camped on higher ground than any we had yet reached. On one side was a forest, on the other a rapid stream came foaming by. The sky was overcast, so that, expecting rain, we put up all the shelter we could command.

The hunters having brought in a good supply of meat, our people were in good spirits, and seemed to have forgotten the dangers we had gone through, while they did not trouble themselves by thinking of those we might have to encounter. We had no longer hostile Indians to fear; but we still kept a watch at night in case a prowling grizzly or pack of hungry wolves might pay the camp a visit. The wind blew cold; not a star was visible. The light from our fire threw a lurid glare on the stems and boughs of the trees and the tops of the rugged rocks which rose beyond.

Having said good night to Rose, whom we saw stowed away in her snug little bower, Hugh and I lay down a short distance from the fire, sheltered by some of the packages piled up at our heads. Uncle Donald was not far from us. On the other side were Pierre and Corney and Red Squirrel, while Madge took her post, disdaining more shelter than the men, close to Rose’s hut. Two of the men kept awake, one watching the camp, the other the horses, and the rest lay in a row on the opposite side of the fire.

Such was the scene I looked on till, completely covering my head up in a buffalo-robe, I closed my eyes. I was awakened by finding an unusual weight above me. I threw my arms about, when down came a cold shower on my face and clearing my eyes I could just see the snow on every side, while my body was completely covered up. I was perfectly warm, however, and felt no inclination to get out of my cosy bed to brush the snow away. I drew my robe again over my head; being well assured that Uncle Donald would arouse us if there was any risk of our being completely covered up. How much longer I had slept I could not tell, when I was once more awakened by a terrific howling, yelping, the barking of dogs, the trampling and snorting of horses, followed by the shouts and shrieks of our men.

I speedily drew myself out of my snowy burrow, and through the gloom I caught sight of our horses endeavouring to defend themselves by kicking out with their heels against a pack of wolves which had followed them up to the camp, and Uncle Donald with the men engaged, some with their rifles and others with sticks, in endeavouring to drive off the savage brutes, but they were afraid of firing, for fear of wounding the horses. I felt about for Hugh, who being covered up by the snow, had not been awakened by the din.

“What is happening?” he exclaimed, sitting up. “Are the Indians upon us?”

“Only some hungry wolves, and we are all right,” I said.

“Why, I fancy it has been snowing!” he exclaimed.

“I should think so,” I answered. “Come, jump up, we’ll help put those brutes to flight.”

When the wolves found themselves encountered by human beings, they quickly turned tail, but we had some difficulty in catching the frightened horses, and I was just in time to seize one which was on the point of dashing into Rose’s hut. As it was almost daylight, no one again turned in; the fires were made up, and we began cooking our morning meal.

The snow continued to fall so heavily, that Uncle Donald decided to remain where we were, or rather to form another camp more under shelter of the trees. To proceed with the horses would have been almost impossible, and he therefore settled to send them back and to prepare the sleighs and snow-shoes for the rest of our journey. A sleigh is simply a thin board, ten feet long and about a foot broad, turned up at one end. The baggage is secured to it by leathern thongs.

To form a cariole, a cradle or framework like the body of a small carriage is fixed on a sleigh such as I have just described, and is covered with buffalo skin parchment, the inside being lined with a buffalo-robe. When the traveller is seated in a cariole with outstretched legs, he is only separated from the snow by the thin plank which forms the floor. The dogs which drag the sleighs are attached to them by leathern thongs and collars generally decorated with bead work and tassels, surmounted by arches, to which are suspended strings of small bells. We had brought a supply of snow-shoes and moccasins for all the party. The snow-shoe is an oval frame five or six feet in length, about one in width, the intermediate space being filled with network, except a hole in the centre for the heel of the wearer. It is attached to the foot by leathern thongs. All hands were busily engaged in putting the sleighs together, fitting the harness to the dogs, and arranging the cargoes. The horses were sent back. The canoe men had taken their departure, and our party now consisted of Uncle Donald, Rose, Hugh and I, Pierre, Corney, Madge, Red Squirrel, and four Indians.

We had to wait until the snow had somewhat hardened, and the stream up which we were to proceed had been frozen over. Uncle Donald had made for Rose to sleep in a bag of buffalo-robes lined with softer furs, which kept her perfectly warm. She was the only person who was to enjoy the privilege of a sleigh, drawn by Whiskey and Pilot, and guided by Uncle Donald. The rest of us were to travel on snow-shoes, a mode of proceeding which, though fatiguing, kept us warm.

The last night of our stay in camp arrived. We were to start, should the weather be propitious, the next morning. Soon after we turned in for the night, before I had fallen asleep, I was greatly surprised to hear the sound of chopping in a wood at no great distance off. I called to Hugh, he heard it also, as did Uncle Donald.

One after the other the men expressed their wonder at the sound. Corney, who was on guard, walked a few paces in the direction from whence it came, evidently thinking that something was wrong, but he soon returned, declaring that he could see no one. Suddenly there came the crash of a falling tree. After this mysterious occurrence, nothing could induce him to go up to the spot, though it could not have been more than two hundred yards off. No one had been seen on the previous evening, and had Indians been there, they would have observed our fire, and would long ere this have gathered round it.

What Uncle Donald thought I could not tell, he certainly did not get up to try and solve the mystery, nor did any of the Indians. Night passed away without disturbance, and the next morning, though Hugh, and Pierre, and I made a circuit of the camp, we could discover no footsteps to indicate that any one had been in the neighbourhood, nor signs of chopping, nor a fallen tree, so that the mystery remained unexplained.

Breakfast over, our four Indians were sent ahead to trample down the snow with their snow-shoes, the loaded sleighs following, driven by the other men and Madge, who was as good a driver as any of them, Uncle Donald in charge of Rose bringing up the rear with Hugh and me. Such was to be our proceeding for many a day, until we were over the mountains.

We were now in the heart of the “Rockies.” The valley of the river we were following was about a mile wide, and on either side rose high rocky peaks, covered with perpetual snow, among which big-horns could be seen watching us, the intruders into their domains, and daring us, as it were, to scale the glaciers and meet them on their own ground.

We several times met with moose, one of which was shot nearly every day to supply our camp with meat. We were anticipating getting through the pass without difficulty, when we found ourselves at the bottom of a fall a hundred feet in height, with thickly timbered hills on each side, which, rising abruptly from the water’s edge, seemed to offer no footing even for a snow-shoe, much less a practicable trail for dog-sleighs.

Uncle Donald was not to be defeated, however, and at once ordered a regular track, graded round the face of the bluffs, to be formed. By using snow-shoes as shovels, and poles and brush for bridges, we crossed the intervening gullies and reached the edge of the first fall. Going on a mile further, we found the river confined between perpendicular walls of rock, up which there was no climbing. We had to form another path, carrying it over ledges of rock, banks of ice and snow, making bridges from one huge boulder to another with the dark water boiling at our feet ready to engulf any one who might make a false step.

To our joy, the formidable obstacle being surmounted, the good ice was reached at last, when we pushed on, the dogs trotting gaily along, and we following behind.

But ere long another fall barred our progress. Before attempting to surmount it, we halted for dinner.

As I was looking up I espied a big-horn, or mountain goat, and believing that we could get near enough to shoot it, Hugh and I set off with our guns. The animal is about the size of a common sheep, with conical horns, nearly three feet long, and forming a complete circle, but so thick is the wool which covers its head and body that their full length is not seen.

“Sure, you’ll not be gettin’ up after that baste!” I heard Corney say, he having followed us.

“We’ll try,” I answered, and began ascending the steep rocks. The difficulties were greater than we expected, but still we did not like to be defeated. We had been deceived by the clearness of the atmosphere, and after climbing up and up, the goat appeared as far off as ever. Presently he saw us, and off he bounded, springing along places where it would have been madness to follow.

“I tould ye so!” cried Corney from below, for he had still followed us. “Ye must git above one of those gentlemen if you want to shoot him. Now dinner will be cooked, and we had better be after getting down to eat it.” We accordingly descended to where we had left our snow-shoes.

“Stop a moment!” cried Corney. “Just let me get a drink of water, for I see a rill dripping over a rock there.”

Corney accordingly made his way up to the perpendicular bank, but scarcely had he reached it, when, to our horror, there was a crash, and he suddenly disappeared, leaving, however, his long pole behind him.

I knew that the river was running like a mill sluice down below, so rushing forward I shoved the pole across the opening, and holding it in one hand, as I threw myself flat on the ice, I thrust down my arm. To my relief, I felt Corney’s head as he came to the surface, and seizing his hair, hauled away with might and main. Hugh now assisted me, and we managed to drag up the Irishman from his fearfully perilous position. It required caution, however, to get him on the ice, as that at any moment might give way, and we should have to share the fate from which we were trying to rescue him.

“Arrah! the spalpeens! why don’t they help us?” cried Corney. “Shout, Mr Archie! shout, Mr Hugh!”

Our cries brought Pierre, who was nearest at hand, carrying a long rope and a pole.

By resting on the poles, and lowering the rope with a bowline knot at the end, we got it under his arms, and soon hauling him upon the ice, we hurried away from the dangerous spot.

He was none the worse for his dip, though it was no joke to be plunged head over ears in that icy cold water. Several of the other men fell in at different times, for although it was freezing hard the rapidity of the current prevented the ice forming securely in many places. We had occasionally, therefore, to leave the river and to make our way through the forest—no easy undertaking. But we could get through any places, provided they were more than two feet wide. When camping, we shovelled away the snow until we reached the moss on which we formed our beds; then we made our fire in the centre of the hole, and took our places round it.

When we went to sleep it was pretty deep, but in the morning, on getting up, I found that I could not see over the wall of snow. By beating down the edges, however, we managed to climb out.

In spite of the depth of the snow, we travelled on, though as our snow-shoes sank in places nearly a foot deep, the fatigue was very great. Rose laughed heartily as she saw us trudging on, and wanted Hugh to take her place in the sleigh and let her go on foot while he rested.

Again we came to a more mighty canyon than any we had yet encountered. This necessitated a détour, to avoid it, of about three miles overland.

A canyon, from the Spanish, is a deep gully or gorge, either with a river or stream flowing through the bottom or not, but the canyons in this part of the Rockies nearly always have a stream at the bottom.

We had again reached the river where it flowed on a more even course. It was entirely frozen over, but we were high above it, and the difficulty was to get down.

Pierre was the first to start. Away went the dogs with the sleigh, Pierre hauling it back and trying to stop its way. But all would not do, and presently he, dogs, and sleigh, went rolling over and over, until they plunged into the snow at the bottom, to a considerable depth.

“Och sure I’ll be wiser,” cried Corney; and he made fast a tail rope to a tree, thus enabling him to lower it gently for a short distance at a time. In slipping it, however, from one tree to another, the sleigh gathered way, but scarcely had it got abreast of the dogs than it sheered off on one side of a small tree, the dogs rolling on the other. The tree—a mere sapling—bent, and the impetus carried the whole train nearly twenty feet out towards its end—the dogs hanging by their traces on one side, counterbalancing the sleigh on the other, where they swayed to and fro in the most ludicrous fashion, yelping, barking, and struggling to get free, and running a great risk of being hanged.

“Surely I’ll be afther losin’ me dogs, and the sleigh will be dashed to pieces!” cried Corney, wringing his hands in his despair.

Uncle Donald told us to take charge of Rose; then springing down the bank with the agility of a young man, axe in hand, with a few blows he cut the traces and set the poor dogs free, while the sleigh bounded down the hill into the snow at the bottom, where Pierre was trying to put his train to rights, the new arrival adding not a little to his difficulties.

Fearing that Rose might meet with a similar accident, Uncle Donald, taking her in his arms, carried her down, while Hugh and I managed the sleigh. As soon as we were all to rights, we had the satisfaction of seeing before us a clear “glare” of ice. The dogs, entering into our feelings, set off at a scamper to cross it.

In less than an hour we had got over a greater distance than we had the whole of the previous day. We had now reached the entrance to the pass. On either side rose pyramidical peaks, covered with perpetual snow, three thousand feet above the valley. Shortly afterwards we came to the foot of a magnificent glacier, which must have been scarcely less than a mile in length and several hundred feet in height. As we had made a good day’s journey, and evening was approaching, Uncle Donald was looking out for a place at which to camp. We had just fixed on a spot on the bank of the river at the edge of a thick belt of trees, which here intervened between it and the cliffs, when a roar as of distant thunder reached our ears.

“Look out! look out!” cried the Indians in chorus, and they pointed upwards.

We did look, and there we saw the whole side of the mountain, as it seemed, in movement. Huge rocks and vast masses of ice came rolling down towards the spot we were passing over, threatening to overwhelm us.

Down rushed the fearful avalanche. One huge rock was so directing its course that our destruction seemed certain, when it crashed in among the trees, tearing several up by the roots, but meeting with one of a larger size, just before it readied us, it was turned aside, and forcing its way through the remainder, it plunged into the river, not many feet from where we stood.

As may be supposed, we did not camp at that spot, but, thankful for our preservation, pushed on to where, the valley slightly widening out, we ran less risk of being overwhelmed by an avalanche.

Chapter Nine.

Lost in the Snow.

The dividing Ridge—A Mishap—More difficulty with the Snow—The Provisions run short—The Dogs begin to Succumb—Hugh, Archie, and Red Squirrel are Lost in a Snow-storm—Done up, and no Shelter.

“The first part of our difficulties are approaching an end,” said Uncle Donald the next morning, as we were starting. “It is possible that we may reach the dividing ridge by nightfall.”

The news caused every countenance to assume a cheerful expression. We pushed on in high spirits. The river, which had been growing less and less as we proceeded, at length became a small stream, fed by a fall down a steep slope, up which we had, as before, to make our way by a zigzag path.

On reaching the summit we found ourselves in an elevated valley, with mountain peaks on each side towering magnificently to the sky, the rays of the rising sun glancing on their snow-clad sides.

The surface of the lakes afforded a level and easy road. Away went the dogs at a brisk trot, the men shouting with glee as they thought our difficulties were over.

Climbing up the banks of one lake, we crossed over the ground to another, and then went on again as before. We quickly got over seven or eight miles, when we saw a stream, which, issuing from the eastern end of the last lake, ran down a gentle incline. The bright rivulet was a feeder of one of the vast rivers which flow towards the Arctic Ocean.

A joyous shout was raised; we had crossed the dividing ridge, and the vast plain through which flow the Saskatchewan and Athabasca lay below us. Several trees which grew by the lakelet were marked, to show the boundary of the North West Territory, into which we had now entered. Having quenched our thirst from the little stream, we again set out, the ground sloping perceptibly towards the east.

The rivulet widened as we advanced, and after we had gone a short way we found it completely frozen over. The ice being of sufficient thickness to bear our weight, we at once descended on to it, and away we went at a greater speed than we had hitherto gone, every one being in the highest spirits.

We had now to make a long circuit through a dense forest, keeping away from the river, for fear of slipping down over the precipices which formed the side.

Hugh and I, while sitting on our snow-shoes, were gliding downwards, fancying that we should reach the bottom of a hill without difficulty, when presently I saw him, on coming to some object concealed by the snow, give an unintentional jump, and over he went, head first, clutching at the shrubs and trying to stop himself. I was laughing at his mishap, when I felt myself jerked forwards, and then away I went in the same fashion.

After some tumbling and rolling, with arms and legs outstretched, we were both pitched into a deep snow reef at the foot of the hill.

One of the loaded sleighs, driven by Corney, before he had time to unharness the dogs, as he was about to do, broke away from him, and away it went, the poor dogs, terribly frightened, endeavouring to keep ahead of it, but it went faster than they could. In vain Corney and Red Squirrel tried to stop it. Had it kept clear of all impediments no great harm would have happened; but, unfortunately, it came in contact with a log, turning the poor dog who had the leader’s place into a pancake, while the front part of the sleigh itself was shattered to fragments. We hurried to the spot. The poor dog lay dead, with its head and limbs fractured.

We were some time occupied in repairing the broken sledge and harness. Continuing our journey, the river level was at last reached, when, on looking up, we saw that we had stood on a projecting ledge of ice not more than two feet in thickness, which might have given way beneath our weight and carried us down to destruction.

Hitherto, when not travelling on the ice, we had to make our way over snow seldom less than two feet deep, but as we reached the base of the mountains it suddenly disappeared. As far as we could see to the eastward, not a patch was visible. Had it not been for the frozen rivers and the leafless trees, we might have fancied that summer was returning. This phenomenon occurs along the whole base of the Rocky Mountains, where there is a belt of nearly twenty miles in width perfectly free from snow.

The ground being hard, we made good way over it, directing our course about south-east towards a stream running into the Saskatchewan.

The stream we were steering for was reached. Travelling over the ice, we were soon again in a region where the snow lay thicker than ever, and it became very trying to our dogs. Our special favourites, Whiskey, Pilot, and Muskymote, went on bravely, in spite of their hard labour by day and the intense cold to which they were exposed by night. They, knowing fellows, whenever they stopped, carefully picked out the snow which, getting between their toes, would have cut them severely; but some of the younger ones, not understanding the necessity of so doing, allowed it to accumulate, and became lame.

The snow now lay two feet in thickness over the whole surface of the country, making it fearfully heavy work to get along. We frequently had to go ahead to form a track; and even so soft was the snow, that the poor dogs would wallow through it up to their bodies, until they were well-nigh worn out with their incessant labour.

We, however, pushed on, for had we ventured to stop our whole party might have succumbed. Our provisions were well-nigh exhausted, and neither buffalo, nor deer, nor smaller game appeared to enable us to replenish our stock of food. Our object was to get on a stream with a southerly or south-easterly course, on which we could travel until we could strike a line across the country leading to the missionary station.

We made short journeys between sunrise and sunset. At the end of each day our first task was to clear away the snow, so as to have a space for our camp fire and room for the party to stretch themselves round it. The most sheltered spot was selected for Rose’s hut, which, when wood was wanting, was formed of buffalo-robes. She seemed to enjoy the journey, and was as blooming and merry as ever. The poor dogs were the greatest sufferers. They had hard work and scanty food. First one stretched out its legs and died, and then another did the same; and one morning, when we were starting, even Pilot could not be coaxed away from the camp fire. No one had the heart to kill him, but stand on his legs he either could not or would not, so he was left to his fate in the faint hope that in an hour or so he might recover his strength and overtake us.

As we pushed forward, on one side rose the lofty peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and on the other stretched out a vast extent of comparatively level land, in some parts open prairie, in others dense forest. The boughs of the trees were thickly laden with snow, the whole country, indeed, was wrapped in a white wintry mantle. The scenery was dreary in the extreme. Our spirits sank; it seemed that we should never come to an end of our long journey.

The sky, hitherto bright, became overcast with clouds about the time that we had got over about two-thirds of the day’s journey. Hugh and Red Squirrel and I were at some distance in the rear of the party, when snow began to fall and the wind to blow with unusual violence. The snow came down so thickly that it seemed as if the contents of a huge feather-bed had suddenly been emptied upon us. Thicker and thicker it fell; so great was the obscurity that we could scarcely see a yard ahead, while the tracks of our companions were almost instantly obliterated.

We shouted, expecting that they would reply, and that we should be guided by their voices, but no sound came in return. We tried to run on, hoping to overtake them, when Hugh fell and broke one of his snow-shoes. We, of course, stopped to help him up, and in so doing must have turned slightly about. Red Squirrel, ever fertile in resources, set to work to mend the shoe. This he did very rapidly; but even that short delay was serious. As soon as Hugh was on his legs we again hurried on, supposing that we were following close behind the rest of the party. We shouted and shouted, but still there was no reply. I asked Red Squirrel if he thought we were going right.

He did not answer.

It is seldom that an Indian loses his way, but at length I began to fear that he was at fault. He acknowledged, indeed, that he was so. We unslung our guns, hoping that if we fired our friends would hear the report, and fire theirs in return, but neither Hugh’s nor mine would go off. We put on fresh caps, and both again snapped. I felt in my pouch for my pricker, to try and clear out the nipple, but could not find it. I asked Hugh for his.

“I’m afraid that I dropped it yesterday evening in the camp, and I thought that I would look for it in the morning, but forgot to do so,” he answered.

At last we gave up the attempt in despair. More valuable time had thus been lost. Red Squirrel urged us to go on, saying that he thought he could guide us by the wind. On and on we went. The snow fell as thickly as ever. At last Hugh declared that he could go no further. We were both suffering from fearful pains in our ankles—the mal de raquette, as the French Canadians call it, produced by the pressure of the snow-shoe straps.

I looked anxiously about, hoping to discover some trees or shrubs which might afford us shelter and enable us to light a fire, but a thick veil of falling snow shrouded us on every side. I consulted Red Squirrel as to what we should do. One thing was certain—that if we remained in the open, exposed to the biting blast, we should perish. I feared that such would be our fate. Poor Hugh gave way altogether, and, casting off the straps from his ankles, threw himself down on the snow, and begged us to leave him.

Chapter Ten.

Snowed Up.

Red Squirrel and Archie Dig a Hole in the Snow—The Snow Shelter—Sleep—No Food, and Buried in Snow—Efforts to Dig Out—Some Animal Scratches at the Hole—Last Efforts at Defence.

To leave Hugh was not to be thought of.

“Oh, say what we must do!” I exclaimed, addressing Red Squirrel.

“Make haste,” he answered, taking off his snow-shoes.

I took off mine also, and using them as spades, we energetically set to work to shovel up the snow until we had got down to the ground, building up a wall with what we had thrown out. There was just sufficient space to hold three. We then placed Red Squirrel’s shoes on the top, for they were the longest, and Hugh’s above them, while with mine we threw up more snow to form a roof. As soon as we had got thus far, we lowered Hugh into our burrow, that he might be sheltered from the wind, placing the guns beside him. We then continued throwing up the snow until we had completely surrounded the hole, leaving only a small aperture through which we could crawl in on hands and knees. We next covered one of my snow-shoes with snow, patted it down until it was like a board, and this served as the door of our burrow. We had just space sufficient to sit up, or lie down packed close together, for we knew that the smaller its size the warmer it would be, or, rather, the less should feel the cold.

The change from the outer biting air made us feel tolerably comfortable, and we had no great fear of being frozen to death. Hugh, from not having exerted himself in building the hut, suffered more than Red Squirrel or I, and as soon as the door was closed I set to work to rub his hands and feet to restore circulation, for I was afraid that they might have been frost-bitten.

A very faint light at first came in through the snowy walls, but this lessened, until we could not see our hands held close to our faces.

Night we knew must have at length come on. We were very hungry, but as we had not a particle of food, there was no use in complaining.

For a long time neither Hugh nor I could go to sleep. At last Red Squirrel set us the example, and when, some time afterwards, I addressed Hugh, he did not answer, so that I knew he had forgotten his troubles, and I hoped that perfect rest would enable him to recover from the pain he had been suffering. I at last also dropped off to sleep.

When I awoke the darkness was as complete as ever, though supposing it was still night, I once more went to sleep. The next time I opened my eyes it was still dark as before. I felt warmer than I had expected, but I was desperately hungry. From this I fancied that another day must have begun. In a short time my companions awoke. Hugh said the pain in his instep had gone, but that he would give much for something to eat. Red Squirrel did not suffer as much as we did, for Indians are able to endure hunger and pain a much longer time than can white people.

“Surely it must be day,” said Hugh. “We ought to try and get out, and find our friends. Rose and Uncle Donald will be dreadfully frightened at having lost us.”

“I hope that no accident has happened to them,” I could not help saying, for the recollection came upon me that they also had been exposed to the snow-storm; but then I reflected that they were a large party, and might have reached the shelter of a wood. This was some consolation.

“Oh, how hungry I am!” cried Hugh. “We must get out.”

I took up my rifle and tried to open the door with the barrel, but, although I ran it up to the lock, on again withdrawing it I could not see daylight through the hole.

“I am afraid that the snow must be very thick,” I said. The dreadful idea now occurred to me that we were buried alive in a snow tomb. Such had happened to other people, I knew, and it might be our fate, for if the snow once froze over us we might be unable to force our way out. I asked Red Squirrel what he thought.

He answered with an ominous “Very bad! Try,” he added, and I found that he was groping about to find the door. He did not speak, but I heard him scraping away with his hands, just as a terrier does at the entrance of a rabbit burrow, with a vehemence which showed how much he feared that we were completely buried. I could feel the snow which he dug up coming down on my legs.

At last he asked for my gun. He thrust it into the hole he had formed, but still no light streamed through it. We must, however, by some means or other, force our way out or perish.

“We had better try to work upwards,” I observed. “The falling snow has surrounded the walls of our hut, and though we made the roof pretty thick, we are more likely to reach the open air through it than by working at the sides.”

The Indian followed my suggestion. Of course, we could all work together, but then we might have pulled a mass of snow down on our heads. Our object was simply to make a hole through which we could look out and ascertain if it were daylight, and if so to try and find out whereabouts we were. We might all the time be close to our party. I earnestly hoped that we were, so that we might satisfy the cravings of hunger without delay. The Indian tried to force off the snow-shoe which formed the door, but found that impossible. He then worked away above it. The snow he brought down considerably decreased the size of our hut. Still he persevered in working away, until I thought that he would never get through the roof. At last he asked me again to hand him up my gun, and having forced the barrel upwards, as he withdrew it we could feel the cold air coming down, while a gleam of daylight entered our burrow. But it would still require much labour before we could enlarge the hole sufficiently to enable us to force our bodies through it.

At last, by dint of hard work, standing on the snow he had brought down, Red Squirrel got out his head. The report he gave was unsatisfactory. Scarcely, however, listening to what he said, I jumped up and thrust out my head, eager to ascertain the state of affairs. I could see nothing but a vast plain of snow on every side without a single object to direct our steps. Snow was still falling and had already reached above the level of our hut. We could not make our way over the vast plain without our snow-shoes, and it would take a considerable time before we could dig them out; and in the meantime we should be well-nigh frozen.

I drew in my head again, my face chilled by the cold air, and, sinking down to the bottom of the hut, consulted with Red Squirrel and Hugh as to what was to be done. Hunger made us all anxious to go on; but then arose the question, In what direction should we go? We might perish in the attempt to reach our friends. We accordingly agreed to wait until the snow had ceased.

Red Squirrel had, in the meantime, stopped up the hole to prevent the cold from getting in. Hunger and darkness soon caused us again to drop off to sleep, and thus we must have remained some hours. When at length I awoke, I had neither the inclination nor power to move.

I called to Hugh. He answered faintly. I had, however, my senses sufficiently about me to be aware of our perilous position. The acute sensation of hunger had gone off, and my only wish was to be left alone. I tried to rouse myself, and endeavour to get up, but sank again to the ground. I then asked Red Squirrel to take a look out. He at once rose and scrambled up to the hole. It was some time before he could force off the snow. He then told us that the snow had ceased, and that it was night, for he could see the stars shining overhead.

“We must wait until morning, then,” I said, thankful that I should not have to move.

Once more we all dropped off into a state of stupor rather than sleep. I don’t know how long we had thus remained, when I was aroused by a noise which came down the funnel. It seemed as if some animal were scratching away at the entrance. The idea seized me that it was a bear, and I thought how unable we were to defend ourselves. I felt about for my gun, forgetting that it had refused to go off. Just as I grasped it I remembered this, and desperately plunged my hand into my pouch, when at the bottom I discovered my pricker, which my numbed fingers had before failed to feel. Clearing out the nipple as well as I could in the dark, I put on a fresh cap. While doing so, I awoke my companions. Hugh answered faintly. Red Squirrel immediately got up, and together we managed to crawl to the opening through which I thrust my rifle, ready to fire should the bear show himself.

The scratching continued more vehemently than before. “He’ll be upon us presently,” I whispered to Red Squirrel, as a gleam of light came down through the aperture. “Do you take the gun; I haven’t strength enough to fire;” and I sank back quite exhausted.

Chapter Eleven.

Rescued.

The Animal Proves to be One of the Dogs—Who goes off for Rescue—Help Comes at Last—How the Dog had found the Party—Effects of the Adventure—The Party reach the Block-house at last, to find Archie’s Family all Safe and welcome Rest.

I fully expected the next moment to see the huge claws of a monstrous grizzly as he worked his way down to us, when, instead of a growl, I heard the whine and sharp bark of a dog. It was the voice I felt sure, of our faithful Pilot, whom we had left at our last camp, as we supposed, on the point of death. I called out his name, and he answered with a joyous bark. Presently we saw him looking down upon us, when, satisfied that we were really there, he gave another bark, and then Red Squirrel, who had clambered up to the surface, told me that he was scampering away to the southward. I tried to get out to watch him, but was utterly unable to accomplish the task, and Red Squirrel himself was too weak to help me. I felt sure, however, that the dog had gone to summon our friends. I tried to cheer up poor Hugh with the news. He seemed scarcely able to understand what had occurred, and I became greatly alarmed at his condition.

We waited and waited; it seemed as if several hours had elapsed. At last Red Squirrel, who had gone to the hole, exclaimed that he saw some dark objects moving over the snow. They came nearer and nearer. I cannot describe the joy I felt when I heard Uncle Donald’s voice, and presently I saw Red Squirrel’s legs disappear as he was drawn up through the hole. Directly afterwards another person came slipping down.

“Arrah! we’ve found ye at last, sure!” exclaimed Corney, lifting me in his arms.

“Take up Hugh,” I said, “he is in a worse state than I am.” He did as I requested, but he was down again in a minute, and carrying me up, wrapped me in buffalo-robes and placed me in one of the sleighs which Uncle Donald, who was engaged in feeding Hugh from a can of broth, had brought to convey us. Some of the broth was immediately given to me. I could have gobbled up the whole of it, for the moment I felt the fresh air the keenness of my appetite returned.

“I feared, my dear lads, that you were lost!” exclaimed Uncle Donald, as he ran backwards and forwards between Hugh and me, giving us each alternately a mouthful of the food. “But through the mercy of Heaven, as I will tell you by-and-by, we were led to this spot, and now the sooner we get back to camp the better, for you require careful nursing, I suspect. It is a wonder that you have escaped.”

Red Squirrel came in for a portion of the broth, and, not suffering so much from hunger as we were, he was soon able, after he had swallowed the food, to move about and assist Corney in digging out our snow-shoes. As soon as they had been recovered, we set out for the camp, which we found under the shelter of a wood about two miles off.

How Pilot, who had been left, as we supposed, dying in the camp, had found us out, we were curious to know. It appeared that one of the Indians had left, as he confessed, a load of pemmican behind. This the dog must have scented out after we had gone, and having eaten it, had remained sheltered during the storm under the snow. His provisions exhausted, he had set out to rejoin his companions, and on his way had providentially been led to the mouth of our burrow. Finding that he could not get us out, he had gone on, and on coming up with the party, by his extraordinary behaviour attracted attention. The moment he had had some buffalo meat, he rushed back towards where he had left us, and then pulled at Corney’s and Uncle Donald’s leggings, thus leading them to believe that he knew where we were to be found.

The cold was intense, but as it had hardened the snow, and the dogs had greatly recovered by having had plenty of buffalo meat to eat, we made rapid progress. Hugh was placed in Rose’s sleigh, and I had one to myself, with some of the cargo stowed at my back, for even after two day’s rest we were unable to walk; Red Squirrel, however, was soon himself again, and was able to keep up with the rest of the men.

More than a week had passed, when, as evening was approaching, we caught sight of a flagstaff, above a block-house, and a circle of palisades rising out of the snow on the banks of a stream backed by a lofty range of mountains, spurs of the Rockies.

Though there were no trees in the immediate neighbourhood, a thick forest was seen on either side, extending backwards, and rising up the steep slopes.

It was the station to reach which we had travelled many hundred miles. Descending to the river, which was frozen over, we dashed across it, and were met on the other side by a party who issued from the stockade as we approached. At first we could only make out a number of Indians, but presently a lady and five young people appeared among them. To my joy, I recognised the lady as my mother, the others were my two sisters and three younger brothers, but they had all grown so much that I should not have known them; and certainly they did not know me, for they looked greatly surprised at the affectionate greeting my mother gave me.

“I am grateful, most grateful to you, Uncle Donald, for having come to our assistance,” she said, as she kissed his weather-beaten cheek. “Your appearance will revive my poor husband, who is still suffering from sickness. He has not got over the fearful scenes we witnessed, and is still anxious about our safety, as the savage Indians have vowed that they will return in the spring and put us and those of their tribe who have become Christians to death, should the pest again break out among them, and I much fear, in consequence of their careless and dirty habits, that it will do so.”

“Cheer up, my good niece, we will now go into the house, and then arrange what is best to be done,” answered Uncle Donald.

I, in the meantime, was receiving the embraces of my brothers and sisters, the latter of whom immediately rushed towards Rose, and conducted her to the house. My brothers also gave a warm greeting to Hugh. My poor father had risen to receive us. He looked fearfully thin and careworn, though our arrival, it was evident, cheered him. Very soon we were all assembled round a roaring fire in the sitting-room, thankful for our preservation from the clangers of our journey, and not a little pleased to be able to throw off our heavy clothing. The Indians took good care of Madge, Corney, and Pierre, and the rest of the party, not neglecting the poor dogs, honest Pilot especially, when the service he had rendered us was told, coming in for a large share of their favour.

Chapter Twelve.

On the Alert.

At the Station—After Buffalo—Return of Red Squirrel from a Scout with News of the Blackfeet—A Party Return—A Party sent out to bring back the Hunters to the Fort—A Strange Fire—Red Squirrel goes off again on the Scout.

My brothers and sisters, Hugh Rose, and I were very happy.

The former fancied that, now we had come, all their troubles would be over. They had, however, passed a sad and anxious time; the missionary who had accompanied my father, with his wife and two children, had died, as had several of the Christian Indians, while some hundreds of the wild Indians had been swept off by the fearful pestilence. The latter had gone away south during the winter, and it was supposed that they would not return till the spring.

Hugh and I occasionally went out with Uncle Donald, or Pierre and Corney, in search of buffalo or deer. We were generally fortunate enough to kill either the one or the other. Uncle Donald had lost no time in sending out trusty scouts to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the Blackfeet.

Red Squirrel, from being one of the most active and intelligent of our Indians, was thus constantly employed. The duty was a hazardous one, for, as he well knew, should the enemy catch him, they would to a certainty take his scalp.

As neither buffalo nor deer had for several days appeared near the station, the hunters had to go a considerable distance in search of them. As soon as an animal was killed one of the dog-sleighs was sent out to bring in the meat.

I have not described the station. It was in some respects like a fort, being entirely surrounded by palisades, both that it might be defended from an hostile attack, and for the purpose of protecting the buildings in the interior from the cold winds in winter, and to prevent the snow from drifting round them. There was a strong gate on one side which could be securely closed with bars, and a narrow platform with a parapet ran round the upper part of the palisades, from which its defenders could fire down on their assailants. It was in this respect very different from the usual missionary stations, which are entirely without defence. It had been built as a fort by the fur traders, and being in the neighbourhood of a savage and warlike tribe, it was considered prudent to repair it in the fashion I have described. When existing as a fort, it had been more than once captured and plundered by the Indians, and on one occasion the whole of the defenders had been put to death.

I had one morning gone up to the platform to take a look out, when I espied far off to the southward a small herd of buffalo. Our hunters had, on the previous evening, gone off to the eastward, and, unless they should find game near, were not likely to return for some days. I hurried down to Uncle Donald to tell him what I had seen, and request permission to set off to try and kill a buffalo.

“I will go with you,” he said; and Hugh begged that he might accompany us. So we set off with our guns, hoping, that by keeping among the woods, we might get to leeward of the herd, and sufficiently near to shoot one or more beasts.

My brother Alec, who was nearly as old as Hugh, went also. We hurried along on our snow-shoes, eager to get up to the herd before they should move off. This they were not likely to do, as they had found a spot where the snow was less deep than in other places, and they had got down to the grass by pawing with their feet.

They did not perceive us, and the wind being north-east, we succeeded in getting round to the south of them. We then crept carefully up, and Uncle Donald, firing, brought a fat cow to the ground. Hugh and I aimed at another, which we badly wounded; but instead of running off with its head lowered, ploughing up the snow as a ship turns up the foaming water, it came charging towards us.

“Now, Alec, see what you can do!” exclaimed Hugh and I, as we rapidly re-loaded; “but run aside as soon as you have fired, or the brute may kill you.”

I heard Alec’s shot, when, looking up, to my dismay, I saw that he had missed. The buffalo was within twenty paces of us. Alec did his best to make off on one side, which, however, could not be done very rapidly with snow-shoes on. In another instant the buffalo would have reached us, when a shot which came from behind a tree laid him low, and looking round, I saw an Indian, whom I directly recognised as Red Squirrel. The rest of the herd being thus disturbed had made off. Uncle Donald now came up and thanked Red Squirrel for his timely aid. He reported that he was on his return to the fort with somewhat alarming intelligence. He had got up one night, he said, close to the Blackfeet lodges, where he observed the chiefs seated in council. He caught the meaning of some of their speeches, from which he gathered that it was their intention, before long, to come north and avenge themselves on the white medicine man—so they called my father—for the pestilence which they asserted he had inflicted on them because they had refused to become his proselytes. Red Squirrel also stated that he had seen among them a white man, who had spoken, and tried to dissuade them from prosecuting their design. He was clothed, like them, in a dress of buffalo-robes, from which Red Squirrel argued that he had been some time among them. They seemed, however, in no way inclined to listen to the advice of the white stranger, and expressed their intention of setting out as soon as their medicine man should pronounce the time to be propitious.

“We must return at once and put the station in a state of defence,” said Uncle Donald, on hearing this. “The savages may be upon us in the course of two or three days, and will give us but a short time to prepare for them. It is unfortunate that the hunters are away, for we require their assistance; and should the Blackfeet fall in with them they will lose their scalps to a certainty.”

“I would willingly go out and try and find them,” I said. “As no snow has fallen since they started, I can easily find their tracks.”

“I would much rather send Red Squirrel or Corney; but I’ll think about it as we go along,” said Uncle Donald.

Pierre had gone with the hunters, so that only the Irishman and young Indian were available for the purpose.

We at once turned our faces homewards, going on as fast as we could move on our snow-shoes. We thought it possible that we might find on our arrival that some of the hunters had returned, but none had made their appearance. My father looked very anxious when he heard the information brought by Red Squirrel.

“We might repulse them should they attack the place, but if any are killed, what hope can I afterwards have of winning them over to the Gospel?” he said. “I talk to them of peace, and urge them to enlist under the banner of the Prince of Peace, and yet they find me and my friends allied in arms against them.”

“But if we don’t defend ourselves, they will knock us on the head and carry off our scalps,” answered Uncle Donald. “I will do all I can to preserve peace, and induce them to go back without fighting, should I be able to hold any communication with them. In the meantime, we must prepare to defend the fort. Archie has volunteered to go out in search of the hunters, who must be forthwith called in, but without your permission I do not like to let him go.”

“As it is in the path of duty, I will not forbid him,” answered my father.

“If Archie goes, let me go too,” cried Alec. “I can run as fast as he does on snow-shoes.”

After some demur, Alec got leave to accompany me, for Hugh, not being quite well, was unable to go.

We were in good spirits, pleased at the confidence placed in us, and only regretting that Hugh had not been able to come. The trail of the hunters was perfectly clear, leading away to the south-east. They had taken a couple of sleighs to bring in the meat, so that we had no difficulty in directing our course.

We had made good nearly ten miles, and had not met any buffalo tracks, which showed us that the hunters must still be some way ahead, when we heard a voice shouting to us, and, looking back, we saw an Indian running towards us over the snow. As he was alone, we had no doubt that he was a friend, and as he came nearer we recognised Red Squirrel.

He could not, he said, allow us to go without him, and as soon as he had taken some food he had set off. He had left Uncle Donald busily engaged, assisted by my father and the remaining men in the fort, in strengthening the palisades. “If the Blackfeet come expecting to get in and plunder the fort, they will find themselves mistaken,” he added.

We were very glad to have Red Squirrel with us; although, accustomed as we were to travel over the snow-covered plains, and having the mountains with whose forms we were well acquainted to the eastward, we had no fear about finding our way back, provided that the weather should remain clear. There was, of course, the possibility of a snow-storm coming on, and then we might have been greatly puzzled.

Notwithstanding the fatigue Red Squirrel had gone through during the last few days, he was as active as ever, and kept us moving as fast as we could go.

Before sunset we came upon the tracks of buffalo, though the animals themselves were nowhere to be seen.

“We’ll soon find them,” observed the Indian; but though we went on some distance, neither buffalo nor hunters could we discover, and we were glad, just as night fell, to take shelter under the lee of a thick clump of poplars and spruce pine. To cut sufficient wood for our fire and clear away the snow was the work of a few minutes, and, with our pot boiling, we were soon sitting round a cheerful blaze discussing our supper. We continued sitting round the fire, wrapped in our buffalo-robes, with our feet close to the embers, every now and then throwing on a stick, while we talked and Red Squirrel smoked his pipe.

I proposed that two of us should lie down and go to sleep, while the third kept watch, when Red Squirrel, getting up, said he would take a look out.

Climbing up the bank, he went to the top of a knoll a short distance off. We could see his figure against the sky. In a short time he came back.

“See fire out there,” he said, pointing to the southward. “May be friends, may be enemies, may be Blackfeet. If Blackfeet, sooner we get ’way better.”

“But how are we to find out whether they are friends or foes?” I asked.

“Red Squirrel go and see,” he answered. “You stay here;” and taking up his gun, he quickly disappeared in the darkness, leaving us seated at our camp fire.

Chapter Thirteen.

Attacked by the Red-skins.

Prolonged Absence of Red Squirrel—Flight—The Strangers prove to be Friends—Return to the Fort—Uncle Donald opposes the Doctrine of Non-Resistance—The Guard over the Fort—The Indians attack the Fort.

We felt very uneasy at the strangely prolonged absence of Red Squirrel. He could have anticipated no danger, or he would have advised us what course to pursue should he not return. At last, telling Alec to sit quiet, I got up, and made my way to the top of the knoll, whence I could see over the country to the southward, in the direction I supposed Red Squirrel had gone. I looked and looked in vain through the gloom of night, though I could see in the far distance the light of the fire of which he had spoken.

Could he have been captured? if so, what should Alec and I do? It would be impossible to rescue him—indeed, it was too probable that he had been immediately put to death by the Blackfeet, and that we might ourselves, should we remain in the neighbourhood, be killed. I came therefore to the conclusion that we must continue our search for the hunters to the eastward, keeping at the same time a watchful eye in the direction in which we had seen the fire of our supposed enemies. I say supposed enemies, because I still had a lingering hope that, after all, the fire might be at the hunters’ camp.

Such were the thoughts which passed through my mind as I stood on the top of the knoll. I had not been there many minutes before I recollected how clearly I had seen Red Squirrel in the same position against the sky. Instead, therefore, of remaining upright, I stooped down until I reached a thick bush, behind which I crouched, as well able as before to see any objects moving in the plain below. At last I thought that it was time to go back to Alec, and was on the point of descending the knoll, when I fancied that I saw some objects moving along the ground.

I remained stock still, scarcely daring to breathe, with my eyes fixed on the spot. They were human beings—Indians I felt sure; if so, they would soon see our fire, and we should be discovered.

While there was time I hurried down the knoll and flew to Alec. I made a sign to him to take up his rifle and buffalo-robe, with a few other articles, left on the ground, and led the way through the wood. Here we might remain concealed until the savages had gone away, and then try to get back to the fort. I had no great hopes of success, still, it was the only thing to be done.

We had reached the spot, and it was some way from the fire, but we were still able to see it by raising our heads over the bushes.

We had both knelt down behind the bush, with our rifles ready to raise to our shoulders at any minute. Alec, only the moment before I returned, had thrown some wood on the fire, so that it was now blazing up brightly, and we could see all the objects round it. Just then three figures appeared. Two were Indians—there could be no doubt about it; but the other we could not make out clearly. They advanced, looking eagerly around, but as they came more into the light, instead of savages, with scalping knives in hand ready to kill us, great was our joy to discover that one was Pierre, and the others Red Squirrel and Kondiarak. They looked very much astonished at not seeing us. We did not keep them long in suspense, and Pierre then told us that they had come on purpose to advise that we should at once return to the fort, without waiting for daylight. They had been successful in hunting, having killed three buffalo cows, with the meat of which the sleighs were already packed, and as the track was formed, the dogs would find their way without the slightest difficulty.

We reached the fort without having seen the enemy, and, as may be supposed, were heartily welcomed.

Our arrival restored the spirits of my poor father and mother, who were very anxious, not so much for themselves as for my younger brothers and sisters. They were prepared to die, if God so willed it, in the path of their duty. My father was still very unwilling to resort to force, and proposed going out himself to meet the enemy to try and induce them to turn back.

Uncle Donald, however, told him that as he was the object of their vengeance they would, to a certainty, seize and torture him, and then probably come on and endeavour to destroy the fort. Thus no object would have been gained, as we should do our utmost to defend ourselves, and his life would be uselessly sacrificed.

“But I should have done my duty in attempting to soften the hearts of the poor savages,” answered my father, meekly.

“My good nephew, it’s just this, I’m not going to let ye have your scalp taken off,” said Uncle Donald, bluntly. “I am commander here for the time being, and no man, not e’en yourself, shall leave the fort without my leave. If the savages come they must take the consequences.”

My father did not reply, but I am very sure that, had he been left to act by himself, he would have earned out his intentions, and would most probably have perished. From Pierre’s report we fully expected every minute to see the Blackfeet appear. To each man under Uncle Donald’s directions a post was assigned, which he was charged to defend with his life. Orders were, however, given that no one was to fire until the word of command was received.

Hugh, Alec, and I were stationed together, and highly proud we were at the confidence placed in us, as the post we had to maintain was one of the most important.

The day wore on, but we were still unmolested, and at last darkness came down upon us.

The winter, it will be remembered, was not yet over. To defend ourselves from the intense cold we all put on as many buffalo-robes and bear-skins as we could wear, and Hugh declared that we looked like a garrison of grizzlies.

It was cold enough during the day, but it was still colder at night; notwithstanding this, as Alec and I had had no sleep for many hours, we found it difficult to keep awake. We, therefore, rolling ourselves up in our wraps, lay down, while Hugh stood ready to call us at a moment’s notice. There were, however, sentries enough to keep a look-out, and Uncle Donald continued going round and round the fort, seeing that they were watchful.

The dawn was approaching; it was the time the Red-skins often make their attacks, as they expect to find their enemies buried in sleep.

When morning at last came, and no enemy had appeared, we began to hope that no Blackfeet had as yet reached the neighbourhood.

Another day was drawing on. Except a few men who remained on guard, the rest of the garrison lay down to sleep, that they might be more watchful the following night.

I spent a short time with my mother and sisters and Rose, and did my best to encourage them, but I could not help feeling that possibly it might be the last time we should be together on earth. By Red Squirrel’s report, the Blackfeet were very numerous, and they are noted for being the most savage and warlike of all the northern tribes.

The next night was almost a repetition of the former, except that Alec and I kept watch, while Hugh lay down to sleep. Uncle Donald, as before, went his rounds, and there seemed but little risk of our being taken by surprise. He had just left us, when Hugh, who had got up and was standing near me, whispered—

“I see something moving over the snow. There! there are others. Yes, they must be Indians.”

“Wait until we are certain,” I answered, in the same low voice; “and then, Alec, run round and tell Uncle Donald.”

We were not left long in doubt before we all three were certain that the objects we saw were Indians, and that they were trying to keep themselves concealed.

Alec set off to find Uncle Donald. He had not been gone many seconds, when fearful yells rent the air. Before us up started hundreds of dark forms, and a shower of bullets and arrows came flying above our heads.

Chapter Fourteen.

An Old Friend.

The Blackfeet meet a Warm Reception—and Retreat—A Wounded Indian—Proves to be Ponoko, who tells of a White Man in the Indian Camp—A Friendly Conference.

The moment the war-whoop of the Blackfeet had ceased Uncle Donald’s voice was heard, ordering us to fire.

We obeyed with right good will, and must have greatly astonished the savages, who, not aware of the increased number of our garrison, had probably expected to gain quite an easy victory. Many of them had muskets, but the larger number could only have been armed with bows and arrows. After they had shot five or six showers of arrows and fired their guns—fortunately, without hitting any of us, though we could hear their missiles pinging against the thick palisades—they suddenly ceased, and began to retreat, when Uncle Donald shouted to them in their own language, inquiring why they had attacked people who had done them no harm, but were anxious to benefit them.

No reply came. Our men uttered a shout of triumph. Uncle Donald stopped them.

“The Blackfeet have retired, but I know their cunning ways, and I deem it more than likely that they will be down upon us again when they think to catch us off our guard or maybe they have devised some treacherous plot to entrap us.”

We waited, but, as far as we could judge by the sounds which reached our ears, the savages had really retreated, and did not intend to attack us again that night. That they would give up their object was not to be expected, and my father proposed, should we find they had gone to a distance, that, rather than cause more bloodshed, we should abandon the station and retreat to one of the company’s forts to the northward, “We have sleighs sufficient to convey the women and children,” he added; “and when the anger of the misguided people has subsided, I will return by myself, and endeavour to win them over by gentle means, for such only should be employed to spread the Gospel among the heathen.”

“You are very right in that respect, but though we may get to some distance, when the Blackfeet find that we have gone, they will to a certainty follow on our trail and quickly overtake us,” answered Uncle Donald. “I cannot consent to such a plan; we must show them that we are able to defend ourselves, and let their blood be upon their own heads if they persist in attacking us. We will, however, try how negotiation will succeed. I used to be well-known among them, and I propose to-morrow, should they not again attack the fort, to go singly into their camp and invite them to smoke the calumet of peace. Should I be detained, you must promise to hold out to the last, and not any account trust to what they may say. We will, in the meantime, send a messenger to Rocky Mountain House, entreating for assistance. I feel sure that the officer in charge will send as many men and horses as he can spare to enable you to escape, or defend the fort, if necessary.”

My father and mother entreated Uncle Donald not thus to risk his life; but he was firm in his resolution. My father then proposed going with him, but to this Uncle Donald would not consent.

A considerable portion of the night was consumed in these discussions. A vigilant watch was of course kept, but no one could be seen stirring outside the fort. Having taken a brief nap, just before dawn I returned to my post on the ramparts. As daylight increased I fancied that I saw the body of a man lying under a bush some distance from the fort. Yes, I was certain of it. I pointed him out to Hugh, and we both fancied that we saw an arm move.

“He is one of the savages who was shot in the attack last night, and, unperceived by his companions, he must have fallen where we see him,” observed Hugh.

While we were speaking, some of the Indians we had brought with us—who, though faithful servants, were still heathens—caught sight of the body. Lowering themselves down without asking leave, they were rushing, with their scalping knives in their hands, towards the hapless being.

Uncle Donald at that instant coming up on the ramparts saw them, and guessed their object. “Come back, you rascals!” he shouted. “Whether that man be alive or dead, don’t touch a hair of his head!”

As they did not stop he fired his rifle, the bullet passing just in front of the leading Indian, who now thought it time to come to a standstill.

“Archie and Hugh, you go and look after that poor fellow, and make our people bring him in,” continued Uncle Donald.

We instantly obeyed, for although the height was considerable we could manage to drop to the bottom without injuring ourselves. We then ran as fast as our legs could carry us to overtake our Indians. Having delivered Uncle Donald’s orders, we then hurried on to where the Indian lay. At a glance I saw that he was desperately wounded from the blood which flowed from both his legs, while another shot had rendered his right arm powerless. His eyes still wore a defiant expression, and he appeared to fancy that we were about to kill him. By signs and such words of his language as we could speak, we endeavoured to make him understand that we had come to carry him into the fort to try and save his life.

As there was not a moment to be lost, we first bound up his wounds, and then ordering our people to assist us we lifted him from the ground and hurried towards the fort, meeting on our way Uncle Donald, who had the gate open to admit us. Without stopping we carried the wounded man into the house, where my father, who had risen, was ready with bandages and salves to attend to him. My mother, meantime, was preparing some strong broth, which our prisoner eagerly swallowed. It had an almost instantaneous effect in reviving him. Uncle Donald, who had in the meantime been going round the fort to ascertain if more wounded had been left in its neighbourhood, now entered the room, and as his eye fell on the countenance of our captive, he exclaimed, “Ponoko! Do you remember your white friend?”

The Indian made a sign that he was the person supposed, though he was too weak to speak.

Uncle Donald then told him that although he had come as an enemy he should be well cared for.

In a short time the judicious treatment he was receiving enabled him to utter a few words. He seemed grateful for the care taken of him, and his eyes brightened when my young sisters and Rose brought him the soup, which he received almost every hour. He especially noticed Rose, and when Uncle Donald came to see him, inquired, in a tone of evident interest, who she was.

“You are right if you think you remember her, for she is the little girl you saved when your people attacked the village in the territory of the Long-knives some years ago,” answered Uncle Donald.

“Will you now let me take her back?” asked Ponoko.

“Do you think it likely that I should consent?” said Uncle Donald. “Her ways are not the ways of your people. She would pine and die were she to be treated as your women are treated.”

“But there is one who has long lived with us whose heart would be rejoiced to see her,” said Ponoko. “You may remember when I parted from you I promised to try and save the lives of any of our pale-faced prisoners. I succeeded in saving that of one man just as he was about to be tortured and killed, but it was on condition that he would swear to remain with us, and never betray us to our enemies. He was a great hunter, and brave as the bravest among us. He also, we found, was not one of the Long-knives, but was a subject of the Queen of the Pale-faces. He has kept his promise, though he might often have made his escape. He had been many months with us, before I found how sorely his heart yearned to get away, and I would have set him free, but the other chiefs would not consent. He looked upon me as his friend. He told me that his child and all his household had died by the hands of our people, except his wife, who was away in one of the big cities in the east at the time we attacked the place. I was thus led to tell him of the little girl I had saved and given over to you, and he has ever since been hoping that she might prove to be one of his children. He has hoped and hoped until he has persuaded himself that such she is. Thus I know how it would rejoice his heart to see her.”

“I have strong doubts about that,” answered Uncle Donald. “He would rejoice to see her, but not to have her among your people, from whom she differs so greatly. The only way truly to benefit him would be to set him at liberty and allow him to return among the Pale-faces to whom he belongs.”

“But how can that be while I am sick and a prisoner with you?” asked Ponoko.

“You’ll recover, I hope, ere long, and as you have fulfilled your promise on one occasion, I feel confident that you will not disappoint us if we set you at liberty on your undertaking to restore this white stranger to his people.”

“Ponoko always keeps his word,” answered the Indian in a proud tone.

“But should the Blackfeet, in the meantime, attack us, we may be destroyed, and they may take you away with them,” observed Uncle Donald.

“If my people come, you shall carry me out on a litter; I will tell them how well the Pale-faces have treated me, and will urge them, instead of fighting, to make a lasting peace with my white father and his friends,” said Ponoko.

“I will trust you, my brother,” said Uncle Donald, pressing Ponoko’s hand. “I pray that you may soon be restored to health, and that you will teach your people that it is to their true interests to be at peace with the white men, and to trade honestly with them.”

Chapter Fifteen.

A Happy Ending.

Ponoko recovers—Time passes without further Attack—and Meat has to be Procured—Red Squirrel again sent on Scout—Returns pursued by Six Blackfeet—Timely Rescue—Poor Red Squirrel is quite Exhausted—The Blackfeet Return in large Numbers—Ponoko goes out to Meet them—Effect of his Appearance on the Tribe—He returns with a White Man—Rose finds a father—and both find a Wife and Mother—All Ends happily at Last.

Day after day went by, and the Blackfeet did not appear. Ponoko, never having indulged in the pernicious fire-water, was rapidly recovering under my father’s judicious care and the attention he received from Rose and the rest of the family. We had not yet told her of the possibility that her father had escaped and might be restored to her. I suspect that she would not have understood us had we done so, for she looked upon Uncle Donald as her father, though she called him “Uncle” as Hugh and I did. Indeed, all the events of her life which had occurred before the fearful night of the massacre appeared to have faded from her memory.

At length, as the Blackfeet had not shown themselves, we began to hope that they would allow us to remain at peace, and Uncle Donald already talked of returning home. He proposed that my mother and father and the rest of the family should accompany him, but my father replied that nothing should induce him to quit his post, unless driven away by the savages, and that he would then retire, with his converts, to some spot among more friendly tribes further north.

Among others signs of returning spring was the appearance of a herd of buffalo passing in the far distance, and as our provisions were again running short, Uncle Donald was compelled to allow the hunters to set off for the purpose of killing some of the animals. Hugh and I wanted to accompany them, but he would only allow Pierre, and Corney, and four of the most active red men to go on the expedition.

As soon as they set out, he sent off Red Squirrel to try and ascertain the whereabouts of the Blackfeet camp, with directions to come back should he discover that they were on the move.

We waited day after day for Red Squirrel’s expected return, but he did not appear, and we began to have serious apprehensions that he had been captured.

The hunters, however, had come back with a good supply of buffalo meat, so that we should be well prepared in case we should be besieged.

At last, one evening as I was looking out towards the south, I saw several objects moving across the prairie. At first I thought that they might be deer or wolves, or even smaller game. One was leading considerably ahead of the rest. They were coming towards the fort. Besides the first I counted six others. I called the attention of my companion to them.

“They are men!” exclaimed Ponoko. “Those six are of my tribe; they are in pursuit of the first! He must run fast, or before he can reach the fort they will overtake him. Already I see by his movements that he is fatigued.”

I had little doubt but that the leader was Red Squirrel. I asked Ponoko, whose keen eyes could distinguish his dress better than the rest of us could do.

“Yes, he is your young friend,” he answered. “See, see! he is increasing his speed, he may still escape, and my people will go back disappointed. They will not dare to come within range of your rifles.”

“Then we will go out and meet them!” I exclaimed, hurrying down. I told Uncle Donald what Ponoko had said. Taking our rifles, and buckling on our snow-shoes, Hugh, Alec, Pierre, Corney, and I hurried out of the fort, and set off running faster, I think, than we had ever run before, to meet the hard-pressed fugitive.

Once more his pursuers were gaining on him; before long their scalping knives might be about his head. He was the first to perceive us approaching, and it seemed to add fresh nerve to his legs. Soon afterwards the Blackfeet caught sight of us. The instant they did so they sprang forward, making a last desperate effort to overtake our friend; but perceiving that we had rifles ready, they well knew that, even should they succeed, we should make them pay dearly for the act.

Giving up the chase, therefore, they stopped, and turning round, ran off at a rate which soon placed them beyond our reach.

In a few moments Red Squirrel was up to us, but so hard-pressed had he been that he was unable to tell us what had happened. We supported him, not without difficulty, to the fort, when his snow-shoes being taken off, had he not been resting in our arms, he would have sunk fainting to the ground. We delivered him over to his mother, who chafed his limbs, and used every other means she could devise for restoring his strength. It was some time before he could speak. He had ably fulfilled his mission, having watched the enemy’s camp until the previous day, when finding that they were about to move northward, he had set off to bring us tidings of their approach.

He was, however, observed, and six of their fleetest runners had pursued him. Hour after hour he had continued his flight, though he confessed that, had we not come to his assistance, he should, he believed, have fallen even in sight of the fort.

That night was an anxious one. Frequent alarms were raised that the enemy were upon us. At length the morning broke, and as the sun rose above the eastern prairie his beams fell on the plumed heads and trappings of several hundred warriors, who came on, confident in their numbers, and believing that our small garrison would easily become their prey.

They halted when considerably beyond range of our weapons, and having sung a war-song, gave utterance to one of those terrible whoops which are said to paralyse even horses and cattle. Ponoko had in the meantime, dressed himself in the costume in which he had been discovered when lying wounded, and the gate being opened, he sallied forth with feeble steps, very different from his once elastic tread. The gates of the fort were closed behind him, and he proceeded towards the warriors drawn up in battle array. We watched him as he approached them. At length he stopped and stretching out his arms, addressed his people.

The effect on his tribe of what he said was almost electrical. They looked upon him as one restored from the dead, for they had long mourned him as lost. We watched him until he was among them, when, after some time, he reappeared, leading by the hand a person who, though dressed in Indian costume, we saw was a white man. Together they approached the fort, when the gate was opened to receive them.

The stranger gazed round with looks of astonishment, evidently endeavouring to find the words to express himself. At last he said—

“I can scarcely believe my senses. A few minutes ago I was a prisoner, and threatened by the Indians with a cruel death should they again be defeated.”

“We are truly thankful that you have escaped,” answered Uncle Donald, advancing and taking his hand.

“You owe your preservation to our friend Ponoko here.”

“I am indeed grateful to him,” said the stranger. “He preserved my life when so many of my companions were massacred. He has ever since continued my protector, but when it was supposed that he was killed, his people threatened to avenge his death by murdering me. Grateful as I am to him and to you, I am restored to liberty a ruined and a childless man, while I know not what has become of my poor wife, who was providentially absent from the settlement at the time of the massacre, but will have supposed that I, as well as our little girl, shared the common fate,” answered Mr Kennedy, for such he told us was his name.

“Should your child have escaped, do you believe you would recognise her?” asked Uncle Donald.

“Among a hundred!” answered the stranger. “I should know her, however much grown, from her likeness to her mother.”

As he spoke my sisters and Rose approached. The stranger glanced at the group, then rushing forward, gazed earnestly into Rose’s countenance.

“You would not deceive me!” he exclaimed. “Say, how did this young girl come to be with you? Rose, do you recollect me? Speak, my child, are you not Rose Kennedy?”

“Kennedy! Kennedy!” murmured Rose, looking greatly astonished and somewhat frightened. “Kennedy! Yes, that was my papa’s name.”

“You are my own child!” he exclaimed, kissing her brow and cheeks again and again while he held her in his arms.

The lookers-on were greatly moved. It was some time, however, before Rose could fully comprehend that the stranger was her father, and that she belonged to him rather than to Uncle Donald.

Mr Kennedy now eagerly inquired whether we could give him any tidings of his wife.

“Extraordinary as it may seem, I think I am able to do so,” said my father. “On stopping at the Red River settlement on our way hither, I met a Mrs Kennedy, whose husband and child had, I heard, been murdered by the Indians.”

I should like to prolong my history, but I must be brief. Ponoko, after remaining a day or two with us, went among his tribe, and persuaded them that it would be to their advantage to live peaceably with their neighbours. Not many years after they entered into a treaty with the Canadian Government, and the fearful state of warfare which for so long a period had existed in that fair northern region almost entirely ceased.

We were very, very sorry to lose Rose, but Mr Kennedy was, of course, most anxious to join his wife. As soon as he could travel he set off for the Red River. He promised to return and bring his wife and Rose with him, having accepted an invitation from Uncle Donald to settle at Clearwater.

In course of time, Hugh, Alec, and I established in its neighbourhood several fairly flourishing farms, of one of which Hugh, with Rose as its mistress, became the owner. My father laboured for many years among the heathen, greatly aided by Ponoko.

The entire country, including the Rocky Mountains over which we passed, now forms part of the great Canadian dominion, and probably, before another generation has passed away, the whole region, from east to west, will be the home of happy and flourishing communities.

The End.